Angel stood outside the Hole In The Wall diner and watched as the blonde- haired girl arranged and rearranged the condiments on the table. She looked more frail than she had when he'd last seen her. Right before the end of the world. Well, it was supposed to be the end of the world. And maybe it had been... for her. He felt a strange sense of guilt wash over him as he watched her through the window.

"If you tell her, I'll kill you and anyone else who cares to flap his gums about me," he'd threatened.

"Why is this such a big secret? Don't you think she wants to know? Deserves to know?" he'd countered.

The blonde vamp brought his fists down angrily on Angel's desk. Angel felt like he was being staked by those angry, blue eyes.

"I told you not to tell her. This isn't your cross to bear, Peaches. It's mine. Let me do what I feel is right and let it be none of your concern."

Angel breathed deeply through his nose. No, he hadn't been followed. Nothing in the air. Nothing but the aroma of day-old fry grease and stale coffee. Buffy sure knew how to pick 'em, he thought, as he entered the nearly-empty diner.

She was still busily rearranging bottles of salt, pepper, ketchup and mustard when he reached her booth. He felt something coil tightly in his chest when he saw her up close.

"Buffy?"

She smiled weakly at him. He took in the sight of her. Pale. Deathly pale. She hadn't even bothered to try to cover up the shadows under her eyes with makeup. She was wearing a grey, hooded sweatshirt that looked two sizes too big. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponitail, brunette roots peaking through the blonde.

"Yeah. It's me," she told him, motioning for him to sit.

A waitress stopped at the table asking if he wanted anything. He told her he was fine, thankyou, and watched as the woman refilled Buffy's nearly- empty coffee cup before leaving them. She took the sugar canister and poured a hefty amount into the cup before stirring it.

"Buffy, why don't you let me get you something to eat," he offered, suddenly wanting to force-feed her big, greasy cheeseburgers and piles of fries.

She shook her head and gazed into her cup. Cheeseburgers and fries might have sounded good at one time. But anything remotely solid just didn't settle with her anymore. Not since the near-apocalypse at the Hellmouth. Not since...

"How's Dawn?" he suddenly asked.

"Good. Dawn's good. She's, uh... living here. With Dad. Here in LA," she told him.

"That's good. And the others?"

The others... she tried to smile as she looked into her coffee cup like it held all the answers.

"Um, good. Willow is in England. She's going to school...Oxford. Xander stayed in Sunnydale. Went back to Sunnydale. After."

After. Yes. After his eye was gouged out by Caleb. After Anya died at the hand of the Turok Han. After the earth swallowed the town whole. After.

"He... he wanted to make a difference. He said that he thought that it was God's plan for him. That he felt like he should be like Joseph and build. Rebuild," Buffy said uneasily.

"Sounds like he found religion," Angel observed.

"Mmm... more like religion found him. He's been rebuilding his life and the town. Piece by piece. He says it's God's will."

Angel shuffled in his seat.

"And how do you feel about that?" he asked her.

She shrugged and then took a long sip of coffee. She was rifling through her pockets. He was surprised when she pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. She pulled one out of the pack and smiled. He watched as she lit it with an all too familiar lighted. Spike's. He recognized it immediately. She took a quick drag to get it started and placed it in the ashtray.

"Stress got you taking up bad habits?" Angel asked, concerned.

She watched the smoke swirl from the cherry of the cigarette. She seemed almost mesmerized by it. She sat back in the booth, her back leaned against the window and her legs pulled up to her chest, feet resting on the seat in front of her.

"No. I don't smoke. I just... it's comforting. The smell," she explained.

This wasn't about him. This was about Spike. Angel felt the sharp pang of disappointment, immediately followed by guilt again. Of course, he'd known Spike had meant something to her. Something important.

"Buffy... do you want to talk about--"

"Giles went back to England," she told him, abruptly cutting him off. "He, uh... he sent me some things. Arranged for a salary, retroactive of course. Sent me a ticket to see him. Open. Maybe someday."

"Are you living with your Dad, too?" he asked.

She shook her head firmly.

"A world of no. It was all I could do to convince him to take Dawn. Not that I don't want her with me... but I think that maybe a real mother- figure would be good for her. Marianne, my Dad's wife... she's got a 14 year-old daughter, Sarah. She's really a great Mom. I thought Dawn would be better off with them. With a family."

"So, uh... what about you?" he asked cautiously. She seemed so fragile.

"Me? I... I've been around."

It was like pulling teeth to get any information out of her.

"Around where, Buffy? Do you have a place to live?"

She let out what she hoped would be a giggle. Instead, it caught in her throat and choked off a sob. He started to get up, to go comfort her, but she waved him off.

"I'm okay, Angel. I'm okay. Uh, to live. That would be a big 10-4. I have a place to... live." The word was hard to get out. "I have a little apartment a few blocks from the beach. Not too far from Dawn. I didn't want to be too far from her. In case she, you know, needed me or something."

She lived in LA. Angel was surprised. He figured she'd want to get as far away from Sunnydale and California as she could.

"Buffy," he reached across the table and touched her hand. She stiffened under his touch, but didn't pull away. Cold, so cold. Like him. It was strangely comforting and jarring at the same time.

"Buffy, why are you here? I mean, you know I'm always happy to see you... but there's something on your mind."

She looked into the ashtray. The cigarette had burned down to nothing. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she thought about it. Burned down to nothing. Nothing. Gone. Angel was trying to be patient, but he was having a hard time keeping a distance. It was obvious that she did not want his comfort. What did she want?

"A part of me... it doesn't want to believe he's gone. It... it keeps telling me he's not. Not really."

She was talking about Spike. Angel braced himself. One thing he hated was lying to her, especially seeing how vulnerable she was. He didn't say anything. Just waited for her to continue.

"Every night... every night, I see him and I tell him I love him. And he tells me 'no you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then..." her voice was barely a whisper. "Then I save him. I rip him out of there. Or, sometimes I take his place. Or I just stay with him. Every night I save him."

Her lips were trembling as she brought the cup to them. She remembered how Spike had told her that he saved her. Every night he saved her. Now it was her turn.

