Chapter One

~Rude Awakening~


~**~

The incessant sound of the telephone ringing seeped into Angel’s sub-conscious as he slept. He groaned in his sleep and thrust the pillow over his head, desperately trying to drown out the sound, but to no avail, there was no ignoring a ringing telephone. Kicking the covers from his body, he sat up in bed and reached for the phone, wrenching it from its cradle and putting it to his ear.

“What?” he barked into it sharply, waiting as the person on the other end spoke. With a sigh, Angel ran a hand over his face and stared ahead grimly. “Fine…give me ten minutes…yeah…I’ll be there.”

He slammed the phone down and stood up slowly, idly scratching his bare stomach as he padded across the bedroom floor. He stood before the mirror-paneled closet and slid the doors open, withdrawing a pair of khaki pants and a casual button-down shirt and tossing the items on the bed.

Yawning, he trudged to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The sound of the shower running could be heard moments later.


~**~

The elevator halted with a slight jolt, the doors sliding open to reveal Angel inside the car, the ever-present frown creasing his features. He stepped from the elevator and onto the main floor of Wolfram and Hart, effectively dodging the steady stream of personnel that flowed to and fro down the hallway.

His measured steps led him to a heavy oak door. He turned the handle and entered his office, where he came face to face with a solemn Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, who was dressed casually in slacks and a crisp white shirt.

Walking around the large oak desk, Angel settled into the chair behind it, leaning back slightly and regarding Wesley indifferently.

“What’s up, Wes? Where’s everyone else?” Angel asked quizzically lifting his eyebrows at the former Watcher in puzzlement. Wesley said nothing, just walked to the door of the office, which stood open and closed it softly. Then he faced Angel.

“We have a situation,” he stated matter-of-factly in his thick British accent. Angel sat up quickly, regarding Wesley with an even gaze.

“Situation? Well, why didn’t you say so on the phone?” Angel questioned with a frown. Wesley crossed the room and stood before Angel’s desk and at that moment, Angel realized that his colleague held a folder.

“This…particular situation required immediate action. I didn’t want to alarm you over the phone, rather I wished to tell you in person to avoid any…” he motioned in the air with his hand, searching for a word and then met Angel’s eyes. “I wanted to avoid a scene,” he finally finished.

Angel got up from his chair and walked around the desk until he and Wesley faced each other.

“Just tell me Wes.”

“I can do better. I can show you,” Wesley stated.


~**~

Angel followed Wesley up a set of stairs and down an unfamiliar hallway. Angel and his gang had been at Wolfram and Hart for a couple of months now and Angel still found himself a little uneasy with the place, which seemed to be an endless maze of offices and conference rooms. The hallways fairly teemed with people Angel had never met.

He and Wes finally stopped at one of the many conference rooms, but didn’t enter right away. Angel shot his friend a confused look. Wesley opened his folder and withdrew some papers and photos.

“I know you’re confused Angel,” Wes began as he shuffled the papers in his hands, “but I didn’t want to alarm anyone since this situation is quite delicate. I hope you’ll understand.” Angel folded his arms over his chest, looking over Wesley with bemusement.

“This isn’t a surprise party or anything, is it? I thought I told you guys I don’t like surprises…or parties for that matter,” Angel conveyed flatly.

“Take a look at these,” Wesley instructed, ignoring Angel’s comment and instead handing him the photos and sheaf of papers, which Angel accepted.

His eyes traveled over the black and white photos first. The grainy images showed the figure of a girl, fighting off a rather large gang of vampires, and if one looked close enough, they would see she was gaining the upper hand. Angel glanced back at Wes quizzically, handing the photos back.

“Doesn’t look out of the ordinary to me. I see a Vampire Slayer, doing her job. Thanks to Sunnydale the world is crawling with fresh Chosen One’s,” Angel responded, boredom beginning to edge into his tone.

He roused me out bed for this, photos of a Vampire Slayer? Angel thought to himself.

“There’s more,” Wesley said pointing to something typed onto the sheaf of papers Angel still held in his hand. “Last night, security did a sweep of the alleyway as the cameras took pictures,” he began indicating with his finger to the written words on the page. “Once she had finished off the vampires she encountered our officers. When they asked who she was, she responded that she didn’t know. The girl was obviously confused and disoriented. So they brought her in,” Wesley finished, darting a glance in Angel’s direction warily.

Angel lifted a shoulder nonchalantly as if to ask ‘so what’ and Wesley continued.

“They called me in to talk with her and I found myself face to face not only with a Vampire Slayer, but with a certain girl, who, if memory serves, died about two years ago from severe internal bleeding,” Wesley said, folding his arms over his chest and regarding Angel indifferently. Angel’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to Wesley.

“Are you telling me that Buffy Summers is on the other side of this door?” Angel asked slowly. Wesley nodded and Angel began to laugh aloud, which was met with raised eyebrows.

“I highly doubt that this is a laughing matter, Angel. We have a serious situation on our hands, possibly dangerous,” Wesley retorted in a half-whisper. “The ramifications of this could be catastrophic.” Angel continued to laugh, slapping his hand on Wesley’s shoulder.

“That’s funny Wes. Really funny,” Angel said tipping his head back with a smile. “It can’t be Buffy in that room because Buffy is dead. Has been for two years. Has to be someone else.”

“Come inside with me and see for yourself why no one is laughing,” Wesley responded, putting his hand on the door handle and turning it. Angel shook his head, following Wesley inside the brightly lit room, and closing the door behind him.

His glance darted around the conference room, taking in the large oak table, the myriad of chairs placed around it…and a woman…sitting at the far end of the table, her back turned.

Angel frowned and studied the woman intently. She had blonde hair that fell a little past shoulder length and what appeared to be a muscular build. Her clothing was disheveled and her hair looked as if it needed a good washing, but other than that she didn’t look any different from the women that Angel encountered in L.A. every night, in the hallways of the law firm everyday.

Wesley had crossed the room and now stood before the woman, pointing to Angel and gesturing with his hands. The woman slowly turned in her seat and the moment Angel’s gaze met familiar hazel eyes, he stumbled backward, grasping for a chair nearby as the floor tilted a little beneath him.

No, Angel thought wildly to himself. It can’t be her. It’s not her…can’t be. Then why does she look--?

His thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, when the woman got to her feet and closed the distance between herself and Angel. She studied him, a frown crinkling her delicate features, and then she glanced back at Wesley.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed softly. “I don’t remember him.” Wesley nodded and the woman once again crossed the room and returned to her seat. Angel shot a perplexed glance in Wesley’s direction.

“Ok…what the hell is going on?”


~**~

Angel settled slowly into a chair as the woman who resembled Buffy stared at him thoughtfully from across the table. He avoided her penetrating glance and once again looked to Wesley, who was giving the vampire a smug look.

