Chapter One

The letter was simple enough in the end. Half a page, handwritten. Spike couldn’t help but think it should have been a bloody epic, considering the time he spent composing it. Fourteen months of missed opportunities.

Hello, pet. Yeah, it’s really me. How about that, eh?

On it went. Short, pitifully constructed sentences that didn’t say quite what he meant. It was possibly the worst thing he’d written in his life, and that was saying something. The letter explained little and resolved nothing, save that now she would know the truth.

In a weak moment, he scribbled down a phone number at the bottom of the letter – right before he sealed the envelope and slid it into the mailbox. No turning back after that. Including the phone number had been a particularly difficult decision, but he figured that if she really wanted to talk to him, she would discover what it was sooner or later. Might as well come from him. One less thing she’d have to yell at him about later.

And oh, how she was going to yell.

But as he walked home from the post office, he couldn’t help wondering – what if she never called? What if she already knew he was alive and didn’t care in the least? What if she was perfectly content with her new lot and didn’t want him around making things complicated? Or what if she was so hurt that he hadn’t contacted her sooner, that she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him?

Spike took these concerns and more to Gentleman Jack. He found no answers, but at least the alcohol helped him sleep. The days passed with agonizing slowness. His apartment had never felt quite so small, and he paced the floors like a caged animal. Even took up smoking again so that he would have something to do with his hands. The nights were worse, with nothing good on television to keep his mind occupied.

He refused to leave his apartment to patrol, worried that he might miss her call. He made the mistake one night of watching the evening news and heard about a grisly double murder that took place just down the street. Couple of little kids. He took the news hard.

On the eighth day after the letter was mailed, he made a decision. He wasn’t going to allow his feelings for her to rule him any longer, regardless of how much he still loved her. That was what this year apart had been about. Finding out who he was. Proving to himself that he could be something apart from a woman. Doing the right thing because it was the right thing – not because Buffy would smile upon it. No more ‘WWBD?’ bracelet for him. It was his turn to stand on his own two feet and get the hell on with his life. Get back on the path of redemption and do what mattered.

It was quite simple, really. If Buffy wanted him in her life again, she would call. If she didn’t, well … then she didn’t. It would hurt like hell, but he would get over it. Eventually.

That night’s patrol was glorious. Had the nasties pissing all over themselves, they were so terrified. Spike’s face and duster were painted in several different shades of blood, very little of it his own. Who knew toting a worn battle-axe down the streets of Los Angeles could be so liberating? He felt better than he had in years. More complete than he had in decades. Nothing could bring him down.

The phone was ringing when he got home. He tripped over his feet twice, bruised a rib, and tore one sleeve of his duster completely off trying to answer it in time. Love’s bitch, indeed.

“Hello?” he said frantically, holding an arm tightly across his throbbing ribs to keep the pain to a minimum.

Silence greeted him. After a moment, Spike heard the tiniest hint of a breath on the other line. The phone trembled in his bloodied hand. "Buffy?” he asked, his voice cracking. "Pet?"

Distinctly, he heard a sob, and then …

Click.

A moment later, a recording suggested he hang up and try his call again.

“Fuck.”



---------------------------

TBC
 

Chapter Two

Buffy’s day started out normally enough. Her blaring alarm clock let her know that it was her day to walk Dawn to class. With both of their social lives thriving, it was practically the only ‘sister time’ they had left anymore. The walks were a nice way for them to catch up during the week, so Buffy was happy to sacrifice a few extra hours of sleep. Most of the time.

That particular morning, Buffy indulged herself in the shower too long, so there was no time to fix breakfast. Dawn was running late as well because she couldn’t get her paper on Greek Mythology to print. It was upon such occasions that Andrew was able to earn his rent. After working a little magic on the iBook, Andrew shooed the girls out of the apartment with Dawn’s paper and two freshly baked muffins in hand. On the way to campus, they picked up double espressos and argued over who should run by the post office to get their mail.

“It is so totally your turn,” Dawn said around a mouthful of muffin. “You’re such a slacker. I always end up doing it.”

“And I always end up doing your chores. I thought it was a fair exchange,” Buffy countered. “Come on, Dawnie. We haven’t checked the mail all week. Could you please do it just this once? For me?”

“See, it’s like this,” Dawn explained slowly. “There’s this thing I have to do called schoolwork, often accompanied by this other thing called going to class. Neither of which is on your plate at the moment, I might add. Why can’t you do it?”

“I have things to do today. Very, very important things.”

“Like what?” Catching a glimpse of Buffy’s seemingly innocent expression, Dawn rolled her eyes. “Oh, let me take a wild guess. Shoe shopping again? Don’t you think you have enough?”

Buffy’s mouth fell open. “Enough shoes? God, what are they teaching you at that school?”

“Common sense, obviously.”

“Oh, how fun for you. Then I guess you should be a good, sensible little sister, and go get the mail, huh?”

“Whatever,” Dawn said as she flicked a muffin crumb at her sister. “What’s the big deal anyway? There’s never anything in our box except bills, and you always ignore those. Might as well leave them where they are.”

“I do not ignore the bills!”

Dawn pressed the mailbox key into her sister’s hand with a sardonic smile. “Ri-ight. So prove me wrong. Be responsible and actually go get them for once. See ya.”

Before Buffy could argue, Dawn was up the steps to her school, hurrying to join a group of laughing girls. Left alone on the sidewalk, Buffy felt her lower lip protrude as she dolefully dropped the key into her purse.

Stupid taller-than-me little sister, she pouted. I can be responsible if I want to.

But that problem was the problem, really. She didn’t want to. Ever since the Hellmouth collapsed, Buffy was not interested in duties of any kind. There were now plenty of girls who could take over the slaying for a while. Her job now was to take care of Dawn and absolutely nothing else.

When Giles and the others began the process of setting up the new Council, Buffy shook the Hellmouth dust off of her feet and declared herself on sabbatical. After years of watching Buffy flounder under the pressure of her calling, Giles was supportive of her decision to rest. With access to the old Council’s assets, he now had the financial means to offer her some support. That summer the new Council quietly voted Buffy in a compensation salary for her years of service, effective immediately. She never looked back.

She missed them, of course – Willow and Giles. Xander most of all. But they were off having their own adventures, much like she and Dawn were. There were others Buffy missed as well, but she didn’t let herself think about them. It hurt too much to remember the dead. If those around her thought it odd that Buffy failed to mention certain names after leaving Sunnydale, they assumed it was because she hadn’t finished mourning. The truth was she hadn’t even started. It was more than she could handle. Those areas were cut off inside her head, fenced up, cemented in, and completely separated from the rest of her emotions.

She was a new creation now, finally free to find out who she was apart from the Slayer. So far the only thing she had figured out was that she really liked shoes. One day, after much resting and spending her well-earned money, she would probably go to work for the Council again. Start patrolling. Maybe take some classes. (Finally be able to mourn?) But that day was still long off. She hadn’t finished healing yet.

Rome was exciting in a way that Buffy had never experienced before. There was deep history to the place, more than her mind could possibly hope to take in. Bloodshed and passion and faith – things she understood. Living in the heart of it all just fit somehow. Dawn was happy. She had new friends that didn’t know anything about demons or Slayers. She picked up Italian as a second language before Buffy learned how to pronounce Ciao correctly. She was still working on spelling it.

Buffy made her way down the busy promenade, woefully watching all the shops open their doors for business. There were purses. Cute purses. What the hell kind of cruel society would place attractive merchandise before her when she had errands to run? She quickened her pace towards the post office, willing herself not to get distracted. The mail would never see the light of day if that happened.

