Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.
A/N: Well, here it is. The final chapter. *sniff* While it technically ended on the last chapter, there’s still some bits and pieces to sort out - Willow needs to call Giles and admit she tried to resurrect Tara, Spike has his letter to read, and there’s a few other odds and ends to sort out. And, what the hell, I might as well give you some fluff (of the pretty much everyone variety) and a teense more angst while I’m at it. Because I love ya.

Chapter following this is all author’s notes and acknowledgements, which you don’t have to read, but I mention a few people by name, so… well, it’s up to you =) I’ve uploaded it because there’s no delete chapter function, and I need to bump this up the list somehow ;)

Cradle

Chapter Thirty

The house was calm, a somewhat melancholy atmosphere permeating the air as the Scoobies thought about their various letters from Giles. The television was on with the volume turned low; Anya and Xander were sitting close on the couch, watching whatever was showing without really paying it much attention, and Dawn was on the other end of it, fidgeting, waiting impatiently for the return of her sister. Willow was pacing the kitchen agitatedly, waging an inner battle between telephoning Giles and admitting that she had tried to bring Tara back, or letting him believe she’d resisted. She prayed Buffy and Spike would be back soon, so she could concentrate on something else instead.

She read through her letter again, that she’d placed on the counter. Giles had such faith in her; she felt terrible for breaking his trust, and the guilt was beginning to bear down on her. There was nothing for it. She had to call him; it could be hours yet before Buffy returned and if she didn’t put her mind at ease, she was sure she’d go insane.

Heading to the dining room, she thought carefully about what to say. She dialled the familiar number, half of her hoping he wouldn’t be in, relieved at the continued ringing on the other end of the line. After five rings, Giles picked up.

“Hello?”

“H-hey, Giles. It’s me.”

She could hear him smile. “Willow. Hello. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The red-head sat herself down in one of the dining chairs, bringing one knee up under her chin. “I just wanted to say ‘hey’.” But of course, Giles knew her better than that, and sooner or later, he’d figure out that she had another reason. “And… and thanks for the letters. From everyone. We really appreciate it.”

He laughed a little. “Rather soppy, I know…”

“Oh, no, Giles, they were really nice…” She paused. “Okay, there’s another reason I called. Several, actually…”

“Go ahead.”

“Well… first of all, thanks for trying… asking Vivianne if she could help, I mean. And it doesn’t matter that she couldn’t.”

“I’m glad to see you’re coping better, Willow-“

“No, I’m not!” she interrupted, then added by way of explanation, “I mean, I am. Um… I have good news. While you and Buffy were away, um… I was visited by Tara. She… she came to me once before, while I still had the Dark Magic inside of me, and she convinced me to try and fight it, right when I was ready to stop… but anyway, the Powers let her see me again, and she… she donated her powers to me, Giles.”

He didn’t question her. After everything they’d all seen, a reappearance of Tara in corporeal form didn’t surprise him in the slightest, and especially not when her bond to Willow had been so strong. “That’s wonderful.”

“I know. And you know something? It feels so different to mine; it’s so pure. I didn’t realise.”

“I’m very happy for you, Willow,” he said. “Was there anything else?”

She hesitated, not wanting to break the amicable mood, but knew it had to be done. “Uh… yeah…” She swallowed. “It’s about Tara…”

“Oh?”

“Mm. You know how you said you were proud of me for not trying to bring her back when Warren-“

“Yes,” he said, sparing her from saying it.

“You may wanna renounce that…” There was a deathly silence. Willow resisted the urge to apologise profusely. “I… I did try to bring her back, Giles. Right after it happened… Whoever I managed to summon - and now I can barely remember, it seems so long ago - wouldn’t let me.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “I’m so sorry, Giles…”

“I see.”

“You have every right to yell at me again…”

“I… I won’t. Thank you for telling me. Better to get these things in the open, after all.”

She smiled. “So you’re not mad?”

“I’m a little disappointed, but… no, I’m not angry with you.” There followed a somewhat awkward pause. “So… how is everyone else? Not too upset with me, I hope?”

“Oh… oh, no, we’re all fine. I mean, we were upset that you didn’t say goodbye, but Buffy explained it to us.”

“Has she sorted everything out with Spike?”

“I don’t know. Neither of them are back yet.”

“What?” Willow explained what had happened, and that Buffy and Spike had yet to reappear from wherever it was they’d gone.