“Wes,” Angel warned and the former Watcher shook his head.

“It’s her, Angel. I’ve confirmed it,” Wesley stated much to Angel’s consternation.

“How?” Angel asked, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. He pointed across the way to the woman. “She could be anyone, Wes! I’m pretty sure there’s more than one woman in the world named Buffy Summers! No,” he finished shaking his head and lowering his eyes. “It’s not her. I don’t know who she is, but that’s not Buffy.”

“I have proof,” Wesley told him, once again opening the folder in his hands. He studied another sheet of paper and then handed it to Angel. “It’s a report of her DNA sample. I had Fred run it through the lab and it was a perfect match.”

Angel sat back in his seat deliberately as his eyes scanned the report furtively. He lowered the paper, glancing over it warily at Wesley.

“How did this happen?” Angel finally asked after a moment of silence had lapsed. Wesley looked down and shook his head.

“That we are not sure of. What I do know is that she is suffering from some form of amnesia. She doesn’t remember a thing, not even her own name. Whatever or whoever sent her here, wiped her memory clean.”

“Jesus,” Angel sighed, his shoulders sagging visibly. He ran a palm over his face and then got up from his seat.

Wesley stared at the vampire in bewilderment as he walked across the room and stood before Buffy. He crouched to her level and stared up at her expectantly. Buffy shrank back, eyes round and widened in fear. The hands that were folded in her lap, suddenly clenched into fists as Angel studied her intently.

“It’s really you isn’t it?” Angel asked dazedly, extending his trembling hand in the direction of Buffy’s arm. She scrabbled out of the chair and backpedaled until her body slammed into a nearby wall, her hands clutching at it feverishly.

“You’re a vampire. I’m a Slayer. I kill vampires,” she cried out weakly, shaking her head in fright. Angel sighed and cast a weary glance in Wesley’s direction as if to say ‘you’re kidding, right’? Wesley shrugged his shoulders and Angel turned back to Buffy.

“Look, Buffy…I know you’re scared, confused…but we’re here to help. I’m not going to hurt you. I know what you think about vampires, but I’m here to tell you that I’m not like other vampires. Trust me,” he replied evenly.

But the words didn’t seem to calm Buffy in one way or another and Angel sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He turned back to Wesley.

“So what do we do?” he asked. Wesley got to his feet and shuffled across the room to stand beside Angel, avoiding the vampire’s eyes.

“I took the liberty of calling one of our men to retrieve Spike,” he murmured to his shoes.

If it weren’t for sensitive vampire hearing, Angel wouldn’t have heard the words leave his mouth. It sounded to him as if Wesley had said that someone was bringing Spike in.

“You what?” Angel cried out in stupefied astonishment and Wesley lifted his head.

“I only thought--”

“Wait,” Angel interrupted, holding his hand out. “Why are we resorting to that option? What the hell can Spike do?”

“Spike is the only one capable of unlocking her memory. He is the one who knows her best, at least in my opinion.” Angel stalked around the room angrily, and then shot a glance in Wesley’s direction.

“I don’t want Spike here,” he ground out through clenched teeth, “not after…” he trailed off in mid-sentence and shook his head. “I just don’t want him here. He only causes trouble and after last time…no. Call it off, whatever you did call it off.”

Wesley stood his ground, his gaze never faltering.

“It’s too late. Spike’s location has already been determined and a man is bringing him in as we speak. It’s the only way,” Wesley replied flatly. Angel flung his hands into the air in frustration.

“That’s just great! Do I have no authority around here?” Angel cried out. “Spike left town two years ago, seems to me he made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be involved anymore.”

“He’s involved whether we like it or not,” Wesley stated heatedly. “It seems rational to me that Spike be brought into this. He’s the only one who can help her…without him we are out of options.”

Angel seemed to ponder Wesley’s statement a moment and then glanced in Buffy’s direction. As much as he hated to admit it, Angel knew that Wesley was right. It was a hard pill to swallow, but in truth, Spike did know Buffy pretty well, especially toward the end.

If Angel was completely honest with himself, he knew that Buffy would probably be more comfortable with Spike, he would set her at ease and they needed a cool, calm and collected Slayer.

Wesley was right, options were limited. There was no other way. So, he would have to brace himself for the Big Bad’s return. Angel squared his shoulders and prepared to leave the room, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Wesley.

“It’s fine, bring Spike here. But if he does one thing to piss me off--”

“Angel,” Wesley warned.

“Just saying.”

With those final words, Angel departed, closing the door softly behind him. Wesley slowly slid a glance in Buffy’s direction. She had settled onto the floor beside the wall, her knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting on them. Wesley crossed the room and then crouched to her level, meeting her confused and frightened stare.

“I imagine you’re terrified,” he spoke slowly, softly so as not to alarm her in any way. She gazed at him, eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re going to help you, Buffy. Someone is coming…and we’ll get you through this. I promise.”

He extended his hand to her arm and at first she flinched, but then relaxed and allowed Wesley to pat her arm. She lifted her eyes to his and nodded slightly.

Wesley got to his feet and she did the same. Slowly, they walked to the door leading out of the conference room and Buffy slowly turned her head to meet Wesley’s eyes.

“Who’s Spike?” she asked. “How can he help me?” Wesley sighed and lowered his eyes.

“He’s a…” his words faltered as he searched for a way to describe Spike to Buffy without allowing his own dislike to filter into his words. He lifted his eyes slowly. “He’s a friend and he’s all you’ve got right now. All right?”

Buffy seemed to accept this and then allowed Wesley to lead her from the room.


~**~

Angel slammed the door of his office shut and pressed his body against it, squeezing his eyes shut. His thoughts swirled crazily around inside his head as he pushed away from the door and paced the office.

He thrust both hands into his hair as he came to a standstill in front of the large windows that overlooked the L.A. skyline, staring out of them thoughtfully.

Karma.

That word seemed to perfectly describe this situation and it appeared to be the story of Angel’s unlife these days. No matter what he did, his actions always seemed to come back and bite him in the ass. This time was no exception.

So Buffy was back. He knew he’d been kidding himself when he’d accepted her death. The only woman he’d ever known to beat death twice had gone and done it again.

Angel was unprepared for the emotions that assailed him. Relief. Fear. Anxiety. His past actions were coming back to haunt him. A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Next, Rupert Giles would be strolling into the building demanding to know what the hell was going on. Angel shook his head. He would deserve it, though.

Buffy being back, it was only making one thing clear. Angel was being punished. And now with Spike due to arrive at any time…the fun just kept rolling on in.

Angel’s shoulders sagged as he lifted his eyes and studied the twinkling lights of the LA skyline. The devil was definitely getting his due, wasn’t he? It had probably been a long time coming.