"Remember when I told you I was cookie dough?" she asked Angel. He smiled at the memory of her trying to explain herself to him.

"Yeah, Buff," he said quietly. "I remember."

"Yeah... well, the truth is, I was done. I was already done, Angel. But I wasn't for you. And I just didn't want to hurt you."

Angel had known that even when she'd first told him. Even through the cookie dough analogy, he'd been hopeful, but could see her heart clearly. And it no longer belonged to him.

She snapped her head up and suddenly looked him in the eyes.

"I want to take you somewhere," she told him. "There's something I want you to see."

She left a wad of bills on the table and then led him out the door.

Angel pulled onto the curb of 1700 Beechtree Street. Buffy hadn't said a word on the way over, other than to direct him. The house was a large Victorian and had been converted into two apartments. She lived in on the lower level. He followed her up the drive and waited as she fumbled with her keys. She quietly opened the door and ushered him into the dark entryway.

"Home sweet home," she told him, flipping on a light.

Her little apartment was a little larger than she had let on, yet sparsely decorated.

"I'll give you the nickel tour," she offered. "Living room." She walked him through the large living area. She had a denim sectional, a large coffee table and a wall unit housing what looked like a pretty nice stereo system. No television.

"No TV?' he asked, thinking it odd since she had always been the first to reach for the remote when she was a teen.

"No... I uh... I read a lot," she sheepishly told him. He was surprised.

She walked over to the dining area.

"I found this dining set at an antique store. It looks just like the one from my house... from Revello Drive. I had to have it," she told him.

He had the feeling she never used it.

"Kitchen," she said as she walked him through a large eat-in kitchen. She took him down a hall and pointed out the bedrooms and bathroom. "Lots of closet space," she offered, trying to sound somewhat cheery.

She took him back to the kitchen. She reached for a doorknob to what he assumed was another closet, maybe even a pantry and he noticed as a breath hitched in her chest.

"Watch your step. And make sure you duck." she instructed.

It was a basement. Maybe this is where the washer and dryer are, he thought. But why would she want to show him that?

She pulled the chain and turned on a single, bare light bulb. He gasped as he looked around dim room. His eyes swept from the cot up against the wall to the bookshelf housing various books. A heavy bag hung in the middle of the room with a crude drawing taped to it. He moved to take a closer look and heard a small giggle escape from her.

"What is this?" he asked, recognizing the fangs and the hair as his own.

"Spike drew that after he saw you kiss me... when you brought me the Gem of Amarra," she admitted with a smile.

Angel went over to the bookshelf. He recognized the books. Descartes, Byron, Shakespeare, Machiavelli, Tennyson, Wordsworth. They belonged to Spike.

"You surely don't mean that you read... these?" he asked.

She was grinning. She looked proud of herself in a way he'd never seen before. She sat on the cot and closed her eyes.

"I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars did wander darkling in the eternal space, rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth swung blind and blackening in the moonless air," she recited softly. "That's Byron, you know.

He knew. He stood and watched her in wonder. Who was she? This wasn't the Buffy he'd loved so many years ago. That Buffy thought that all poetry began with Roses are Red. That Buffy thought that a "classic" was a John Hughes movie starring Molly Ringwald. Now, there she sat, reciting poetry from Spike's collection of classics. And she actually understood the meaning behind the verse she was reciting.

"Buffy," he began only to be cut off by her again.

"Do you know how much he loved me?" she suddenly asked.

Angel didn't want to think about it. She went to the bookshelf and pulled out a plain, black leather-bound book. She flipped through the pages already knowing which one she would read.

"When she smiles, I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I feel as if God really could love me, forgive me for the gravity of sins I've committed. When she smiles, I feel a soul I shouldn't have. I would gladly drown in her tears. I'd burn in her effulgent smile. I'd die by her hand and have nothing but thanks for living long enough to know her."

Buffy slammed the book shut and returned it to its place on the shelf. Angel didn't recognize the verse she'd quoted.

"And who wrote that?" he asked her.

"William Grieves. The night before he died for me."

Angel continued to look around the room. She had managed to save Spike's boxful of memories. It was sitting on the top of the bookshelf next to a photo of the two of them together. He picked it up and took a closer look. It was on the back porch of her house on Revello drive. They were sitting, facing each other, with their foreheads pressed together. Their eyes were closed. Spike's hand was on her cheek. And they both looked so peaceful. He was immediately jealous. And then hit full-force with that nagging guilt he'd been feeling since she'd called.

"Nice picture," he said, trying to sound casual.

She nodded.

"Dawn took it, " she told him. She gave it to me after..." Her voice faded. "After. She gave it to me after. And was apologizing to me about eavesdropping on a private moment. But I didn't care. I have never been so grateful for anything in all my life. That was the night before..."

Before. Angel understood.

"Buffy," he suddenly felt uneasy. "Is this some sort of..."

She was staring at him. Daring him to say the word.

"Shrine?"

He saw her shift on the cot. She tried to pretend she hadn't heard him, picking at her sleeve.

"Buffy?"

"He didn't have anyone to... to remember him," she said firmly.

"So you--"

"So I promised I'd never forget."

Angel's conscience was threatening to sell him out. Oh William, he thought, what have you done?

"Buffy... are you," he paused for a moment, not sure how to ask about her mental state. "Are you... okay?"

She stared at him blankly. Okay? Yeah. She was all about being okay. She'd only been mouring her twice-dead lover for a little over a year. She was full of okay.

"I'm okay," she lied.

"What do you do, Buffy? I mean, when you're not here."

She shrugged again. She did plenty. She slept until three or four in the afternoon. Sometimes, she'd go and patrol. She took an online course from UCLA. English Lit. She saw Dawn a few times a week.

"Buffy..."

"I do plenty," she lied.

"You just... don't look well," he sighed. "You're so pale. Just a little ways from the beach and you don't look like you've seen sunlight in--"

"One year, three months, two days..." She looked at her watch. "Seven hours and twelve minutes."

Angel froze. She was worse than he thought.

"Buffy... have you... have you seen him? Since--"

"I see him every night. We talk for hours. Hours and hours. I read to him," she told him with a dreamy smile. "He's so happy that I'm taking English Lit. Did I tell you about that?"

