Putting the Question
Chapter Three

Buffy looked good. She had gained a bit of weight, and the circles that he'd grown used to seeing under her eyes had faded quite a bit. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, reaching nearly to her waist in a shimmering curtain of gold. She was dressed simply, a bit more conservatively than he recalled, but she was still the same woman.

Spike clutched the file folder in his hands. She was right; he wasn't surprised to see her. It was almost like fate was laughing at him. Just when he'd finally gotten his life under his control, and out of her hands, here she was, ready to take him over again.

He couldn't be here right now. He'd never been one to turn and run, but there was no way in hell he was going to stay in this office and watch Buffy and Angel do their pained love and longing looks.

"Um, I'll just catch you later about this, Angel--I've got a line on a disgruntled Rashaka who has some info about the ritual." Spike quickly turned to leave, but stopped at Buffy's voice.

"Wait, Spike!" When he turned around, she was only a step away from him. He was rather confused about why she had moved so quickly. She looked a bit upset, and his first reaction was to reach out, touch her shoulder, say how he'd do anything to help her.

Instead, he stayed silent and watched her as she bit her lip before speaking. "What I mean is, um, you have business with Angel. I'm just here to visit; I could go talk with Wesley while you take care of this ritual of PCU-Bot."

Angel, who Spike had forgotten about completely, interjected himself into the discussion. "Actually, Buffy, if you're not against the idea of a working visit, we'd love your help."

She looked from Angel to Spike, seemingly tempted to stay. "You don't mind?" she asked Spike.

He shook his head, and mumbled, "No, fine with me," before he took a seat in front of Angel's desk. Buffy took the chair at his side, and Angel perched on the edge of his desk.

Spike tried to ignore Buffy as he began speaking. "Rite of Peesu-Brat is a major ceremony held every four hundred years by several inter-related clans of demons. To make a long story short," he said, not wanting to sound too much like Wes did during these explanations, "the rite requires the sacrifice of forty humans, preferably young females. The rite is apparently being held in Echo Park, so I'd say we should spend the next two nights scoping out teen hangouts in the area, make it a little difficult for the clans to make their quota. Then, we hit them in the park the night of the ritual."

Angel nodded. "Sounds good. You want to organize everything? I've got four other cases I'm working on over the next two nights, although I'll be available on Thursday night for the ritual."

Spike nodded. "Fine."

"So, Buffy, you'll be working with Spike on this," Angel said, with some indescribable emotion flickering over his face. It could have been resignation, it could have been annoyance, it could have been regret. Spike, however, saw mockery. Almost like Angel was saying, 'See how hard it is not to sigh and mope over her when you've got to work with her.'

Spike gritted his teeth, feeling a flare of anger. He turned to Buffy, forcing himself to stay calm. "Hope you don't mind, Slayer."

She looked happy, for some odd reason, at this arrangement. "That's fine, Angel," she said, before turning to Spike. "So, we'll meet up at sunset?"

Spike nodded, staring at the folder in his lap but sneaking a glance or two at Buffy. "Um, yeah. Just come to my office--anyone can point it out to you."

"Good," she said.

Silence fell between them, before Angel cleared his throat. "Spike, if you wouldn't mind . . . "

Spike looked at Angel, then at Buffy, before jumping out of his chair. "No, no, not at all. I'll see you later, Buffy."

He nearly ran out of Angel's office, and immediately headed to his own. Closing the door firmly behind him, he went to the sofa and dropped down on it, still feeling a touch of shock and numbness about what had just happened.

Buffy was here. Over a year had passed since Sunnydale had disappeared, and she had made no attempts to see Angel, didn't even phone him or write. And now, like a bolt out of the blue, she was sitting in Angel's office, making small talk and jumping to get involved in one of their cases.

He didn't understand at all. But then, he never really had understood Buffy, so he figured it was just more of the same.

He sighed and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He was going to have to work with her tonight so he needed to take time to compose himself. Make sure he reinforced his walls so she couldn't affect him. He stared at his hands for a moment, trying to push aside all the nagging thoughts and questions he had and concentrated on work to help him fill the hours until he'd have to see her.

Spike pulled a stack of papers off the coffee table and started going over a translation of the Debxenaronian Codex that one of Wesley's minions was having difficulty with. He had completed three lines of the translation when one of those small nagging thoughts broke loose and made him stop in amazement.

Buffy hadn't been surprised to see him. At all.

But shouldn't she be thinking that he was dead?

So how had she found out he wasn't dead?

And when did she find out?

Working on instinct, Spike jumped up and stalked out of his office. He walked into Angel's office and ignored Angel's frustrated expression as he faced Buffy.

"You knew I was alive," he said, his voice sounding deeper than normal to him.

Buffy's eyes widened, before she stood to face him. "Yes, I knew."

"How did you know?" he asked in confusion. "You haven't been in contact with any of us here in L.A. None of the Scoobies have been--who told you about me?"

"No one," she said, her face blank.

"You mean no one here told you, but you heard through the demon grapevine?" Spike pressed, looking for answers.

"I mean, no one," Buffy said, a trace of annoyance flashing over her face. "I-I just knew you weren't gone. Willow did a spell and confirmed that you were alive, or at least not dust, and that you were in L.A. I heard a few days ago that you were working with Angel."

Spike stared at her, knowing that his emotions were written all over his face. "You 'just knew' I was alive? What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It means I just knew!" she snapped. She turned to Angel, and said, "Can you show me where Wes is? I'd like to talk to him now."

Angel nodded, and before Spike could say anything else, he whisked Buffy out of the office, but not without shooting a dirty look at Spike.