He didn’t know how to feel about Buffy’s return, but he was going to take it a step at a time and as much as he hated it, would stay out of Spike’s way. That is, if he lived long enough to do any stepping anywhere.

Angel didn’t want to think about how Spike was going to deal with being in the same room as his adversary. Buffy was one thing, but Angel knew that he wasn’t on top of Spike’s list of favorite people. Buffy had lucked out this time, she had no memories.

She wouldn’t remember Angel’s betrayal, didn’t know that her Watcher had committed suicide, probably didn’t even know that she had died in the first place. For now, Angel was in the clear.

Maybe he could keep it that way, too. Find some way to prevent her from finding out what he had done. Angel couldn’t bear to imagine the look on Buffy’s face when she realized all of the crimes Angel had committed. So he would prevent that from happening. He had to, he had no choice.

Angel stuffed his hands inside of his pockets and then walked to his desk, settling in the chair behind it and putting his feet atop the wood surface, staring off into space contemplatively.


~**~

End of Chapter One





Chapter Two

~Here Without You~


~**~

Somewhere Near New York City


Spike stumbled out of the bar with the assistance of the hulking male bouncer who had his meaty hands gripped around Spike’s shoulders. The bouncer gave Spike a violent shove onto the sidewalk, where he stumbled drunkenly. The bouncer regarded the lean, blonde man in the leather duster with contempt.

“And stay out! That’s the third fight you’ve started this week!” The bouncer shouted pointing his finger at Spike, who weaved drunkenly on his feet and laughed crazily.

“Didn’t start it, mate! Had to defend my pride!” Spike shouted, taking a step forward. The bouncer shook his head and swatted the air with his hand as he turned to walk away.

“Whatever man, we don’t put up with that crap at this place. Take your issues somewhere else,” The bouncer grunted, stalking off into the direction of the bar and disappearing inside.

“Piss off, then!” Spike shouted at the retreating form of the bouncer.

He whipped around and slammed into a well-dressed man who had come out of nowhere. “Watch where the bloody hell you’re going, you stupid ponce!”

The man caught and held Spike before he could make his retreat and stared down at him.

“You wouldn’t be Spike, by chance, would you?” The man in the suit questioned with a frown. Spike struggled free of the man’s grip and shot him a peeved look.

“What’s it to you, mate?”

The man reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a card, handing it over to Spike, who took it. He looked over the card a moment and then lifted his head, scarred left eyebrow raised.

“Wolfram and Hart? You’re from Wolfram and Hart?” Spike tossed the card onto the ground and began to saunter away. “Got no bloody business with Wolfram and Hart,” he mumbled as his drunken steps carried him down the sidewalk. The man caught up to Spike, grabbed him by the shoulder and whipped him around.

“I was sent here to bring you to Los Angeles, its urgent!” The man cried. Spike’s eyes traveled distastefully up and down the man’s appearance. Finally he looked up.

“What’s your name, mate?” Spike asked, eyes narrowed.

“Alan Reed,” the man answered.

“Sod off, Alan Reed,” Spike retorted as he began to walk away again. “Give the great Poof my regards. Nothing on this earth could make me go back to LA.” Alan Reed was a persistent man and once again had caught up to Spike.

“Come with me now sir or I will be forced to use extreme measures,” Reed said, pushing back his suit jacket to reveal the stun gun shoved into the waistband of his pants. Spike laughed crazily, bending at the waist as he hooted in drunken glee.

“Like to see you bloody try, mate,” Spike slurred weaving unsteadily on his feet. “Like to see you--oof!”

Spike’s protest was interrupted as he fell forward, passing out face first on the sidewalk. Reed rolled his eyes and stooped down to the vampire, scooping his lifeless form into his arms. He carried Spike to a black Sedan parked down the street and deposited him in the back seat. Moments later, the car was speeding away.


~**~

Spike groaned and clutched his head as he became more alert. He could feel distinct movement and realized he was in a car. Sitting upright, the searing ache in his head assaulted him violently as he opened his eyes and glanced around.

Grimacing in pain and pressing a hand to his forehead, Spike squeezed his eyes shut. He was sobering up quickly and not liking the way this situation was unfolding. He glanced around, trying to remember what had happened.

It came back in bits and pieces, and he feebly tried to put things together in his brain. He’d been kicked out of some bar, some git had assaulted him and the last thing he remembered was hitting something very hard. Spike’s eyes landed on the driver’s seat of the car as the git in question began to speak.

“Was wondering when you were going to come out of it,” the man Spike vaguely remembered as calling himself Reed mentioned. “We’re almost to L.A., about ten minutes.” Spike glanced at the door handle to his left and grabbed it.

“I wouldn’t try that, sir. The doors open from the outside only, so you won’t get too far,” Reed said. Spike’s eyes landed on the window and once again Reed began to speak. “Windows are about three inches thick, so if you put your fist through them you’re likely to break your hand.” Spike groaned and swore under his breath.

“How long was I out?” he mumbled as he began to pat the pockets of his leather duster in search of a smoke.

“All of last night and part of today,” Reed answered. “Never saw a guy hold his liquor like you do. Vampire constitution, right?”

The suit began to laugh, but the sound died abruptly in his throat at the low growl that emanated from the backseat.

“Right. Anyway, Mr. Angel wants to see you, it’s important.”

“How important?” Spike asked. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the Poof and I aren’t exactly mates, yeah? Why would he want to see me anyway?”

“That’s classified, sir.” was Reed’s clipped response.

“Bloody hell,” Spike murmured to himself as he thrust the cigarette in his mouth and pressed the flame of his Zippo to the tip. He blew a column of smoke into the air and tipped his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

The pounding at his temples felt like a vice squeezing his head, the pain undulating in waves all over his body. Spike didn’t know how he’d ended up near New York City, had just woken up and found himself there one day.

Two years he’d been wandering from place to place and he still hadn’t found the peace he was looking for. Didn’t seem to matter how much he drank or where he hung his hat, the pain was always still there, reminding him, haunting him.

Buffy.

She was gone. The ache that pierced Spike’s chest was just as sharp and painful as it always was the memories fresh in his mind. Spike pressed a palm to the middle of his face and leaned forward a bit, his features contorting painfully as the headache intensified.

The pain subsided and Spike wearily sat upright once again with a sigh. He took a long pull from the cigarette between his fingers and watched as the ashes scattered to the carpeted floor of the car.

Somewhere on the periphery of his pain, Spike could still feel the fresh sting of his memories, the last ones he had of her, the only ones to keep him going through the long lonely days and nights without her.

Losing her the first time back in Sunnydale had been a hell like he had never known, but this time…there were no words to describe how all-encompassing this loss was.

