That incident had been a turning point. Spike paused in his workout, and took a sip from a water bottle, as he pondered the way he had embraced the new friends he'd found. They had accepted him in ways the Scoobies had never even attempted. He had needed their support at that time; Angel and he were at each other's throats constantly over their history and the Shanshu prophecy. Fred in particular was a godsend in dealing with the anger and frustration he felt about Angel, as well as the rejection he felt.

Gradually, he had been able to see each of them in their own lights. Wes was great to watch football with, and had a fondness for a good drink. Gunn was the one to go out with when you just wanted to party and get hammered. Lorne and he could swap stories about demons in the entertainment business for hours.

Yet he couldn't seem to talk to Angel without starting a fight. He knew it bothered Fred, and the others weren't happy that the two vampires could barely work together. They could focus on the work for the bare minimum of time needed to accomplish the goal, but then they'd be back to insults and punches.

It was almost like a repeat of his relationship with Buffy. Spike snorted, and went over to the punching bag, not bothering to tape his hands.

Sometimes he liked the pain.

"Yo, bleach boy."

Gunn's voice pulled Spike's concentration from his sparring. He turned and favored him with a grin. "Seeing as how I know you're jealous of my hair, I'll overlook that comment."

Gunn rubbed his hand over his head, which he'd recently shaved after losing a bet with Spike. "Yeah, jealous. Right."

Spike walked over and grabbed a towel, rubbing the sweat off his face. "Got something going on tonight, Charlie boy?"

"Other than knocking back a few beers to celebrate your return to unlife, nope."

Spike raised an eyebrow at Gunn, and the other man laughed. "Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't know about how you were brooding in your office, and as soon as you realized what you were doing, you came down here."

"Don't you have some demon widow out there to put in the poorhouse, instead of spying on good employees like yours truly?" Spike complained.

"Not when you are the good employee in question. Come on, there's a deep-fried onion that's calling our names."

"Give me fifteen minutes to shower, and we're off."

Gunn nodded and ambled out of the room. Spike finished toweling off, and headed for the small bathroom that was attached to the gym, first grabbing a change of clothes out of the closet.

A little drinking, a little conversation, was just what he needed to take his mind off his thoughts. It must have been the anniversary, he pondered, making him think about Buffy. No one around here would let him forget her, so it wasn't like she was ever that far from his thoughts, but there were days he was able to not think about her at all. But that never ended well.

Spike stepped out of the shower, drying off and getting dressed quickly. Thoughts of his "birthday" had reminded him of the conversations Angel and he had slowly begun having after their talk on Buffy's birthday. More often than not, one of them stomped away, or even threw an occasional punch to end the conversation. But before that happened, each of them had begun to learn more about the other. They were finally getting to the point where they could co-exist together, semi-peacefully.

Amazing how you could get along with someone, when that someone wasn't constantly belittling you or ignoring you.

Plus, it helped to have the rest of the gang on his side occasionally during the fights that Angel and he had. Always nice to see Angel getting laid into by his own employees. He still laughed over the time Lorne had started humming "Mandy" during one of Angel's rants. Angel had stopped mid-word, and Wesley and Gunn had burst into whoops of laughter. Fred had started giggling to the point where she could hardly breathe. And Spike had just sat back and enjoyed it all.

He chuckled to himself as he headed upstairs to meet up with Gunn. But when he entered the lobby, he was shocked to find it full of people. He stood just inside the doorway, amazed to see half the company there, as well as several of L.A.'s best demons.

"Nice of you to be nearly on time to your birthday party," Gunn said with a slap on Spike's shoulder.

"What the bloody hell is all this?" Spike asked in surprise.

Gunn gave him a long look. "Birthday party. You've never told anyone when your birthday was when you were human, or even the day you were turned. Angel wouldn't tell, either. So Fred and I put our heads together and decided to make today your birthday."

Spike shook his head in amazement. "Why would you do something like that for me?"

"Other than an excuse to party on Angel's dime? Because you deserve it." With that, Gunn moved away, going to mingle with some of his cronies from the Urban Intervention Department.

Spike couldn't help just looking around, wondering how in the world he had gotten here. Why he had people that seemed to care about him. Didn't seem right. Not what he was used to.

"You look a bit surprised," Angel commented as he pressed a mug into Spike's hand.

Spike drank, barely tasting the blood, before speaking. "Surprised is an understatement."

"Fred's idea, really. She recruited Gunn, and they went to town, as you can see," Angel said.