Spike slumped into the cushions of the leather sofa. When Angel re-entered the office, Spike looked up at him. "I don't understand. Did she say anything to you?"

Angel shrugged. "You know Buffy. She just talked about the gang, about Dawn."

"Did she say why she was here after all this time?"

"Said she needed to talk to Wesley about something. Probably the new Watcher's Council that Giles is forming."

Spike snorted. "So that robo-dad of Wes' wasn't that far off, huh?" He sighed. "Guess I should go take care of things before tonight. Would hate to get staked with work on my desk."

"What makes you think you'd get staked tonight?"

Spike just looked at Angel. Angel nodded, and said, "Of course. I'd tell you to try not to annoy Buffy, but it'd be easier to keep a fledgling from feeding. See you later."

Spike nodded, and headed back to his office. This time he was more successful in thinking about his work, but he kept looking at the clock throughout the day, and he finally gave up around four-thirty and went to the training room to stretch out and loosen his muscles. After a long work-out, he showered and went to find Fred.

When he ambled into the lab, Fred was bent over a microscope, engrossed in her work. He softly ran a finger over the back of her neck, and she jumped. "Spike!"

"Nice to know I really can scare you," he said with a small smile. His smile faded as he looked at his boots and scuffed his foot across the floor. "You've heard about our visitor?" He looked back up, catching Fred's sympathetic gaze.

She nodded. "I had lunch with her, actually. I liked her a lot. It was nice to finally meet her, especially after hearing so much about her."

"Did she . . .?"

Fred's gaze dropped from his, but she told him the truth. "She didn't mention you. But she didn't talk about Angel, either."

Spike smiled a bit at Fred. "You're a love, Dixie." He paced around the room a bit, picking up random items that caught his eye. "Knocked me for a loop, seeing her," he said. He paused, a beaker in his hand. "But it was surprising, how I felt. Like she was someone I had a history with, but just that--a history."

"You didn't feel anything for her?" Fred asked, her voice questioning.

"I'm not sure. Just know that I don't want to fall into that trap again. That's the last thing I want."

Fred patted his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Spike. She said she's leaving on Friday."

Spike nodded. "Yeah. Just have to get through these next couple of days."

Fred nodded as well. "You can do it, Spike."

With a smile, Spike left the lab and headed back to his office. He went into his bedroom and changed his clothes, pulling on his patrolling jeans and a black t-shirt. Although he had retired the duster for good, you couldn't beat jeans and a t-shirt for patrol. Sturdy but cheap to replace; they had worked for him for thirty years.

A knock on the door pulled him away from such thoughts, and he sighed a bit. "Remember, you've killed two slayers, fought for your soul, and sing better than Angel." With that, he went into the living room/office and opened the door.

Buffy smiled brightly at him. "Hi, Spike."

"Hey, Buffy," he said, resting one hand against the door frame.

She tried to look around him, and then said, "Can I come in?"

"I guess so," he said, moving to the side. As she walked in, he looked around, imagining how she saw the place. It still was pretty corporate comfortable, with bland walls and that indefinable brownish-tan carpet. He had finally started adding some touches to the place, like plenty of candles and some throws, but he still felt a bit tentative here. Like he wasn't sure he'd be staying, so he didn't want to put down too many roots. Which was a pretty stupid idea, as the people he'd met here pretty much ensured he wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

She looked around, and then nodded at him. "It's nice, Spike. It looks lived-in."

He shrugged. "Well, I'm here a lot. Was good to finally get a place of my own after knocking around here for six months."

She looked a bit puzzled, but before she could ask anything, he walked over to his weapons chest and picked up a few stakes and a small axe and handed them to her. He grabbed the light coat he wore instead of the duster now, and said, "Ready to go?"

She nodded, and he lead the way out of the office and down to the parking garage. Surveying the row of cars, he said, "Any preference, Slayer?"

"It's all wrong to drive to go slaying," she grumbled.

"It's L.A. No one walks here, you know that."

She sighed, then pointed towards a red car halfway down the row. "That one."

"The Viper," he said with a grin. "My favorite, in fact. Good choice."

He headed over, barely noticing the small smile on her face.

The drive over to the Echo Park area was quiet, with a bit of small talk. Once there, Spike gestured to the area. "There's a few runaway shelters in the area, as well as a community center about a half-mile away. I thought we'd just walk around some, making sure anyone about got to where they were going. There's a club a few streets over, too, that we can check a little later. Still too early for it really to be jumping," he said.

"You've obviously done your homework," she commented.

"Just a matter of knowing your location," Spike said. "Difference between living another day and becoming dust."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The mention of death and dust made the memories of their last moments in Sunnydale feel all too close. He guessed she was thinking about the same thing, and of the girls who had died during that last battle.

"How's Dawn?" he asked suddenly, looking for something to distract him from his memories.

Buffy started, as if she had been lost in thought. "Um, she's good! She's in school, in England. She's helping Giles with research, too. I think I got all the 'getting-in-trouble-in-school' genes, and she got all the 'good-student' genes. But she's happy. She's getting ready for college; Giles keeps pushing her towards Cambridge, but she's thinking about coming back to the States for school." She paused. "Giles is happy to be in England, even if we're all living together. Of course, Giles's place is a lot bigger than my house was. Plus, not full of teenage girls."

Spike nodded, content to let her talk, to tell him about how she was. "How's Red doing? Bet she's happy to be near that coven again."

Buffy nodded. "Willow's been studying with them and learning more. She's been so much better since that last battle when she finally used her powers wisely. And while I know he's the first person you thought of," she said with a grin, "Xander's good, too. He's actually in Cleveland with Andrew, Faith and Principal Wood."