Losing her two years ago, after all that they had been through, after all they had finally gotten to have with each other, was a fate worse than torture. Spike knew that he would be haunted by his memories for as long as he continued to walk this god-forsaken earth. It would take two lifetimes, maybe more, to get over it.

Spike closed his eyes and lost himself in the rhythm of the moving vehicle as it sped along the interstate leading him back to a place that he didn’t want to be. There was no stopping this train on the tracks, there was no choice. He was returning to L.A. like it or not.

The assault of memories was swift and fierce, slamming into Spike’s mind like a wrecking ball. The ones that persisted were of the last moments that he and Buffy had spent together, in those waning hours before her death. Spike squeezed his eyes shut at the memories, tried to hold them back, but knew that it was bloody useless. They visited him just the same.

"Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

"Hold me? Just until I fall asleep?"


~**~


Spike’s eyes flew open when the car came to a slow halt. He glanced around at the parking garage Reed had parked in. A long sigh issued from his lips as he pulled his leather duster around his body and waited for Reed to open the door. Spike barely acknowledged the suit that led him from the parking garage and into the back entrance of Wolfram and Hart.

Spike was assailed with fresh memories as he stepped into the dimly lit law firm, following Reed down a maze of hallways. Glancing from side to side, Spike remembered being transported to this place via a certain amulet, remembered banging around the place as a ghost and then finally becoming corporeal…right about when the dreams started.

The damn dreams.

Those bloody dreams or whatever the hell they’d been, had led him straight to Buffy and straight to the greatest pain he would ever know. He would never forget the events of two years ago, would never forgive a certain vampire and Watcher who had orchestrated the entire thing behind everyone’s backs…had been the ultimate cause of his love’s death.

Spike, in his darkest hours, had entertained returning to Los Angeles, had entertained killing Angel, slowly, torturously…but had dismissed the fantasies immediately. Even though it had sounded appealing, Spike knew that killing Angel would not solve anything and it would not bring her back.

These were the facts.

Bollocks.

Spike’s reverie was interrupted when Reed came to a standstill at a closed door. The suit turned to face Spike with a grim expression.

“This is where I get off, sir. You’re to wait inside, Mr. Angel’s expecting you,” Reed said with a tilt of his head toward the closed door of the room.

Reed extended his hand to Spike to shake, but withdrew it when Spike lifted his eyebrows at him as if to say ’I don’t think so’. Reed shook his head and sauntered away.

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and then reached for the door handle, turning it slowly and preparing to enter the room. He wasn’t sure what he would find on the other side, but he knew he wanted this to be over as soon as possible.

He hoped to be out of Los Angeles within the hour, no use in sticking around longer than necessary. ’Course there was the Bit…could drop in to see her. Spike dismissed the thought away. No sense in opening old wounds, it was better that way. With that final thought Spike entered the room, closing the door behind him.


~**~

When Spike turned, he came face to face with Angel, who was sitting stiffly in a chair next to a large oak table, elbows rested on his knees, as he stared grimly ahead. Spike tilted his head and regarded Angel evenly.

“Spike,” Angel murmured with a nod, “long time.” Spike folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin stubbornly.

“Not long enough,” Spike murmured back. Angel got to his feet, thrust his hands in his pockets and closed the space between himself and his adversary.

“This wasn’t my idea you know,” Angel stated, lowering his eyes. “And I’m not anxious or excited to see you.” Spike nodded in agreement.

“Mutual,” he replied in a clipped tone. Angel shuffled his feet and continued.

“The only reason you’re here at all is because we have a situation and Wesley thought it was necessary to bring you in for it.” Spike lowered his head slightly and widened his eyes in shock.

“Oh, Wesley thought it was necessary, didn’t he? Here I thought I was gonna get set up again…maybe another plot to kill me, yeah?”

Angel shook his head and made a gesture with his hand to dismiss Spike’s comment.

“I’m not getting into this with you, Spike. I didn’t bring you here to traipse down memory lane. I don’t want you here…causing trouble…annoying me. Wesley was the one who thought that you needed to be here. So cut the bullshit,” Angel snapped at Spike. Spike pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes.

“Fine,” he spat, “let’s get this over with.”

“Gladly,” Angel replied.

Angel walked stiffly to the closed door, opened it and peered outside. He motioned with his hand for someone to enter and Spike watched through the narrowed slits of his eyes, waiting…wondering.

Spike found that he was holding an unnecessary breath as he saw Wesley Wyndham-Pryce walk into the room. Wesley nodded curtly at Spike who only stared. The former Watcher glanced behind his shoulder and waited as another figure entered the room.

Time seemed to freeze as a woman walked slowly into the room. Spike peered closer as she seemed to move in slow motion. Her hands were clasped in front of her body tightly, eyes staring ahead in confusion and a little fright. Spike frowned as he took in the woman’s appearance, his gaze traveling upward and slamming into the astonished hazel depths of her eyes.

A hundred days have made me older
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face
A thousand lies have made me colder
And I don't think I can look at this the same…

Those eyes… Spike thought to himself as he took a shaky step forward, tilting his head slightly, eyes widened in wonderment as he took in the woman before him. The eyes, the long golden blonde hair, that scent. For long eternal moments the two gazed at one another, the world coming to a halt around them as they drank each other in.

In that moment, Spike knew that if his heart could beat it would be slamming against his ribcage right about now. The blood rushed in his ears and tears swam in front of his eyes. He reached out trembling fingertips to touch the smooth skin of her cheek.

“Buffy?” He asked raggedly, the tears clinging in his throat as he leaned his head closer, his face only inches from hers.

He stared into the bewildered depths of her hazel eyes and tried to put it all together. She shrank back from his touch, a frown creasing her pretty features as she stared blankly at Spike.

“W-what…h-how…how is this…” Spike’s words faltered, he couldn’t form a single sentence, couldn’t cling to a single coherent thought as his confused mind tried to wrap around the image before his eyes.

This was not possible, not possible at all. She looked like Buffy Summers, The Slayer, standing before him, but Spike could have sworn his eyes were playing tricks on him, ‘cause she’d been dead two years.

He’d held her body close to his, felt the life slip away, lifted his hand to her unseeing eyes and closed the lids. So this was not real, it couldn’t be…or was it?

Spike whipped his head around to face Angel and Wesley, who were standing nearby looking uncomfortable as Spike aimed an accusatory glance in their direction.

“What the bloody fuck is going on?” Spike growled in contempt at the two men.

His question was followed by silence, which seemed to permeate the room they were standing in. The tension was thick, rolling off the walls and surrounding the inhabitants of the room. Spike slowly turned to face the image of Buffy Summers before him.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Then why didn’t her image disappear?

And why did she stare at him as if she had no idea who he was?