Slayer and vampire, still hand-in-hand, came to a halt at the bottom of the driveway, and surveyed the house. Most of the lights were still on, at least downstairs, and Buffy could tell the television was on. She checked her watch - it was later than she’d realised. Spike looked worried; he’d wanted the place to be quiet, the Scoobies to be asleep, so they didn’t have to explain themselves to four pairs of curious eyes. They stood there for a good five minutes, trying to muster the courage to take the final few steps to the door.

“Isn’t this crazy?” asked Buffy, somewhat rhetorically. “I’ve been killing vampires for seven years; I’ve stopped too many apocalypses to count; I’ve just been through probably the most terrifying conversation of my entire life… but I’m too scared to go in there and tell my friends we’re together.”

Spike looked down at her. “That makes two of us, love…”

She tore her gaze from the door and smiled up at him. “Well, I knew you were crazy,” she joked. She shook her head at herself. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think they’d have a problem with it any more, but… but I’m just worried. And even if they are okay with it, I’m not sure I want to share you with an entire house of Scoobies and my sister just yet.”

“Are you reading my mind, now?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Y’know, it really wouldn’t surprise me.”

They stared at the front door a while longer. Shadows moved within the house, the glare of the television occasionally casting flickers of light through the curtains. Spike looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Another stroll around the block, then?”

“God, yes…”

Willow put down the receiver with an air of contented relief, but she still didn’t feel much better. Giles had accepted her apology and her explanation, but even over the ‘phone it seemed too impersonal. There was nothing she could do about it now, however, so she conceded to let it lie until she saw him in person. With a sigh, she went back into the kitchen, sitting at the island and staring at nothing in particular. By comparison to only a few weeks ago, she was feeling miles better, but she knew that there were still problems for everyone to work through. Xander and Anya, in particular, hadn’t quite sorted everything out between them; although Willow herself knew that Tara was in a far better place now, it didn’t stop her missing her like Hell.

She was pulled from her rapidly sinking thoughts for a moment when she heard noise in the living room. A few seconds later, Xander emerged. She smiled weakly at him from her side of the island.

“Hey, Will. You okay?”

“Mm,” she muttered. “Just thinkin’.”

“You sure?”

She nodded a little absently. Xander started rooting in the fridge, looking for a drink, and Willow returned to her thoughts. She barely remembered any of the days before her Tara-provoked recovery; all of the events seemed to blur together, but a memory stirred of one particular, rainy morning. As her companion closed the fridge, she looked up. “Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there enough stuff in there to make one of your Special Sandwiches?”

He smiled, and opened the door again. “Well, let’s see…” He moved things around in there for a few seconds and then re-emerged. “There’s enough for a Semi-Special Sandwich, if that’ll do?”

“Sounds good. Sandwich me.” She pointed at the space on the counter in front of her, firmly, to make her demand clear.

He let out a chuckle, retrieved the appropriate things from the fridge, and set about making Willow her sandwich. She seemed off, somehow, and not just because of Giles’ letter. “What brought this on?”

“Oh, nothing,” she muttered. “I was just thinking about everything that’s happened. It seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”

“That, it does,” he said, hacking at a loaf of bread with a knife, pretending it was a manly saw. Once a carpenter, always a carpenter, it seemed. “I can’t believe it was only a few weeks ago that you were…” He let it trail off, not entirely sure how to put it into words.

“Letting myself fade away,” she finished for him. “I know. I don’t really remember it that well, you know? Everything’s blurry, like it never really happened…”

“You’re the lucky one, then,” he said, partially to himself, as he returned to the refrigerator to find the mayonnaise. Trying to change the subject, he commented, “Y’know, I’m going to talk to Buffy about the organisation of this thing. I mean, blood bags and mayo on the same shelf? Not fun.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, it’s gotta be unhygienic. Not to mention icky-“

“No, not that,” she explained. “About me being lucky.” He didn’t answer, merely poked absently at one of the afore-complained-about blood bags and watched it ripple. “Xander…”

Her tone was warning, and he decided he’d better answer her. The door closed; he turned, and set about spreading the mayo thickly on the bread, avoiding her gaze completely. “You may not remember it, Will, but I do. I think I’ll remember it for the rest of my damn life.” He sighed, putting the mayonnaise-covered knife down for a moment and reaching for some sliced meat. He hacked it neatly in half with the bread knife, apparently for effect rather than functionality, punctuating his words. “It was Hell. I was… I was so scared. I didn’t know what I was doing, how to help you, if I was even making any difference… and I couldn’t even ask for anyone’s help, because you trusted me so much.” Sliced meat now thoroughly chopped, he set up a rhythm of sandwich-building: meat; mayo; meat; mayo. “All I kept thinking was, ‘what if I make it worse?’ ‘What if nothing changes, and we’re stuck like this for the rest of our lives?’ ‘How am I supposed to save my best friend from herself?’ You expected me to be strong for you, Willow, and I could barely even be strong for myself.”