Once inside the small post office, Buffy flew to her box. In went the key, out came the mail. See? She could be responsible.

The box was embarrassingly stuffed, as if bent on proving her wrong. Buffy quickly sifted through the envelopes and threw out the junk mail, muttering to herself as she went. “Bill, bill, bill. Ooh, paycheck! Note to self: send Giles flowers. Love, me.”

More sifting. A long envelope was hiding in the back of the stack, wrinkled and covered in stamps as if it had come a long way. Buffy stared at it in amazement. “Someone actually wrote me a letter? Who writes snail mail anymore? Loser!” Frowning at the L.A. postmark, she ripped it open.

Ten seconds later, Buffy was thanking God that it was her and not her little sister who had opened up the mail.

---

Hello, pet. Yeah, it’s really me. How about that, eh?

---

Buffy’s espresso slipped out of her hands, along with the rest of the mail. Her equilibrium shifted unexpectedly, causing her ears to pop and ring. What the fuck. Someone was playing a joke on her. A cruel, horrible joke that was not the laughing kind. What else could it be? The handwriting she recognized as his, but surely he couldn’t …

Oh, God.

---

I thought you’d like to know that I’m all right. Living in L.A. Been here a little over a year, to tell you the truth. There’s not a decent bar within a twenty-mile radius of my apartment, but I get by all right.

---

Buffy’s eyes swept anxiously over the words three of four times before she was able to make sense of them. Question after question hammered through her mind. “A little over a year? I thought you’d like to know?” she quoted out loud, shaking her head in disbelief. “This has got to be a joke. Spike wouldn’t do that.”

Would he?

People were beginning to stare, not that Buffy gave a damn. Still, the post office was obviously not the right place to be reading such a letter, real or not. Stooping to grab her dropped mail, Buffy stormed outside and set her feet in the direction of her apartment. She furiously scrubbed the corner of her eyes, willing the tears to disappear.

Cool it, Buffy, she scolded herself as she weaved in and out of alarmed pedestrians. You’ve hardly mentioned his name for a year now. Barely even thought about it, and for a damn good reason. You’re not ready to unlock that particular door, so don’t try. You’ll get excited about this and then find out it’s just some sick joke. It will be like losing him all over again. Just calm down and see what else the letter has to say.

The self-talk continued until she reached the privacy of her apartment. Silence greeted her when she opened the door. That meant Andrew was gone, much to her relief. She didn’t think she could handle any questions. Dropping her keys and the rest of the mail onto the floor, she opened the letter with trembling hands and read.

---

A lot’s happened. Don’t really want to talk about it.

The real reason I’m writing is to send you some news. Bad news, I’m afraid. You sitting down, pet? Got someone there with you? Don’t read on if you’re alone. I’m serious.

---

Buffy laughed out loud in disbelief. Like that was going to happen. She dropped herself onto the couch, the tears coming in earnest now.

---

Like I said before, I’ve been in L.A. Working with Angel, truth be told. Did some good work together, me and him. You’d have been proud, regardless of what you or the Watcher thinks of Wolfram and Hart. We tore that place up from the inside out. Sort of took down some key players from on high. Things got nasty for us pretty fast after that. Angel knew it would. Prepared for it.

God, I can’t do this.

What I’m trying to tell you is that Angel’s gone, pet. Died fighting a bloody dragon, the big drama queen. I’m sure he’d like you to know he went out like he wanted to, on his own terms. Died fighting for what he believed in. I’m sorry, sweet.

---

Hands shaking, blind eyes canopied with tears, Buffy’s brain simply froze. Too much information, way too fast. Auto-pilot kicked in and tried to take her to a happier place. It didn’t work.

Numbly, she continued reading.

---

As you can imagine, there’s a lot I’ve left unsaid in this letter. Can’t seem to get the words right in my head. I’ll try these: I still love you. I miss you. Miss the Bit, too. You’ll tell her, won’t you? Wishing you the best.

Spike – (626) 555-2308

---

A number. There was a number. She could call and find out for certain if the whole thing was a hoax. And then she could kill whoever thought something like this was funny. She honestly didn’t know what was worse – finding out it really was a sick joke and Spike was still dead, or finding out the letter was real. Then Spike would be alive, but Angel would be dead. Either way she lost.

God, she felt sick.

Swallowing with difficulty, Buffy slumped on the couch. The phone number next to Spike’s name glared back at her. It was morning in Rome, but it was probably in the middle of the night in Los Angeles. She could never get the time difference straight in her mind. If it was really Spike, would he even be home? Only one way to find out.

He picked up on the eighth ring. She didn’t even remember dialing. The only thing that registered in her mind was Spike’s voice saying her name. Deeper than she remembered. Tired and worried and … was he hurt? He sounded like he was in pain. But it was him. There was no doubt in her mind. No one, not even the First wearing Spike’s face, had been able to say her name the way he did.

Everything hit her at that moment. There she stood, framed in the morning sunlight that beamed through her apartment window, and halfway across the world, Spike was alone in the dark, speaking her name. It was too much.

The first of many sobs broke through before she could even hang up. Sinking to the floor beside the phone, she broke down, half weeping, half laughing. It burned, feeling every shred of grief left ignored for so many months suddenly rock through her. But it felt so good at the same time – like she was finally getting rid of something that had slowly been killing her for over a year.

Spike was okay. He was alive. She was so fucking going to kill him again.

Oh, God. Angel.

********

TBC.

********
 

Chapter Three

The stop sign connected savagely with the demon’s head. Bits of flesh and skull flew across the alley, painting the walls slick with blood.

“And then she just hangs up on me, right? Quick as you please. Oh, don’t mind old Spike. He doesn’t have feelings, no.”

As his opponent rose weakly from the pavement, Spike gripped the street sign and laid into the beast’s shins, knocking it to the ground again. Its jaw struck with the concrete with a sickening thud.

“Not a single, bloody, word,” Spike said, punctuating his own words with sharp kicks to the demon’s chest. “Can you believe that? You’d think she’d be just a little glad to hear from me.”

The dying demon gurgled something that didn’t sound particularly compassionate. “Well, what do you know anyway?” Spike demanded, his voice cracking. “You could be a little sympathetic. It’s been two days, and she still hasn’t called back. Probably lost her for good this time.” Angered by the thought, Spike lifted the sign to strike again. He stopped himself mid-swing when he saw the demon was no longer moving.

“What’s this then?” Frowning, he nudged the still body with his boot. “Oh, I see. Up and died on me, did you?” he said, letting the stop sign fall to the pavement with a loud clatter. “Nobody wants to listen to me tonight. Everyone hates me.”

Pulling a bottle out of his duster pocket, Spike frowned at the few remaining swallows of amber liquid. He swayed a little on his feet, glanced down at the bludgeoned demon, and said, “This is all your fault. I think I’m sobering up.”

“That’s good to hear,” said a familiar voice from behind him. “Want a sound piece of advice?”

Spike bristled as he spun around to face the intruder. “From you? Let me think. No.”

Eve stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Then you’re every bit the fool Lindsey pegged you for. Why are you still in L.A. after what’s happened?”

Spike turned the lifeless body of the demon over with the toe of his boot. “Seems the city’s got a sudden deficiency in the champion department, compliments of your ex-bosses.” He hesitated, giving her a sidelong glance. “They are still your ex-bosses, right? Would hate to rip out your spine simply over a technical misunderstanding. Think I’d get over it, though.”