Somebody would have to start explaining and soon, before Spike started throwing punches and saving the pleasantries for later. If this was a joke or some cruel set up, someone wasn’t going to leave the room with their life intact, Spike was damn sure of that…


I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby
But you're still with me in my dreams
And tonight, there's only you and me…


~**~

End of Chapter Two



Chapter Three

~Help Me to Understand~


~**~

Spike’s mind swirled with so many thoughts that he couldn’t seem to pinpoint a single one. He seemed to be trapped in a vortex of confusion and perplexity that made it difficult for his shaky legs to hold him up. He stalked across the room and stood before Angel, his body quaking with rage and pent-up anger.

“What did you do?” he seethed angrily, eyes narrowing into slits as he regarded his grandsire. Angel held up his hands and took a step back.

“Now wait one second, Spike. I didn’t do anything. You haven’t let me even try to explain--aah!”

Angel’s words were cut off as Spike’s hand wrapped itself tightly around his throat. He hauled Angel’s body backward and slammed it into a nearby wall.

“Is this some kind of spell you did to trick me?” Spike ground out through clenched teeth, slamming Angel’s body forcefully against the wall a second time for emphasis. “Because this…” he pointed at Buffy across this way, “is something that you don’t bloody come back from, Poof. You get me?”

Angel wrenched Spike’s hand away as he removed its iron grip from around his throat, violently shoving Spike away. He leveled a cool malevolent stare in the younger vampire’s direction.

“I didn’t do this Spike,” Angel cried through clenched teeth, “she just appeared out of nowhere!” Spike closed the distance between them and shoved Angel backward, watching as he stumbled, losing his balance.

“If this is some kind of set up Poof, I swear to bleedin’ God…you will not live to see another night,” Spike seethed.

Spike narrowed his eyes, gauging Angel’s reaction. He didn’t trust his grandsire as far as he could throw him and the throwing part was sounding pretty good. Angel got to his feet and shot Spike a vicious glare.

“I’m not doing this with you, Spike. Not now. Believe it or not, we didn’t bring you here for this.”

Spike counted backward from ten in his mind in some attempt to tamp the anger that kept rising and building within him. He was a ticking time bomb at this moment, ready to explode. It was taking a gargantuan effort to calm down.

The two vampires glared heatedly at each other, their chests heaving, eyes narrowed. Someone stepped between them, thrusting a hand to each of their chests holding them back.

It was Buffy.

She glanced between the two of them, the old spark returning to her eyes, the assertive nature of the Slayer coming over her as if nothing had changed.

“Look, fighting is not going to solve anything. I may be Amnesia-Girl, but I don’t think that this,” she gestured between the two vampires wildly, “is going to make things better. So maybe acting like civilized adults might be something you two might think about. Ok?”

Angel was the first to back down, mumbling something under his breath and taking a step back. Spike grunted and relaxed his body as Buffy stepped away, visibly shaken. Wesley was immediately at her side, leading her to a chair and helping her sit. She glanced up at the former Watcher.

“Do they always act like this?” she asked.

“Yes. Since the beginning of time. They’re like petulant children. Bloody annoying it is,” Wesley commented dryly.

“Neat,” Buffy murmured, glancing at her hands folded in her lap.

Angel sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. Spike leaned his body against a wall, folding his arms over his chest, doing everything in his power to avoid looking at Buffy.

It still hurt too much seeing her there, the pain and confusion still fresh. He was also dying to know just what the hell was going on. Thankfully, at that moment Wesley stepped in and began to explain.

“I know that everyone is confused, believe me so am I. This is…” he faltered for the right words, “a strange occurrence. She has some type of amnesia…whatever brought her back completely wiped her memory clean,” Wesley finished, casting a glance in Spike’s direction. The vampire turned to Wesley, head tilted.

“What do you mean? She doesn’t remember a bloody thing?” he asked. Wesley nodded.

“Yes, it would appear so. She didn’t even know her own name and the Slayer abilities…” Wesley shrugged, “pure instinct.”

Spike shook his head in confusion, and then glanced at Wesley.

“So what are we supposed to do? If she doesn’t remember anything how are we supposed to help her?”

“For now? Well, I think she’s knackered and would probably like to rest. It’s been a long two days for her. That’s the best option I have at the moment. Unless you have any better ideas. Angel?” Wesley directed his comment at Angel, who shrugged.

“Get Fred on the amnesia thing. For now, I can set Buffy and Spike up at a hotel…just until we can sort this out.” Angel replied, avoiding Spike’s eyes as he spoke.

“Works for me,” Spike mumbled, pushing himself away from the wall and moving to stand behind the chair Buffy sat in. Wesley turned to Spike.

“She’s pretty frightened. You’ll have to be gentle with her. Don’t try to push her to remember things, it may be too much for her,” Wesley explained. Spike nodded in agreement. Wesley sighed and thrust his hands into his pockets.

“Right then, it’s all set,” he murmured. “Angel will make the arrangements and then we will reconvene here midday tomorrow.”

No one said anything as they prepared to leave the room. Spike gave Angel wide berth as he passed, the two vampires eyeing each other warily. At last, Spike and Buffy were alone.

He was a little unsure as he walked around the chair and crouched before Buffy, his gaze expectant, hesitant. He studied her intently, as if memorizing her, branding her image into his brain. He reached for her hand, clasping it in his own. He almost flinched when her eyes widened a little in fright, confusion.

“Not gonna hurt you love,” Spike emphasized roughly, desperately trying to keep the tears that clung in his throat from spilling from his eyes. “You come with me now, pet. Everything’s going to be alright.”

She nodded mutely, her body trembling as Spike helped her to her feet, pressing a hand to the small of her back as he guided her from the room.


~**~

Sitting beside her in the taxi, Spike ran his sweaty palms over the length of his jeans and darted a nervous glance in Buffy’s direction. Her face was turned to the window, one hand levered beneath her chin, holding her head up. She looked dead on her feet, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

Spike didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He didn’t know the right words to say to her to offer comfort and wondered briefly why Wesley had thought that Spike could for one moment, help with this situation. He was having difficulties holding it together. How could he comfort her if he was having trouble keeping himself in check?

The taxi moved slowly down the rain-slicked streets of downtown Los Angeles, heading toward the hotel that Angel had made arrangements at. Spike studied Buffy from the corner of his eye, hoping that he wasn’t being too conspicuous.

His eyes ran the length of her body, drinking her in. She looked the same as she had the day she died, was even wearing the same clothes. Even though she was weary and confused, she still radiated with beauty outwardly and from within.

Spike felt his gut clench as tears once again swam before his eyes. He ran a palm over his face in distress and glanced out the window. It was hard to look at her, because the more he did, the more it felt as if this was actually happening.

Spike didn’t want to believe that this wasn’t some dream world that he had been thrown into, the one where Buffy suddenly appeared back from the dead, this time with no mystical assistance.