The final piece of bread completed the sandwich, but he made no move to give it to her, nor did she attempt to take it. Xander stared diligently at the counter top, well aware of the penetrating stare Willow was giving him, and trying to pluck up the courage to look her in the eye. “If it was so difficult,” she asked, “why didn’t you tell Giles?”

He shrugged. Finally, he raised his head. She looked troubled, and curious. “I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t think about it; there wasn’t a day went by when I wasn’t ready to give up and call in the British cavalry.”

“Yeah,” she prodded, “but you didn’t. Why?”

“Because I thought that I could save you the same way I’d saved the entire world,” he said. “With love. I thought it would be enough.” He sighed; it was time for the entire truth to out, now he’d started. “I love yellow-crayon-breaky Willow; I love scary-veiny Willow… but I just couldn’t make myself love doesn’t-want-to-survive Willow, and I knew it was wrong… and how was I meant to save you when there was nothing left of you that I even recognised?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “I’m sorry…”

He waved off the apology with his hand, implying it wasn’t her fault. “Oh, it wasn’t you… It was me, I… I just couldn’t handle it. And anyway, it doesn’t matter now, because you’re all better… no thanks to useless Xander.”

He moved to put the mayonnaise away; when he turned back from the fridge, Willow was standing up. Before he could say anything else, she hugged him; it didn’t take long for him to hug her back. “God, Xander… I had no idea…” She pulled out of their embrace so she could see him. “And, yeah, I’m all better. And you know why? Because of you, dummy.” She punctuated this by poking him. “Because no matter how much I wanted to die and make everything go vamoose, I couldn’t do that to you, or to anyone else.” She settled back into his arms again, comfortably. “Everything you did… You were great.”

“You’re just sayin’ that,” he said, partly in self-deprecatory jest.

“No, I mean it,” she assured him. “You caught me when I fell, and… helped me up when I… fell, and… okay, I’m really bad at analogies, but you know what I’m getting at.”

He gave her a squeeze. He still didn’t quite believe her, and was certain there must have been some other factor in her sudden burst towards recovery, but she clearly wanted him to believe it had been entirely his doing. He knew he’d done some good, despite her exaggeration, and that was enough. He looked over her shoulder at the counter, something suddenly occurring to him. “Your, uh, sandwich is dissolving…”

She giggled, pulling away from him. “That’s another thing. You made me soggy towers of bread when I was hungry.” She turned and started to walk back to the barstool she’d been sitting on before, but Xander reached for her hand and stopped her for a moment.

“Um. Just so you know,” he said, reaching up the other hand to her cheek, “I love bad-at-analogies Willow, too.”

Just as she was about to reply, another voice sounded from the doorway. “Oh, isn’t this nice? You go into the kitchen to get a snack, and then I find you with her, making with the hugging and the confessions!”

“Anya…” He let go of Willow, who backed off, embarrassed, and headed towards his vengeance demon almost-a-girlfriend-again. “This sounds like the worst line ever, but it isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, sure it’s not. I always knew you preferred her to me, Xander.” She didn’t sound very impressed, but a part of her tone implied that she wondered why it bothered her in the first place.

“No, Anya, seriously,” said Willow, “it’s really not what it looks like. We were just talking about everything that happened.” One glare from the brunette in the doorway made her stop talking. “I’ll… I’ll let you talk. Sorry…” She collected her snack, and left them to it.

“Come on, Harris,” demanded Anya, harshly, as she folded her arms, “I want an explanation, and I want the truth. No excuses.”

He’d had quite enough of emotional women for one day, in one way or another, and Anya’s jealousy was the last thing he needed. “Fine. You want the truth? I love Willow. There.”