Eve took a wary step backwards, her eyes shining dimly in the poorly lit alley. “I don’t work for anyone. Not anymore.”

“Good on you, pet. Now sod the hell off.” Spike spun on his heels and started to walk away.

“Do you really think the Senior Partners let you go without a reason?” Eve persisted, catching his arm.

Spike glared with intent at her hand until she removed it. “You don’t know what I think.”

“You need to get out of L.A. Find somewhere to lay low. They’re watching you.”

“And you would know this how?”

Eve’s chin rose defiantly. “I may not work for them anymore, but I still have connections to the Senior Partners. Old connections.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” Spike scoffed, rummaging in his pocket for a much-needed cigarette. “That’s probably why you’re still alive. Not done with you yet, are they?”

“You might say the same for yourself.”

Spike flicked his lighter to life without interest. “If there’s a point to all of this, Miss Original Sin, please feel free to come to it.”

“Don’t you get it?” Eve asked incredulously. “Angel no longer fit the profile of what the Senior Partners were looking for, so they sought out other options. Namely you – but you can bet their strategy is going to be different this time. They tried to corrupt Angel through power. At the very least, they hoped to distract him from what was really going on behind the scenes. When they realized they had failed, they eliminated the problem.”

“Eliminated the problem?” Spike echoed angrily. “Is that what you call murdering my friends? You bitch…”

“Call it what you want, but the Senior Partners aren’t interested in playing nice anymore. They’ll get what they want out of you, using whatever they can to do it. You either play along, or you find a damn good hiding place. Trust me on this one.”

“Blackmail, is it?”

Eve smiled. “And here I thought you were the slow one.”

Spike paused to take a long, thoughtful draw on his cigarette. “And why, pray tell, are they interested in me?”

“Word has it Angel signed away his rights to the Shanshu Prophecy right before he died.”

Spike froze. “Come again?”

“Congratulations are in order. You’re now the sole candidate to fulfill the prophecy. Unfortunately for you, the role you have to play to do so also makes you of great interest to the Senior Partners.”

“I don’t bloody well care. Not working for them anymore, am I? Got my own mission now. They can keep their prophecy.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Eve replied. “The way they see it, they spared your life. You owe them.”

“Like hell.”

“Do you really think they couldn’t come for you at any time? They know just how to get to you. They’re even watching your Slayer. Her little sister, too.”

Spike’s hand encircled Eve’s neck before she could blink. Slamming her back into the alley wall, he calmly asked, “Care to elaborate on that last bit, pet?”

“I don’t know much. I swear,” Eve gasped, trying to pry his hand loose from her throat.

“That right?” Slowly tilting his head, Spike offered her a tight smile as he continued to squeeze. “You know, I can feel your pulse right now, racing all pitter-pat against my palm. Lifeblood pumping away. Guess that means you’re still mortal, doesn’t it? Shall we test out that theory?”

“You won’t kill me. You have a soul.”

“I’m not Angel, little girl. You start messing with those I love, and you’ll find yourself in a world of hurt. Got that?” Spike released her with a rough shove. “Now spill.”

“I’m not the one threatening the Summers girls,” Eve said, grasping her bruised throat, “but if I were you, I’d find out who is. It would be someone close to her. Recently close. A new friend or acquaintance. Do what you want about that, but just get out of L.A., Spike. Figure out a way to stay out of their radar. They’re going to come for you soon. You don’t want to be around when they do.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed coldly. “Why should I believe all this anyway? You give piss all for what happens to me and mine. What’s in it for you?”

Eve backed away slowly and shrugged. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Said the spider to the fly, Spike thought as he watched her turn and slink out of the alley. As if his life wasn’t complicated enough. God, I need a drink.

***

He settled for a shower.

Back at his apartment, the thick steam in the bathroom sobered him up quicker than he’d anticipated. Groaning miserably, he placed his hands on the wall in front of him and held his bowed head under the steady flow of water. He’d turned it up as hot as it could go. His skin started to burn as a result, but he didn’t care. The pain was distracting. Pleasing in a twisted sort of way. It was something tangible he could hold onto – something he could control – unlike so many other things that were troubling him.

He emptied a bottle of peroxide over his scalp and felt a sudden sting when it came into contact with his left hand. Squinting through the heavy steam, he studied the deep abrasions on his throbbing knuckles and wondered when the injury had occurred. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, details of that evening’s patrol were fuzzy at best.

One thing he did remember clearly, and that was Eve. God, he wished he didn’t. Dozy bint had him all sorts of paranoid. It was difficult to pretend you were all big and bad when you were constantly looking over your shoulder and jumping at the slightest noise. Spike hated that she’d gotten to him.

But there was something about Eve’s story that didn’t seem quite right to him. Tiny flaws in her seemingly sound logic. Why did she give a piss anyway? From what he’d gathered, Angel was planning to double-crossed loverboy Lindsey in the end. With Lorne gone MIA, Eve might be out for revenge on the only remaining member of Angel’s Avengers. Spike’s instinct told him not to trust her.

But what if she was telling the truth? Could he really afford to wait and find out? Spike had never gotten an answer as to why he’d been allowed to live after that last battle at Angel’s side. Exactly what did the Senior Partners want him alive for? ‘Get out of L.A.’ Eve had said repeatedly. He’d have to think long and hard about whether or not to take her advice.

Her mentions of Buffy and Dawn particularly troubled him. Were they really in danger because of him? Eve implied someone close to them was a plant – a concealed threat from the Senior Pansies to make Spike fall in line or else. He didn’t know what to do about that situation. How could he look out for Buffy or warn her of a possible danger if they weren’t even on speaking terms? He’d have to figure out something, even if she didn’t care to ever see him again.

Their story was over, it seemed. Spike knew that deep down. Half of him hadn’t expected to hear from her at all when he’d sent the letter, but it still hurt, knowing that she didn’t want to talk to him after all they had been through in the past.

Spike waited until the hot water ran out before stepping out of the shower. Shaking water out of his hair, he stared into the fogged up mirror, glad he couldn’t see how empty it was.

In the living room, the phone rang quite unexpectedly. Brow furrowing in confusion, Spike tugged a towel around his hips. Sinking down onto his living room couch, he picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

A brief pause.

“It’s me.”

“Oh. Oh.” Spike sat up straight at the sound of Buffy’s voice. “Hi.”

***

TBC.
 

Chapter Four

In retrospect, Buffy felt like an idiot. She realized now, months after the fact, that Andrew knew Spike was alive. He had dropped hints – subtle comments that she hadn’t given a second thought to at the time.

“So did you?” Andrew had asked her earlier in the year, when he first came to stay with them (and since, had failed to leave).

“Did I what?”

“Love Spike.”

That had caught her off guard. Buffy remembered getting flustered and confused all at once. “Why? It’s not like it matters now.”

“Au contraire. Let’s imagine for a second that it did matter. I know – pretend that Deanna Troy from Star Trek: TNG is interrogating you, and she’ll know exactly what you’re feeling so you can’t lie. Did you love him?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your b--”

“Just answer the question, Buffy. Counselor Troy’s waiting.” Andrew batted his eyelashes and smiled.

“You are beyond weird, you know that?” Buffy ran her fingers through her hair as she fumbled for the right words. “Spike … Spike was … he was my best friend. Of course I loved him.”

Andrew’s hopeful smile faded. “Just as a friend?”

She didn’t answer.

“Do you still love him?”

