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

Encounters and Interludes

There was a certain rhythm to his work, Spike decided, that helped the time to pass quickly. If the bar were busy enough, the buzz of conversation and the pounding music could almost drown out the endless cacophony of voices in his head. It was a good night, then, when he didn't think of her more than four or five times an hour.

Spike finished his sweep around the depths of the bar and around the perimeter of the sunken dance floor. He seldom had to intervene; the presence of Jake's boys in black was usually enough to deter would-be troublemakers. Not much different from being a master vampire controlling the minions, in fact, he reflected. Ninety-five percent of the control was just putting on a good show of presence. It was the other five percent that erupted into ninety-five percent of the trouble. But tear off a few minions' heads - or give a belligerent drunk an obvious bum's rush to the door, he amended - and that usually would take care of it.

Corey moved to meet him as he headed back to the door. His eyes were bright with excitement. "Man, you just missed the weirdest thing! These two guys walked by, and I swear it looked like they didn't have any reflection. I don't know how they--"

"What two guys?" Spike interrupted. The short hairs on the back of his neck lifted, a sensation that unnerved him. He followed the line of Corey's outstretched arm to see two men moving into the crowd towards the back of the cavernous bar.

"What's the big deal?" Corey called after him curiously, as Spike hurried off in pursuit.

As he followed the two men across the floor, Spike realized that they must have some sophistication and experience. Many vampires never developed enough control to learn how to adopt a human face, yet these two were moving amongst what must seem like an unlimited buffet without so much as a growl or a flash of fang. He drew closer in an attempt to overhear their conversation, while simultaneously trying to maintain the guise of being on his regular rounds.

They'd even gone so far as to dress with some thought to blending in to their environment, Spike noted. Both wore jeans and tee shirts, to which one had added a pair of worn snakeskin cowboy boots. The other sported a sleeveless red plaid flannel shirt over his tee, though he'd left it unbuttoned.

"...such a good idea," Boots was complaining to his companion as Spike caught up with them. "There's all that blood back at the clinic, if you're so hungry."

"You ever actually taste that stuff?" Flannel retorted, echoing Spike's thought in memory of the chemical tang of bagged blood. "All those preservatives ain't good for you, either. And it's cold."

"Doc won't like this," Boots warned.

Flannel's fist shot out suddenly and snatched a handful of Boots's shirt, drawing him close. "He won't ever find out, though... will he?" he hissed. "Because no one's going to tell him." Boots stammered his agreement. "Besides, when did we start taking orders from humans? They're supposed to be food."

"It's not him I'm worried about, Leroy," Boots choked out as best he could with his shirt twisted tightly at his throat. "It's the ones he's working for - didn't you see what they did to Manny?"

For a moment Flannel's - Leroy's - grip on his partner's shirt slackened as he contemplated this, but his hunger overcame whatever good sense he might have had. He gave the other vampire a shake, and dropped him. "They're not here now, Spencer - but I'm hungry now."

What self-respecting vampire still lets himself be called Spencer? Spike wondered to himself, giddily anticipating the fight to come. It's damn near as bad as William.

"Now let's split up - I don't feel like sharing."

Spike hesitated for only a moment before electing to follow Leroy; Spencer's uncertainty, he hoped, would keep him from acting too quickly. Leroy had vanished around one of the dark-panelled corners in the labyrinthine recesses of the bar down by the dance floor. Drawing the stake from the sheath at his back, Spike approached as stealthily as he could manage, but he was almost certain his own heart pounded audibly in his chest.

He eased slowly around the corner, keeping his back to the wall and hoping to catch sight of his quarry again. His eyes flicked over the crowd collected in the dim alcove, but Leroy seemed to have vanished as though Dracula weren't the only vampire who could turn to mist. And I'll never get my eleven pounds from that ponce now, will I?

Both Spike's thought and his breath were unexpectedly cut short by the sinewy bulk that seized him to spin him around and slam him face-first into the wall. His arm was viciously twisted up behind him, forcing him to drop the stake.

"What are you doing, meat?" Leroy hissed in his ear, his face only inches away. His words were carried on the reek from a charnel house and distorted by jutting fangs. "Did you think I couldn't hear you? Did you think I wouldn't smell you?"

Spike's heart pounded in this throat, and he was paralysed with fear. Seconds ticked brutally by while the vampire applied even more pressure.

Then as though something had abruptly shattered inside him, the fear vanished, leaving only a cold, clean anger in its wake. Spike snapped his head back into Leroy's face, catching him in the nose with a satisfying crunch that released a torrent of dark blood. He followed this move with his free elbow to Leroy's solar plexus, which, while not able to knock the wind out of him, at least stunned him momentarily and drove him back.

Before he could recover, Spike spun around and leapt for him, driving him to the ground. Patrons scattered, snatching up their drinks as their struggle toppled tables and stools around them. They rolled, thrashing, up against the wooden railing around the dance floor, and Spike found himself momentarily on top, pinning the vampire to the floor - though he knew he couldn't hold him without drastic measures.

Forgoing the throat as useless, Spike drove his thumbs violently towards Leroy's eyes instead. Even though they were somewhat shielded by the bony brow ridge, he soon felt the soft orbs rupture, spurting jelly-like fluid. The vampire screamed in pain and outrage under him, and Spike clung desperately to maintain his hold.

He was reaching for the railing to break a piece of wood free when a familiar voice cried "Here!" and tossed him his mislaid stake. Spike plunged it home gratefully, and collapsed to the floor amidst gritty dust. Getting to his feet, he looked around to thank his benefactor - but a commotion near the fire exit drew his attention. Spencer - having seen his companion's fate - was trying to make a break out the back door. Alarms shrieked as he forced it open.

Spike raced for the open door, heedlessly knocking people aside in his flight, and plunged into the darkened alleyway. His prey was only a few yards ahead of him, having stumbled over some garbage cans in spite of the advantage of his heightened senses, and was struggling to regain his footing.

A wordless scream and a leap, the feel of the stake grating between Spencer's prominent ribs, and the second vampire, too, exploded into dust beneath him.

The whooping alarms cut off abruptly. Movement by the exit caught Spike's eye and he scrambled to his feet, panting for breath. Jake stood there, filling the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

"There are things about this town..." the big man began, then shook his head. "I think we both need a beer. C'mon back inside, and I'll draw you one myself - and then we'll both agree that I didn't see a thing."

Spike just grinned assent, and followed him back into the bar.

**********

When he left the bar, he was still giddy at the after effects of dusting the two vampires - and the fact that Jake had added what felt like a substantial amount of extra cash to his pay envelope. Sleep seemed a million miles away. Buoyed by his fey mood, he wandered the emptying streets, looking for confrontation. He felt like nearly howling in frustration when nothing more came his way than propositions from the few prostitutes - of both genders - still working the street at this late hour.

Salvation emerged in a tight skirt, crop top and heels from the door of the Orange Grove strip club. Allie's round face was creased in anger and she muttered to herself as she walked. She almost ran into Spike before she saw him. He caught her up about the waist and spun her about until she smacked at his arms to make him set her down.