She hadn’t been expecting that; rather, she’d anticipated a lengthy ramble on how she’d gotten it all wrong, whereby Xander dug himself into a hole. She hadn’t expected the truth to be so… well, truthful. The tirade she’d been planning stopped in its tracks, leaving her momentarily speechless. “Oh. I…”

“For God’s sake, Anya. Open your eyes, would you?” He lightened his tone a little, since yelling at her wasn’t going to solve anything. “She’s my best friend; she has been since we were both… knee-high to a fear demon…” Anya’s pose became less defensive, her expression saying ‘oh’ as he continued. “So, yes, I love her. Just like I love Buffy, and Dawny, and Giles, and… okay, I won’t go so far as to add Spike to the list, but you know what I mean.”

She nodded, slowly. Her expression changed, looking oddly fearful. “But what about me?”

Xander blinked. He thought it was obvious, but then, he forgot that Anya needed things spelt out at the best of times. They’d been through enough arguments and hurt for one year, and it was time to set things right. In one swift movement, he approached her, lifted her head with one hand, and kissed her thoroughly.

Seconds later, it was over, and Anya was staring at him in mild shock. “Does that answer your question?”

She recovered her senses a little, looked momentarily ponderous, and then kissed him back.

“Hey, guys, Buffy and Spike are back, so if you wanna… oh, sorry!” It was Dawn, entering, looking up, and then swiftly making her exit again. The two of them mutually and silently agreed to finish this particular activity at a later date when they couldn’t get interrupted. Right now, they needed to find out whatever had happened between the Slayer and Spike.

They stood near the front door and waited until everyone was sitting comfortably. Then I’ll begin, thought Buffy to herself, semi-comically. Dawn came back from the kitchen looking embarrassed, but with a large grin on her face, and stood near the door. Xander and Anya followed, both seeming flushed. Buffy couldn’t help the smile emerging when she realised why, and nor, apparently, could Spike; beside her, he squeezed her hand, and whispered, “And you were worried about us? Looks like someone else has some explaining to do, too…”

She took a deep breath, and finally entered the living room. Silence descended while she tried to find the right words to explain everything. Finally, Dawn broke through it in her own particular way.

“Well? What happened?”

“I, uh… I found him,” she pointed out, unnecessarily, buying herself some time.

“Duh.” Oddly enough, that was Willow, still munching through her sandwich. “Where was he?”

“The Bronze. Long story. But anyway… we… we had a good, long talk about things, went through all the appropriate apologies, forgivings, and hysterical crying, and finally came to an agreement.” Spike raised an eyebrow at her somewhat clinical explanation, but allowed her to continue. Her smile gave it away before she did. “Spike and I are… well, we just are. I know you guys all pretty much figured that out before I did, but…” She trailed off, catching Spike’s eye. “He loves me, and it took me too long to realise he meant it. It took me even longer to figure out that I love him, too.”

She waited for her friends’ reactions. The next thing she knew, Dawn had squealed loudly and bounded over to latch onto her sister in a bear hug before swiftly moving on to Spike, crushing them both equally. “Thank God,” she enthused. “I thought you’d never figure it out.”

Xander smiled from across the room. “Congratulations, you guys. It probably pales in comparison to what you two just went through, but Anya and I are sorta back together now, too. At least, I hope we are…” He gave Anya a questioning look.

“We are,” she confirmed. “And I’m glad you sorted it out, Spike.” The vampire gave her a grateful, knowing smile. After their two discussions, he felt a little closer to her. He realised that, eventually, he’d end up a fully fledged member of the Scoobies.

Willow rose from the couch and gave Buffy a hug. “I’m so happy for you, Buffy,” she said. “You, too, Spike.” Hugging Spike proved problematic since he was still attached to Dawn, who didn’t look set to let go any time soon. “Tell you what, you two, I’ll move out of Joyce’s old room, and-“

“Whoa, there, Red,” interrupted Spike, speaking for the first time since entering the room. “Let’s not think too far ahead, now.”

Buffy pouted (as did her sister) and looked at him with her best kicked-puppy expression. “You don’t want to stay here?”

“I didn’t say that… I just…” He trailed off, all coherent explanations going swiftly out of the nearest window at the sight of Buffy’s pouty-face. Her sister’s face was in a similar expression; when faced with two pouty Summers women, Spike was outnumbered. He sighed, and continued, quietly, “I didn’t think you’d want me to stay, at least, not yet.”