"Taking care of the Hellmouth there?" Spike asked.

"Yep. They've got a couple of slayers there; Xander says it's like Hellmouth Central Station." She paused, her face growing dark. "Did you know about Anya?"

He sighed, guessing what her words would be. "Demon Girl didn't make it?"

Buffy sighed sadly. "She died saving Andrew. He couldn't believe he made it through the battle. He's changed so much since then. He's really grown up. Xander says he's been a huge help to everyone in Cleveland. I never would have expected it."

Spike scuffed his foot along the sidewalk. "Well, you never know when someone's gonna come through. Suppose that's why you need a dark horse to save the day when everything looks hopeless."

"Yeah, you would know something about that," Buffy said lightly.

He glanced over at her, wondering at her words.

Another silence fell, broken only by the sounds of their feet meeting the sidewalk and people talking on corners. He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering how long they could continue to dance around the things that needed to be talked about.

Buffy laughed a bit. "I never thought that the first time we saw each other again we'd make a patrolling date."

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Patrolling is what we do best. What were you expecting?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe hand-holding?"

Spike stopped walking and stared at her. "Hand-holding?" he asked in disbelief.

She stopped as well, and looked at her boots--stylish but affordable, he bet. "Well, that's what happened when I came back from the dead. And since you've come back from the dead now . . . I thought it could be our thing."

"Our . . . thing?" he said, feeling even more confused.

She nodded and shot him a glance. "That moment--when I came back--nothing had felt real. But after that, I started . . . feeling real. At least a little."

He was lost for anything to say. He was trying to think and speak at the same time, but he couldn't get them to work together. He knew he was sputtering out syllables, while his brain was trying to conceive of why Buffy would place such significance on a simple moment.

"Um, well, that's certainly . . . " he managed to get out, before a girl's scream distracted him.

Buffy sighed, but took off in the direction of the sound. He followed her, his thoughts now focused on helping. The screams came from down the street, and Buffy came to a stop at the end of an alley. Two young girls were cornered at the end, with four Unrui demons moving towards them. They halted in their tracks, though, when they heard Buffy.

"Somehow, I don't think you guys are part of the Neighborhood Watch." She strolled down the alley, Spike shadowing her moves. "Luckily for these girls, we are," she said, gesturing to Spike and herself.

One of the demons grunted, and Spike said, "No need to get personal, mate," with a grin.

The demon said something else, and Spike shrugged. "Well, you asked for it," he said before diving into the middle of the group of demons. Buffy quickly followed, yelling to the two girls to get to someplace safe.

Spike felt the stress of the last few hours drop away as he moved against the demons. With each punch he landed, he let go of some of the tension. With each kick, he released uncertainty. He knew his place. He was meant to fight, to be in control, to make his own destiny. His role was clear. Clearer than it ever had been.

Yet things were good, with Buffy there, moving, dodging, dancing with death. Fighting with her was the best he'd ever get. No one, not even Angel, brought out the best of him like she did. If this was all they'd have together--this last chance to patrol, to fight--he'd take it. Because this was something that was theirs, and theirs alone. The fight.

The scuffle was over sooner than he would have liked, just like so many things in his life. He knew she'd only be here a few days and he wanted time with her. Not just time to patrol, but time to talk to her, to hear more about Dawn, and to find out exactly what she had been doing; he noticed that she had left out how she was, what she had done, since they last saw each other. He wanted to part with her as friends and allies so that she knew she could always call him to talk, without worrying about if he'd pressure her for more.

But now, the fight was over, and they were standing by four demon corpses. Buffy was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her face, and he marveled once again at how much she loved the dance. He didn't understand how she could want a 'normal' life, when she could have this, when she was so suited for these small triumphs over evil.

She was staring at him. Staring like she couldn't believe he was here, like he would disappear if she didn't keep all her attention focused on him. He assumed it was just some weird reaction to their reunion coupled with the fight working her up.

"Hey, Slayer," he said, moving towards her, feeling a little unsteady as he side-stepped to avoid one of the corpses. He touched her shoulder, giving her a slight shake.

Buffy threw her arms around him, hugging him like she never wanted to let go. She squeezed him tightly, burying her head in his chest. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her, and he found one of his hands starting to rub her back. She seemed to be murmuring under her breath. As he bent down to try and catch her words, her head came up, and her gaze locked on his face.

And she kissed him. Kissed him like she had never kissed him before, as if her only desire was to stand in this dirty little alley and kiss him some more. And he did kiss her back. Because it felt good, and it was Buffy, and no matter what, he loved her. But after a few moments, he drew back from her, and asked, "Buffy?"

"God, I love the way you say my name. No one says it like you do," she said, gasping a bit. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed glassy.

He tilted his head, a bit surprised, and stepped away from her. Something seemed wrong. Maybe these demons--their blood or guts or something--had an effect on humans that he didn't know about. "Slayer, are you all right?"

She nodded, her eyes on him, and said with a smile, "Oh, I'm very all right." She placed her hands on his arms, pulling herself into his body. "I've missed you," she said, her eyes soft, her voice low. "Every day. I missed you as soon as I left you."

Now he was really worried. "Who are you, and where's Buffy?" he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, and not like he was wondering if she was a robot. Even if he really was thinking that. Because the alternative--that she was charged up from the fight and was looking for a way to release that energy--spelled doom for him.

She grinned a little at him. "I'm right here. I don't know why it took me so long to do that. I meant to do that the second I saw you. Even if Angel and the entire firm of Wolfram and Hart were there to watch, I was gonna kiss you."