"At least one of us is having a good night so far," she said, her frown traded for a smile he longed to believe was only for him.

"Maybe we could go by your place," he ventured, emboldened by his adventures and her brilliant smile. "And I could tell you all about it."

"I think we can make an arrangement," she replied, taking his arm. As they walked, she listened to him describe his evening, murmuring in awe and praising him in all the right places.

"So you think the two of them were part of this blood theft operation?" she asked some time later, when he had finished his account. She steered him around a corner and down a side street.

"Stands to reason," he replied. "I'm just sorry I wasn't able to get anything more out of them, but I didn't really have a chance."

"There's a free clinic not that far from Desperados," Allie mused. "I go there sometimes. I wonder if that's the one they meant? 'Doc' could be any one of the doctors working there, though."

Spike stopped walking abruptly and took her by the shoulders, seized with investigative fervour. "You know the place? Can we go by there and check it out?" His gaze became thoughtful. "I have to let Bu-... I have to let Dawn know."

Allie eased herself free of his grip and tried to bring him back down to reality before he took off running down the street. "It's three in the morning, Spike. I'm sure they'll be asleep by now - even the Slayer. Can't you just go tell them in the morning?" She frowned slightly, looking up at him. "And why should you be the one who does all the work for her - for them?"

He looked down, weighing her words, and she continued - "Besides, we're here."

Spike glanced around. Instead of the apartment building he had imagined, they stood near a dingy motel nestled under a freeway off ramp. Mot-l C-lif--nia, buzzed the decrepit and flickering neon sign.

"You live here?" he asked, confused.

"I'd never live where I work," she replied brusquely. When he didn't comment, Allie looked up to catch his puzzled expression. "Oh Spike, sweet, you didn't think..." He looked away, setting his face like stone. "You did. Oh hon, I... I'm sorry. You're a sweet guy, but..." She reached for his chin to turn his face back to her, but his fingers closed gently on her wrist and pulled her hand away.

"My mistake," he said coldly.

"I did kind of wonder," she admitted. "A guy like you should be able to get any girl he wants."

"Apparently not."

"Look, we don't have to--"

"No. No, I want to. I'll just try not to jump to any more conclusions." He laughed, without much humour. "This is something of a new experience for me."

Inside the motel office they were met by an elderly Asian man whom Spike thought could be anywhere from sixty to over a hundred; he'd achieved that look of wizened age that probably wouldn't change until the day he dropped.

"Hey Donnie," Allie carolled cheerfully. "This is Spike. We need a room."

Donnie dropped a broken plastic key tag holding a single key onto the counter. "Twenty dollar for hour," he said, in a heavy accent. "Forty deposit."

"You won't ever get much more conversation out of him than that," Allie confided in a whisper as Spike reached for his cash. "He ran this place for nearly forever, but his son Vincent's taken over most of the day-to-day operations now. Donnie just takes the occasional shift to give him a break."

Key in hand, they headed for the upper level to find their room. Despite the overall state of disrepair, the room itself was in passable condition. Spike tried not to reflect on how many bodies might have coupled on the lone bed, or on how many times one of them had been Allie's. He didn't have long to think, though, because as soon as the door closed behind them, Allie was pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for his belt. He found that he needn't have worried about whether he'd be able to respond under such adverse circumstances; it seemed that even a cold imitation of love was sufficient to get his body going through the motions. She was more than skilled enough to see to that.

Physically satisfied at least, he simply lay on the bed as Allie used the bathroom to retouch her appearance. Finding him still sprawled on his back when she emerged, she threw his jeans over his naked form. "Better get a move on, lover, or old man Tranh will charge you for another hour. There's no grace period here." He only closed his eyes, and she shrugged. "Suit yourself. I gotta go."

Only once she was gone did he let the tears leak from his eyes to run back into his hair.

**********

He returned with her the next week for what would quickly become a regular assignation, once or twice a week as his funds permitted. On one occasion, they had found a couple of vamps trying to shake down Donnie in order to get some space to establish a new nest. After he had taken care of them, Vincent had offered them a room near the office that he guaranteed would be only theirs, available any time they wanted it. The offer didn't include a discount, however - gratitude only went so far on the Roosevelt strip.

Allie never allowed him to kiss her on the mouth during their trysts, but let him do anything else he could pay for. She would even do to him such things as he felt he deserved, from time to time - though she did make him cover the cost of his own condoms at last, claiming with her characteristic breezy laugh that he would break her financially.

It was enough, for the present, that she was his friend, sharing any number of laughing conversations with him on the street corner after he got off work. If it made him uncomfortable that she'd often come from a bed somewhere with other men to be with him, he fought to not let it show - who the hell was he to judge?

The sex was never anything but business between them, but they grew close enough that sometimes they would lie in bed for hours, after - just talking. Over time, he told her everything there was to tell about his first human life - his terminally ill mother, schoolmasters who beat him bloody, and the mindless authoritarianism and repression of Victorian England. He even managed to tell her about Cecily and how her cruel words had made him almost grateful for his death at Drusilla's hands. He found being able to share it with someone somehow reduced that old pain further, until he thought he might almost be free of it. Quite often the emotional release he got from trusting her with himself gave him more pleasure than the sexual.

In return, she gifted him with the drunken father, the sister who had run away from home, the uncle who had abused her, and the junkie lover who had abandoned her to the streets. But she never cried in front of him.

On more than one occasion, he found himself whispering endearments to her - words that he had originally meant for someone else. But he never made the mistake of calling her by that someone's name.

Part 21:

Well, we are into the final stretch at last. Five or six more chapters, I expect, and some of them are already written, you'll be glad to know. Unfortunately, the very next one isn't among that number. *sigh* It's on the list.

I don't know how likely it is that I'll be able to pull this all off before the season (and series) finale, but it's not like you're all desperately waiting to see how I deal with events of the real season, after all.

There have been days that I've wondered if it wouldn't be better to just give up on this story - it's disappointed me in a number of ways - and yet, I can't help but write what comes. So I promise you, faithful readers, that I'll take you through to the end. Chances are it will pale in comparison to what Joss & co. have waiting for us, but that's okay. Eventually, we'll all be wanting all the Buffy we can get, when those first cravings hit. *g* And there are some things I wish they'd done differently. This is my chance to address that.

Okay, that's enough late-night aimless muttering. You're here for a story, I believe...
---------------

Desperate Measures

"I think I've got a way to get in touch with Anya," Xander said without preamble, as Buffy held the door for him to enter. He set down a large paper bag, and then shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the rack by the door.

"That's great news," Dawn said as she came into the living room. "How are you going to do it?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Xander said to her, but still looking at Buffy. "But first, we need to - I need to clear the air a bit between us.

"Buffy, I know I haven't always been the best of friends the past couple of years," he said, as he took her hands in his. "Starting with deciding to bring you back. If I'd had any idea how much we'd be hurting you..."