"You're going to school?" Angel asked.

"Oh, yes. He convinced me to take an online course at UCLA. I'm at the top of my class," she said proudly.

Angel sat next to her. The cot creaked as he adjusted his weight on it. He was looking at his hands clasped in front of him. She was still picking at some invisible lint on her sleeve.

"Does he... does he talk back to you?" he found himself asking.

She looked troubled. Her brow furrowed and she gnawed on her lip.

"Well, he's very tired, Angel. He went through a lot. He... he likes it when I talk. It comforts him."

"What else, Buffy? I mean, you said you read to him. Do you just read?"

She pulled her legs up onto the cot and sat indian-style. No, she didn't just read. Sometimes she just stared at him. Sometimes she just talked to him. Told him everything he ever wanted to hear.

"I tell him how much I love him. And that he promised me. He promised me, Angel." There was a barely detectable quiver in her voice now.

Angel slipped his arm loosely around her shoulders.

"What did he promise you, Buffy?" he asked her, his voice quiet and full of concern.

Her face began to crumple as anger and pain took over her features. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she choked back sobs.

"He promised me he'd never..." She choked back the tears in her throat. He watched as she stood up and started pacing the room, fists balled angrily at her sides. And she suddenly fell to the floor, no longer to hold in her pain. "He promised he'd never leave me! Angel, he promised! He promised!" she keened.

He was at her side, pulling her to him, trying to soothe her. Cursing the hard-headed vampire he'd had a hand in creating. Dammit, Spike. How could he keep this from her? She was falling apart without him.

He helped her to the cot and pulled out his cell phone.

"Listen, Buffy... I need to go make a call. I promise, I'll be right back down, okay?"

She nodded before curling up on the cot.

"Right back," she repeated.

"Bloody Hell, Peaches," Spike complained. "What's the big emergency?"

Angel had checked on Buffy before going back outside to wait for Spike. She had fallen asleep on the cot in the few brief moments it took for him to make the call.

"Listen, I... I can't do this anymore," Angel told him.

"Do what?" Spike asked, hesitation in his voice.

"Come in here," Angel told him, practically pulling him through the front door.

Spike froze when he smelled her. She was here. This was her house. Oh, God. He was going to kill Angel. He turned to leave only to be blocked by Angel.

"She's sleeping. For now," Angel told him.

"I told you that I didn't want her to know. I want her to move on. Live her life. Be a real, live girl," he angrily told his grand-sire.

Angel understood what Spike wanted. He understood better than anyone that he wanted to make things right. Make things better. But they weren't. Better.

"Spike, sit down. There are a few things you need to know," Angel told him.

Spike shot a quick glance toward the front door.

"Don't. Just don't. Sit and listen," Angel warned him.

"Oh, Bloody Hell," he bitched, practically throwing himself down on the sofa. He couldn't help but scan the room.

"No telly?" he asked suddenly.

Angel smiled. No telly.

"She, uh... reads. A lot," Angel told him.

Spike broke into peals of disbelieving laughter.

"You're serious?" he finally asked.

"She reads all the time. And she told me that she talks to you."

Spike's expression darkened.

"I haven't--"

"I know," Angel sighed. "She called today, Spike. Wanted me to meet her for coffee. She looks..."

"Beautiful," Spike sighed.

"Terrible," Angel corrected. "She's so thin and pale. She wouldn't eat. Just drank cup after cup of  really sweet coffee."

Spike looked concerned. That didn't sound like his Slayer.

"Maybe she just wasn't hungry. Not like she needs to be force-fed cheeseburgers and fries, though," he quipped.

Angel shook his head. Yes, it did.

"She wanted me to come here with her," Angel admitted.

Spike felt the small amount of bile rise in his throat. Oh, was that what this was about? Getting his blessing or whatever to move in on the bint?

"I left to protect her. To let her live a normal life. You don't get to take that from her," he warned.

"That's not why she wanted me to come here," Angel told him. "She sleeps all day, she's up most of the night. I made a crack about how it looks like she hasn't seen the sun in ages and she told me... she hasn't seen the sun since she last saw you. Right down to the minute."

Spike felt his chest constrict. Christ, what was she doing?

"She managed to save all of your books. Your journals, poetry. She recited Byron to me. Recited it, Spike. She's taking an online course in English Lit at UCLA. She's top of her class."

That's my girl, he thought.

"But that's it Spike... she... she has a shrine to you down there. I think that's where she's been sleeping. She's not well."

He felt concern grip him. Not well?

"What do you mean she's not well? Should we call the Bit?" He was worried.

"I think she probably already knows. It's you, Spike. She's sick over you. You need to go to her. Stop this act of... nobility."

Spike began to scoff and head for the door.

"William," Angel called to him, stopping him as he placed his hand on the knob. "Just... see her. She's sleeping."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest like a defiant child. He nodded in resolve and followed Angel to the basement door. She was still curled up on the cot. He felt tears stinging his eyes when he saw her. She was so pale. So thin. She looked dead.

He stealthily made his way down the steps and took in his surroundings. His books. The heavy bag with the picture he drew of Angel still taped to it. The cot. Her body wrapped tightly into itself. She stirred and began crying softly in her sleep.

"No! Won't leave you," she whimpered. "Never leave you. Never. Love you."

It broke his heart to see her like this. She twitched and then let out a devastating cry.

"Nooo!" she keened. "I love you! You have to come with me! You have to get out! No! Spike!"

Without even thinking, he was at her side holding her, stroking her hair. Telling her it would be okay.

"Buffy, pet. It's okay. Shhh..." he crooned to her. Her eyes fluttered open and a scared smile flashed across her face. Her hands trembled as she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Are you... real?" she asked, confused now by what was fact and what was fantaasy.

"I'm real, love. I'm here. I won't leave you again, never leave you," he promised.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She looked to the steps to see Angel leaving. It was real. He was there. She couldn't focus. She felt her head spinning with a thousand questions and a million I love yous.

"Oh, God. You're real! You're real! I love you so much, I swear. I'm not lying! I love you.." She was choking on big sobs, choking for air.