It had to be an alternate dimension because this kind of thing didn’t happen everyday. Well, it did if you lived in Los Angeles or Sunnydale, but it wasn’t supposed to happen.

This time there was no bereaved Wicaan friend capable of raising the dead. No Scoobies around to not grasp the consequences of altering the natural order of things. There was nothing. Just this woman, who walked, talked and smelled like Buffy Summers, but didn’t remember a damn thing about herself.

In this alternate dimension, people didn’t get to move on from their lover’s deaths, they didn’t get time to grieve or even fully grasp the effects this death had on their lives. No, something always had to get buggered up.

Now, she was here.

Buffy was back in his life and Spike was forced to deal with a whole gamut of new emotions that he was completely unprepared for. The love he still felt for her surged through his veins, enervated him. It still permeated the fibers of his being, still curled itself around his heart…it hadn’t faded away like it was supposed to. It would never leave him.

Suddenly, Buffy shot a glance in Spike’s direction and their eyes met, colliding into one another. Spike lifted his eyebrow expectantly, as if at any moment she was going to snap out of the so-called amnesia, throw her arms around him tightly and never let him go.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, her eyes lowered to her hands, staring at them numbly. Spike let out the unnecessary breath he’d been holding and turned his gaze back to the window and to the scenery which was blurred from the tears that welled in his eyes.

Things were not the same. They were back at square one. Spike was staring down a long hard road of forgotten memories, forgotten promises. They would have to build everything again, re-affirm a foundation of trust and love. All of those things had crumbled the moment Buffy had left the earth. It would all have to be restored again.

Spike’s eyes squeezed shut as he thought of the hardships that would be ahead. Buffy didn’t remember what they had meant to one another. She wouldn’t remember the pain they had caused one another; she wouldn’t remember any of it.

Maybe it was a good thing. But she would ask questions…the bloody questions that would send Spike hurtling back to a past he desperately wanted to keep buried.

He didn’t want to go back to the early stages of their relationship. He didn’t want to revisit the frustration, the pain, the agony. But she would want him too, and Spike wasn’t about to deny his girl anything.

He hadn’t when they’d known each other once upon a time and long ago, and he wasn’t about to stop now. No. He would tell her everything. The good. The bad. The ugly. The whole bloody business.

Spike would take the chance. Buffy was the world to him and Spike was going to make damn sure that he would find a way for her to remember that world. Even if his life depended on it.

This was what he had to do. He had nothing else to offer but a lifetime’s worth of memories. Would it be worth the trip, though? Spike wondered. The answer came to him swiftly and fiercely.

Yes, it bloody would.


~**~


The taxi came to a slow halt curbside to the medium-sized hotel. Spike turned his head slowly, as Buffy’s head whipped around abruptly. She stared back at him as if to ask ‘what’s next.’ The only thing Spike could think of to do was extend his hand to her in earnest.

She stared at it a moment as if debating whether it was safe to trust him. Slowly, she slipped her hand into Spike’s cool dry one, squeezing it gently, her eyes lifting, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Her eyes told Spike that she would take a chance, she would trust him.

Help me to understand, her eyes told him.

Spike couldn’t tear his gaze away and managed to return her smile, all the while struggling to see her through the cloud of tears that shimmered in front of his eyes.

I’m here now, love, Spike thought to himself. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here and I’ll take care of you. I love you so much…

His eyes never leaving Buffy’s, Spike fumbled for the handle of the door, pushing it open. He helped Buffy out of the cab and guided her up the walkway that would lead them inside the hotel.

They had this night…alone…together.

Spike hoped that a breakthrough could be made, because he desperately missed his Slayer and wanted her back. He hoped his presence would be enough to get her through the night.

It was what he was counting on.


~**~

End of Chapter Three




Chapter Four

~Behind His Blue Eyes~


~**~

Buffy glanced around the spacious lobby of the hotel that Spike led her into. The jumbled events of the past day and night swirled around inside her mind, conglomerating into one big confusing mess. The only assurance in all of this uncertainty was…Spike.

At the thought of the blonde man by her side, Buffy allowed her eyes to travel over him as he spoke with a receptionist about their room. She drank in his appearance with interest.

He wore a long leather duster that seemed to drape his body like a second skin. Judging by its dirty and worn appearance it was something he was never without.

Next, her eyes wandered over his hair, which was short and a platinum blonde color. Obviously it wasn’t his original color, but seemed to add to the mystique of this highly complex man.

Buffy was certain about the complexity, his whole being fairly radiated with mystery. It shone from the depths of his azure blue eyes, rolled off him in waves. It was intoxicating and a little frightening all at once.

She thought of his outburst at the law firm. Not only was he complex and mysterious but he had a short fuse and wasn’t one to be messed with. Buffy was pretty sure he could hold his own in a fight and briefly wondered what it would be like to fight him. Wesley had given her given her a fleeting explanation of his history.

William the Bloody. Spike. The Slayer of Slayers.

A vampire who had mercilessly killed not only every human that crossed his path, but also two Slayers. He had forged two Slayers in his one-hundred twenty or so odd years and had made a name for himself in that capacity.

But now he had a soul and that knowledge puzzled Buffy. Wesley had told her that vampires were animals, monsters, soulless beings that cared nothing for human life and lived only to do for themselves. They didn’t exactly line up around the block when the souls were being handed out. So what had possessed this particular vampire to acquire his soul?

She had been told that Angel had been cursed with his soul and when she asked if Spike had had the same done to him; Wesley had only shaken his head, not elaborating any further.

Buffy figured that something major must have occurred to make the one time merciless killer risk it all to retrieve a soul. Wesley hadn’t elaborated much more on Spike’s past or what Buffy herself had to do with that past. The former Watcher had only told her that she and Spike had shared a special bond.

Buffy had so many questions, but she was a little fearful to ask them. As Spike gripped her hand tightly and led her to an elevator, her mind continued to work in overdrive.


~**~

Studying Spike as they rode the elevator in silence, Buffy couldn’t help wondering about him. She wondered what made him look at her with that sad, sweet smile. What made him stare at her in wonder when she had first walked into the room? The expression on his face had made her think of ghosts. The man looked as if he were seeing a ghost. Why?

Then, there were the tears. Every time their eyes met, he had tears shining behind them. Why did he cry? Was he sad? Overjoyed?

Buffy was confused, exhausted and felt as if she were functioning outside of herself. This whole experience felt like a dream and she hoped she was going to wake up soon. She didn’t know how much longer she could wander in this world of doubt and fear.

Spike glanced her way, and Buffy averted her eyes.

That was the other thing.

His eyes, they were so expressive and mirrored his every emotion, his every thought. The one thing that seemed to stand out from the myriad of emotions he had displayed to her was his pain. He was covered in it. Head to toe. The pain seemed to undulate in waves off his body.