She smiled gently. "I know. But I am glad to be alive again, and among friends and family. Really." Behind her, she could sense invisible tension draining out of Dawn. After all this time...but I suppose you have a right to be worried that I might still want to leave you. "So tell us the big plan."

Xander let go of her hands and began to pace, gesturing emphatically as though trying to sell a client on something he feared might be a little questionable.

"I want her back. I knew what she'd done before, and I loved her anyway. I don't care what she's been doing for the past year - I still love her, and I want her back." He pressed on before Buffy could protest. "And before you say anything, I know exactly how much of a hypocrite that makes me. I'm in love with a demon - and I don't care." Xander laughed - a more true and easy laugh than she'd heard from him for some time. "So I guess what I'm saying is, if something - or someone - was making you happy, you had every right to have what you wanted. Listen to your heart, grab it with both hands, and don't let the idiots around you take it from you. Even if the idiots are your friends - or yourself."

He stopped pacing, and turned to face Buffy directly, catching her eyes with his. " I know it's partly my fault that you couldn't tell us about Spike. You would have been right if you thought I couldn't deal with it. I've said and done a lot of things - cruel things - without thinking. I want you to know that I'm sorry. What happened between Anya and Spike that night... I've come to terms with it. The fact that he tried to rape you still makes me crazy - but I can accept it now when you tell me that it's none of my business. If it helps you to forgive him, then that's what you should do."

Buffy felt perilously close to tears, but swallowed the harsh lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. No. I made the right choice. I have to believe that, or everything comes undone.

"So how can we help?" she asked, ignoring Dawn's troubled expression as she forced lightness into her voice that she didn't feel, to turn the conversation away from this emotional pitfall.

Xander seemed to sense her discomfiture, and returned to his original subject. "I got Giles to find me a spell to summon her. To summon Anyanka, I mean. I need you to perform it."

"Did you see Willow?" Dawn demanded, leaving Buffy grateful for a momentary chance to collect herself again. "How is she?"

Xander sighed, his earlier hopefulness dimmed as he reflected on his oldest friend. "We talked, a little, the few times I was there. She's still taking classes, and I think she's enjoying having a huge load of homework again." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But god, it hurts so much to watch her trying to have an ordinary conversation. The slightest slip seems to set off that damn geas spell. And yet, it's like she wants it to hurt her, as if somehow that will punish her enough for what she did. I still think it was wrong to let Giles take her away."

"You see?" Dawn grumbled. "Even Xander agrees with me. We should make him lift the spell."

Buffy shook her head unhappily. "Dawnie, I don't like it any better than you do, but if it's what Willow has decided she has to do, it isn't up to us to interfere."

"How do we know it's really what she wants?" her sister demanded. "For all we know, that coven is just as bad as the Watcher's Council. Maybe she's been forced into it. I say we demand to talk to her and find out what's really going on."

"Maybe demand is a little strong," Xander said. "But we really should do something for her, Buffy."

"All right," Buffy said, waving one hand to signal surrender. "You win. Tomorrow we'll all go to see Giles and Willow, and tell them how we feel. But before then we've got this spell to work on. Tell us what we have to do."

**********

"And this can't be done on the stove in the kitchen... why, again?" Dawn asked, surveying the living room with a critical eye. The coffee table, with a brass brazier set in the centre, had been pulled into the middle of a hastily cleared space that only served to let her see how much more cleaning she would have to do. Bits of tinsel, wrapping paper and dried pine tree needles were revealed where the rug had been pulled back to make room. Christmas tree dandruff; the gift that keeps on giving. I just hope it doesn't catch fire.

"Because if it does work and summons Anya, she's likely to be pissed off," Buffy pointed out, looking up from where she knelt to arrange various pouches and plastic zipper bags of powders and herbs. "Not something I want to face in a confined area."

"Not to mention that if it goes wrong and just gets all stinky, it isn't something you want near your food," Xander added, practically.

"Right. Point taken," Dawn replied.

Buffy sighed. "Not that I don't feel it every day, but it's times like this I really miss Willow. I'm afraid I'm going to blow something up."

Xander looked alarmed. "You're the only one who can do the spell, Buffy," he insisted. "Because you're the only one who'll have the right vengeance-y vibe."

A frown creased her features. "I told you before, Xander, what happened between Spike and me is in the past now. I forgave him, and it's over. I'd like to forget it. If a 'vengeance-y vibe' is what's needed, maybe you should be the one doing the spell. You certainly have something against him."

Xander had the grace to look somewhat shamed. "I still think he should pay for the things he's done - maybe he should still die for it all - but I don't have to be the one who does it any more. If he comes near you, I think you should deck him, but I don't need to. He's suffering more from his conscience than from anything I could ever do to him."

"What do you mean? He seemed fine the last time I saw him."

"Are you nuts, Buff? The guy's tortured. I never realized... Angel never seemed to show it. But then, he had a hundred years to learn how to deal with it. Spike's had what? A couple hundred days?" He shook his head. "Poor bastard. Not that I care, or anything," he was careful to add.

"Whoa! Stop. Rewind," Dawn exclaimed. "When did you go to see Spike?"

"I went to kill him about a month ago," Xander admitted. "For everything - but mainly because of Anya. Imagine my surprise when I found out he'd become human." Buffy and Dawn only nodded, each recalling how they had learned of the former vampire's transformation.

"Then somehow instead of killing him, I ended up talking to him. And he - he really listened. And suggested I try a summoning spell..."

"This whole thing is Spike's idea?" Dawn interrupted, incredulous.

Xander nodded. "He seemed to think that you'd be the best one to pull it off, Buffy."

She collapsed into the couch. "Yes, he hurt me, but... we hurt each other. I don't understand. Does he want me to hate him? Because I'm tired of that. I don't want to be that person any more." Don't want to be the person who used him... blamed him... beat him. "Maybe Dawn has an unfaithful boyfriend she hasn't told us about."

"You wish," Dawn retorted. "Nope. Unless you count creepy Phil Letourneau, who's always after me to borrow my algebra notes - but I don't think he deserves to be eviscerated just for that."

Xander began to look panicked. "Buffy, please - you're my only chance."

She sighed, and held out her hand. "Give me the spell. I don't promise anything."

He handed over the much-crumpled paper he'd coerced Giles into writing out for him, and the two of them sat back to let Buffy work.

She took a small bunch of herbs from one of the plastic bags and crumbled them between her fingers into the brazier. Consulting Giles's handwritten instructions, she then pinched small amounts of various powders in with them and lit a match. The dry materials caught instantly, and the room soon filled with a sweet, pungent smoke.

"Okay everybody, cross your fingers. I hope this works." She took a deep breath, and began the invocation. "O Anyanka... I beseech thee... In the name of all women scorned..." Buffy paused for a moment to add another bit of the crumbled herbs to the fire. "Come before me."

Nothing happened.

Xander and Dawn looked around expectantly. "Is that it?" Dawn asked, confused.