He couldn't conceal his disbelief and surprise. This was just too much. He thought he had gotten used to her mixed signals when they had been involved, but this? After a year apart, coming after a time where the most they had done was hold each while sleeping, this was too much physical sensation. His body was on overload, ready to shut down and give in. But his mind seemed to be flailing around, looking for reason. Something didn't seem to add up here.

He took a step away from her, and then stumbled backwards as his foot caught on one of the bodies. He managed to stay standing, but held out his hand as Buffy moved towards him to help. "No, no, you just stay there for a minute."

"Spike?" she asked, her voice confused.

"I know I've been out of the game for a while," he said, "but you're acting very different from the last time we saw each other. And considering you hadn't bothered to pick up a phone, just to say 'I'm glad you're alive', it makes me wonder what you want from me."

Buffy bit her lip. "I-I would have thought I made it clear in the Hellmouth. And before that, too."

"What, do you mean the part where you asked me to hold you while you slept, and then kissed Angel? Or the part where you gave me Satan's favorite piece of jewelry, without even knowing what it would do to me?"

"No! You know how I got that amulet--I never thought that you'd . . . well, you know!" Her cheeks were flushed again, but with anger now.

"Oh, yeah, because perfect Angel gave it to you, so you didn't consider that maybe he was playing some angle, that there might be some danger to whoever wore the bloody thing."

"Well, we found out the hard way, didn't we?" she shouted at him. "Of course, you never go away! You had to come back, just to make my life more difficult!"

"What the hell? Make YOUR life more difficult?" he roared. "You haven't fucking talked to me, or anyone! How the hell could I make your life more difficult if I didn't even know you knew that I was alive?"

"Your mere existence makes my life harder! I look at you, and I see someone who knows me better than myself, and that scares me so much that I don't want to think about you at all!" By the time she finished, tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"You bitch," Spike hissed. "The waterworks aren't gonna work on me. Listen to me. I've spent this whole year, since I got back, trying to get over you. And I finally did it, and I'm not gonna fall for you again just because you show up, kiss me and then do this weepy act. It's not gonna work, Slayer."

Her eyes had snapped to his face as he spoke, and her lip trembled as she spoke. "You got over me? Why?"

"Oh, gee, let me think. Could it be because I had no idea where you were, what you were doing, how you were feeling? Or maybe it was because I was stuck in the middle of an evil law firm, run by the vampire I hate most in the world, and coincidentally enough, your ex-boyfriend? Perhaps it was even the fact that I got accepted by the people in said evil law firm, and I realized that I didn't need to go chasing after Buffy like a faithful dumb mutt?" He moved towards her, and leaned down, invading her personal space. "But I think the real answer to your question is, because I found out that loving you was a form of suicide by slow degrees."

Buffy whipped her head back like she had been struck. She took a giant step back from him, yet her tears stopped and she lifted her chin, looking defiant. "Well, once again, irony, thy name is Buffy. I guess telling you I love you was just the trick to make you get over me."

She moved to leave the alley, but Spike grabbed her arm. "What did you just say?"

She pulled her arm out of his grip. "You heard me. I love you, you stupid bastard." Before Spike could say anything else, she stalked off, her bootheels clomping on the asphalt and growing quieter as she walked out of the alley and away from him.

He turned and watched her leave, and even took a step forward, before his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, barely noticing the demon corpse he had landed besides. This day had to be a dream; only a dream would be so absurd. Buffy's return, his ability to stay calm, the fight, the kiss . . . he had to be dreaming. Because only in his dreams had Buffy ever said she loved him.

Spike ran his hands through his hair. Why was this bothering him so much? He knew he had moved on; he knew it as a fact of life, like the color of his eyes or the year he had been turned. So why was the prospect that Buffy loved him throwing him for a loop? It shouldn't bother him, if he wasn't in love with her anymore, when she said she loved him.

But all the rationalization in the world couldn't make his stomach stop churning. Couldn't stop the shakes in his hands as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Didn't keep him from reliving her saying the words, even if her voice was tinged with anger and regret. He sat in the alley, chain-smoking, as he tried to come to grips with the way his world had been turned on its axis. The bedrock of his life for the last four years was that Buffy would never love him. Yet now it appeared that he had been wrong. She loved him.

Sometime around his sixth cigarette, he paused in his reflections. What had she said? Something about telling him she loved him was the way to make him leave? Where did that come from? Tonight was the first time she had said anything about love to him--well, anything that wasn't an emphatic denial of any possible love she felt for him. She had always been so firm when they were sleeping together that she didn't love him. But her denials couldn't hide the emotions in her eyes, so he had kept hoping right up until the moment that he crashed into his crypt after he had tried to rape her.

Spike closed his eyes and let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He felt the same wave of guilt, horror, and anger that he experienced every time he remembered that dark spring night. It was that memory that continued to shape his life. He got his soul because of it. Once he returned to Sunnydale, he had avoided Buffy, and any thought of love, for months. It was only at rare moments that he broke his silence and even said the words to her. And those moments were never about him, but about her.

He snorted. "Everything is about her, you git. Remember? That's only the bloody reason you wanted to get over her."

He pulled himself to his feet, frowning a bit at the corpses. He missed the days when he could have just left them laying about, but as a good guy now, one of the rules was concealment of demons from the humans. So he shouldered each of the demons and tossed them in a dumpster that sat at the end of the alley. With that done, he picked up the small axe that Buffy had left, and headed back towards the car.

He didn't see Buffy along the way, and he felt relieved. She'd be able to make it back to Angel's, he knew, so he merely got in the car and headed back to Wolfram and Hart's. At this time of night, there was little traffic so his attention returned to the swirling mess of his thoughts. He was so confused. He felt like he had suddenly been told that up was really down, and it was a feeling he didn't enjoy.