Buffy shrugged uncomfortably, training her eyes on the floor. “Stuff like that doesn’t fade so easily with me. It never has.”

“You should hang onto that,” Andrew said quickly, nodding his head. “Your love for him, I mean. Might serve you in the future. Like sands through the hourglass – so are the days of our lives.”

He didn’t elaborate further, and Buffy was glad to just drop the subject. Knowing how fond Andrew was of Spike, she had assumed he was simply being overly sentimental as per usual. Looking back, she thought she should have at least suspected the truth starting with that conversation. After a bit of thought, Buffy decided that Andrew must have first seen Spike in L.A. when he was sent on his errand for the Council. But that was months ago! Months upon months, even. Why hadn’t he told her?

The same day she received Spike’s letter, Buffy cornered Andrew and forced him under pain of death to tell her what he knew. Bits of the letter were confirmed. She learned that Spike was indeed working with Angel in L.A. – or at least he had been until Angel’s … accident. Andrew didn’t know many details about how Spike’s return came to pass, and those were the details she was particularly interested in. Namely – how was Spike alive? Did he survive the collapse of the Hellmouth, or had he been resurrected? Why hadn’t he contacted her before now? She couldn’t seem to derive any answers from Andrew’s babble.

“He left you a phone number, didn’t he?” Andrew asked. “You should call him and ask him all this stuff yourself. I’m sure he would want to talk to you. I mean, he wouldn’t have given you the number if he didn’t, right?”

“You’d think,” Buffy answered with a tight smile. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that or not. I’m still trying to work everything out in my head.”

“For what it’s worth, Buffy, I’m sorry. He made me promise not to tell you.”

Did he now? she thought. What the hell is going on?

***

“I’ve got some news,” Buffy said to Dawn over dinner that night. “Good news and bad news, I’m afraid.”

Dawn mumbled something unintelligible around a mouthful of breadstick.

“Good news first.” Buffy waited until her little sister swallowed before she dropped the bombshell. “Spike’s alive, Dawnie. He’s in L.A.”

Not looking up, Dawn twirled spaghetti onto her fork. “Oh. What’s the bad news?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Um … sorry?”

“Let me guess,” Buffy said with an incredulous chuckle. “You already knew, right?”

Dawn shrugged. “Andrew told me months ago. Spike apparently told him not to mention anything to you, but he didn’t say anything about keeping me out of the loop.”

Buffy stared at her sister. “How could you keep something like that from me?”

“Apparently Spike said he wanted to tell you himself. Is it my fault he took forever to get the nerve?” Dawn paused and eyed her sister carefully. “Anyway, you never acted like you missed him. How was I supposed to know you cared?”

Buffy recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “You know what he meant to me.”

“Do I?” Dawn tossed her crumpled napkin onto the table and leveled her sister with a hard stare. “Look, Buffy. You don’t talk about him. You change the subject whenever he’s mentioned. What am I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t want to talk about him because I missed him,” Buffy choked out, on the brink of tears. “I missed him like crazy. Can you understand that?”

“I missed him, too, but really? If he doesn’t want to be around us, that’s his problem. I can’t believe it took him this long to tell you. He was the one who told you right? Andrew didn’t break his promise?”

“No, it was Spike.” Reaching into her pocket, Buffy handed her sister the slightly crumpled letter.

Dawn took it and read it while nibbling on a breadstick. “Wow, bummer about Angel,” she said, glancing warily at Buffy. “I take it that was the aforementioned bad news. You okay?”

Buffy placed her face in her hands and mumbled, “No.”

“Spike sure is a jerk for telling you all of this in a letter. Especially the part about Angel’s death. Insensitive, much?”

“Just a bit.”

“You should call him.”

“I did. The day before yesterday.”

“And?”

“I hung up as soon as he answered the phone.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Wimp.”

“Well, what am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, Spike. Sorry about that amulet I gave you. Bummer, huh? By the way, you’re an insensitive bastard.’”

Handing the letter back to her sister, Dawn smiled. “It’s a start.”

***

Buffy didn’t find the courage to call until the next evening. Since coming to the conclusion that she was deeply angry with Spike, she waited until she was alone in the apartment before placing the call. There was no use making everyone else listen as she gave him a piece of her mind. She could just imagine Dawn and Andrew with their ears pressed to her bedroom door, exchanging scandalized glances and hi-fives. Yes, it was definitely best that she was alone for this particular phone call.

Spike picked up sooner than she expected, and she jolted at the sudden sound of his voice. Melting a bit inside, any angry thoughts she might have had seeped away for the moment. God, she had missed him.

“It’s me,” she said quietly.

“Oh. Oh. Hi.”

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, nervously wrapping the phone cord around her finger until it started turning blue. “I could--”

“No, no!” Spike said quickly. “I’m … I’m just glad you called back. I, uh, didn’t think you would.”

Buffy slowly released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She thought she heard him do the same over the line.

Awkward silence pressed heavily against them both. Buffy had to resist the urge to slam the phone back down on the receiver.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “isn’t this a giggle?”

“Did we leave you there?” she asked, not recognizing the sound her own voice. It sounded too small and uncertain to be hers.

“Leave me … what?”

“In the Hellmouth,” Buffy continued, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Did you survive, and we just left you there, buried?”

“What? No!”

“How did you get out, then? We just assumed the worst.”

“Guess I really did leave a lot out of my letter.”

“You think?” When he didn’t respond, Buffy continued. “So then you really died? We didn’t leave you? God, I don’t know which is worse.”

“I don’t really know if ‘died’ is the right word for it. Sure felt like it, though. Burned up. Ashes to ashes and all that rot. Though, instead of meeting the afterlife, I suddenly found myself in L.A. -- suddenly being the operative word. Happened in the blink of an eye. Something to do with that amulet. Long story.”

“And you’re just now telling me this why?” Buffy prompted, feeling her earlier anger begin to flood back into her.

“Wanted to. Tried to, even. You were the first thing I thought about, but I couldn’t really do anything about it. I was a ghost, see. Incorporeal.”

“But you’re a real boy now, apparently. In fact, I hear you were quite solid when Andrew saw you months ago.”

“Glad to hear you’ve obtained a little compassion while I’ve been away. What exactly are you wanting me to do here, pet?”

“I want you to stop it,” she ordered quietly.

“Stop what?”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What are you on about, now?”

“You,” Buffy said, as if that single word was all the answer he needed and more.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here, Slayer, and say you’re upset about something.”

“Do I really need to explain this?”

“Apparently so.”

“You,” she repeated. “You’re supposed to be groveling. Begging for forgiveness.”

“Don’t like groveling much, pet. Chafes the knees.”

“Why don’t you ever say you’re sorry, Spike? Aren’t you supposed to have a soul that makes you feel bad when you do something wrong or hurtful? Is a simple ‘I’m sorry’ too much to ask for?”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“They sure as hell do, and guess what? Your actions are telling me you don’t give a piss about me or Dawn or anyone other than yourself.”

“Don’t give a--? I died for you, Slayer. Didn’t expect to come back either.”

“Don’t change the subject. Spike, you’ve been alive or undead or whatever for over a year, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I -- I got confused.”

Buffy laughed in disbelief. “Confused? What, you couldn’t remember how to dial a phone?”

“You know what? Forget this. I can’t talk to you. You’re pissed off, and you’re just going to warp whatever I say into something you can yell at me about.”

“I wouldn’t be yelling if you’d just say you were sorry.”

“I told you, actions sp--”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Buffy said, cutting him off. “Let’s see what this action says to you.”