"That's all that Giles gave us," Buffy replied, equally puzzled. "I don't know what else to do."

"Maybe you have to say it more than once," Xander suggested.

"Do you know what I do to men who use that spell?" the demon Anyanka asked, as she walked through the door from the kitchen. "Shall I describe all the excruciating steps it takes to disembowel them?"

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed, on his feet in a moment.

"Anyanka," she corrected coldly. "It's who I am, after all."

"Anya," he repeated, stubbornly. "I didn't--"

"Oh, I know. You had Buffy do it. But there isn't an ounce of vengefulness towards Spike in her - she's halfway to being in love with him. Only a fool wouldn't see it." She looked Xander up and down impersonally. "So I understand your problem."

Later, when the adrenaline subsided, Dawn would reflect that whatever real faults Xander might have, cowardice wasn't one of them. With only a glance aside to Buffy, he strode past her to take Anya's veined hands in his own. She didn't seem welcoming, but she didn't pull away, either.

"I asked her to summon you because I didn't know any other way to reach you. I just needed to be able to tell you myself how sorry I am - and that I miss you."

"Sorry? You're sorry? Oh, that's just wonderful. That makes everything all better. It completely erases the humiliation and emotional anguish I experienced." She leaned forward, letting the demon's face drop away, the better to sneer at him. "Notice my use of a sarcastic tone of voice to convey a meaning opposite my words."

Buffy started forward, but stopped when Xander didn't flinch.

"I deserve that and more, I know," he said. "And while I don't have any right to ask... I believe I can do better. Give me a chance, and let us start over, because... I'm a better man when I'm with you."

"Yes, and you proved that so admirably when you left me alone only minutes before our wedding," she snapped - but she still didn't pull her hands out of his gentle grip.

"Anya, I was scared, and I was wrong to wait so long to tell you - but I don't think I made the wrong decision. Maybe I'll never understand how much I hurt you, but I knew if we went on I'd end up doing even worse to you." Xander held her hands tightly, desperately willing her to feel his remorse, to know how much he wanted another chance.

"If you'd really loved me, you would have trusted me enough to tell me." Her voice now held only a trace of anger, and more than a little sorrow.

"I know. I should have. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, but I still hope you'll let me try." Xander reached to caress her cheek, and Anya leaned into his hand. "Let me be the man I should have been. I don't ..." --his voice broke-- "don't care anymore that you've become a demon again."

"Not for long," she murmured, almost too low to hear, before looking up at him again. "You even took that from me. I haven't been able to kill anyone. All I can see is your stupid, earnest face, promising you'll love me forever - and I can't do it. Halfrek tells me D'Hoffryn is going to have me removed from the ranks. Demoted." She pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself for solace. "If I can't even have that, then what good am I? Vengeance... is who I am. I don't know who I would be without it."

Xander came up behind her and enfolded her in his embrace. "I don't know - but I'll bet you're someone wonderful. I'd like to be there when you find out."

When it became clear that Xander wasn't going to be in mortal danger - except maybe to his heart again - Buffy motioned silently to Dawn and the two of them withdrew into the kitchen.

"It'd be hard to be an ordinary person in a relationship like that, don't you think?" Dawn observed idly, peering back at the couple through the open doorway. "You'd always wonder if your partner was holding back, trying to protect you or keep you from finding out the truth about them."

Buffy felt as though a hot and heavy stone had lodged deeply in her chest, squeezing her heart. Her lungs seemed suddenly starved for breath. I know. It would make you resentful, finally, and tear the two of you apart - no matter how much you wanted to love each other. Nobody understands what it's like to have to make the kind of decisions I do - to go out at night and hunt, and kill, and kill again - every night, over and over to keep the world running the way it should. You become Death...

She closed her eyes. He understood. He's always understood. "But now he's just another ordinary man," she whispered, not intending to be heard.

Dawn looked at her sharply. "You always said you wanted an ordinary boyfriend. There's nothing ordinary about a guy who used to be a vampire."

Buffy snorted laughter in spite of herself. "Ordinary's overrated. And since when have you tried to steer me away from Spike? You've been his biggest ally since he's been back - getting him to give you fighting lessons, setting us up for dinner..."

"Just playing devil's advocate for a minute. A little reverse psychology. Is it working?"

"I am really regretting getting you into that course," Buffy sighed.

"So... both hands?" Dawn asked, pressing her for a definite response one way or the other.

"Both hands," Buffy nodded, feeling more peaceful than she had in some time. "I have to talk to Spike."

As if in answer, the phone rang. Buffy frowned, and reached for the handset. I don't believe in ESP - and Spike doesn't have a phone anyway. "Hello? Hey Giles... no, we were just... oh god..." Buffy shut her eyes and just let him talk.

Dawn hovered impatiently until Buffy set the phone back in its cradle and turned to her, her eyes huge in a face gone suddenly waxen and still.

"We won't be going to see Willow and Giles at home tomorrow," she said, her voice breaking. "They're at the hospital. Willow tried to kill herself tonight."

Buffy had paled so dramatically under her tan that Dawn was afraid she might collapse on the spot. Slipping a supportive arm around her sister's waist, Dawn led her back into the living room where Xander and Anya remained deep in now only occasionally acrimonious conversation.

"Uh, guys?" Dawn ventured, trying to gain their attention. "Major bad news." She settled a near-catatonic Buffy on the couch and explained - at which Xander dropped his face into his hands.

"Look on the bright side," Anya observed with jarring cheer. "At least she's not trying to take the world with her this time."

Dawn wondered if Xander might be having second thoughts at this point.

"I don't understand" Xander cried suddenly, throwing up his hands. "Why would she do this? Why now?"

"Maybe she thinks she deserves to die," Anya put in, eager for conversation with former friends after so many months of self-imposed banishment. "After all, she did destroy my entire store... and nearly the world," she added after Xander's admonishing glare, clearly confused as to what exactly she had said this time that might have triggered it.

"As much as it weirds me out," Dawn said, "I have to agree with Anya. Willow's been carrying all that grief for Tara, and I doubt she's ever really dealt with it." She began to tick off points on her fingers. "She's never been able to deal with loss - remember all the wackiness when Oz left? When she pulled all that power from Giles last year and experienced the pain of the entire world, her solution was to destroy everything so she wouldn't have to feel it anymore. And on top of that, there's the guilt over killing Warren and that warlock guy. Maybe she thinks she'd be doing us all a favour by killing herself."

"How can she think that would make anything better?" Buffy protested, finally emerging from her shocked silence. "Doesn't she know what she means to us? Doesn't she care what losing her would do to us?"

Long seconds ticked by before Dawn replied.

"Did you?"

Buffy gaped as though Dawn had sucker-punched her.

"Last year all you could think about was how terrible it was to have to be alive again; how much you missed heaven. You even thought that a delusion of being in an asylum was better than reality." Dawn bit down hard on the inside of her bottom lip before she could go any further. This is supposed to be about Willow. Speaking of still not dealing well...