"Your turn," she suddenly said.

"My turn for what?"

She furrowed her brow.

"Well, I think I have been pretty forgiving and all. You know, with the not flipping out about you not telling me you were alive... or... not alive."

"I see," he nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Right then. Saved the world, was rewarded by being dumped through a portal right into the arms of the Poofter there--"

"I'm sitting right here, man. Could you be a little more considerate?" Angel whined from the dining room table.

Spike sucked in a breath and shook his head. He looked like he was counting.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked him, clearly puzzled by this action.

"Counting to ten. Helps calm me down to not rip his throat out and whatnot."

Buffy giggled.

"Yeah, he's been all 'Zen' and fixing motorcycles these days," Angel injected.

"Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," Buffy and Spike corrected at the same time.

Angel rolled his eyes at the sight of them. How had this happened? How had Spike become the one Buffy thought was worth dying for?

"Besides, I think you're probably referring to the I Ching, Grasshopper," Buffy told him with a sly smile.

Spike grinned, too.

"Right. As I was saying," he continued, but not before shooting Angel a sideward warning glance, "Ah, portal. Poofter. Incorporeal. And then that Fred bird did some sort of hocus-pocus and I woke up in my own skin again."

"But why didn't you tell me?" she asked in a voice that sounded so small.

He sighed. He wanted her to be able to move on and live a normal life. Normal. Funny, that. What is normal anyhow? Is a world where vampires exist and Hell's mouth is in the basement of a high school normal? Is a 16 year old cheerleader being expected to rise to the occasion in a stake-off normal?

"Because I'm not as smart as I thought I was, Pet?" he half-asked, half-stated.

"You thought you were doing something good... something noble?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah, Pet. When you put it that way, I suppose that's what it was meant to be," he glared back at her.

She shook her head, stifling a giggle.

"Since when the Hell have you ever been good or noble?"

He looked at her, stung by her words for a moment. Then he saw the twinkle in her eyes. She was fighting a smile from making its way to her lips.

"Could be plenty good, Love. Saved the soddin' world once, you know."

Angel could definately feel the change in the air. Good grief, Charlie Brown. They were flirting. Right there under his nose, damned be it, they were flirting.

"I think I'll just be go--"

"Not so fast, Angel," Buffy snapped, stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes were still locked on her blonde vampire, but her arm had shot out to halt Angel.

"I, uh... thought you two would want--"

"You knew."

He swallowed hard.

"And you never said a word."

"He didn't want--"

"Why?"

He wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Because he didn't--"

"Yeah, caught that one the first time around, Pinocchio. Try again."

It was amazing how she had returned to herself with perfect clarity since Spike had returned. Angel, himself, couldn't deny the connection between them. Spike was her balm against the harsh elements of society. He was the one who could heal her. He was the one she loved.

"Because I wanted to be right," he mumbled.

Spike's eyes darted over to his grandsire.

"Yeah. Okay. I said it. Through all my denial and all of my wanting to be the one to get the cookie in the end, I already knew that Buffy was more than half-baked. Wait..." Angel gathered his thoughts. "I knew that she was... ah, shit. I don't even eat. How could she be for me?"

Spike looked amused.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"You know how I have to be right. Even if I don't like the outcome."

Now it was Buffy's turn to look amused.

"So... you get the girl. I get to be right. We all live happily ever after," Angel conceded with a forced smile.

"And what do I get?" Buffy asked, coyly eyeing Spike.

He leaned down and whispered something in her ear that even his grandsire couldn't hear. She blushed instantly.

"And with that... I will see my way out of here," Angel announced. He stared at them a moment longer, his grandchilde and his ex. Pretty, they were. All sharp angles and sleek planes with their blonde heads touching.

"Do you want to call the Bit and fill her in?" Spike asked Buffy, his eyes still locked on hers.

She shooke her head slowly. "No. No calling anyone -- not right now."

It was late, Spike noticed. It wouldn't be long before the sun started cutting its way through the sky. He wondered if he should go back to his room at the Hyperion or if he should just stay.

Buffy, as if sensing what he was thinking, reached up and stroked his cheek gently.

"Please... don't leave," she said. Her voice was shaky, afraid that he'd disappear again. She couldn't go through that pain again. She couldn't watch him walk away, wondering if he'd ever come back again.

"Then, I'll stay," he decided.

They sat in a comfortable silence neither of them wanting to say anything that would shatter the moment. Spike drank in all of her features, his eyes skimming her body starting at her head and ending at her toes. She was more fragile than he had ever seen her.

"Tell me what happened," he requested softly. "After."

She began worrying her lip, but agreed to tell him. Everything. He took her trembling hands into his own and squeezed them reassuringly.

"Okay," she said, steeling herself for the year's worth of events he had missed. "I'll start with the last time I saw you," she told him, her eyes tearing up.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. It was feather-soft, but enough to give her the strength to go on.

"It's alright, Pet. Take your time. We have forever," he told her.

"Do we?" she asked.

He smiled. Of course, they did.

"I didn't want to leave you," she told him. "When I told you I loved you, Spike... I meant it. I meant it with my heart, my soul... with everything I am. I never knew I had the capacity to love that much. Not until it was too late."

"But it's not too late, Pet."

"I know that, now. And I will never lie again... not to myself, not to the people I love. I wasted too much time living a lie. Being the Slayer was the hand I was dealt in life. There was nothing I could do to change that -- other than die." She looked down at their joined hands. "And even dying didn't change my calling. But it changed everything else I felt and everything I was."

He could understand that. When Drusilla turned him, killed him and then brought him back as a vampire, he had changed. He had felt the change immediately. And when he was cast out of the portal and into the Hyperion after saving the world, he felt another change inside of him. It had nothing to do with the soul or with the choices he had made to become a do-gooder. It was a change that happens when a person dies. And the stark reality of the Hell to which he's returned.

"When Willow brought me back, the second time I died... that was supposed to be my time. Spike, it wasn't the wrath of Satan or the Hellgods who opposed my return. They weren't entirely the reason for the apocalypse." Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid that by saying it outloud, something horrible would happen. "It was the wrath of God."