She hung up. Hard. And it felt good. That would teach him.

Beside her, the phone rang. Buffy’s eyes narrowed as she recognized Spike’s number on the caller id. So he had her phone number as well as her address, did he? She picked up and growled, “What now?”

“I’ll tell you what now,” Spike growled back. “I’m tired of being hung up on.”

Click.

Buffy stared at the phone, her jaw falling open incredulously. He’d actually hung up on her. Her. Furious fingers punched his number in on the keypad.

“How dare you!” she snarled when he picked up.

Spike scoffed. “How dare I what? Do what you did? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, love.”

“You really don’t get this, do you? Why I’m angry?”

“I get it. I’m trying to fix it, if you haven’t noticed. That’s why I sent the sodding letter in the first place. I did want to tell you, Buffy. I just didn’t know how. Call me a coward or whatever makes you feel better. Just know that I tried. Wouldn’t have written the damn letter if I didn’t care about you. Wouldn’t even have bothered.”

Buffy bit her lip, feeling a miniscule amount of anger seep away – but there were other things that were bothering her. “Speaking of which, how could you tell me about Angel like that? In a letter? In the same letter that let me know you were alive? Exactly how insensitive are you?”

“Um … that was insensitive?”

Spike = boy = stupid, she thought feebly. “Newsflash, Spike. Very insensitive. Bordering on just plain mean. Why couldn’t you have told me face to face?”

“So that you couldn’t beat the shit out of me when you saw me? Come to think of it, I kind of like that you’re getting all this anger out a few thousand miles away from my flammable body. Keep it up. Vent that anger.”

“Spike, I am angry, but you don’t know how happy I was to hear you were alive – but the way you told me. God, it hurt. And it’s like you were hiding behind the news about Angel.”

“Look, I really didn’t think you’d take it that way. I thought you’d want to know what happened to him, what with him being your twu wuv and all.”

Buffy felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Will you at least tell me what happened? Without the snide comments?”

Spike let out a slow sigh. “No snide comments needed. He went out a hero, plain and simple. Granted, a slightly suicidal hero, but then again, I suppose we all were. Didn’t I mention all this in my letter?”

“You said something about a dragon, but no real details. I want to know how it happened – what you two were up against.”

“Four,” he corrected her. “There were four of us in the end, facing down God knows how many nasties. Had to be hundreds. And let me tell you, not all of them were your average human-sized demon either. There were giants. Species I didn’t even come close to recognizing. A dragon. Never seen anything like it. Must have been some sort of ancient army. Efficient bastards, they were.”

Buffy swiped at the tears running down her cheeks. “Who were they sent by?”

“The Senior Partners at Wolfram and Hart. And before you get any ideas in that sweet little head of yours, revenge is not an option here. I know you’ve defeated a hell-god and all, but I watched a god-king die right before my eyes in that fight. You keep your nose out of this one. Promise me.”

Buffy ignored him. “If there were so many, how did you get out?”

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Spike sighed. “They let me go.”

“They did? Why would they do that?”

“No idea. They passed me up like I was invisible. Fought them, killed them, twisted their bloody heads off with my bare hands, but they never fought back. They just went straight for the others. God, I felt so helpless. I tried to protect them, but they didn’t stand a chance. Not even Illyria, and believe me when I tell you she was rather strong. The demons just walked over their bodies, passed me by, and went on their merry way. Just between you and me, it scared the shit out of me.”

“I can imagine.”

“Got some sort of plan for me it seems,” Spike continued. “Or so I’ve been told. Not sure I trust the source, though.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“The battle? Four months ago, I guess.”

Buffy’s eyes drifted shut. “I hate to tell you this, Spike, but I’m about to hang up on you again.”

“Oh, for the love of … fine, I’ll say it. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I’m groveling, and my knees are the chafiest around. Are you bloody well satisfied?”

“Not when you say it like that, I’m not. I trusted you, Spike. In the end, right before you died, I trusted you more than anyone in that house. I thought we trusted each other, and then you just abandon me like everyone else. Did I miss something?”

“I didn’t abandon you, pet. I died.”

“You know I’m not talking about that.”

“I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?”

“I just want to know why. I want a reason. I think I at least deserve that.”

“Look, Buffy. I love you. I gave my life for you. Gladly, I might add. It hurt. It wasn’t quick. Quite the contrary. It was slow and painful, and I didn’t care because you would be safe when it was all said and done. You left, knowing what I did for you – how I’d changed – how I’d finally saved you. When I popped back into existence, it was like my sacrifice suddenly became worthless. Does that make sense?”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Buffy said, her brow creasing. “That has got to be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Really? Harmony seemed to buy it.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Look, that wasn’t the only reason. I needed time to find myself. To figure out who I was apart from you … apart from any woman, for that matter. With the way I fell all over myself when you called me the other night, I’m not sure I’m there yet.” He paused, seeming to consider his last words. “I think I might need a little more time to sort things through, Buffy. A little more time apart from you. I need you to be okay with that. I’m not abandoning you, sweet. If you want me there--”

“You know, I don’t think I do,” Buffy said, cutting him off. “Not right now, anyway. I think I need a little time, too. To sort this through in my head. I want to be clear on something, Spike. I’m mad as hell at you. I missed you, and I’m glad you’re back. But you and me? We’re not okay.”

It was several moments before Spike spoke again. “This isn’t exactly what I imagined our first conversation would be like. Never thought we’d have a first conversation, in fact. We still friends, at least?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess we’ll find out the next time we talk.”

“Next time. I’d like that. Guess this is goodbye then?”

“For now.”

“Love you, pet.”

She hesitated. “Goodnight, Spike.”

********


TBC. Feedback makes me write faster. Hint, hint.

********
 

********

In the End — Part 5


Dawn was screaming.

Not the sort of gut-wrenching scream expected from someone who was dying. Her cries were weak and frantic as the steady loss of blood sapped her strength little by little. They echoed down to the horrified vampire lying helpless at the base of Glory’s tower.

Face down on the pavement, Spike placed his bloodied hands on the ground and pushed with every bit of his strength. After a few moments of futile struggling, he collapsed with a cry of defeat, eyes swimming with tears as broken ribs shifted painfully in his chest. The Nibblet was dying, and he couldn’t move. Where were the others? Where was Buffy?

“Spike, help me! Why won’t you come? Please, I’m right here. I need you!” Dawn cried, on the brink of hysterics. The night air was thick with the smell of her blood, sweet and fresh, and entirely repulsive to him. Spike knew all too well what happened when the Bit started to bleed. This was one nightmare he’d lived through before.

Gritting his teeth in determination, Spike managed to roll over onto his back, but still found himself helplessly pinned to the ground. He could see her now, chained at the top of the tower, shaking in horror as she tried to press down on the shallow cuts to slow the bleeding. All her efforts didn’t seem to matter; there were simply too many cuts. Her dress was slick with her blood.

Gathering up every ounce of strength and willpower, Spike shoved himself off the ground with a roar. He started trudging towards the tower stairs before his broken body could protest. “I’m coming, Nibblet. Hang on.”

The tower stairs went on for miles. Never-ending, they seemed. They curved and multiplied impossibly, taking him further and further away from her. His bones crunched and ground together with every agonizing step, but he didn’t stop. Spike’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of something moving on the tower beside her. It wasn’t Doc. It wasn’t Glory. Who, then? The uncertainty made him double his efforts. After what seemed like an eternity, Spike finally reached the top of the tower. To his consternation, the shaky platform was empty. Dawn was nowhere to be seen.