The time on the dashboard clock was just after 2:00 a.m. when he pulled into the parking garage. He headed to his office, thinking only of his bed, and nearly gave a prayer of thanks when he made it to his room without running into anyone. He closed the door and locked it, and then leaned against it.

Spike stared at his room, and felt incredibly tired. No wonder Angel seemed more stolid and unmoving every year; it was easier to appear impassive, than to feel so much and be so tired. And he was exhausted.

He stripped and climbed into bed, sure that sleep would come quickly. But instead, he spent hours looking at the ceiling tiles, trying to once again figure out how in the world Buffy loved him.

And trying to figure out if he even really cared.

End, Chapter 3

Putting the Question
Chapter Four

A loud banging pulled Spike from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into during the early hours of the morning. He laid in bed for a moment, before groaning and calling out, "Just a minute," to whoever was trying to use brute strength to communicate. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor as he walked to the door. He flipped the lock, and pulled the shirt over his head as he waited for the door to open.

Instead of seeing a face, he saw a fist fly towards his face. He let it make impact, and felt his head snap around. Expecting Angel, he was surprised to see that it was Fred.

"Buffy came in last night, crying like her heart was broken. She told me what you said. For God's sake, Spike, I never thought you'd be that cruel!"

Fred stalked inside and slammed the door, and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Spike stared at her, holding his cheek.

"Fred? What the hell are you talking about?"

She glared at him. "I'm talking about being maliciously hurtful towards the woman you say that you'll always love."

"Whose friend are you, mine or hers?" he said angrily, although in the back of his head he felt like the other shoe had finally dropped. They were finally going to turn on him, and this all-too-brief period of friendship and teamwork was coming to an end.

His question seemed to take the anger out of Fred, and she deflated like a balloon. "I'm yours, of course. Oh, Spike, I'm sorry. I . . . Buffy's story hit a nerve with me, and I flew off the handle. I'm so sorry--can you forgive me?"

His head snapped up from the floor, his thoughts veering away from the plans he'd been making to leave now that it was all over. "What?"

"Can you forgive me?" she asked quietly. "I was in the wrong, to take Buffy's side without hearing yours first. I feel like a lousy friend and an even worse person now."

Spike felt a bubble of relief rise up within him and pop, leaving happiness in its wake. "Oh, love, there's nothing to forgive." He dropped his gaze. "I-I did say some awful things to Buffy last night. But she just gets me so worked up and I get defensive." He brought his gaze back to her face, and saw that she was ready to protest. He held up his hand and said, "Apology accepted."

She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug. Spike took a deep sniff of her hair, enjoying the smells that made her Fred--chamomile, sugar, and a faintly chemical odor that he ascribed to the lab. With a squeeze, she let him go, and moved over to the couch.

"So, you want to tell me what happened last night?" she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What did Buffy tell you?" he asked cautiously.

Fred shook her head. "Uh-huh. You first."

Spike sighed, and sat down next to her. "It seemed normal at first. I mean, we were patrolling, just catching up a bit, then we ran into some demons that had cornered two girls. A bit of quipping, and we got into the fight. Good fight, too--I'll always love fighting with Buffy. She's the best, and I would know," he said, giving Fred a look. She nodded, and he continued. "The fight finished, and we're just standing there amidst the bodies. And she's just staring at me. Bloody odd it is. So I go to shake her a little, and she hugs me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. And, I hugged her back, because for all I knew, she was getting weak from demon fumes or something." He shook his head. "Unrui demons, which I suspect emit some gas that makes humans act completely irrational."

"Spike, what happened next?" Fred prodded.

"She kissed me."

Fred sat up a bit. "And?"

He shrugged. "Well, it was good. Really good," he said. "I kissed her back. But then I just . . . stopped. It didn't seem right, to kiss her. Like we were putting the cart before the horse, just like before. So I pulled away from her, and she's blathering on about how she's missed me and how 'no one says my name like you do, Spike.'" He frowned. "Of course, this is setting off all my 'danger, danger!' instincts, so I get in a huge fight with her."

"What did you say?" Fred asked, her voice soft and concerned.

"Things that I was too mad to think about not saying, and things I probably shouldn't have said, and let's just leave it at that. I told her I had spent the last year getting over her, and she wasn't happy to hear that, much less why I made myself move on." He paused, and chose his words carefully. "So she said, 'I guess telling you I loved you was the perfect way to make you get over me.'" He looked up at Fred, confused. "I don't understand. She's saying this, like she's told me before that she's loved me. But she never has. Never," he emphasized when he saw Fred preparing to interrupt. "She always insisted there was no way she could love me while we were sleeping together. And then, after I got my soul . . . " His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. "Well, circumstances didn't lend themselves to courtship, even if we had wanted to go that route."

"How do you feel?" Fred asked.

"Confused," Spike said. "I feel like I don't know which way is up, and it's all her fault. She had to come back and screw me over one more time, for old times' sake I guess." He leaned back against the couch, and closed his eyes.

He could feel Fred leaning back as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He threw his arm around her shoulder, grateful for the contact. Fred was the only one who seemed to get how tactile he was, and give him opportunities to touch her. It was nice to hug her without worrying about whether she'd flinch away, like Buffy had when he'd first returned.

He softly groaned, and made himself think of the present problem. "So, Dixie, wanna tell me what the Slayer said when she was crying on your shoulder?"

Fred seemed to hesitate a bit, and then asked, "Spike, what do you remember of your last moments? You know, before . . . "

"I died?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She nodded solemnly. He sighed, and remembered those last moments in the Hellmouth.