She softened her tone. "My point is, when you were feeling your worst, how much were you able to think about what it was doing to the rest of us? Willow isn't going to be, either. Suicides rarely think about the people they leave behind."

"Will you both stop talking like she's already dead!" Xander rebuked them. "There has to be something we can do. Can we go see her?"

"They're only keeping her overnight," Buffy said, glad to have a reason to direct the conversation away from her own distraught behaviours of the previous year. "But you're right. We've spent way too long letting Giles handle this. Willow is our friend, and she needs to be reminded how important she is to us." Her face lit with sudden resolve. "I'm going to ask them to come and stay here when she's released, so we can spend more time together. After that... we'll see what happens."

Their mood marginally improved by the promise of finally taking some action, the three of them made plans to meet again once Willow was home.

Even Anya grudgingly agreed that forgiveness and an offer of help would be the human thing to do - even if she herself wasn't quite, any more. She vanished back to wherever she'd been keeping herself... but not before promising to meet Xander again in some neutral location. "But only to talk," she insisted. "Don't expect me to have sex with you again for some time."

After closing the door on Xander's retreating form, Dawn joined Buffy on the couch. "Buffy..." she began, then paused. Buffy looked up, but didn't speak. She tried again. "About what I said earlier..."

Buffy shrugged reservedly. "Don't apologise. You were right about how I behaved." She let a small smile cross her lips. "Though if you keep it up, I may decide to abdicate the position of responsible older sister, and send you out to be wage-earner girl. At this point, returning to high school is actually starting to seem appealing."

"You can have it," Dawn replied, relieved that they hadn't strained the bonds of their relationship beyond bearing. They sat quietly together for some time after that, until Dawn finally had to ask: "So what are we going to do? About Willow?"

"I don't know," Buffy admitted. "All the time last year that I was regretting being alive, I never once thought about ending my life myself. I'm not sure I can understand what she's going through." Her expression grew thoughtful. "But I know someone who might."

She got up and pulled her coat from the rack, shrugging into it. "I'll probably be pretty late, so lock the doors and don't wait up."

**********

Buffy stood at the door to the crypt, hand poised to knock, lost in memories. He always knew when I was here. But that was before... Logically, she knew that nothing remained of the Slayer/vampire link, but she could almost feel his presence, restlessly fizzing along her nerves as though transmitted by the very stones themselves. If she held herself just so, and listened...

Buffy shook her head. Now I'm just being foolish. But the sense of him persisted. Before her conscience could tell her it was a bad idea, she had pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the crypt's cool interior. The last light of the winter sun slanted through the frosted windows, fashioning dim bars of gold in the dusty air before fading into the gloom.

"Spike? Clem?" She wasn't sure if she was relieved or annoyed when neither of the crypt's occupants turned out to be at home. A prudent inner voice suggested she wait outside for one of them to return, but she ignored it and ventured further in, telling herself she was only looking for clues to Spike's whereabouts.

Her eye was immediately drawn to a set of makeshift shelves stacked with a neat array of canned and packaged foods. Next to this stood a compact camping stove. A fat blue sleeping bag and a pillow were neatly laid out on top of one of the crypt's two tombs, and she smoothed the pillowslip absently with one hand. I guess he never felt like restoring the lower level.

A cold sliver of sensation slipped through her, and she spun around. Vampire? Spike?

"I told you, I smelled a girl over this way," a rough voice insisted from somewhere outside.

"Aw, you're just thinking with your stomach again. I told you; we have to head over to the bars to get anyone good," came the retort. "No one hangs around the graveyard at night."

Buffy slipped the stake from the waistband of her jeans and moved out of the confines of Spike's makeshift living space. Won't you be surprised.

She'd left the door open wide behind her for the sake of the light it gave, and so was quickly spotted by the two vampires out for an early evening snack.

"See! I told you!" the first one crowed triumphantly, and they advanced, growling with menace. She stood poised with her stake, ready to meet them and silently promising them the surprise of their unlives. Buffy wasn't sure who was more surprised, then, when they collided headlong with an invisible barrier in the open doorway.

Not the stock of food, not the sleeping bag... not even having felt the new warmth of his skin and the pounding of his beating heart had brought home the changes in Spike so much as this. Vampires couldn't enter where he lived without an invitation. Whatever powers presided over the affairs of the world, they now recognized Spike's humanity.

As human as the rest of us. Maybe even more so than some of us, she wondered. Because I've been having some doubts lately about Slayers.

A wicked, humourless smile curved her lips. "Hello boys. You picked the wrong night, the wrong place, and definitely the wrong girl this time. I'm in the mood for a good fight." And with that, she charged.

**********

Didn't even break a sweat, she complained to herself, surveying the dust now strewn around the stone steps. How am I supposed to work off all my angst and frustration and fear if the bad guys are so easy to dust these days? Tucking the stake away again, she turned for the open doorway.

"Oh, hello Buffy," said the cheerful voice form behind her, and she jumped as though she'd been goosed.

"Clem!" she exclaimed, recognizing the figure approaching in the gloom. "You startled-- um, I was just--" Did he see me coming out of the crypt earlier?

"Looking for Spike?" he asked, not seeming to notice her nervousness. The loose-skinned demon, with his lidded basket slung over one arm, looked like some melted wax impression of a European villager back from a shopping trip. The occasional muffled mew could be heard penetrating the dense wicker. "This is one of his work nights, I'm afraid. But he'll be back around three a.m. or so, if you wanted to wait."

"Three a.m.?" she echoed, bleakly. I can't wait that long. We need his help - and I think I might finally have the courage to say what I should have said the last time I saw him. But I don't know if it will last even that long.

Clem hefted his basket suggestively. "I'm having a few of the fellows over for a friendly game, if you'd like to sit in. I could even spot you a tabby."

You might be a few players short tonight...she thought, with a manic internal laugh, not able to frame a coherent reply.

He waited patiently for her to respond. "It's kind of a joke, you see. Tabbies usually have stripes--"

"Clem, where?" Buffy interrupted impatiently. "Where is he working?"

"Somewhere across town at a country-western bar. Rushmore or Roosevelt... or Republican... one of those streets." He sighed. "I keep telling him he should find himself a nice apartment over there, but he says he's trying to save money. Hey, maybe you can talk him into letting me buy him out of the crypt here. It's a sweet piece of real estate--" Clem found himself addressing Buffy's retreating back.

"Thanks Clem," she called back over her shoulder. "I owe you one."

"Make it a Persian!" he shouted after her, before turning to open the door, shaking his head. "Humans."

End-of-Buffy malaise has infected this chapter, I fear. It's quite dark - hence the clever title, of course. You know what I said about the end of the tunnel? Looks like there's another one before we're done.

Just a content warning, before we begin. If you or someone you care about has ever experienced a suicide or an attempt, you may find this chapter disturbing to read.
----------------

Dancing in the Dark

"Hi Spike," said the low voice behind him, barely audible over the throb of the sound system. He carefully adjusted his working smile, and turned to see who had addressed him. The smile slipped away, unnoticed.