Her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement when Spike didn't seem surprised.

"Did- did you hear--"

"Yes, Love. I heard you," he assured her.

"You don't seem--"

"You're rignt."

She stopped, stunned and stared at him.

"Wow."

He grinned. He knew exactly what she was thinking. First time for everything and all that rot.

"Tell me your take on it, Pet," he encouraged her.

"Well, from what I've been able to piece together from my memories and from some research I've done--"

He cut her off with an unexpected chuckle.

"Hey, I'm, like, a scholar and stuff now!" she insisted. "Besides, lots of down time. Nothing to patrol. And I'm not much for the social scene."

"Tell me again," he suddenly said. She smiled and reached up to wrap her arms around him. She pressed her lips to the smooth, alabaster skin just below his ear and then whispered, "I love you."

He held her tightly, consumed by a happiness and peace he had never felt before in his life or unlife. She pulled back to look into his eyes and told him again.

"I love you, Spike. I love you, William. I love you for who you were and for who you've become. I love you for your strength and for your passion. And I love you for your weaknesses, too. I love your sincerity and the way you never give up. I love how you kept me alive even when you thought I was dead. And I love how I kept you alive when I thought you were... before now."

He leaned down and nuzzled her nose with his, trying to hold back the nancy-boy tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. His lips brushed softly over her cheek, her jaw and then found her parted lips. She slid her hands down his chest, letting them rest where his heart would be.

"I can feel it beating," she whispered. "I- I know it's not... but I can feel how hard it tries. How much you try to live, how much you love. Before -- " she faltered, trying to bottle up the past. "Before, I was so scared. You're very intense. You don't do anything half-way. And it scared me that someone who was dead, who had existed the way that you had for such a long time, it scared me that you could feel these things I couldn't even give a name." Her lips were still touching his as she spoke. He took the opportunity to slip his cool, velvety tongue into her mouth. God, she'd missed this. He caressed her warm tongue with his, tasting what could only be described as heaven on earth. She tasted like honey and light. He couldn't help but deepen the kiss, probing her mouth, unable to get enough until she broke away, breathless.

"Oh, right. The breathing thing," he remembered. "Tend to forget about that when I'm with you, Love. Sorry 'bout that."

She smiled. It didn't matter. She felt like she'd been holding her breath since she lost him. Drowning in Spike was a welcome change.

"It's okay." Her lips were still kiss-swollen, but he held back his desire to take them as his own again. He wanted to hear what had happened. He wanted to know what she'd sussed out about the co-existence of good and evil.

"So, you're saying that God was the mastermind behind the big showdown at the Hellmouth?"

"Absolutely," she nodded in agreeance. "God is the mastermind behind everything. And I'm beginning to realize that the love-hate relationship He has with the Devil, well... it mimcs the relationship we had. Good and Evil. We all thought that they couldn't co-exist. The truth is, they couldn't exist without each other."

"Is that right, Pet?"

"Absolutely. To paraphrase something I read on a bumper sticker, Shit Happens. So, if this... shit... this evil is happening, why? God is good. God is perfect. God can not do the wrong thing. Isn't that what we're taught in catechism? Isn't that what the bible tells us? God is the epitome of good."

He was beginning to see her point. God does what is right. So, then, if God is doing all this white-hat crap, why is there evil in the world?

"God created heaven and earth. God created Satan. So," she paused and grinned up at him. "Riddle me this, if God is the epitome of good, how can evil exist?"

"And if evil didn't exist..."

"There would be no distinction between good and evil. We'd be none the wiser. We'd be all 'vampires ate my baby?' Oh, well, that's all good. God willed it," she finished.

"Right, then," he was beginning to understand her theory. "And we would be conditioned to believe that since God is good, vampires eating babies is good, as well."

"Something like that, yeah. Good and evil have to exist together. It's kind of like God and the Devil have this little pact. The Devil doesn't throw at us anything more than we can ultimately handle, and God doesn't blow up the world to stop him."

"The Hellmouth -- "

"More than we could handle. And if you hadn't stopped it..."

"God would have."

She smiled. Now he was getting it.

"You saved the world."

"From God?" he asked.

It was kind of funny in retrospect. The fact that the First was able to create so much chaos and destruction was due to the fact that God thought that they could handle it. And when they no longer could do that, He stepped in. Of course, He hadn't counted on Spike.

"You took God by surprise," she explained. Her eyes were more alive than he had ever seen them. "You did something so selfless and so pure that even God couldn't deny that the evil that had once existed in you had died. You stopped God. If you hadn't made that sacrifice, there would be nothing. Time would have stopped and the universe would have exploded. And then molecule by molecule, it would have been rebuilt again."

"And God, being older than dirt, really wasn't in the mood to start from scratch, is what you're saying. So, He got lucky when I stepped up to the plate."

"Now you're getting it."

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes on hers.

"When did you get so smart, Pet?"

"While you were hiding from me."

"I wasn't hiding," he insisted.

Buffy crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised her eyebrow.

He sighed, narrowing his eyes on hers, realizing she was right.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "Perhaps I was hiding from you. Somewhat."

She sat watching him, waiting for an explanation that would actually make some sort of sense. What, he'd died, come back and decided to go the route of Angel? Right. Take the high road and all that ridiculous rot.

"Pet," he began, taking her hands in his. "I heard about your cookie dough speech. And it made me realize that maybe I wasn't done baking, either."

Now, that was funny. Comic relief. Exactly what Buffy needed at that point. She couldn't help but shake her head and laugh heartily at his proclamation. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"You find that funny, yeah?"

She was still laughing, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the vampire in front of her. He was more than 120 years old and not done baking? Now that was an excuse that was half-baked, she decided.

"Bollocks," she told him.

He looked at her with his eyes wide. His expression. Bollocks. Coming from her dainty lips. Would wonders never cease to amaze him?

"Did you just--"

"I most certainly did, you stubborn vampire," she told him. "Bollocks. Your shit-o-meter is just about topping out."

"Think what you like, Pet, but it wasn't until I laid eyes on you that I realized that I wasn't nearly as done as I thought."