“Spike, I let you stay before there was a future in this,” pointed out Buffy. “Why do you think I’d make you leave?”

He managed to prise Dawn off him and indicate that she should give them a moment of private time; she complied, taking Willow with her, while Spike led Buffy into the dining room where they could talk. “I… I thought you’d want to take everything slow, this time. No rushin’ in like maniacs or anything.”

“I do,” she said. “But I don’t want you living in that damp old crypt, and anyway, I think you’ll have a tough time getting Clem to move out.”

“Of course I’ll stay, love,” he said. “But there’s no need to move everyone around for my sake. I’m perfectly fine in the basem-“

“You even finish that sentence and I’ll…” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. He was putting on a gentlemanly front, trying to do the right thing, and she could see straight through it. “Spike. You have nothing to worry about, okay? Just because we made mistakes in the past doesn’t mean we’re going to make them again. We’ll move everyone around - Willow can have Dawn’s room, she can have mine, we’ll have Mom’s old room. Besides, it’s time for a change, for everyone. There’s no point making a fresh start when the surroundings have so many bad memories.”

“You’re right.” Buffy smiled up at him. Just as she was about to go back into the lounge, he added, “But when we’ve moved everything around, I’m putting that cot on the floor.”

“Spike-“

“Please, Buffy. Just until I get my head sorted again…” His eyes pleaded with her. “I don’t want anything to happen that might ruin this.”

She could tell he was really worried about things, and conceded. “All right…”

They headed back to the others, who were chatting amongst themselves. Willow looked up first, and gave them a questioning expression. “So? Are we moving rooms?”

“Yes,” said Buffy. “We’re moving rooms. Dawn, you get my old room, Willow, you get Dawn’s, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she said. “That double room was starting to feel really… empty. And every time I see the window, I remember what happened…”

“See, Spike? A fresh start. For everyone.” He nodded.

Anya spoke up. “Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’ve decided to let Xander move back in. It’s his apartment, anyway. I have no idea how the air conditioning works and it was starting to get really stuffy in there.”

“Gee, thanks, An,” he joked. “You invite me back and the place smells of…” Several warning glances stopped him finishing the thought. “Of… a very smelly thing. But it’ll be nice to be back.”

“And talking of which,” added Buffy, “I think I need a shower and to sleep off this jetlag.” She yawned, suddenly realising she was very tired. The drawn-out conversation with Spike hadn’t helped matters much, either. “And you guys all look as though you could use some sleep, too.”

Willow and Dawn nodded. Spike went to the bottom of the stairs and picked up Buffy’s case, which still sat where she’d dumped it on her arrival since nobody else could lift it. “I’ll sort your stuff out, pet,” he said.

“Thanks,” she called after him, as he disappeared upstairs. “Xander, I’d offer to let you and Anya stay the night, but… you look like you’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”

Xander, to his credit, had the decency to blush. Anya, of course, didn’t. “Yes. We need to go home and have lots of make up sex.” Off Dawn’s sniggering, she added an afterthought of: “Which I realise is sharing too much, but it’s not like you didn’t all know anyway.”

She found herself being swiftly dragged away by Xander. Buffy stood aside so they could reach the front door. “Have fun, you guys…” She shook her head at them. It had been a long time since they’d all had to cope with Xander and Anya’s sexcapades, and she hadn’t realised how much she’d actually missed it. She closed the door as Xander drove off, smiled at her sister and Willow, and started to head upstairs.

“Oh, Buffy, hang on a sec!” It was Willow, picking something up from the end of the couch. Buffy came back into the room, a questioning expression on her face. The red-head handed her something. “I-it’s from Giles. For Spike. It was in the bundle with everyone else’s letters, but we didn’t read it out.” She shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Well, not all of it, anyway…”

Buffy laughed. “It’s okay; I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll take it up to him.” At the bottom of the stairs again, she turned back. “Oh, and… I’m sorry about the party. You guys must’ve worked so hard to get it all ready and I just gave you bad news and ran off…” Willow waved a hand dismissively. “We can party tomorrow. I mean, hey, saved the world again. That’s gotta be another reason to celebrate, right?”

“Right!”

“G’night, you two.”

“Night.”