Brown hair tumbled in careless curls past her shoulders. Dark eyes ringed with smoky shadow appraised him thoughtfully, while deep red lips curved with silent promise. It took him several stunned moments to recognize her as one of Desperados' regulars. He'd never seen her wearing much makeup before, or such dark lipstick, and wondered what had made her choose to so dramatically change her appearance.

"Do you want to... would you like to dance? With me?" she added, as though he might not be clear on that part.

What was her name again? Something exotic... Zuzana, Xena... Ah! "Zaria, pet - I can't. Supposed to be working, right? Jake would skin me."

"Jake won't care," she insisted, but as though she'd had only enough nerve to go so far, her composure vanished. She glanced back anxiously at two other women across the dance floor; girlfriends who had no doubt encouraged her to this uncharacteristic display of boldness. They made encouraging faces at her fleeting look, and waved their hands in shooing motions to drive her back to him.

The two of them stood with their heads together, whispering - one face coffee-with-milk, the other pale as cream, both looking as though they too had just stepped from the salon. He came to the conclusion that he was to be the test subject of her rather spectacular makeover.

With some regret, he repeated his refusal. "Some time when I'm not working, pet, all right? My word on it."

Zaria's face fell. "Sure. I understand. Some other time." Pressing her lips together to stop them trembling, she turned and walked away to rejoin her friends.

Spike took the stairs to the main level in two large steps. Back in the bar proper he found Jake, an incongruous apron barely containing his ample girth, clearing and wiping tables. His confusion must have shown in his face.

"We've got two more who didn't make it in tonight," he explained. "I'm just trying to keep up with the flow."

Spike nodded his understanding, and just stood watching as Jake quickly and professionally moved through a series of tables. "Jake?" he asked finally, his hands thrust into his pockets to maintain a composure he didn't feel. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Trouble?" he enquired mildly, not looking up from his work.

"No. It's just that..." Spike glanced back over his shoulder again toward the dance floor where the women had closed ranks around their disappointed friend. "There's this bird's got it into her head that she'd like to dance with me. I turned her down, of course. I don't think she's the type to make a scene, but I'll--" Jake's laugh cut him off.

"Dance with the girl if you want, Spike," he said, dropping the last dishes and waste into a plastic bin. "She thinks you're interesting. Which means she thinks Desperados is interesting. And that means she'll keep coming back. Consider it... good public relations. I bus tables when necessary, so you can dance with the girls."

Spike looked at him, nonplussed. Jake just laughed again.

"I'm not blind to the effect you have on some of the ladies, Spike. So take her and her friends around the dance floor a few times. Make 'em consider it part of the experience. I know I can trust you take care of them, without going too far." He picked up the bin, tucked it under his arm and gave the table in front of him a final wipe. "Besides, I also know you've got something going with that nicely-packed little brunette that keeps meeting you on the street after work."

He hadn't known that Jake - or anyone - had noticed, but was hardly surprised. Jake was one of the most discerning men he had met in any of the lifetimes he had lived. So if he thought the two of them might have something - maybe we could, at that. Maybe it's finally time for me to stop chasing rainbows. I'll always love Buffy, always hold her in the very centre of my heart like a jewel - but maybe I'd serve her better if I don't try to see her any more. He snorted mirthlessly. Never thought I'd ever see Angel's side in anything.

Spike returned to the railing that overlooked the dance floor and folded his arms to lean against it, watching the dancers turn about the floor to the throbbing strains of yet another song of love and loss. It isn't what Mother had in mind when I read Classics at Oxford, but I have a half-decent job that keeps body and soul together while I do the work I have to do. It's time to let go of the past.

He straightened, took a deep breath, and headed back onto the dance floor. From murderer to gigolo. I guess that's progress, of a sort.

He had no excuse any more. And before he'd been a killer, he'd been a gentleman, proud of his ability to treat the ladies properly. And he'd always loved to dance... in so many ways.

He picked up bits of their conversation as he approached.

"...wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers."

"Reneé, sugar, you wouldn't kick him out if he'd brought a four-course dinner."

Pale-skinned Reneé flicked her sun-streaked blonde hair back from her face with a practiced move. "Hell, Jade, he could spread me like the tablecloth--" A sharp elbow from Jade silenced her as Spike drew near.

"It looks as though I'm able to redeem my word much sooner than I'd thought, pet," he said to Zaria, as all eyes locked onto him. "Still care for that dance?"

They fell into a frantic commotion of whispering as soon as Spike led Zaria away by the hand to the dance floor.

She leaned into his embrace, her generous curves moulding to him in a manner most pleasant. Without even trying hard, he could convince himself that it could be part of his redemption to make pretty girls happy by dancing with them.

The teeming multitude on the dance floor ebbed and flowed about them; dancers coming and going but the numbers never seeming to change as the DJ overran the end of one song with the beginning of another, the words of his patter barely intelligible. "Here's a classic from Garth."

Zaria followed his lead smoothly about the floor, though clearly surprised by his skill. No reason she should be; the two-step was nothing more than a foxtrot done up in denim - but judging by the thrashing throng about them, even this revelation had escaped most of them. He could have done it in his sleep, and was quite convinced he'd soon be handed around to her clutch of curious girlfriends. Maybe I should take up giving dancing lessons. M'sieu William, Professeur deDanse. Right. There's only one dance that really matters any more.

We call them fools
Who have to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and the shame
That always comes with getting burned

**********

He can't be younger than me, not and be working here, she thought as she held her ID for the bouncer at the door. So why does he look like such an innocent? He smiled brightly and stepped back to let her pass. It was the smile, finally, that triggered the memory. He looks like Riley. Like Riley before he knew that his boss was going to go all Frankenstein on him; when he still believed in what the Initiative was doing. She shivered suddenly.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asked, concern written clearly on his face.

"Fine. I'm fine," she insisted. "But maybe you can help me. I'm looking for a guy I think might work here. He's probably going by 'Spike' these days--"

"Spike? Sure, he's on tonight. We take turns working the door and the floor, so he'll be patrolling around in there somewhere." He jerked his thumb back to roughly indicate the bar's dark interior.

Buffy thanked him, and passed through the entrance way. For all that it was a weeknight, the bar was packed. She pushed her way none too gently through the crowds, craning her neck looking for a familiar platinum head. The din of music and conversation throbbed, until her very bones seemed to pound with it.

We call them strong
Those who can face this world alone
Who seem to get by on their own
Those who will never take the fall

The throng of people surrounding the railing above the sunken dance floor parted before her insistent elbows, and she leaned out to survey the floor. When she saw him, she wondered how she ever could have thought it would be difficult to find him. Among the Californian crowd ranging from the sun-bronzed skin of the beach crowd to the well-tanned leather of assorted outdoor labourers, his pale skin and white-blond hair stood out like a beacon lit from within.