"Don't know why they bothered," Spike said. "No one else ever has."

"I believe that's why I encouraged them to go ahead when the two of them asked me about how you'd feel about the idea."

"What?" Spike said, turning to Angel.

Angel looked at Spike for a moment, his expression blank but meaningful just the same. "Happy birthday, Spike."

Spike didn't know what to say, so he glanced down at his boots, and then looked out at the crowd. "Been a hell of a year," he said finally, realizing how far he had come in such a short time. For a vampire, a year was a blink of an eye. Taking stock of your life wasn't done, really, so birthdays became meaningless pretty quickly. But Spike thought that vampires were missing out by not indulging in such events. Why not celebrate another year of existence, another year that you'd avoided death?

Besides, presents were bloody fabulous.

Ignorant of Spike's thoughts, Angel responded to Spike's last statement. "Never would have guessed you'd make it," he said. "If nothing else, I'd have expected you to go chasing after Buffy."

Spike sighed. "I'm not sure about that, myself."

He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Angel whip his head around to stare at Spike. "What?"

Spike gazed out at the people dancing, laughing, talking to their friends. Before he spoke, he grabbed a beer from a passing waiter, and took a long swig. "She hasn't been in touch with either of us. She had Giles call the love of her life to tell him that she'd made it through another apocalypse, all 'don't call me, I'll call you.'" Spike sighed. "I'll love the girl till I'm dust. But that's what she thinks I am, right now. So I think I'm learning how to live without her."

He could sense Angel trying to find words, and true to form, Angel reverted to cliches. "It's probably for the best. It's easier that way."

"Never said it was easy, mate," Spike ground out. He sighed. "I could find her, yeah. And I could follow her around again, being faithful old Spike, pet vampire. I don't have any prophecies or magical mystical surprises waiting for me at the end of the road--I'm only responsible for myself. So there's nothing stopping me." He took a deep breath, if only to make himself be calm enough to say the next sentence. "Nothing stopping me, except me."

Angel opened his mouth, getting ready to speak, when his secretary's shrill voice halted his words.

"Oh, Spikey!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I know that vampires don't celebrate birthdays, but happy birthday!"

"Thanks, Harm," Spike said, his voice a mixture of sincerity and irritation.

"It was my idea to have the party here. We haven't had one since Halloween."

"Well, most people who were at that party didn't want to think 'party' and 'Wolfram and Hart' anytime soon, Harmony," Angel said.

"It wasn't like that many people got killed," Harmony said with a toss of her hair.

Angel and Spike shot a look at each other. Harmony's ditzy California girl personality being stronger than her demon had always been a source of amusement for the two of them. Once again, she hadn't failed to live up to the stereotype.

Harmony turned to Spike. "Come on, dance with me, Spike!"

"I told you I don't dance," Spike said.

"Oh, come on! You're like the guest of honor. You have to dance!"

"As the guest of honor, doesn't that mean I should be able to do whatever I want? Or, whatever I don't want?" Spike asked, smirking at her.

Harmony only sighed, and pulled him onto the dance floor. "I promise I won't make any comments about a certain Slayer. So dance with me."

Spike sighed, but gave in. It was easier than continuing to argue with the silly bint, and besides . . . besides, he wanted to dance with someone. Put his arms around a woman, and hold her, and feel her touching him. He could barely remember the last time he danced; he wanted to say it had been with Drusilla. He was still haunted by the time he was incorporeal, and sometimes had nightmares that he had returned to that state. So, tonight he chose to dance with his ex, and not think about the fact that he was celebrating a year that had been spent without Buffy.

He leaned into Harmony, resting his face against her hair. This felt good. He felt good.

A memory floated to the surface of his thoughts. His fight with Angel, talking about that stupid cup, saying 'it's my destiny.' Trying to claim something else that was most likely to be Angel's in the end. At the time, he had thought that beating Angel was the only goal, the only destiny left to him.

Perhaps, though, this was what he was really looking for. The chance to make his own destiny.

A destiny without Buffy.

Throughout this year, he had suffered again and again. The disorientation of his return, the agony of being incorporeal, getting sucked into hell. Forced to bite his tongue and work with Angel, learning how to be a friend and a team player. Through all those struggles, there had been good times, yes. But he had still held onto the idea of Buffy. That if he made it through all this, at some point she'd be there, waiting for him. Like a reward.

Like the way Angel thought of the Shanshu prophecy. But Angel had stopped believing in the Shanshu. Said it was a load of crap, and that he wasn't working for that, wasn't expecting it. His actions belied that, but Angel still said he didn't care.