Up in Buffy’s room, Spike was putting her various packed items away again without really thinking about it. It provided his body with something to do while he mulled over the evening they’d just had. It still hadn’t quite sunk in, properly. Some part of him was still expecting it to be a dream, that he was asleep in the cave, still, slowly dying of starvation, that this was some trick of his subconscious so he’d at least starve to death happy. Then again, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have dreamt about Xander attacking him, or about nearly losing Buffy. The various wounds from his trials - and from the fight with Xander - were also still stinging and aching a little.

Gotta be real, then, he thought. That was something, at least. Only then he started worrying that she’d take back everything she’d said. Oh, it had all sounded truthful enough, and he was pretty sure it had come from the heart… but like it or not, he was still a vampire, and he and Buffy both knew it couldn’t last. Sooner or later she’d get broody - in the female maternal way, not the having-a-soul way - and… It didn’t bear thinking about. It was one issue that no amount of talking would fix.

His rambling thoughts stopped briefly as he heard her coming up the stairs. It wouldn’t do for her to find him in here being miserable, so he swiftly brought himself back to the present, and only the immediately foreseeable future. By the time she appeared in the doorway, he looked as happy as he could.

“You didn’t have to do that, Spike,” she said. He shrugged, putting away another of her sweaters. The image might have been amusing, except that she could sense something was bothering him. His demeanour was off, not as relaxed and happy as it had been earlier. “Is something wrong?”

Damn. He looked up from rooting through the suitcase, and attempted to appear nonchalant. “No, pet.”

She entered the room, trying not to look worried. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Just thinking about things…”

She wasn’t buying it, but she was too exhausted now to try and talk it through, so she just nodded in acceptance of his excuse. She grabbed her bathrobe off the back of the door and draped it over her arm. “Before I forget, Willow just gave me this.” She handed him the letter; he took it, curiously. “It’s from Giles.”

“Giles?” And then, Buffy realised she hadn’t told him about it, mainly because he hadn’t asked, and hadn’t noticed Giles’ absence in the house when they arrived. “That’s a point, love. Where is that ex-Watcher of yours?”

“He stayed in England.”

“What?”

She rested a hand on his arm before he could flip out over it. “It’s okay. Honest. We said goodbye properly, and I didn’t hit him… at least, I don’t think I did. I probably should’a done…” Realising she was rambling, she shook her head. “Anyway. He wrote to everyone, and that one’s yours.”

“Oh, right…”

“Don’t look so worried. Giles is Mister Accept-y, now.” Spike relaxed a little, and put the letter to one side for reading when he’d finished attending to Buffy’s things. She watched him a moment, amused; when he gave her a questioning expression, she said, “If you’re not careful, I’m going to make you bring me breakfast in bed. Or maybe do the housework… run Dawn to school… ooh, and I’m pretty sure the windows haven’t been cleaned in-“

“Much as that all sounds… appealing,” he said, with a small smile, “isn’t that somewhat abusing the “do-anything-for-you” clause?”

“What, you think I’m going to let you stay here if you don’t pull your weight?”

His expression changed, looking momentarily worried. “Oh. Well. Um, obviously…”

“Spike. I’m kidding.” He breathed a sigh of relief, as Buffy stifled her laugh. She spotted her bathrobe over her arm, and, remembering why she’d even come into the room in the first place, headed for the door again. “I’m going to take a shower.” Spike opened his mouth to say something, his eyes wide and filled with instantaneous remorse that he couldn’t stop. He seemed ready to bolt for the stairs. Buffy rolled her eyes. “And if you even think about running out on me, Spike, I swear I’m going to track you down and chain you in that damn bathroom until you realise that there’s nothing to worry about any more.” As an afterthought, she muttered, “In fact, I may just do it anyway…”

“I’m not going,” he said, calming a little. “Just fight or flight, you know?”

“In that case,” she said, reassuringly, “flight is not an option. And at some point, we’re going to work through this. Together.” She put the robe on the floor for a moment and walked over to him, wrapping both arms around his waist. He returned the gesture, resting his chin on top of her head, and they stood there in silence for a moment until she pulled back a little to look at him. She spoke more softly, seriously. “Whatever it is that scares you, whatever it is that you keep telling yourself is wrong, I’ll try get rid of it. But I can’t do it on my own, Spike. I need you to work with me, okay?”

He looked down at her, realising she was being completely sincere about it. All of his previous doubts fled from his mind, for a moment. “Think I can manage that…”

“Good.”