He moved easily about the floor and she fancied that she saw something of the man he must have been, once. Something Spike-the-vampire never would have shown her. Or that I never would have let him. There was a touch of elegance to him, a quiet grace she'd rarely seen in anyone, and never before in him. Oh, he'd been elegant enough when fighting or fucking, but like an animal was, not like a man. This was something new.

She'd almost made up her mind to leave right then, to let him rebuild his life on his own terms. But she needed him too much, needed him to help Willow find a reason to live - because somehow he had done so, despite carrying the guilt for a century of bloodshed. And if she were to be honest with herself - because she wasn't ready for him to be gone from her life.

She wavered, torn between conflicting emotions, until he chanced to look up and see her watching him.

Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire

**********

If he wasn't careful, he'd come perilously close to a moment's contentment - and who knew what the price would be for that. His gut churned with fresh guilt; he was supposed to be paying for his crimes, not frolicking about the dance floor, pretending to be something he'd never been even in life. And worse, in all this time he hadn't once thought of--

Buffy. She stood at the rail like an apparition, her eyes huge and dark in the dimness, running him through with her gaze. He froze. In the weeks since he'd seen her last, it seemed to him that she'd lost another ten pounds and uncounted hours of sleep.

In his arms, Zaria was saying something, but he couldn't hear above the blood suddenly roaring in his ears. Oh, he was love's bitch, all right, with just the sight of her enough to make him forget himself, forget every shade that haunted him. Knowing she'd only burn him again - but unable to stop throwing himself again and again into the fire - he was up the stairs and crossing the space between them before he could bring himself to remember why he shouldn't.

There's this love that is burning
Deep in my soul
Constantly yearning to get out of control
Wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide
Standing outside the fire

**********

She watched him, amused, as he tried to decide what was worse; having her think he was here for the music, or admitting that this was, in fact, where he was working. He finally allowed his arms to fall to his sides, revealing the Desperados logo on the black shirt.

"Slayer," he said, pitching his voice to be heard over the noise. He cast his eyes down so as to not have to meet hers - it was too hard - and waited for her to speak.

"Spike," she said, by way of reply, and then "Spike?" again when he didn't look up.

He raised his eyes slowly and took refuge in levity. "Secret's out, I guess," he said more softly, in a momentary lapse in the music. "This is how I really spend my nights."

Buffy was glad to have an outlet in humour. "Yeah, it's a nice neighbourhood you've got here."

He shrugged "Well, I'm working on it. Not really a Hell's Kitchen kind of vibe; more like Dante's Pantry." Buffy smiled blankly and he knew he'd trespassed too far outside her experience again.

"I didn't mean to take you away from--" She gestured vaguely back at the dance floor, where the woman had been absorbed by a group of friends.

"Zaria?" he asked, momentarily baffled, but then realizing what conclusions she must have drawn from his performance. "Oh. No, she's just..." How to explain? "It's nothing, really. Good customer relations, in a way." Was it just his overeager imagination, or did her face brighten a bit at this news?

She couldn't just blurt out her main reason for seeking him out, so she began with a safe, neutral comment. "Thank you for the information you left us about the clinic. I checked it out."

"Anything?" he asked.

"No - but I'll be looking again. There's been another round of thefts this past week."

"I heard. What happened to the fabulous Scooby research machine? Time was, you'd have had something minor like this wrapped up in three days."

Buffy grimaced. "We've all been a little... preoccupied lately. Xander finally managed to convince Anya to let him have another chance."

"Well did he now? Good on the boy." He grinned. "Maybe she can manage to keep him home of nights, so he won't be creeping about with stakes where he shouldn't be."

"He told me it was all your idea."

Spike ignored this comment, in favour of another of his own. "And what about Red? Her computer was like breathing to her, once."

"That's... part of why I'm here. Please, Spike."

He led her over by the bar, where Joey looked up with a smile as they approached. "Joey, this is Buffy. See that she gets whatever she wants, on my tab," he said.

She declined with a wave. "Spike, isn't there some place we can go to talk privately? It won't take long."

He looked back over his shoulder and spotted Jake, still making the rounds and clearing tables. "Hey Jake," he shouted. "I need to step out for five, okay?"

Jake waved a free arm unconcernedly, mouthed something resembling 'whatever', and carried on with his work.

Spike reached to take Buffy's arm and then thought better of it, instead just waving her ahead of him to the door where she had entered. Corey greeted them with a broad smile. "I see you found him, then."

"Eyes back in your head, Corey," Spike said, more sharply than he had intended. He led Buffy away from the door and the crowd, down to the corner of the building. "So. Tell me what's on your mind."

"They really like you here," she said instead, out of the blue. "A lot."

His enforced casual posture, hands in his pockets, was completely at odds with the turmoil he felt inside. "You say that like you're surprised, Slayer. You don't think I'm a likeable bloke?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like--"

"I know. You don't have to apologize to me; I haven't really been likeable for very long. Still takes me by surprise, sometimes." He turned his head to look back at the doorway behind them. "They're good people. Most of them have no idea what kind of a place they live in. Protecting them... seems the right thing to do."

She looked up at him and only smiled, a little sadly.

"Why are you really here, Slayer?" he asked, suddenly not at all comfortable under her attention.

"I have a name, Spike," she admonished gently.

"Buffy," he said, looking away as though unwilling to let her see him shape her name with his mouth. "Why are you here? It wasn't just to check up on me."

She was suddenly fascinated by the ground beneath her feet. "It's... it's about Willow," Buffy said reluctantly.

"What's wrong with little miss witch, then? Last I heard, everyone was all set to welcome her back into the bosom of the Scooby family. All is forgiven, and all that." He could hear the resentment colouring his voice, but Buffy seemed too preoccupied to notice.

"She tried to kill herself. Giles said - he said that she took a knife from the kitchen and just started hacking at her arms, over and over and--" Buffy mimed the actions unconsciously as she spoke, raking her nails down her own forearms hard enough to leave welts. "He said that if he hadn't been right there, and if they hadn't been so close to the hospital..." She drew a shuddering breath, and burst into sudden, shocking sobs.

"God, Buffy... I'm so sorry." He gathered her close against him and held her as she wept raggedly, cursing himself for being an insensitive ass. "Of course I'll help you. You know I will. Anything I can do..." Any reply she might have made was lost as she mashed her tear-ravaged face into his shirt.

He'd been around long enough to recognize a death wish. After all, he had his own personal one keeping him company of late, didn't he? The ones who only wanted attention, they slashed across their wrists - bloody and showy, but not actually life threatening unless no one found them in time. Those who truly wanted to die... they gashed the blades down the insides of their arms, and then a sick, slick little twist of the knife was all it took to sever the arteries almost beyond repair. That Willow had chosen, or had known... didn't give him much hope.

Buffy quieted somewhat after a while, and pulled back from him. "I'm sorry," she hiccupped, as she began to wipe with her fingers at the ruins of her makeup. "I didn't mean to lose it like that. But I'm so scared for her, and I've had to keep it all inside and not frighten Dawn, and--" She started shaking again.