Perhaps it was time that he gave up the idea of being rewarded. Maybe there was no reward, just death waiting for him at the end of this second trip on Earth.

Maybe it was time to give up the pipe dream and face reality. He would never have Buffy.

Spike bit his lip, and closed his eyes. Just thinking it was painful. It was one thing to tell yourself something, and quite another to finally start realizing it.

"You're so tense," Harmony murmured, smoothing her fingers across his shoulders. "Stop thinking."

Spike opened his eyes, and pushed aside his thoughts, imagined shoving them into a closet and triple-locking it. "Sorry, pet. It's the birthday, you know--leads to deep thoughts."

She grinned up at him. "I liked you better when you were all impulsive and mean. We had a lot more fun when you were like that."

Spike moved away from Harmony, and stared at her for a moment. "Well, maybe it's time I had a little fun," he said with a grin, and pulled her closer to him, feeling her curves press against his body. And as he tightened his grip on her, he tried to ignore what his heart was saying over and over. This was his life and it was good, even if it didn't have Buffy in it.

"Yeah, unlife is pretty damn good," he whispered, and tried not to think about how he seemed to be lying to himself.

End, Chapter 1

The first few weeks went well. Spike had settled down a bit after the first few days, when he realized he was starting to piss himself off. But that didn't mean he let all the attitude disappear--he just toned it down some, and even Angel seemed to accept his random sarcastic statements.

He didn't accept so easily Spike's requests to be paid. Angel protested that since Spike lived at the office, and got his blood through Wolfram & Hart, what need did he have to be paid? Spike refused to tell Angel, but held firm that if he was an employee, he should be paid; what he did with the money was his business.

Spike didn't make any statements about leaving the firm; he knew that he'd stay regardless of Angel's decision. But that didn't mean he couldn't make Angel's life miserable, until he agreed with Spike. Much to his delight, Angel started groaning whenever Spike appeared in his office, and his grandsire became very eager to send him out on any W&H business that kept him out of the office. The breaking point came during a meeting with the D'Tissa clan, when Spike walked into Angel's office and started picketing for equal pay for equal work. Spike knew exactly what he was doing; the D'Tissas were sticklers for fair labor practices, and they wouldn't be too happy to learn that their lawyers weren't equally particular. Angel had no choice but to agree to Spike's demand for a salary.

With his first paycheck, Spike blew it all on smokes, booze, and a weekend at the vampire's equivalent of the Santa Anita racetrack. At least, that's what he wanted Angel to think. He had secretly stashed some of his pay in a bank account, putting aside the money for the plan he was developing.

His next paycheck, Spike put half of it in the bank, and then took Fred out to dinner. He hadn't spent as much time with her lately as he had when he had first appeared in L.A., and he found he had missed her. So he took his favorite scientist to a nice restaurant, where they had a great time catching up.

Fred had been happily regaling him with stories about Knox, when she suddenly stopped in mid-stream and switched gears. "Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?" he asked, pouring the last of the red wine into his glass.

"Well, it's just that I was wondering, and of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, but I think you need to talk about it. Although maybe you're entering a strong silent period, which would be really odd because 'silent' would never describe you, I think . . . " Her voice trailed off, and Spike couldn't help smiling at the embarrassment on her face.

"So, you want to talk to me about something?" he said, trying to stifle his laughter.

She nodded. "Yes. It's about . . . well, it's about Buffy."

At her name, Spike sat back in his chair, and sighed. "Fred, if you're asking if I took you out tonight so I could spill my guts about Buffy, out of the hearing of Angel, that's not the case."

"No, I'm not asking that, although now that you mention it, that's a good reason to talk about this here. No, it's just that . . . you're asking Angel for money, you're having afternoon delight with Harmony, and you're all snarky again. Have, have you heard something from Buffy?"

"If Buffy had contacted me, Harmony would be the last woman in the world I'd be sleeping with, Fred."

She bit her lip, but pressed forward. "Just because Buffy contacted you didn't mean it would necessarily be good news."

"It'd be more likely that it'd be something I wouldn't want to hear, that's certainly true," Spike agreed. "But why do all these things combine to me being in touch with Buffy?"

Fred shrugged her shoulders. "You get sarcastic when you're covering your feelings. You did it when you first arrived, and now you're doing it again. You're sleeping with Harmony to forget about someone. And you're asking Angel for a salary, which I highly doubt you're blowing all on cigarettes. So, it makes me think you're planning something. Something like leaving," she said quietly.