She kissed him, short and sweet, and let him go. Spike watched her leave, and listened as she headed down the landing to the bathroom, noting as the door closed that she didn’t lock it after her. He remained calm for all of fifteen seconds before the memories came flooding back, unheeded, and he locked himself in her room rather than wait to be locked out of the bathroom. It would also stop anyone coming in and seeing him in his unwanted moment of weakness.

He sat on the bed, next to her opened and semi-unpacked case, and put his head in his hands, waiting for the mental images to stop. It wasn’t as painful as it used to be, back when he first got the soul, but it hurt nonetheless. All he could see, all he could hear, was Buffy, crying out, trying to stop him, fighting back…

“No…” he muttered. “Not again…” It didn’t work; the images kept coming. Now he was flying through the air from the impact of her kick to his stomach, colliding with the wall, clarity hitting him on impact. He was looking at Buffy through new, saner eyes, as she looked back at him with that look of hurt and betrayal. He knew the words that were coming; he’d heard them in his nightmares for weeks…

‘I forgive you…’

Spike blinked to himself, surprised, and looked around the room in shock. The door was still locked; Buffy was still in the bathroom, oblivious to his plight. Gone was the image of the terrified Buffy who he’d pushed too far, and in her place was the Buffy of earlier that night, illuminated by moonlight as she made her series of tearful confessions.

‘I love you.’

And then he knew. He knew it would all be fine. He straightened up, and set back to the task in hand - putting away Buffy’s things and sorting out what needed washing. Getting up, he noted with some amusement what he was doing, and what everyone would think of him now - the Big Bad, sorting the Slayer’s clothes. The letter from Giles lay momentarily forgotten on the end of the bed, as an idea began to form in his brain.

Several minutes later…

Buffy gathered up the clothes she’d travelled in as she left the bathroom, wondering briefly if she should attempt to brush her hair, then realising that Spike probably wouldn’t care. She noticed the closed door of her room, but didn’t think anything of it until she tried to open it, and discovered it locked. She knocked.

“Spike? You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply. “Just… you’ll see. Hang on a sec.”

“I’m hanging,” she called back. If you’ve moved anything, you’re dust, she thought to herself. Or possibly just bruised. She whistled, tapping her foot impatiently while she waited. After a few minutes, she heard the door unlock. “Can I come in now?” she asked, as Spike appeared in the doorway.

“Yes. But you have to close your eyes first.” She sighed, but did as instructed. Spike took the pile of clothes from her, silently, and led her inside the room. They came to a stop. “Right. Open them.”

When she did, they filled with tears two seconds later. The room, far from being reorganised, had been tidied - everything in the case was put away, everything that needed cleaning had been put into the laundry basket, and the case itself stowed tidily under the bed. Everything on her dresser was organised by colour - just how long had she been in that shower, anyway? - and he’d opened the window to freshen the room a little. It was lit by a single lamp on the bedside table; there was a clean pair of pyjamas folded up on the sheet, and the bedclothes had been turned back.

She blinked back the tears, and looked at Spike, who was now shifting rather uncomfortably, unsure how his gesture would be received. “Spike… you didn’t need to do this.”

He shrugged. “Got bored.”

“Got bored, my ass,” she said, smiling. “But thank you.”

He smiled back. “Well, all that tidying’s made me hungry. I’ll just pop to the kitchen; you want anything?”

“No, I’m good…”

Spike nodded, and left Buffy to get changed. Downstairs in the kitchen, he nuked himself a mug of O-negative - an old memory of a very smiley Slayer, under the influence of Willow’s magic, bringing him one at “Ninety-eight point six”, made him smile - and then, as an afterthought, made her a cup of cocoa. Knowing Buffy, she’d change her mind as soon as he came back, so it was better to be prepared. When both drinks were done, he went back upstairs.

She was snuggled under the covers by the time he got back, sitting up. “Brought you something anyway,” he said, handing her the mug.

“Thanks.” She took a sip. Then, she noticed that Giles’ letter still sat on the end of the bed. “So, what did Giles have to say to you?”

“Huh?”

“The letter… you did read it, right?”

“Completely forgot…”

She reached for it, and indicated for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Well, now’s your chance.” He obliged, sitting angled towards her, slightly, and took the proffered letter from her outstretched hand. He hesitated, looking at it nervously for a moment. “Come on, I’m curious…” He unfolded it with a roll of his eyes, and started to read it in his head. Buffy interrupted after he’d read a few lines. “Could you read it out?” she asked. “I mean, unless it’s really personal…”

“It’s not,” he said. “I’ll read it.” He cleared his throat.