"Hush, love. Hush," he said, patting gently and awkwardly at her face as though she were a frightened child to be soothed. "You don't ever owe me an apology for what you feel."

"I just thought... because you've found some way to live with the things you've done... you might be able to help her." She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose resoundingly.

I don't think you want to hear that I'm still alive because I'm too much of a coward to die. "I don't know if anything I can say will do any good - but I'll try. I give you my word that I'll try." Buffy looked around aimlessly for a place to drop her tissue, until Spike simply took it from her and thrust it into a front pocket of his jeans.

"Giles is bringing her home to us tomorrow morning, when they release her. She's got an appointment scheduled with a psychologist in a few days - they said something about being chronically understaffed, so they couldn't keep her unless she was a danger to others as well. Maybe... maybe you should give her a day, and then come over." Another tissue followed the first. Spike took this one from her gently, and touched it to his tongue.

"Whatever you think is best," he said, using the now damp tissue to blot away the streaks of makeup on her cheeks.

"And maybe sometime after this mess is all over, you'd... come to dinner again. No trick invitations this time, and I promise not to be so... nervous about it all."

He froze, contemplating the metaphorical knife poised to tear at his vitals again. "I don't think... that would be a good idea."

"What? Why?" Her voice broke on the second word. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted--"

"I wanted to win back my soul because I thought in that way I could be the man you deserve. Having done it, I know that I can't ever be the one you really want. I'm not the right man."

An unstoppable geyser of words threatened to pour out of him, searing his soul. Could he bring himself to choose this pain now to avoid almost certain pain later? He took both her hands, pressing them insistently between his own as if hoping that just this once, she'd listen and take what he offered her. He selected every word now with utmost care.

"I'll tell Angel... the demon's name and the price I paid. He can be human again for you. You can be together." He reached up and cupped her flushed cheek tenderly with one hand. "I think you know that's what you truly deserve."

Her eyes brimmed over with fresh tears, and she couldn't speak.

He was within a breath of taking it all back, of crying no! He can't have you - you're mine, mine mine mine! when a piercing voice called his name from the street. Buffy hurriedly composed herself and tugged up the collar of her shirt to wipe her face.

"Hey Spike," Allie said as she came up beside them. "Who's your friend?" She eyed Buffy speculatively and quickly came to her own conclusion, taking his arm possessively. "Are we still on for tonight, sweet?" she asked coquettishly, but her gaze was locked on Buffy.

Buffy raised a quizzical eyebrow. Spike sighed. This isn't the way I would have had you meet. "Buffy, this is Allie, who... works near here. We've been... dating. Allie, Buffy." Miss Phillips, may I present Miss Summers?

"So this is the famous Slayer," Allie said, straightening to make her marginally greater height perfectly clear. "Should I be impressed?"

Buffy looked startled at having her identity so casually discussed practically in the middle of the street.

"I told her what I was," Spike said, looking at Buffy. "Which rather entails finding out about you. No more secrets in my life."

"Yeah, because you know what happens when you keep secrets," Allie laughed. "You end up like Spike's great-aunt Perpetua." She looked up under coy eyelids at Buffy, who just stood there, puzzled. "Gee, I guess he never told you about great-aunt Perpetua."

"I'm beginning to realize there are a lot of things that Spike's never told me," Buffy said sadly, turning to go. "I'll expect you in two days, then."

"Buffy, I--" I'm sorry. But I know now that I was a fool to believe I could ever be the one for you. "I'll be there."

With a small wave to Corey - who had been watching all this interplay with great interest - Buffy set out for home on the neglected streets, her heart beaten hollow with sorrow.

Allie wasted no time watching her go but turned back to Spike, leaned heavily into him and murmured, "So what was that all about?"

"She's got a friend going through some hard times," he replied, gently disengaging from her. "She just thought I might be able to help."

"I always knew you were a generous guy," she laughed, and stepped back. "See you in a few hours?"

He nodded, and watched as she, too, walked away from him.

"Wish I had what you do with women, Spike," Corey observed wistfully as Spike headed back inside past him.

"No you don't, Corey. No you don't"

**********

The last song of the night was always the same - Desperado was Jake's signature tune for his bar - and it was the signal for Spike and the others to begin rounding up the last of the hard-core drinkers and see them out into the night.

He had seen Zaria and her friends leave some time earlier; he had been both saddened and relieved when they had gone without any further attempts to get him out on the dance floor.

Unlike the kitchen and wait staff, the bouncers only had to stay as long as it took to clear the building. After switching back into his own shirt, Spike slipped his pay envelope into his jacket pocket and headed for the street, where Allie would be waiting.

**********

Allie collapsed gracefully from straddling his hips to lie at his side. "Mmm... that was even more fun than usual," she said between heavy breaths. "You should have told me you wanted to play it rough tonight." She trailed the fingers of one hand down the score marks she had left on the hard planes of his stomach. "So that was the Slayer. You should run into old girlfriends more often."

"She wasn't my girlfriend," he scowled, catching and holding her hand.

"Well, whatever she was when you were sleeping with her, then. I can see why you need something different now - she sure seemed like a frigid, jealous bitch, if you ask me."

Spike threw her off him and sat up, letting his legs fall over the edge of the bed. "I didn't ask you."

Allie was at his side in a moment, her tone now light and conciliatory. "Spike, sweet, I didn't meant it like that. I just think it's completely unreasonable that she shows up and expects to order you around as though you don't have a life of your own." Taking him by the chin, she turned his head towards her. "You really are still in love with her, aren't you?"

He didn't reply, but that was answer enough.

"What the hell did she ever do to deserve that kind of loyalty from you?" she demanded.

"Allie," Spike said wearily. "Shut up. Or I'll have to give you something better to do with your mouth than talk." His hand slipped up over her mouth and he pressed her back to the bed. When she bit at his fingers he pulled his hand away quickly, but then she just laughed and hauled him down onto her, pressing his face into her throat.

"Don't." He scowled as he pulled back from her. "I told you. It was a mistake."

"I'm just playing, sweet."

"Well, I don't feel much in the mood to play any more tonight." She'd been after him again tonight to tell her what it had been like - the killing, the bloodlust and the hyped senses. She never saw anything but the dark beauty of his former power, and nothing of the price.

"I know you want to, Spike. Bite me again."

**********

There was something about Allie that was profoundly broken, he reflected, as he looked at the woman face down in the pillow next to him. Something beyond his small ability to repair. That she would even let down her guard enough to lie sleeping in his presence was a profound expression of trust, knowing her past.

Am I wrong, to think she needs me even a little? He sat naked at the edge of the bed and fumbled cigarettes and lighter out of his jacket pocket where he had tossed it carelessly to the floor some hours before. The cigarette lit in a hiss of flame and a crackle of burning tobacco, and Spike exhaled a silent stream of smoke into the darkness.

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

Okay, before anyone accuses me of being a closet Bangel shipper all this time... you just have to trust that I really know what I'm doing. It's a long and painful road - but we're almost there.