"Well, the amulet was doing its thing, and the whole place was starting to come down. Buffy came over to me and told me I had to leave, that it wasn't safe. I told her no: that I was going to stay and do the clean-up. She was . . . I don't know, worried, I guess? She didn't argue too much with me about leaving; I think she knew that this was what I had to do. But before she left . . . " He stopped, and relived the moment when he had felt closest to Buffy in all the years he had known her. "She reached over, and put her palm against mine, and our fingers were intertwined. It was beautiful," he said. Understatement, that. It had been a revelation greater than sex.

Fred broke the reverie he'd fallen into. "And then what happened?"

He shrugged. "She left and I went up like a Roman candle." He looked at Fred curiously. "You know all this, Fred. Why are you asking about this?"

She fiddled a bit with the lapel of her lab coat, and said, "I think you need to talk to Buffy."

He resisted the urge to groan. "Oh, no. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid her."

"Even when you have to patrol tonight?"

"We've had plenty of times when we've patrolled out of necessity rather than desire."

"Still, do you think it's a sign of progress when you want to avoid her? I would think that you were scared of her--of what she has to say for herself." Fred inched away from him a bit, and took a deep breath. "Perhaps you're scared that she might convince you to change your mind?"

He scowled at her. "You don't have to be all smart and logical about it, not to mention making me feel like a right pansy."

She patted his knee and said with a grin, "It's what I'm paid to do. Except for the pansy-making, of course." Her grin faded a bit. "Spike, I really think you need to talk to Buffy and get her side of the story." When he started to protest, she held up her hand. "What if you have dinner with her, but Gunn goes with you on patrol? Buffy's staying with me tonight--I already invited her--so that way, you can talk, and don't have to worry about then having to work with her if things get awkward."

He looked at her from underneath his brows. "Are you up to something?"

Fred snorted. "Please, you don't know me that well if you think I could pull off something sneaky."

"You've always got to watch the quiet ones," he said, running his hand over her hair. "All right, all right. I'll do it, but only because you're supporting Buffy on this one. If I had my way, I'd crawl into a Jack Daniels bottle and not come out till she left."

Fred got up, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Exactly the reason for the plan, silly," she said before turning and leaving.

Spike shook his head, and then pulled himself from the couch. He had a feeling that this dinner tonight wasn't going to be pretty, but Fred was right. Even though he didn't care for Buffy anymore romantically, he owed her the chance to talk about things and clear the air. Besides, he knew that ending things on a fight just meant that they'd have to deal with the issues later on. Better to deal with things now.

With pessimistically hopeful thoughts, he showered and got dressed, and then got to work before he had to deal with Buffy.

At 5:30, a knock sounded on his door. Spike tossed the manuscript he'd been working on to the side, and got up from the couch. He found Buffy on the other side of the door, looking nervous, sad, and beautiful. She twisted her fingers together, seemingly unable to look at him. "Um, hi."

He could feel his gaze roaming around, pretending to look at her while trying hard not to. "Why don't you come in for a minute--I'd like to change." He gestured over towards the mini-bar. "Help yourself to water, a drink--I'll be right back."

He escaped into his bedroom, where he quickly washed up in the adjoining bathroom--sans mirror, of course--before turning to his closet. He had worn jeans and another t-shirt all day, so he was happy to drop them on the floor and change into a pair of slacks. He stood in front of his closet, though, pondering his shirts. He reached for a blue button-down, but as his hand made contact with the fabric, he had a sudden memory of Buffy once saying that she wished he'd wear blue more often. He drew his hand back like he had been scorched, and then quickly grabbed a black silk shirt and threw it on. Knowing that he was taking too long, Spike shoved his feet into a pair of black Doc Martens, instead of his scuffed boots, and then headed out into the living room.

Buffy turned from where she'd been contemplating the only piece of art hung in the room, a swirling abstract work in shades of red, black, and grey. "I like this painting," she said, her voice sincere yet sounding a bit defensive, like she was expecting him to deny her feelings. But he only nodded, and explained that it had been a gift from Gunn for his birthday. She looked surprised, but didn't say anything as he grabbed his jacket and keys, and escorted her out of his office.

In the garage, he took the Viper out of habit, but then worried that Buffy would think he was choosing that car because she had liked it. Suddenly, he realized how he was already second-guessing himself, doing things because Buffy liked them or going against his preferences to spite her. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention on the road as he drove them to one of the restaurants he preferred. It was a sophisticated, elegant place, but it was also distinguished by great food and that air of laidback nonchalance that California seemed to create in everything. He hoped the surroundings would help keep this evening from going to hell in a handbasket.

He waited until they had placed their drink orders before speaking. "I want you to know that I'm here to talk because Fred said I needed to hear your side. I don't know what you have to add to what we both already know, but because she asked, I'm here."

Buffy nodded, her face a blank mask. "I see. Are you involved with her?"

Spike nearly laughed at the suggestion. "With Fred?"

Buffy blushed but spoke in a controlled voice. "You're very close to her, and she's very sweet and caring. She reminds me of Dawn and Willow, and you always liked both of them."

Spike nodded. "You're right, Dixie is a combo of some of Dawn and Will's good parts, as well as a sprinkling of her own unique qualities. She was my first friend at Wolfram and Hart because she was big-hearted enough to work and work and work to try and make me corporeal again. But we're not seeing each other--she's been dating some fellow science geek for about a year now."

Buffy's eyes had widened a bit, and her cheeks had grown even more flushed as he spoke. She sighed, and looked down at her plate, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking about things that aren't my business."