She looked at him, her laughter subsiding when she saw just how serious he was.

"Alright, then," she said, cocking her head to the side as she looked up at him. "Splainy?"

Where to begin? Ah, with that prat William who was no more mature than Dawn when he was turned. Or perhaps with Angelus and the way that he literally beat him and Dru into submission, breaking them down before building them up into the killing machines they had been.

"Pet, you know how much I love you. More than this unlife itself."

She did know that.

"Before I met you and your little friends, I never would have imagined myself becoming this man I am now. It wasn't the chip, Pet. You know that. And, yeah. I sought out the soul. The... the incident... what happened... almost happened..."

She squeezed his hand gently, letting him know that it was okay. That wasn't his fault.

"That's a moment best forgotten," she whispered.

"No, Pet. That was a defining moment," he said earnestly. "That moment was my defining moment. It is the moment that I look back on and know that all decisions are my own."

He dragged in a deep, unneccessary breath. That was one of the things she loved about him. There were so many things he had held onto from when he was human. Once, she thought they were silly things... the breathing. Eating. Smoking. Then she realized that they were the things that made him different. Made him special. Better.

"I'm man enough to own up to my mistakes. And I'm man enough to know that it wasn't my demon who attacked you. It was William. It was the man. Pet, I'd shoved him down inside of me for as long as I've been dead. I never bothered to know him, to see him. He was weak. He was just some stupid git trying to prove he was something more. After I was turned, it was easy to shake him off, for the most part. Angelus made bloody well sure of that."

She hated hearing about Angelus. She hated thinking about how inherently evil he was. The soul forced him away. The soul silenced the beast. But Spike had never needed that. And it shamed her to think that she had once thought that he was a monster without a soul. It was she who had been the monster.

"Spi--"

"Not finished quite yet, Love," he interrupted. He needed for her to understand that he'd kept his word. He'd promised that he'd never leave her. And he meant it.

"I couldn't be with you. Not until I knew who I was," he told her. He stroked her hand with his thumb, silently trying to collect his thoughts. Trying to find the words to make her understand.

"You said you loved me. And I wanted it to be true, Buffy. But a part of me knew the truth. The only way that you could wholly love me is if I accepted all facets of myself. And in order for that to happen, I had to get to know William again. And I had to force him on my demon, Pet. And the demon, he doesn't like to be stifled."

He explained to her that he relized that there are differences in vampires. No matter what the Council of Wankers thought they knew. And that it all goes back to the person they were before they were turned.

"Dru, she could never handle a soul. It would have killed her. She had been beaten and raped and broken when she was a human. It drove her batty. Truly, it did. She was only a child when Angelus turned her. He didn't save her from her life. He saw someone who was deeply troubled and knew immediately how lethal she could become in death. That's why he turned her. What he never counted on was the insanity becoming part of her demon. Deadly, she was. And continues to be. And as much as my demon wanted to choke the unlife out of her at times, it wasn't until recently that I realized that it was William who kept her alive. Soft-hearted, kittenish William. And that's what she saw when she turned me."

Buffy could tell he'd put a lot of thought into his life. And his unlife. His hands were trembling as he shared with her his revelations.

"Pet, I didn't want to come back to you as a broken man. I needed to meld the man and the beast. And I couldn't do that with you. It was something I could only do on my own. I hope you understand, Pet. I -- I had no idea that you were so bad off... I never would have thought--"

"Shh," she told him, softly, placing her finger on his lips. "You couldn't have known. Nobody could have known. I never... you -- you don't know what you've got until it's gone... kind of cliche. And a really bad choice in 80s hair band ballads... but it's true."

Time for the big admission, Buffy, she thought.

"When I told you I loved you... before you... before. You were right. I didn't mean it. But I wanted to. I wanted to love you."

He nodded. It wasn't a surprise.

"But after..."

Oh, God. After.

"I left. Because you made me leave. And I watched my world as it was swallowed whole. You... you were... effulgent," she breathed.

"Effulgent, was I?" he smirked.

"Yeah. In more ways than just the obvious. You continued to burn in my heart and in my soul. The more I retreated into my shell, the brighter your memory burned in my mind. You were my world." Her lips were trembling. "The others... I couldn't talk to them. Xander... he was dealing with his own grief. He turned to the only glimmer of hope he had left and for him, that was God. He turned his back on everything he had ever known... his friends, his family. His memories of Anya. He buried them deep and he basically ran as far away from the unnatural as he could. The few times I've spoken to him, he's only talked about his ministry and his wife, Theresa. But he made me realize something," she said. "He made me realize that I didn't want to run away. I didn't want to forget. I didn't want to be that girl who would crawl into your crypt in the middle of the night and then run out on you with nothing but a vicious assault -- both verbal and physical. I didn't want to be that girl anymore. I wanted to reinvent myself."

He certainly could understand that. Whereas he needed to go back to the basics, to the man. Buffy had to escape her role as the slayer. He wondered if she had.

"The potentials--"

"Many of them died in that final battle," she related with sadness. "I never even knew them. I could barely match up their names with their faces. Now... they're all branded into my memory. The ones who survived, they went to Cleveland with Andrew."

"The boy?"

Buffy smiled. Yeah, the boy.

"Giles has more than earned an early retirement from the Council. But, he's insisted on staying involved. And he's taken Andrew under his wing. He stayed awhile in Cleveland before returning to headquarters in England. And Andrew, I know we were all so mean to him. We all treated him like some little nuisance. But, something all my alone time has afforded me was the ability to put some perspective on my life. And Andrew tries, Spike. He tries harder than just about anyone I've ever known. And Giles saw that in him, too. So, Giles kind of oversees things, but he trusts Andrew to act as watcher to the remaining potentials... or, rather, the new slayers."

New? Slayers?

"You mean you're no longer... are you not the slayer?"

She had to let out a cynical chuckle at that notion. She would always be the slayer. There was no turning in her secret decoder ring and forgetting that.

"I will always be a slayer. But now, it's kind of like, uh... like the military. You know. There's active duty and there are reservists. And there are those who are retired."

"Which are you, Love?"