“Too little, too late,” said a familiar voice behind him.

Spike spun around and found Buffy standing behind him, looking calm and collected. “Where’s Dawn?” he asked. “She was crying—”

“Dawn?” Buffy echoed in confusion. “Oh, her. She’s dead.”

“What? No! This isn’t right. It’s not supposed to happen this way at all.”

Buffy shrugged indifferently. “Shallow cuts don’t heal like they used to.” She held up her left hand, revealing deep welts on her palm and between her fingers, as if she had been badly burned. “See what I mean?”

Spike went numb with confusion at the sight, taking a step backwards as she began approaching. “Buffy, what’s happening? I don’t understand. Where is Dawn?”

“Too little, too late,” she repeated, following him as he retreated to the edge of the platform. “Hey, don’t look so glum. It looks like you’re going to have to jump with me this time.”

“What are you talking about? There’s no portal to jump through. No sacrifice to be made this time. There’s just … ground.” Spike squinted over the tower’s edge, lips parting in surprise at what he saw. Bodies littered the ground below. He could barely make out the forms of Dawn and Angel, lying on the top of a pile of wreckage. Angel blinked and smiled up at him. “This isn’t right,” Spike repeated in a shaky voice. “It isn’t supposed to happen this way.”

Beside him, Buffy firmly enclosed his hand within hers. “Relax, Spike. I’ve done this before.” With a comforting smile, she stepped toward the edge of the platform, pulling him with her.

“What are you doing?” he cried, trying to pull her back. “Buffy, stop!”

They teetered there for what seemed like an eternity. But in the end, Buffy proved the stronger of the two. They plummeted over the edge, hand in hand.

***

Spike awoke from the nightmare on the floor, hopelessly tangled in his sheets beside the bed. Shaking involuntarily, he stumbled to his feet and hurried to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. What the hell was that all about? he wondered.

Though he had slept for several hours, exhaustion still tugged at him like the worst kind of gravity. All he wanted to do was to crawl back into bed and try to forget about the terrible dream. That wasn’t going to happen, he knew. Feeling the need for comfort of some sort, Spike found a pack of cigarettes in his duster pocket and lit one, willing the nicotine to soothe his tattered nerves.

Of all the dreams he’d had through the years of that awful night on Glory’s tower, this dream had been the most vivid … the most disturbing. It was different than the others. Different from any dream he’d ever had, in fact. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew somehow that something other than his subconscious had placed those visions inside of his head. What if someone was trying to tell him something? To warn him? Were Buffy and Dawn in danger?

That would mean that Eve had been telling him the truth. Perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed what she had to say so quickly – but knowing the subtle manipulation she was capable of, he knew he would have to be careful stepping in any direction she pointed him in. One thing he did know – he needed to warn Buffy. Surely that wouldn’t cause any harm, even if Eve was having a field day with him. Buffy was more than capable of protecting Dawn and herself, but not if she wasn’t aware that they were in danger to begin with.

Stumbling groggily into the living room, Spike collapsed onto the couch. He rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was midday in Rome. He had no idea whether or not Buffy would be home, but it was worth a shot. He hesitated when he reached for the phone. What if she didn’t want to talk to him? Their last conversation was half a week ago and not one of their best. His eyes drifted shut sadly as he remembered her harsh words.

You and me? We’re not okay.

He couldn’t figure out why hearing that had hurt him so much. She had every right to be angry with him, and considering the circumstances, things between them were better than he expected. Why then was he so afraid to speak with her again? It was almost as if he had been apart from her for so long that Buffy had become sort of an obscure concept to him rather than a real person. Not having her in his life meant he could paint his own picture of how she thought of him or how she might react to finding out that he was alive. His personal depiction of her didn’t seem to match up to reality. Buffy was Buffy and made no apologies for it. That was one reason why he loved her so much, wasn’t it?

“Get over yourself, Spike,” he told himself as he snatched the phone off of the cradle. “More important that they’re safe than your ego getting a proper stroking, right?”

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spike dialed her number and braced himself for another possible onslaught of Buffy-wrath. She picked up on the second ring, sounding as though she’d been laughing only a few moments before. A smile spread slowly across his face. Hearing her in such in high spirits was something he didn’t get to witness often, particularly during those last few years in Sunnydale. He could swear he felt something pleasantly warm spread through his chest at the sound. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Buffy replied, obviously surprised to hear his voice. “What’s up? You don’t sound too happy.”

“Glad you noticed. Look, pet, I know I’m probably not your favorite person right now, but I need to ask you something.”

“Hang on just a sec,” she said. He heard the sound of footsteps and a door closing. “Sorry, I had to change phones. The one in the living room was making weird noises. Actually, I think this one is, too. Do you hear that?”

Pricking his ears up, Spike paused to listen, wondering why he hadn’t noticed the sound before. He must be more distracted than he thought. “Funny clicking sound, right?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a bad connection. It’s raining here. Anyway, what did you need to ask me?”

Spike took a deep breath, trying to focus his thoughts. “Random question, I know, but who’s new in your life?”

“Huh?” she squeaked.

He repeated the question. “Look, I know it sounds a little crazy, but a source informed me the other night that you and little sis might be in danger. I was told that it would be from a recent acquaintance.”

“Huh?” she squeaked again.

Spike rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “You. Dawn. Danger. Would you like me to draw you a picture, Slayer? I’m sure I could find a fax machine someplace.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” she insisted. “There will be no danger. Danger bad. And I don’t do danger anymore. Why would anyone want to hurt me, when I’m all not-danger-having? Your source is wrong.”

“Do you really want to risk that? And what the hell are you talking about, you don’t do danger anymore? You’re the Slayer, aren’t you?”

“Newsflash. There’s no such thing anymore as the Slayer,” she replied defensively. “There're hundreds of them now, and they're doing a wonderful job.”

“Not answering my question, sweet.”

He heard her sigh. “I’m … on sabbatical. I just needed a break, okay?”

“All right, fine. But that’s really beside the point, don’t you think? The fact of the matter is that you and Dawn might be in trouble, and I don’t think the bad guys give a damn if you’re on holiday or not.”

“You’re really not kidding about this, are you?” she asked weakly.

“Wish I was,” he replied, running a weary hand through his disheveled hair. “So who’s gotten close to you recently?”

“Define recently.”

“I don’t know. I guess since I became of interest to the Senior Partners. That would probably be about the time I got hold of that amulet.”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean, since you became of interest to the Senior Partners? Oh, so you’re saying that it’s your fault that Dawn and I are getting unhappy danger-having attention? Thanks, Spike. I owe you one.”

Spike’s eyes drifted shut resignedly. “Just answer the damn question, Buffy.”

“I’m in a new country,” she retorted. “Everyone here is a recent acquaintance. What exactly are you looking for here?”

“What about that pansy boyfriend of yours?” Spike asked before he could stop himself. “The Immoral. Oh, I’m sorry. I meant the Immortal.”

He could almost picture Buffy’s mouth opening and closing as she struggled for the right words. “He … I’m … we’re just dating. He’s not my boyfriend. And he wouldn’t do something like threaten me.”

“That so?” Spike said, jealousy tingling at the base of his spine. “Do you really know that little about the guy? You really must be on holiday if you’re that out to lunch.”

“Shut up, Spike. How did you even know about him anyway?”

“Andrew. And from what he’s told me, it doesn’t sound like mere dating.”

“This is so none of your business.”