"I may be able to leave L.A., but it's not like I'm gonna run off after Buffy." Spike paused, and looked at Fred. "Look, I get that you're concerned. And Dixie, I appreciate the concern. But there's nothing to worry about. I haven't heard anything from Buffy." He dropped his gaze to his plate, and pushed around the last of his filet mignon.

"So that's the problem? You haven't heard anything?" Fred said, her voice curious. "I mean, does she even know if you're alive? I mean, not dead? Oh, you know what I mean."

Spike grinned weakly. "Far as I know, she has no idea. And I think it's better if it stays that way."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand," Fred said, shaking her head. "Don't you want to let her know that you're back? At the very least, it'd be the polite thing."

Spike snorted. "Vampire, luv. 'Polite' isn't really in the definition of the word."

"Isn't there anyone that you'd want to get in contact with, though? Anyone to whom that you've got words left unsaid?"

Spike looked away from Fred, trying not to start making a laundry list of regrets and wishes. If he started, he'd never finish.

"Spike, I'm sorry," Fred said. "I . . . I just wanted to give you a different perspective. When I got sucked into that portal to Pylea, I spent a lot of time at first just trying to survive. I didn't have time to think about home. But when I did, I spent a lot of time being miserable, thinking over all the things I should have done, could have done. It was the worst." She paused, but continued. "But, I needed to do that. I needed to remember my old life, to remember why I wanted to go home. I was lucky--I got to come home, and I could fix my mistakes. And I think you need to do that."

"Well, Fred, I'm not eager to think about all the times I fucked up, and all the people I have to apologize to. I'm not like you, since the worst thing you ever did was stay out past your curfew. I attacked Buffy. I stole and lied and cheated and killed, Fred. How can I make up for that? How?"

The waiter materializing at their table made him realize his voice had been raised enough for others in the restaurant to hear him. Spike sighed, and threw some cash on the table. "Come on, Fred," he said, holding out his hand to her. She gave him a long look, but then took his hand and allowed him to escort her out of the restaurant. They didn't say anything on the drive back to the office, and although Spike tried to apologize to her, Fred didn't let him. She merely put her fingers over his lips, and smiled at him, before heading off to the lab.

Spike tiredly walked into his office/living area. It had been a few weeks since his dinner with Fred, and since then, he had been feeling very unlike himself. He had broken things off with Harmony once and for all, much to his sanity's pleasure although not his libido's. But he had just gotten tired of dealing with her, even in a no-strings kind of way. Annoying bint, she was.

But it was other things, too. He kept returning to the conversation he had with Fred, much to his displeasure. The last thing he wanted to think about was all the things he'd fix if he could, but he couldn't seem to prevent his mind from returning to that topic. There were several times that he cursed Fred for putting the idea in his head. He had been doing all right, hadn't he? He'd been getting the job done, and even getting some enjoyment out of life. But now, he moped around, not even caring about his similarity to Angel. He hardly spent any of his paycheck, just putting it in the bank out of habit. Thanks to that habit, he was building up a tidy nest egg, one that he could use to travel or invest or have a grand time in Vegas. Yet he couldn't work up the will to do any of those things.

He tossed the duster over a chair, and sank down on the matching sofa. He had been dealing with a gang of Chrisjourn demons earlier today and they had taken a lot out of him. All he wanted to do at this point was drink some blood, catch the footie game on the satellite, and get some sleep. Maybe if he was able to sleep a bit, he'd stop thinking so much about Buffy.

He had just pulled himself over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bag of blood, when a knock sounded on his door. He sighed, but called out, "Come in."

The door opened, and Wesley poked his head inside. "Hello, Spike. I was wondering if you were planning on watching . . .?"

Spike sighed again and squeezed the blood into a mug. "Becks is playing, isn't he? Of course I'm watching. Pull up a bit of sofa." He heated up his blood, and when it was finished, took a seat in the armchair.

They were quiet during the first half, with occasional shouts at players or the referees. However, Spike kept sensing Wes glancing over at him, and he finally snarled, "Spit it out, Wes."

Wes shifted on the sofa. "Fred talked to me a few days ago, saying that the two of you had gone out to dinner last month, and she was worried that she had upset you. She asked me to speak with you."

Spike groaned. "Meddling woman." He sat forward in his chair. "Fred went poking her nose in things she shouldn't have, and as a result, I'm right brassed off. Not at what she did," he assured Wes. "No, I'm mad about how I feel about what she said."