Spike sighed. "Buffy, look at me."

She looked up at him, an expression extremely familiar on her face. The old deer-in-headlights look was firmly fixed on her face.

He spoke softly and quietly, trying very hard to keep emotion out of his voice. "Despite what I said, I didn't want us to finish everything up by walking away after a fight. I've never walked away before, and I didn't want to start now. I was hoping that tonight we could . . . clear the air a bit. Try to meet in the middle."

Buffy's expression had grown more blank as he spoke, and her voice was equally emotionless. "Yes, I'd like that."

The waiter arrived and placed their drinks in front of them, and then took their orders. When he left, Spike took a quick gulp of his wine for courage, and then started things rolling. "Why don't we start from the beginning, and you tell me what you've been up to in the past year, and how you knew I was alive."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, I've been doing a couple of different things. A lot of traveling to meet up with the new Slayers, explain to them what's happened to them, tell them about the facilities in Devon that Giles has set up. We invite all the Slayers to come there, to get an introduction to slaying and learn more about the new Watcher's Council."

"Is there anyone other than Giles left?" Spike questioned.

Buffy nodded. "He's contacted quite a few Watchers that had gotten kicked out, as well as relying on Watchers who were in the field when the Council's headquarters were blown up."

Spike tilted his head. "Yet he never replied to any of Wes' phone calls or emails asking for information. Not that Wesley wants to go back, but he was curious about what resources were available to Giles and wanted to help out."

Buffy looked down at the table. "I don't know about that one. Honestly, I've barely spent any time in Devon. It was . . . easier, after everything that happened, to keep moving."

"Have done it myself," Spike said softly, and the words brought back the memory of watching Buffy come down the stairs in her now-vanished house, blood all over her knuckles . . .

Buffy's voice was rough as she continued speaking. "It's only been in the last month or so that I finally started slowing down a bit. I guess I figured a year was long enough to keep running and I had to start facing the rest of my life."

Spike looked at her, wondering at the changes she'd gone through. She had once told him that she had never been out of California, and he had secretly wished that he could take her all over the world, show her the places he'd seen before, give her new experiences and all the sights she'd ever want to see. Now, she'd done it all on her own, and it had changed her. He thought he detected a little more flexibility in her attitudes, a bit more understanding of other viewpoints. It was good to see.

"Did you enjoy traveling?" he said, anxious to discover if she realized the changes he could see.

A smile touched her face. "It was thrilling, even at the end when I was so sick of living out a suitcase and always having to buy things that I'd left behind. I've got so many stamps in my passport now, I'm gonna need to get a new one."

He smiled at her, and said, "I'm glad. Really."

Her expression was far-off as she said, "I know. Thank you."

He leaned back in his chair, toying with the silverware, before he said, "And me? How did you find out about me?"

Buffy's eyes lost the dreamy expression as she looked at him. She asked, "What do you know about Slayer dreams?"

Spike's brow furrowed. "Just the basic rumor. Prophetic dreams full of mumbo-jumbo that usually make perfect sense after the fact."

Buffy snorted. "As always, freakily correct, Spike," she said with a small grin. "Yeah, they tend to be about as clear as mud. Way emotional, though." When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "The worst dreams I had were right before my seventeenth birthday. I never thought I'd have such vivid, confusing dreams again. And then the Hellmouth was closed."

Spike sat up in his chair. "What happened?"

"The dreams came back with a vengeance. I've never been good at the more mystical side of Slaying--dreams, sensing vampires, all that. I hadn't had a Slayer dream in over a year when they came back." She paused, and squared her shoulders. "You were in them."

"I was?" he asked in surprise. Then, understanding dawned. "That's how you knew I was alive? Your dreams?"

"I know it sounds crazy," she said. "For a while there, I definitely thought I was. I kept seeing you, dressed in your duster and jeans, but in the sunlight. I couldn't understand--I could tell you were inside a building, but you always were standing in a shaft of sunlight. And you'd say odd phrases to me."

"Like what?" he said, having a feeling what she'd say.

"Weird things," Buffy said with a frown. "Like 'Mountain Dew' and 'Chico and the Man.' I didn't think you were in my dreams just to dispense advice on pop culture. But . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she took a large gulp of her water. "I-I liked seeing you. I didn't want to question things too much because I didn't want the dreams to end. Last November, I woke up from one of the dreams and realized that it must mean you were alive, somehow. After that, I got a few more details--I figured out you were in L.A. from seeing the skyline through a window. And I was planning on coming to see you, really."

"So what happened?" Spike asked, his voice clipped.

Buffy bit her lip. "Truthfully? I was scared. Scared that no, I actually was going crazy. I didn't understand why the dreams would have come back like this, and it hurt too much to think about them. So I started doing everything I could to take my mind off them. All the traveling, training till I was so exhausted I could sleep without dreaming, every trick in the book so I wouldn't dream. I even lied to Willow, said I was having nightmares so she made up some special tea that would block dreams." She stared at her plate. "Yet a night I didn't see you, I'd wake up feeling empty." She brought her eyes up to him. "No matter what happens, Spike, please believe that I'm very happy for you. That you're alive."

Spike felt moderately gobsmacked by the story she had unspun for him. It seemed plausible enough, especially her choice to deny what she was feeling rather than face it. Yet he still felt like there was some piece missing out of the puzzle--that was what had him confused.

Before he could ask her another question, their food arrived, and he made himself start eating. Buffy ate enthusiastically, which he was pleased to see. He ate more slowly, trying to find the right words to express himself. Finally, he grew annoyed with his hesitation and just started speaking.

"Buffy . . . " She looked up from her fish, and even put her fork down.