This man had suffered. Greatly.

Buffy didn’t know or understand why he was so unhappy. She wondered if she herself was the source of that unhappiness and the thought pained her. Had she done horrible things to him? She knew that she and Spike shared a past, had maybe had a relationship of some sort, but she didn’t know to what extent.

Had their relationship been short-lived? Had it been built on a solid foundation of trust and love? Buffy highly doubted that, being that he was a vampire and all. So what had possessed a Slayer to become entangled with a vampire? Maybe theirs had been a passionate affair, all with the fire and the danger.

Her head hurt from all of the thinking.

There was so much she wanted to know. They had the whole night ahead of them. Would she find the courage to ask the questions she was desperately seeking answers to? Would Spike even want to tell her the things she wanted to know?

So far she had sensed a lot of hesitation from him. The tension was thick between them, as if he were uncomfortable around her, uncomfortable with drudging up past memories.

Buffy hoped that wasn’t true.

They finally arrived at the room, and Buffy watched with interest as Spike patted the pockets of his leather duster, searching for the plastic key card. He muttered ‘bloody hell’ to himself and Buffy hid a smile. She liked his accent, it intrigued her.

He had a way of putting things that made you do a double-take. He was outspoken, brash, and had a no-holds-barred attitude that piqued Buffy’s curiosity. This man lived on the edge, came close to stepping over it, but barely.

Heat swept through Buffy’s body swiftly and fiercely. She was attracted to him. Embarrassed, Buffy ducked her head when he glanced at her. He pressed a hand to the small of her back and guided her inside the room, shutting the door softly behind them. So far, they hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

Buffy found that she was at a loss. Exhaustion settled over her body like a weight pressing down. She walked wearily to the nearby bed and sank onto it, closing her eyes.

Maybe tomorrow all of the issues could be addressed. For now, Buffy was simply too wiped out to deal with it all tonight.

She watched Spike as he shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over a nearby chair. He walked to the liquor cabinet and peered inside of it, withdrawing the miniature sized bottles of Jack Daniels and staring at them with a frown, muttering something about ‘bloody travel size liquor.’

Buffy stretched her body out across the bed, feeling her muscles beginning to relax. This was the first time she’d actually felt at ease since this whole ordeal had begun. Being with Spike was helping a lot.

Her eyes began to drift closed. The more she tried to keep them open, the more difficulty she was having.

Tired…so tired…


~**~

Something made Spike turn around. His eyes fell over Buffy, who had stretched out on the bed. She was dead asleep. Spike let a long sigh.

Good.

He had hoped that peace would find her, that exhaustion would claim and that she would finally rest. She had been through too bloody much in the last twenty-four or so odd hours and it was bound to catch up to her sooner or later.

Spike carried three miniature bottles of Jack Daniels and settled his body into a chair near her bedside, downing the liquor as fast as he could. Right now he needed a good buzz; so much had happened that he found it impossible to think clearly. Not that the Jack was going to help matters any.

With a shrug, Spike set the empty glass bottles aside and stretched his legs out, reclining in the chair. His gaze traveled to Buffy, who slept soundly, her body on top of the covers.

Thinking she must be cold, Spike got to his feet and stood at her bedside, a little hesitant to pull the blanket around her body. What if she woke up started hurling accusations at him? He couldn’t handle that.

Bugger it.

Gently, Spike pulled the blanket out from under her body. She stirred slightly, moaned something incoherent. Spike held an unnecessary breath as she shifted. The breath was released once her chest began to rise and fall rhythmically as she drifted back to sleep.

With care, Spike draped the blanket over her body, pulled it to her chin. His arm accidentally brushed the curve of her breast and Spike jumped back a bit as if he’d been burned. Still, she remained asleep.

For long moments he just stared. He leaned forward, cautiously glancing at her as he gently placed a palm to her forehead in a loving gesture.

His palm was soon replaced with his lips. He brushed his lips over her hairline as his hand smoothed over the golden length of the hair that spilled onto the pillow and pooled around her slim shoulders.

Taking a shaky breath, Spike took a step back, regarding her from a safe distance. He had to keep himself in check. His body was at war with his mind as he gazed at Buffy in repose.

Part of him desperately wanted to stretch his body alongside hers and pull her into the security of his arms, hold her there forever. The rational half of his mind told him that that would be pushing things.

So, Spike would settle for the chair tonight, that diabolical torture device. He gazed with disinterest at the over-stuffed monstrosity in the corner as his shoulders sagged. It would due, he supposed. He’d slept in worse places.

A memory assailed his mind at that moment. It came in quick flashes, but Spike was able to capture it. His mind took him to an abandoned house in Sunnydale as he’d held the Slayer in his arms, after he’d convinced her of his feelings for her.

He remembered the tear that had slipped down her cheek at his admission. The memory was raw, fresh in his mind. That night, Buffy had slept in his arms, allowing him to hold her, to keep her safe. That had been the best night of his unlife.

But Buffy wouldn’t remember that night, now would she?

But Spike would.

And he would tell her all about it, he would tell her everything.

He’d seen the glances she’d been shooting him in the elevator on the way up to the room. She was curious, not only about herself, but about him as well. He’d seen the way her gaze had traveled over with him interest. The thought comforted Spike. She was still attracted to him and that made the corner of Spike’s mouth lift in a wry smile.

She still liked a little monster in her man.

Even a confused Buffy Summers still felt heat for the Big Bad.

The smile remained on Spike’s face as his eyes began to drift closed. Before he knew it he was out like a light…


Want to get myself back in again
The soft dive of oblivion
I want to taste the salt of your skin
The soft dive of oblivion…oblivion
How's it going to be
When you don't know me anymore
How's it going to be…



~**~


End of Chapter Four

 

Chapter Five

~I Will Be the Answer~


~**~

The night cast long shadows over the room, a full moon filtering silvery slivers of pale light through the curtains that hung over the window across the room.

A slight breeze shifted the gauzy white fabric, causing it to sway gently. The smell of a fresh rain permeated the air and slowly awoke Spike, who slept in a chair a few feet away from the bed which held a sleeping Buffy.

Slowly, Spike’s head turned in Buffy’s direction and his gaze traveled over her still form, lingering on the quiet tranquility of her face as she slumbered peacefully. For someone who didn’t remember who she was, she sure had no problems sleeping at night.

For that, Spike was grateful.

She’d nodded off not more than five minutes after they’d settled into the room, the crushing weight of her exhaustion too much for her to bear. Spike himself hadn’t been that tired, he’d slept a good long while in the backseat of Reed’s Sedan on the way to Los Angeles. But the commotion of the night’s events had settled itself over Spike heavily and he himself had nodded off as well.