“Buffy has always been headstrong, but she’s also always known what is best for herself, and has proven me wrong on that count several times. She’s also as stubborn as a mule, and I knew that no amount of discussion would bring her around on this matter. She doesn’t give her love away easily, either; so far, you’re the only one who’s even come close to understanding that. I don’t know fully what happened that night after the meeting - she hasn’t told me - but I do know that it made her realise what she wanted. We’ve never exactly been on friendly terms, but trust me when I tell you this: she loves you. If she hasn’t told you already, give her time. She will.”

He stopped a moment, and looked at Buffy. She was listening intently; that’s when he realised he’d lapsed back into his old accent, unconsciously mimicking Giles in some way. When she noticed he’d stopped, she said, “Nice to know he has such faith in my ability to tell you, huh?” Spike smirked at her.

“Do you want the rest or not?” he asked, immediately reverting to his usual voice.

“Of course… and go back to that accent,” she added. “I like it.”

Spike smiled, and continued.

“Giles.”

“That’s it, pet.” He folded it back up and placed it on the bedside table. “Pretty strong words, coming from him.”

“Yeah.” She looked thoughtful a moment. “God, I miss him already. Remind me to call him. Soon.”

“When you do, tell him the vote of confidence is appreciated.” As an afterthought, he added, “Only, make it sound, y’know, nonchalant. I got a reputation to uphold, y’know.”

“I know, Spike…”

A sudden awkwardness descended on the room. “Anyway. You look beat. Get some rest, and I’ll… see you in the morning.” He got up, making to go back to the basement. He got as far as the door, when Buffy’s voice filtered across from her bed, sounding slightly hurt. He didn’t need to turn to know she was pulling the pouty face on him again.

“You’re not going to stay with me?”

He turned; he was right; there was the bottom lip, sticking out. “Well… I…” He tried to talk his way out of it, but he was powerless to resist that face. “Are you sure?”

Buffy pulled back the covers, and shuffled over slightly. “Yes. Please, Spike… I just… I just want you to hold me…”

She suddenly seemed very fragile. After everything they’d all been through recently, he wasn’t surprised. There’d been equal amounts of heartache all around, and a life-threatening situation to boot, and Buffy had been in the centre of all of it. She needed his comfort, his strength, needed to feel safe again now that everything was over, just like he still needed her to help put his head to rights.

He went back over to her, and sat on the bed again, removing his boots a little ponderously, waiting for her to change her mind. Nothing came. She reached out for his arm; he placed his hand over hers where it rested, and held it for a moment. The suspicion that it was all a dream still hadn’t quite shifted, but he was beginning to believe it. And if it was a dream, well, heck, he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

He settled next to her, cautiously, and pulled the covers back over the both of them. Buffy snuggled into his arms, yawning as she let herself relax. Everything was going to be fine, now. They’d all survived, recovered, and made up. Okay, so she’d lost Giles to his mother country, but they’d parted on decent terms, and with a mutual understanding. Lying there, feeling protected for the first time in what felt like years, all Buffy wanted to think about was going to sleep.

“Light…” she mumbled, against his chest. He reached over to turn it off and shrouded the room in moonlight. It was silent. In the dark, she listened to the sounds outside. A dog howled in a nearby garden; crickets chirped; a cat let out a yowl somewhere. Only this time, she wasn’t dreaming, and Spike didn’t appear at her window, only to vanish again. He was right there, keeping her safe, murmuring incoherent, loving nothingness because he thought she was asleep, just like he’d done before, all those months ago. Except now, she cared enough to listen.

She let him ramble a while. It had been so long, and she’d missed the sound of his voice. Eventually, he ran out of things to say, or perhaps decided to wait until he could say them to her properly. She shifted position slightly to wrap an arm around his waist. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

Sleep was already threatening to take over; before blissful unconsciousness claimed her, though, she managed to let out a muffled, “Love you, Spike…”

He replied with the words he never thought he’d get to say. “Love you, too, Buffy…”

She slept. Several hours later, after watching her all night, so did Spike. The dawn of a brand new day began, and Sunnydale became bathed in morning sunlight. Sooner or later, there’d be something else trying to end the world; one or more of them would have their life threatened again. Only now… it didn’t seem quite so hopeless.