She thought about it for a moment. Retired? No. That was a word that just didn't fit well in her vocabulary.

"I guess I would be a reservist," she decided. "Yeah. I mean, I don't patrol. I haven't slain anything since... before. But, uh, if they really needed me... say, if they needed to call in the big guns, Faith and I would be there."

"Speaking of Faith," he said with a raised eyebrow. She'd always been a touchy subject.

"It's amazing what the love of an incredible man will do for even the most cynical of slayers," she laughed, only partially referring to Faith. It pertained to herself, as well. "She fell in love with Robin Wood."

Spike was truly surprised.

"I know, I know," Buffy grinned. "You should have seen her. She thought he was dead and she was just beyond reckoning. She totally flipped out. And then he opened his eyes and scared the shit out of her. He told her that he promised that he would never stop surprising her. From what I hear, he must be keeping his word. They got married about six months ago."

"And what's become of Red and the chit she was all wonky over?"

Buffy laughed and told him that her name was Kennedy. And that it was over.

"Kennedy was too erratic for Willow. And, uh, Willow needed someone stable since she had such a hard time keeping with the stability after she went all Big Bad. She needed someone who could reign her in when she swam out too far. Uh, wow. I'm really glad you're sitting for this one," she said as she flashed him an excited smile. "She went back to England with Giles."

Right. With the Watcher. Probably to involve herself in the coven she'd been privy to while she was there the first time.

"So, he's keeping tabs on Red while she does the witchy, thing. Bully for her," he said, understanding Willow's powers better than most.

"Uh, no... that's not exactly how it is," Buffy told him. "She's, uh... she's with Giles. You know? With. Uh, as in with Oz. Or with Tara. With Giles."

She could see that he still wasn't getting it.

"They're making with the moon-eyes and love you's, Spike."

Well, color me speechless, he thought.

"How the Hell did that come about?" he asked, not able to mask his surprise.

"The verdict is still out on that one," she had to admit. "But, look at us. Anything's pretty much possible."

He could understand that.

"And what about the Niblet?" he asked. He had felt like such a prat for letting the poor girl believe he was gone. She was always the one who had seen past the monster and saw only the man. At least, until he fouled things up between them.

"Dawn is wonderful. Mom," Buffy choked on the word. "Mom would have been so proud. She's a normal teenage girl who goes to school, makes decent grades, works weekends at the Gap. All that normal stuff I never got to do. I know she's been worried about me. But she's given me my space. She's never treated me like I was crazy or anything. She's been the buffer between me and Dad. Maybe being a mystical key has given her some insight that none of us have. Whatever it is, it works for her. She was... you know she loved you. And she was devastated when you..." the words slipped out of her mouth in a near-whisper, but then she brightly added "but now you're not. She's going to be so thrilled to see you! I know that there's a lot that she wanted to say to you. A lot of things she wishes she could take back, too."

There was a lot he needed to tell her, too. Like how he understood that she hated him for what he had done to Buffy. And that he loved her for it. She was strong and she stood up to him, no matter how scared she might have been. She possessed that same incredible Summers strength as Buffy and Joyce. None of them took his shit and he had a tremendous amount of respect for all three of them. He'd always loved strong women. And his girls were the strongest in body, mind and soul.

"You, uh... you mentioned Wood, Pet. I was wondering if... do you have an address for him?"

Buffy's brow wrinkled. That was a new one. Spike wanted Robin's address?

"Uh, yeah. He and Faith are in New York. He took a job as principal at one of the inner city schools. You know, wanting to make a difference and all that," she told him. He could see the confusion in her eyes. "Uh, why with the asking?"

"Got something that belongs to him. I've had it boxed up since I got back... it means more to him that it ever could to me."

Buffy was hit with the comprehension of just what he was talking about.

"Your duster?"

"Not mine, Pet," he said softly. "That duster belonged to his mum. To Nikki. The slayer. And I took her from him. It belongs rightfully with him. I understand what it means to lose someone you love... and what it means to keep every piece of her intact. Every piece you can get."

Buffy understood that, too. When her mother died, she didn't want to lose a single molecule of her essence... her scent, her sound, the way she felt, the things she wore.

"I think that he needs it. He needs to have it. And I need to give it to him. Uh, closure, Pet. We both need that in order to move forward with our lives."

Closure, yes. She knew all about closure. She found closure when she mailed Angel the crucifix he had given to her when they had first met. She found closure when she saw Riley with his new wife. But she had never found closure with Spike. And now she knew why. She wasn't meant to move forward with her life. She was meant to wait for him. Sneaky Powers That Be, she thought. They knew that he hadn't turned to dust for good. They gave him a Mulligan... a do-over. And they watched from wherever they were as they both finished baking. They were never far, of that much she was sure. As much as she wanted to kick their glowy asses for all that they had taken, she wanted to wrap them up in a big, interdimensional hug for what they had given back to her. She was done. Done baking. She was a big, gooey Buffy cookie and Spike was the only one she wanted to eat her.

She was worrying her lip, lost in her own thought when he kissed her forehead, snapping her back to reality.

"Love you, Pet."

She smiled, leaning her head against his chest as he stroked her hair. Her smile brightened and grew wider in realization of just what a gift she had been given. Sneaky Powers That Be, indeed! she realized. Death wasn't her gift. Her gift was eternal life.

"Spike," she whispered, reluctantly pulling away to search his eyes.

"What is it pet?"

"Tell me you'll never die."

He cocked his head to the side and eyed her precariously.

"Uh, okay. Unless I'm staked, left out in the sun, decapitated or set on fire, I'll never die," he told her. "Now what's this all about."

"I'll never die either," she grinned, shocking and confusing the blonde vampire whose eyes shone blue and wide. "I can't."

Spike continued to stare at his green-eyed girl in wonder. Can't? Die?

"Buffy, what are you--"

"Oh, I'm not, like, you know, a vampire or anything," she assured him. "No, not that. Um, I kind of got a pardon of sorts. From the council. And then from the Powers."

He wasn't following.

"It... it all makes perfect sense now," she said as her smile broadened. Her hand fluttered to her mouth as she continued in a daze. "Oh, God. I thought they'd cursed me. But... they knew. Those sneaky, glowy little fuc--"

"Knew what, Pet?" Spike interrupted, still not sure what she was telling them.