"Yes, Spike?"

He frowned a bit. "Um, well, I have a question for you. And I know how this is going to sound . . . but when did you tell me you loved me before last night?"

Buffy's mouth dropped open, and then she started sputtering. "What?"

"Last night, you were talking like you had told me you loved me. Before, I mean. But . . . unless you said something to me during my crazy period, you have never said you loved me. I'm not saying you should have, at any point. I knew a long time ago that you'd never love me. Or at least, I thought so."

Buffy's face was the textbook definition of shocked. "You-you-you don't remember?"

"Remember what?" he said in frustration. "I feel like I'm in some bad movie where the amnesiac is told he has a wife he can't remember."

Buffy took a deep breath. "It happened in the Hellmouth," she said quickly.

"The Hellmouth?" Spike asked.

"Yeah. Um, the amulet was working, and I came over and tried to get you to leave. You didn't want to leave, and I knew that I couldn't convince you. So I reached out--"

"And took my hand," Spike said. "And then you left."

She shook her head. "There was more. When our hands touched--they lit on fire."

"On fire?" he echoed in surprise.

Buffy sniffed a bit. "Yes. It was like . . . like our souls were touching, Spike. It was so beautiful. It did something to me, to feel you like that. And I said 'I love you.'" She dropped her eyes, as if drawing upon her courage. She then looked at him. "I said 'I love you,' and you said, 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then you told me to leave."

Spike felt his own mouth drop open. "That's what happened?"

Buffy didn't speak. Her lips were trembling, and she was staring at her half-eaten dinner. He watched her for a moment, and then reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. "Hey, Buffy?"

She raised her head and looked at him, tears in her eyes. "You didn't believe me, and I left you, and then you were dead. But I was so numb, I couldn't seem to care about anything. And then I had the first dream, and I woke up crying. I cried for hours--Dawn and Willow were so scared at how I sobbed. And I couldn't bear their sympathy. It was all wrong. So I left, and started traveling all the time. I was running away. But it didn't help. I still had the dreams, still missed you. I felt so guilty because you were always there for me, and I was never there for you. Too little, too late."

A tear fell onto her cheek, and her voice was choked when she continued. "Logically, I knew why you said what you did. But that didn't mean much when I kept thinking 'he didn't believe me, he died not believing me.'"

"God, Buffy," he said, feeling a jumble of emotions at her words. Shock at this turn of events, guilt and sympathy for her pain, and even a small bit of joy at the thought that she had finally said it to him, and meant it. He squeezed her hand gently.

"I don't know what happened in Sunnydale, Buffy." He tried to choose his words very carefully. "And I'm sorry for what you've suffered. I would never want that for you. Ever since I came back, and realized I was stuck in L.A. and couldn't find you, I hoped that you were happy, that you were living that 'normal' life you wanted so much. I . . . I wish now I had tried to find you, if only so you wouldn't had to keep feeling this way."

She bit her lip, and wiped away her tears. "But you don't love me, do you?"

He shook his head. "It's not quite so cut-and-dried, luv. I'll always love you. But, like I said, I told myself that you were happy without me. So I tried to move on. Didn't want to spend the rest of my life moping around, using massive amounts of hair gel and being a grand poof." He grinned a bit, hoping to make her smile, but only to be met with more tears. His smile faded, and he made himself go on. "Buffy, I have a good life here. Friends, even family if you want to stretch the definition of the word. I do good work here, and that's what I want. I can't make up for what I did before . . . but I can help others for as long as I can."

"And I don't fit anywhere in this new life of yours?" she asked, not bothering now to wipe away her tears.

Spike sighed. "Buffy, do you see yourself fitting? You've spent so long answering to others, and now that you're really free, you're trying to do what you think you should do, instead of what you want to do." He paused, and felt his own voice grow deep with emotion. "Buffy, if this isn't what you want, I don't think I could bear letting you go, after having you for real."

Buffy sat back in her chair, pulling her hand out of Spike's. "Everyone keeps telling me that I don't think about myself. Giles, Dawn, and now you. Why is it, when I'm saving the world and being a general, I'm ignoring my feelings, but when I try to show my feelings, I'm being too soft?" She sniffed. "I'm so tired of people telling me what I should feel, what I should do. That I'm always doing the wrong thing. I never thought you'd do that."

"Slayer, didn't you hear what I said? I'm thinking of myself, and that's what I want you to do. Because I don't want to live on hope anymore. I want to know what a real relationship is like."

The tears were rolling down her face faster. "Well, that's what I want, too. And I want it with you. I love you."

Spike paused, wondering how to answer her. Hearing the words knocked him for a loop, yet amidst the shock and happiness still lingered a kernel of doubt, of mockery. It sounded a lot like her, shouting that he was evil and unclean, that nothing good could be within him . . .

She seemed to take his silence as an answer. She shook her head in anger and sadness, and looked at him. "Spike, you're so stupid. You can't think of yourself, and be in a real relationship. It doesn't work like that." She stood up, yet paused by his chair. "I guess you were just being honest when you said I didn't love you. Because you don't believe me." She seemed to be staring into his eyes, forcing him to look at her and see all her misery. "If you find you change your mind, I'll be staying at Fred's till Friday morning."

She leaned down, and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips. She pulled back, and whispered, "All I want is you." And with that, she walked out of the restaurant.

Spike watched her leave, gazing at the straight set of her shoulders, the determination in her walk. Only Buffy could throw herself at your feet, yet make you feel like you were surrendering to her. It was just one of the things he loved about her.

And one of the many things that made it hard for him to see how they could be together. Today, tomorrow, or ever.

End, Chapter 4

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