“Whatever, Slayer. Just do us a favor and watch your back, all right? If not for me or you, at least do it for Dawn.”

“What’s got you so spooked? I don’t get it. You’re usually the type that would shake an idle threat off.”

“Call it a gut feeling,” he replied, fumbling around his pockets for another cigarette. “That and I just woke up from a really good dream.”

“Is that sarcasm, or are you just really complicated?”

“What do you think?” he asked as he flicked his lighter to life. Taking a long drag on his fresh cigarette, he watched the smoke curl up towards the ceiling, dreading what he knew her next question would be.

“What was the dream about?”

“You don’t want to know. Let’s just say that I was a bit anxious to call and make sure you both were safe.”

Buffy exhaled slowly. “All right, fine. I’ll check into some things. Maybe take a closer look at the people around us. Is there any other information you can give me? You haven’t exactly told me much about what’s going on.”

“Sorry, my mind’s a little jumbled at the moment,” he admitted. “Remember what I said the other day about the Senior Partners letting me go because they had big plans for me? Grrr, nasty?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“Well, this bird Eve was the one who gave me that information. She used to work for the Senior Partners before she double-crossed them. When I saw her last, she was all big with the cryptic hoo-hah, and basically told me that her ex-bosses had their eye on me. They seem to think I’m the prime candidate for some vampire-with-a-soul prophecy, now that Angel’s gone.”

“You mean the Shanshu Prophecy?”

“He mentioned it to you, I take it?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess it wasn’t meant for him after all, or he would have already come back.”

Spike felt a wave of resentment tug at him when he heard the grief in her voice. Even from the great dusty beyond, Angel still stood between them. Spike was beginning to think he always would. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up. Didn’t think.”

“It’s okay. Go on. So what does this Eve want with you? What’s in this for her, if she isn’t affiliated with Wolfram and Hart anymore?”

"Good question. That Eve is one manipulative little bitch. There was this thing, right? With Angel and me and a cup, but it turned out it was just Mountain Dew. Did I mention I kicked Angel’s ass that night? Could have staked him, but I didn’t. Just for you, I might add, even though he was being a right bastard.”

“Spike? You’re babbling.”

“Oh, sorry. What I’m trying to say is that Eve was behind a lot of mischief over at Wolfram and Hart. Sent us all on a few wild goose chases. Not trustworthy in the least, that one. So you can see why I’m a little hesitant to give credence to what she told me. If anyone other than you and Dawn were involved, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t listen to a damn word she had to say. Convenient, that. But considering the circumstances, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Okay, so we know that Dawn and I have been indirectly threatened, but what about you? Has anything really happened that makes you think that the Partners really are after you?”

Spike frowned deeply. “Not really. It’s been relatively quiet around here, epic demon army battle aside. L.A.’s no Hellmouth, but it has a fair amount of demonic activity. I do what I can.”

“So no one has personally threatened you, correct? Eve is the only one that’s made any mention of this?”

“It does sound a little fishy, doesn’t it?” he admitted.

“Well, like you said – better safe than sorry. Anyway, I’m … glad you called. Not just to tell me all of this, I mean. It’s just that I missed you this week.”

“Did you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t know when the right time to call you back would be, after the way we hung up last time.”

“Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly. “I guess I was still in shock.”

“Still mad at me?”

“Oh yeah.”

Hearing the teasing lilt in her voice, Spike couldn’t help but smile. “Guess that’s to be expected.”

“Listen, are you okay?” she asked after a momentary pause. “You really don’t sound good.”

“Dream kinda shook me up, is all,” he explained. “I feel sort of powerless over here when you and the Bit are so far away.”

“Um, hello? Slayer here. We’ll be fine. And since when are you all macho protect-y?”

“Sorry. I don’t know why this is worrying me like it is.”

“So let’s change the subject,” she suggested.

“All right. Worth a try,” he said with a shrug. “How has your week been? Think about me naked much?”

Buffy snorted. “You wish. Actually, I tried to stay busy so that I wouldn’t have to think about anything too much. I’ve barely been at home. You were lucky to catch me when you did.”

“Hot dates at every turn, I imagine?” he muttered disdainfully.

Groaning loudly, she said, “Please don’t start with that. I really don’t want to talk about my love life with you right now.”

“Love life? Oh, so there’s love involved? Bloody hell.”

“It’s a saying. Can we please just drop it?” she begged.

“Little late for that.”

“You were dead, Spike. I wasn’t. It’s not wrong that I moved on and started dating.”

Taking a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, Spike exhaled slowly and said, “I can accept that you moved on, Buffy, but really – did you have to move on with him? I mean c’mon – the Immortal? I’d rather see you snogging Angel again than him. Harris, even! Well, maybe not Harris. Look, if you knew a smidgen of what I knew about the Immortal, you’d understand why I’m so upset.”

“Oh really?” Buffy asked in a challenging tone. “Like what?”

“Well, um. Let’s see here. Oh, I know – he’s a player. A big nasty player with the ladies. Uses ‘em up and tosses ‘em out. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

“A player? And you’re not?”

“Erm … no. Well, maybe a small one. But not lately.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Now please cool it with the jealousy bit. Like I said before, he and I are just dating.”

Flicking cigarette ashes angrily onto the floor, Spike said, “Look, just tell me you at least waited a few months after you thought I was dust before getting swept off of your feet.” When she failed to answer after several long moments, Spike chuckled bitterly. “You didn’t wait long at all, did you? God, Buffy, did you mourn for me one little bit?”

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “You don’t know what I went through after you died.”

“You sure about that?” he scoffed. “I seem to recall a time when you were dead yourself. I thought about you every single day. That’s the way grief works, you see.”

“Spike … just listen, all right? This isn’t easy for me to talk about,” she snapped. “I can’t just say things outright the way you do. I don’t work like that.”

Though Spike was ready to keep arguing, he closed his mouth when he heard her voice crack in emotion. Knitting his brow, he sat back and listened.

“The first night, after you were gone?” she continued in a small voice. “I lost it. I had to take sleeping pills to calm down, I was so upset. There were just too many things to take care of. Girls to get to the hospital. Housing and food to secure. Angel to deal with, who wasn’t remotely pleasant after he and Giles started getting into it about Wolfram and Hart. And then there were the dead. I was so tired, Spike. I didn’t want to be there, surrounded by people who had abandoned me and turned their back on me when I needed them the most – and you were the one person I thought would never leave – the one person who supported me through that entire ordeal with The First. We both know how that turned out.”

“Couldn’t exactly help the dying part, love,” he interjected as gently as he could. “Didn’t plan to leave you.”

“I know that, but I was so exhausted, I couldn’t really accept it. It’s stupid, I know, but I freaked. I just shut my emotions off and left. Left them all.”

“Before they could leave you?”

Buffy paused at his words. “I never thought about it that way, but I guess you’re right. Things weren’t good after the battle, Spike. A lot of people were hurting, and I didn’t have enough strength left to care. Like Dawn? She lost her friend Amanda, and I couldn’t comfort her. And we lost you and Anya, and there were other girls, too. Not to mention losing my mom’s grave to the Hellmouth…” She trailed off, and Spike heard the soft sound of a stifled sob over the line.

“I couldn’t deal with it all,” she continued, words spilling out of her mouth in a muddled wave of emotion. “You’re right – I didn’t mourn for you. I didn’t mourn for anyone or anything, Spike. I couldn’t. Now, finding out that you’ve been hiding from me for over a year, it feels like you really did abandon me – and now everything else is coming out, too. The new grief over Angel is piled right on top of it. I’m confused, Spike. Everything has been turned on its head, and I’m so lost. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Shhh, stop crying,” he said in a low, soothing voice.