"I assume this is about Buffy."

Spike jumped up from the chair with a shout of frustration, and began pacing around the room. "You see, that's what I mean. You know, my sun doesn't rise and set on Buffy! There were other people I cared about, that I'd like to talk to. But no, Buffy is the only person I think about according to all of you around here. But I can't talk to Dawn, or Red, or even Giles, because Miss High and Mighty Slayer can't be bothered to pick up the sodding phone and tell us where they are!" Spike paused, and let out a strained chuckle. "I even want to talk to Xander. I must be going crazy. Again."

Wes cocked an eyebrow. "I admit, the desire to talk to Xander Harris could easily be construed as insanity. But I'm curious--just what did Fred say, that has made you so irritable lately?"

Spike glared at Wes. "Irritable? You make me sound like a child."

"In fact, you've acted more like an infant. Sulking, fighting, screaming at the top of your lungs."

Spike stopped pacing and slumped back into his chair. Wes didn't say anything, waiting for Spike to speak. Finally, he found the words.

"I want to get over Buffy. Well, not want, exactly. More like I feel like I have to try, or else this second chance I got will have been wasted." He stared at his fingernails. "Remember how I told you about my mum? About what I did to her?" Wes nodded, and Spike continued. "I had blocked it all out, but the First picked over my memories and used a song my mum sang to me as a trigger. To get rid of the trigger, I had to face the memories. Face the fact that I turned my mother, and then I had to kill her, because she wasn't my mother anymore."

Wesley nodded sympathetically. "Quite a few fledglings through time have done the same, with similar results."

Spike pressed on, as if he hadn't heard Wesley. "Well, remembering all that, it made me feel like my own man again, you know? Breaking the trigger, yeah, was good. But even better was remembering that my mum had loved me. No matter what happened to me, I knew she had loved me, and I had turned her out of love. Knowing that--it gave me back my confidence, I guess. Dunno, really. I just felt different after that. Like I was becoming my own man. I told Buffy that, and I think she could see that," he said softly.

"So, now, in a sense, you're trying to figure out a way to de-trigger yourself of Buffy?"

"Lacking a better way to describe it, yes." Spike turned and looked at Wes. "Know you've been there, mate. Just wondering how you did it."

"Yes . . . Fred," Wes said, his voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "When she chose someone else, I had to decide which was more important: staying in her life, if only as a co-worker, or declaring my intentions and interfering in her new relationship, and potentially losing several friends as well as her. So I contented myself with her friendship. And sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, in stepping back. But then I think about what she wanted, and my choice was already made for me."

A heavy silence fell over the room, and the sound of the television did little to lighten the dark mood both men felt.

Spike cleared his throat, trying not to reveal how close to tears he was in. Because he was crying on the inside, great heaving sobs. And while he knew he was going to sound like a choice git, the words still fell from his lips. "So, the fact that Buffy hasn't called Angel at all . . . guess that means she's happy where she is, and I shouldn't go mucking that up, huh?"

Wes didn't say anything in reply, only reached over and laid his hand on Spike's shoulder. Spike couldn't help the small sniff, and then he said, "Well, that's that. Least now, I know."

Wes removed his hand, and Spike leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "I had told myself over and over that I was moving on, but I don't think I believed it. Until now."

"Well, that's why they're called epiphanies. They strike out of the blue."

Spike groaned, and forced his attention to the television. Forced himself to concentrate on the movement of men and a black-and-white ball, instead of thinking of how he was letting go of his dream. For weeks, he thought he had put Buffy behind him, that he was dealing with his decision to let her go. He realized now that he had been running away from any thought of Buffy. And now, that he had faced up to his choices, he had gone with the only one that made sense.

The one where Buffy was happy.

Spike spent a lot of time alone after that evening with Wesley. Unlike before, when he was brooding--no way he could deny it, he'd seen Angel brood too many times not to know he had been doing the same--this time, he was thinking. About his life as a human, about the years he had spent as an 'evil thing', and about the months when he had been an anomaly: the only vampire in history to win back his soul. The events of the last six years weighed heavily on him: the time spent in Sunnydale, moping after Drusilla, hatching evil plans despite his chip, falling in love with Buffy, touching her body but never her heart, only to go too far. Then to gain his soul, but put through insanity and then slow recovery, only to have his body be nearly broken by the First. He had thought he was finally pulling things together at the end . . . he had broken the First's trigger, Buffy was reaching out to him, he was finally realizing what his place in the world was, and he had an inkling that it wasn't necessarily at Buffy's side.