But, the night was young and Spike was a nocturnal creature. He lifted his arms into the air, stretching his muscles. He slipped out of the chair as quietly as he could and padded across the room to the mini-fridge near the window.

Pulling the door open, he peered inside and was happy to see that the Poof had covered his bases, for on the first shelf way in the back sat three packets of blood. The man was a bastard, but he wasn’t stupid, was always thinking ahead.

Spike grabbed one of the packets and tore open the package with his teeth. The blood was cold, but it sustained Spike just the same. Sometimes he missed human blood, but not enough to start killing again. Nothing on earth could make him resort to that again, the soul would see to that.

Spike deposited the empty packet into a nearby trash can and then sauntered to the window, pulling the curtain aside and peering out onto the subdued streets of L.A. Street lights cast an eerie glow over the rain-slicked streets as the hush of night settled over everything. He continued to contemplate the streets below, not noticing Buffy stir and awaken from the bed behind him.


~**~

Buffy opened her eyes and slowly sat upright. She glanced to the chair beside the bed and noticed that it was empty. Frowning, she surveyed the room, searching, until her eyes landed on Spike at the window. Her breath caught in her throat as he entered her field of vision.

He was shirtless, wearing a pair of threadbare black jeans. The moonlight washed over his pale skin, bathing him in its silvery glow. Buffy had never seen anything so beautiful.

As if he had read her mind, he turned slowly, his eyes piercing hers through the shadows, searing straight into her soul. He moved across the room deliberately and stood at her bedside, staring down at her.

A ragged breath escaped his mouth as his gaze drank her in and once again Buffy wondered what made him look at her like that. Like he was stranded in the desert, dying for thirst and she was the cool refreshment he was yearning for.

A thought occurred to her in that moment. One that had been niggling at the corner of her mind ever since she had laid eyes on him back at the law firm. Something that Wesley had hinted at, but hadn’t said directly.

Spike was in love with her.

The realization shocked Buffy to her core. She knew so little of her past with this man, this vampire. The bits and pieces Wesley had shared with her had only hinted at the possibility of a relationship. The Watcher had only said they shared a past, a special bond.

All along, Buffy had thought Wesley meant that she and Spike had been friends, close friends. But as she caught his gaze in her direction, she knew that there had to have been more to their bond. She didn’t know how or why, but her heart was responding to his.

She felt a deep yearning within, and somewhere from the recessed corners of her mind, she remembered. Oh, it was only a fragment, but it was there.

Her mind took her to a place that she didn’t recognize, but was familiar just the same. An empty house, an empty room. The image showed her a figure sitting on a bed, looking despondent. Buffy realized at that moment, that the figure was herself. She was staring at an image of herself, probably from years ago.

Buffy then noticed another figure in the room, it was Spike. He knelt in front of the past-Buffy, staring up at her expectantly with his sincere blue eyes. His lips were moving, he was saying something to the past-Buffy and she was staring down at him, hanging on every word.

Something reflected off the light in the room and that was when Buffy saw the tear. It slipped down past-Buffy’s cheek as her gaze remained fixed on Spike.

Suddenly, the words Spike had been saying filtered into present-Buffy’s mind. It glided inside unexpectedly, made the breath hitch in her chest as the words flowed over her, around her, inside of her.

You listen to me. I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I've only my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain, so I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong, bloody calls. A hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of -- you. Hey, look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it's not because I want you, or because I can't have you, and it has nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy…


~**~

The memory disappeared and Buffy gasped aloud brokenly, a hand flying to her mouth as the tears built behind her eyes and swam in front of them. In a heartbeat, Spike was kneeling at her bedside, staring up at her with concern.

“What is it, love? You went away there for a moment,” Spike murmured with concern as Buffy’s eyes slowly swung forward to meet his. Her bottom lip trembled, quivered as she stared into Spike’s eyes.

“You’re the one,” she whispered brokenly, extending her trembling fingertips to the smooth skin of Spike’s cheek, as she blinked slowly, tears slipping from her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. “You’re the one.”

A frown settled itself over Spike’s features as he tried to decipher the meanings of the words coming out of Buffy’s mouth. What was she saying? The one? Who was the one? What did it mean? Spike was deeply confused as he tilted his head at Buffy, eyebrow raised.

Buffy turned her gaze away deliberately, staring at the space ahead of her in contemplative silence, the tears still running down her cheeks. Spike struggled with his confusion, his doubt.

Something had shaken her up and Spike couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. Her eyes had taken on a faraway look, as if her mind had taken her somewhere, a place where she had remembered something.

“Kindness and strength,” Buffy murmured as if to herself and Spike hung on each word, processing them in his mind. It took him a moment or two but he finally put it together.

She was remembering…

And Spike was beginning to as well. Somehow, some way, her mind had taken her back to the night in the abandoned house in Sunnydale. The night her friends and the Bit had kicked her out of the house.

Spike recognized the faltered words coming from her mouth from his profession of love for her the night he had sought her out.

Spike squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, but allowed it to enter his mind. He had knelt before the despondent Slayer, poured his heart out to her and later on held her in his arms as she slept.

Buffy had remembered it. Spike had believed that it would be impossible for her to remember anything, but he had been dead wrong. There were still possibilities, chances…all that was needed was time and patience.

And Spike had plenty of time.

The patience…well…he’d have to work on that one.

For long moments, Spike and Buffy contemplated one another. Neither spoke or moved. A mutual understanding formed between them, solidifying the moment.

Buffy was starting to remember.

The phone ringing shattered the peaceful calm of the room and Spike and Buffy’s heads whipped around in unison to stare at it. Mumbling to himself, Spike got to his feet and nearly ripped the receiver off the cradle, putting it to his ear.

“What!”

He listened for a long moment, his hand coming up to cover his forehead as he frowned, a long sigh issuing from his mouth in frustration. He shook his head, placed the receiver back on the cradle and turned back to Buffy.

“We have to go. Get your things,” Spike responded in a clipped tone.

“What? What is it?” Buffy cried out in bewilderment.

“Your chums. They know.”

“What friends? And what do they know?” Spike squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his palms to his head and groaned aloud in frustration. He glanced back at Buffy.

“You have friends here, love. In Los Angeles. Someone alerted them to you bein’ back and now they want to see you,” Spike explained, unable to help the bitterness that seeped into his voice.

“Oh.”

“We have to go. Now,” Spike said.

Buffy nodded mutely, eyes widened. In slow motion, she got out of bed and waited for Spike to gather his things. Moments later, they were leaving the room, the startling realizations left to hover in the atmosphere as a new challenge arose…

~**~


I will be the answer at the end of the line
I will be there for you…while you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty…I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance if you can’t look down

If it takes my whole life…I won’t break I won’t bend
It’ll all be worth it…worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You’ll still be…burning so bright…



End of Chapter Five

 

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