“No, I won’t,” she snapped between sniffles. “I haven’t cried like this in months, and I’m going to cry now, damn it. You’re not going to stop me.”

“At least go get a tissue. Sounds messy,” he teased lightly. He waited until she had calmed down before he spoke again. “I really want to see you, Buffy. I miss you, and I think it would do us both some good to talk face to face. Want to be there with you or vise versa. Whatever it takes.”

“What happened to all of that stuff you said last time we talked?” she asked, hiccupping softly. “I thought you needed to ‘find out who you are’ or whatever new age dogma you obviously picked up on your last visit to Marin County.”

Spike sighed and looked about the room helplessly. “I do. I mean, I did. It’s just … you’re part of me. You’re part of who I am, and who I’ve strived to be. You and the Bit. None of it makes sense without you.”

“Maybe we really should think about seeing each other then.”

“I’d like that. We could…”

Spike cut off his sentence abruptly as his eyes widened in alarm. His front door was slightly ajar – and he knew for a fact that he had closed and locked it before retiring for the night. Someone had been in his house while he slept. He’d been so distracted by the dream and his plans to call Buffy, he hadn’t even noticed. He rose from the couch, phone in hand, and firmly shut the door.

“Spike? You still there?” Her voice was punctuated by the same clicking sound that had accompanied most of their conversation.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied as he locked the door. “It’s the line. I think I’m losing the connection. Call you back in a few, okay?”

He hung up before she could respond. Dropping the phone onto the couch, he looked cautiously around his apartment to see if anything was out of place. Aside from the door, everything seemed in order. But when he sniffed the air, he caught the lingering traces of expensive cologne. He shook his head angrily. How could he have missed that before? Had he really been that out of it? But the real question was why the person had been in his apartment. And what had they done as he slept?

“Wait a second,” he murmured. “I know something. Clicking – the phone line was clicking.” His eyes fell upon the cheap telephone suspiciously. Carefully unplugging the cord from the wall, Spike unscrewed the earpiece of the receiver. Bingo.

“Just like in the movies,” he mused, holding a small device up to the light. “I’ll be damned.”

It was a phone tap. He recognized it from the ones that were found every so often in Angel’s office at Wolfram and Hart. That meant someone was listening in on his conversations. “Fuck,” he hissed, throwing the phone against the wall with such force that it broke apart.

Grabbing his duster, he slipped some money and a few documents into his pockets and fled the apartment as quickly as he could.

********

Spike knew how to disappear if and when he wanted to. He’d had enough practice through the years – particularly when he was killing his own kind back in Sunnydale. But this was different. He wasn’t trying to dodge some half-wit fledgling out to make a name for himself. Spike didn’t know who or what was after him this time. The uncertainty of the matter grated away at his nerves.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going back to that apartment anytime soon. Not until he figured out the truth behind the subtle threats. First, he would call Buffy back and let her know what happened and why he hung up on her. Then he would find a place to crash for the night. A hotel perhaps – one with a well-stocked mini-bar. Thanks to Angel’s foresight before the last battle, Spike had access to some emergency funds. He hadn’t touched so much as a penny in all the months since Angel’s death. Normally he wouldn’t mind a little free dosh, but the thought of taking that particular money bothered him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. But emergency money it was, and this situation definitely qualified.

Preferring concealment to convenience, he used the sewers to make his exit even thought it was still dark outside. After putting a considerable amount of distance between him and his apartment, Spike emerged from a manhole and took a wary glimpse around the darkened street. He had no idea where in the city he was – didn’t really care, either. Just so long as they didn’t know where he was, whoever the hell “they” were. Pressing his hands down into his duster pockets, Spike hurried down the street, looking for a payphone. He paused here and there to peek in darkened store windows if something shiny caught his eye, but mostly he kept his attention honed in on his surroundings. There was a light sprinkling of people about, most of them mopping up inside shops that had closed for the night. There were also a few passing cars, the headlights of which Spike instinctively shied away from.

“Turning into bloody Agent Mulder, I am,” he muttered to himself. “No, I’m not paranoid. It’s just that everyone’s out to get me, see.”

At last, he spotted a payphone – a very nice payphone with lovely pictures of naked women inside. Snatching the receiver off the hook, Spike’s fingers hovered over the keypad in confusion as he realized that he had no idea how to make an international call on a payphone. Did quarters handle that kind of thing? Collect calling? Rolling his eyes heavenward, Spike cursed long and fluently under his breath. “Just brilliant.”

He finally gave up and dialed 0. After arguing with the operator, who was seemingly resistant to his charm, he reluctantly pulled out a credit card he’d lifted from Angel months ago and used it to pay for the call. With a twinge of worry, he wondered if the credit card number could possibly be traced by whoever had tapped his phone. Was a trace of that nature even possible? Did anyone even know he had the credit card? He had no idea. The ringing of the phone drew his thoughts away.

“What took you so long to call back?” Buffy said by way of greeting, her tears apparently a thing of the past.

“Couldn’t find a payphone near my apartment,” he explained, turning his back to the wind so he could light a cigarette. “Didn’t want to be around there anyway. Listen, pet, that clicking noise we kept hearing on the line? Someone tapped my fucking phone.”

“Are you serious? Why?”

“Well, call me crazy, but I guess they wanted to listen in on my phone calls. Isn’t that usually why people do those things?”

“Sarcasm not appreciated.”

“Damn. Now what am I going to talk about?”

“Can you at least try to be serious, Spike?” Buffy snapped. “What are you going to do? You’re not going back to your apartment, are you?”

“Not until I know what I’m dealing with. Meanwhile, I guess I’ll find someplace to hide out. There’re plenty of holes in this town. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

He heard Buffy take in a shaky breath. “I really think I should come to L.A.”

“I dunno about that, pet. Don’t think it’s a good idea,” he replied, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t leave Dawn.”

“Who said anything about leaving her?”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Really? You’d come here to help me out?”

“You really have a problem grasping that concept, don’t you? Of course I would. But it might take me a few days to make arrangements. I should probably wait until the weekend when Dawn doesn’t have school.”

“You sure you want her down here with all this going on?”

“Dawn will be fine,” she said reassuringly. “Anyway, I don’t want her too far away from me if someone is really threatening her.”

The sound of an engine caught Spike’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a van rolling slowly up the street towards him without its headlights turned on. “Shit. Buffy, listen. An unmarked van is headed this way. Don’t like the looks of it. I should go. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch.”

“What? Spike, I don’t like this. You’re scaring me.”

“Good. Now go check on your sis and keep your eyes and ears open. And do me a favor, and don’t trust that Immortal wanker. Don’t tell him anything about coming to L.A. He and I’ve got history, and none of it good. Promise me, Slayer. If not for you, then for Dawn?”

“I said I’d look into it, didn’t I?”

“You do that, and I’ll – ah, fuck!” Spike cried, catching movement in his peripheral vision.

He swung around to defend himself from his assailant, but it was too late. Something hard and unyielding connected with the back of his head, and he fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. Two feet away, the phone swung back and forth from the cord.

“Spike?” came Buffy’s frantic voice over the receiver. “Are you there? Spike?”

********

To be continued.

Feedback? :)

This was the hardest chapter to write ever! Why? Who the hell knows? ::hisses at story::

Also? Bwahaha cliffhanger!!

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