But then, that last battle had come, and he had realized that his destiny laid along a different path than Buffy. She would keep walking her path, but his was finally coming to an end. He knew it the moment their fingers intertwined, right before he told her to go and sent her out of the basement. Before his body went up in a blaze of light. He had resigned himself, as soon as he took that horribly gaudy piece of jewelry from her, that he wasn't going to make it. And it was so damn hard to face, but he consoled himself with the thought that he was doing this for Buffy. She'd live, and go on, and have all the things he would have loved to have given her.

When he was returned to life, his first thought had been Buffy. He thought about how he would find her, and they'd finally have the time to figure out what there was between them, without the threat of evil and apocalypse hanging over their heads. He didn't completely expect a happy ending, but all he could think about was the chance, the possibility of the two of them being happy together.

Yet he was stuck in L.A., unable to touch or feel anything. He thought that once he became corporeal, he'd be able to find Buffy. But then he was solid, and he found that for some reason, he kept finding some reason to not leave. First it was the problems at the office, then he needed to help Lorne with a crisis in Pylea, then it was several cases that Angel asked for his help with. And before he knew it, a year had gone by and he was still in Los Angeles.

Maybe it wasn't a case of 'before he knew it'. Maybe his subconscious knew what it was doing all along. It was getting him ready for a time when he'd face facts and realize that Buffy and he would never be together. Of course, the situation had been helped by her inability to remain in contact with Angel. He would have told her that Spike had been returned, and who knows what would have happened then? But she hadn't called, hadn't written.

Love couldn't survive in a vacuum. His love for Buffy, despite his efforts to sustain it, had slowly been suffocated. He loved her, he knew. Would always love her. But the ache to possess her, to be with her, had faded away. He believed that she was in the world, happily living her life. That was all he had wanted for her. Once, he had wanted to help make that happen, but now, he was content knowing that she must be happy, because she was free from the Hellmouth and all the burdens of slaying.

So, if Buffy was happy, free from slaying, he was free, too. Free from his guilt over not finding her, free from his shame that maybe he didn't measure up, after all. Free of his doubt over what kind of man he was.

He knew what he was now. He was a good man.

In the following days, Spike found a new confidence within himself. He finally started working with Wesley, helping with translations when asked. He had scorned Wesley's efforts to include him in the past, but now he found he enjoyed the book work.

But he still relished the patrols with Angel or Gunn, using his speed and skill to take out demons who thought they could take over the world. He got the same thrill out of using his fists as he did decoding an ancient manuscript.

He started having lunch with Fred weekly. At their first lunch, he thanked her for the care she had shown for him, and told her he appreciated it, even if it had been a hard lesson to learn. She had smiled at him, and told him she had confidence that he'd always be able to learn anything he needed to know, no matter how hard. The words were lovely to hear, but they weren't anything he didn't already know about himself.

His bank account was still growing, although he took some money out and bought himself some clothes. When Fred, who went with him to serve as his stylist, asked him why he was changing his look, he just said that he usually changed his look every twenty years or so. Fred had gotten a look on her face, but hadn't said anything as he picked out some pairs of black slacks and a variety of colored shirts, both pullover and button-down. She approved of the blue and red shirts, and made him put back a forest green shirt that would make him look "tubercular."

She also helped him pick out a new jacket to replace the duster. He decided that while he'd always keep that symbolic coat, he couldn't wear it anymore. But even Fred couldn't convince him to stop dying his hair. He wondered if she thought he was doing this as a way to put Buffy behind him. Still, he felt confident that his 'new look' wasn't that big of a change.

He was wearing black slacks and a blue pullover on a sunny Tuesday morning when he entered Angel's office. He glanced up as he walked in, catching sight of Angel before redirecting his eyes to the open file folder in his hands. "Angel, we've got a problem. According to this translation, the Rite of Peesu-Brat is supposed to be held in two days, and it's not exactly a pleasant moonlight picnic for the forty humans who have to be sacrificed as part of the rite. We need to make some plans . . . "

Spike trailed off when he realized there was something going on. Someone else was in the room. He could feel his senses tingling in a way he didn't want to remember. He took a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the papers in front of him for a moment. Before he could look up, she spoke.

He heard a soft chuckle. "Hello, Spike. You're not surprised to see me, I think."

He swallowed, and looked up. There she was. She stood in a patch of sunlight, but to him, she outshone even the sun. He was finally able to find his voice. "Right as always . . . Buffy."

End, Chapter 2