"Those sneaky Powers," she sighed, still locked within her own revelations. He reached out and softly turned her chin so that he could see her eyes. She looked up at him and immediately looked ashamed.

"Buffy, love... you're scaring me. What aren't you telling me?"

She took in a fortifying breath. This was going to be hard. Really, really hard. And she knew that it would break his heart.

"Do you..." She felt the tears stinging the backs of her eyelids. She blinked them back hard and then tried again. "Do you remember the movie Groundhog Day?"

She wanted to play movie quiz? He never did quite understand all facets of his girl.

"Pet--"

"You know you remember it. Dawn made you watch it with us one night when it was on TBS. You kept making... shirty little comments about how ridiculous it was for that man to keep reliving the same day over and over," she reminded him.

"You never did learn how to use that word... shirty," he grinned. He remembered the movie. Later that night, he'd confessed how he could relate to Phil Connors because every night... His face grew somber. "Every night I saved you. Tried to do something different. More clever. Quicker..."

"Right."

"Pet, please tell me where you're going with this because I'm beginning to think it's back 'round the twist... and that worries me." He couldn't hide the frantic tone in his voice.

"No, no." She met his eyes and he could see the spark of life in her stronger than ever. There was none of that walking catatonia that he'd seen too many times with Dru. Buffy was there. And she was taking back her life at lightning speed.

"The movie... remember how after awhile, it just became too much for him?" she asked. He didn't look like he was following. "Remember? He started trying to kill himself. Toaster in the bathtub?" Now he remembered. Slowly she pushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and turned her wrists so that he could see them. There was a smattering of spidery, white scars covering the skin of her small bones.

He gently took her wrists into his cool hands and inspected them. She couldn't bear to look as his eyes filled with tears, big and glassy... unable to look away from the proof that she'd tried to end it all. Over and over again.

"Buffy," he whispered, as his eyes spilled over. Cold tears streamed down his cheeks in guilt and attrition for the pain his omission had caused her. He never knew he'd had this kind of power over her. He always thought that it was she who had the power over him. "What have I done to you?" His eyes shot up to meet hers again.

"Shh, baby," she soothed. His hands stayed on her wrists even as she moved to stroke his cheek. "I'm here. That's the point that I'm trying to make. I kept trying to end it all. God, all different ways... but I'd wake up and I'd still be here. Still be breathing and the wounds would be closed. And I couldn't figure it out. The scars would remain. Maybe to remind me that no matter how I tried, I wasn't going to leave this world."

He was shaking. She could feel him dragging in ragged, unneccessary breaths. He was practically gulping for air.

"And I demanded to see them. I had slit my wrists for probably the hundredth time and then just started yelling at them to show themselves. Told them they were cowards and that they were the real first evil. I thought I'd fallen asleep," she whispered. "And suddenly I was in this very dark place. Pitch black... except for a spotlight on me. It was blinding me. I remember squinting, my hand shading my eyes... and then there was this sound, like the soft hiss a balloon makes when you let the air out of it."

Spike was trying to follow without interrupting her, but his mind was still trying to wrap around the many times she'd wanted to die because of him.

"I started yelling at them again. They stole you from me. They took away my heart. My soul. My reason to be. They let me scream until I had no voice left. And then they whispered so I'd have to strain to hear."

He could feel the sunrise fast approaching. Fortunately, her house was well shrouded. She had all of the windows covered with shades and curtains of heavy, dark fabric. And she didn't look like she could even think of sleeping until she told him everything.

"Even in the silence, I had to listen hard," she told him. "They wanted to make sure that they had my full, undivided attention. And they did."

"What did they tell you, Pet?" he asked softly as he released her wrists. She immediately drew the shirt sleeves back down over them and wadded up the excess material in her small hands.

"They told me that I was ungrateful. Ungrateful! Can you believe the nerve?" she asked, her eyes just as astonished as the moment that the Powers had told her that she was given a gift and she didn't appreciate it. "They told me that all who participated in that final battle were greatly rewarded. And I practically spat at them. Or I would have if I could make them out as anything solid."

She brought her legs up under her and leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

"I mean, how was everyone rewarded? I just didn't get that. Anya had died. You had died." She shook her head and corrected herself. "I thought you had died. But, the others... the potentials who lost their lives before they'd even been given a chance? Xander's world was taken away from him. His eye..."

"If there's one thing I've learned about those Powers blokes, it's not always immediately apparent what their intentions are. Like to do things in a roundabout way, they do."

Yes. She was definately beginning to get that.

"They told me that my reward was eternal life and eternal happiness. I guess I just missed the part about when all that would begin," she grinned.

Just like the Powers to give a blessing that was also a curse. She gets to live forever. She gets to watch her friends and family die off one by one. She gets to watch as nations crumble; As volcanoes erupt; as oceans dry up, one by one, until there's nothing left but her. There had to be some sort of opt-out, he thought.

"And what about when you're ready for it all to be over, Pet?" he asked carefully.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she asked, not following him.

"When it's all done, Pet. When everyone else is gone... then what?"

That was a good question. A very good question. She tried to remember everything that the Powers had told her. Was there a safe word? Was there a secret code that she could use to let them know that it was all done? No. There was a key. A key, a key, a key... She turned the memory over in her mind. Dawn! Dawn was her way out!

"Dawn," she told him. "Dawn is the way out. When it's time. She'll be my way out."

"But that would mean--"

"Goddamn Powers!" she suddenly yelled, jumping to her feet. Her fists were balled up at her sides as she shouted for them. "Show your glowy asses!" she shouted. "Come on! Show them! You owe us some explanations!"

"Love, Buffy," he tried to soothe. "Please, Love. You need to calm--"

And then they were both spiralling into darkness. Spike reached out to her and tried to grab her hands unsuccessfully. It seemed like hours as they spiralled deeper into an abyss. And then they landed with a soft thud, cloaked in complete darkness.

"Bloody Hell!" She heard him mutter. She reached out until she found him.

"Great," she sighed. "This again."