Chapter Twelve: Friends… Enemies

By: Wynn

She was here, standing in his house, staring at him with her wide hazel eyes. He glanced at the doorway. She stood at the threshold, slender arms folded delicately across her chest. Her hair hung in soft, glossy waves down to her shoulders, and she wore a pair of jeans and a navy, one shouldered top. Spike drew in a deep breath and tore his gaze away from his Slayer. She had sought him out, tracked him down. No one knew where he was living now, not even Angel, yet she still managed to find him. For four days he had wondered if she would come and barge into the house, eyes blazing with anger, and throw him out of her town and out of her life. Or if she would just stake him on sight, no questions asked. He hadn’t expected her to slip in unnoticed through the back door, calm and composed.

He looked at her again. She hadn’t moved. He stood and stepped away from the chair, in front of the fire, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “Buffy.”

She blinked, her gaze sliding down to the book clutched in his hands. “What are you reading?”

“What? Oh.” Spike turned the volume of poetry over in his hands, running a finger along its spine. It was his gift from Angel, his solace when the past tried to engulf him, drown him in his ever present guilt. “It’s, uh, poetry. William Wordsworth. Tintern Abbey.”

Buffy walked forward into the room, uncrossing her arms. She locked eyes with him again and said, “Would you read part of it to me?”

He stared at her for a moment. Her head was tilted slightly, a lock of golden hair falling across her face. Her eyes, green and gold and blue, glowed from the firelight. Spike swallowed and lifted the creased book, thumbing through the pages until he came to Tintern Abbey. He licked his lips again and began to read.

 

“‘…That serene and blessed mood,

We see into the life of things.’”

A faint smile crossed her face as she moved further into the room. “I remember reading this in my English class in college. I liked it. I wish I could have read more poetry.” Buffy met his gaze. She pointed towards his face and said, “When did you start wearing glasses?”

Spike’s hand snatched the metal frames off of his face. He had forgotten he had them on. “Um, a while ago.” Like one hundred and thirty years ago, to be precise. He placed the book and glasses on the low glass table. “Buffy, what-”

“Why did you come back?”

Spike’s eyes widened, struck by her words. He mentally chastised himself for expecting more than a cold confrontation from Buffy, especially after what he had done to her. He ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair and edged behind the armchair, sliding into the shadows in the corner of the room. “I-”

Buffy surged forward, arm outstretched. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. Like you shouldn’t have come back. It’s just… after everything… I thought you would want to stay as far away from Sunnydale, and from me, as possible.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

Buffy sighed. She moved away from him and paced the length of the room, fingers fidgeting. “I- You loved me, and all it got you was pain. From me and from you. Loving me brought out the worst in you last year. I brought out the worst in you. Who would want to come back to that?”

Spike’s mouth dropped open. He took a few hesitant steps from the shadows. Buffy had retreated to the doorway, her eyes locked on the fire, glistening with unshed tears. He stepped around the glass table and moved closer to her. “Buffy, loving you brought out anything that was worthwhile in me, the parts of me that hadn’t been… affected by the demon. You brought out what was left of the man inside me.” He paused, sighing softly. It was now or never. No more running could be done, no more hiding. The time had come. “I came back to Sunnydale because of you. I know it’s never going to be enough, but I wanted to try to apologize for… for hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I’m sorry, Buffy.”

A stray tear slid across her cheek. “Me, too. Last year… I did stuff I’m not proud of. And I hurt a lot of people. Including you. I’m sorry.”

They faced each other in the firelight, past sins laid out between them like fractured china, deceptively innocuous yet vicious and razor-sharp. A few simple, sincere words had swept them all away, allowing for a new beginning from residual pain.

Buffy rubbed a hand across her cheek, wiping at the tear, a small smile curving her lips. She glanced at Spike from the corners of her eyes. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah.”

She bit the corner of her lip and said, “Maybe… we could be friends, or something. If you want to, that is.”

“I would like that.”

Silence surrounded them again, intermingled with the unspoken acknowledgement that the past was forgiven, not forgotten, and both would try for a better future. Buffy smiled again. “Good. Maybe I could stop by in a few days. Make you read me some more poetry.”

Spike regarded her for a few seconds. “Are you sure? Because, you don’t have to Buffy. I’ll-”

“I want to.”

Spike nodded. “Ok, then. Might have to skip the poetry though. A game of rummy maybe. Less embarrassing.”

“Ok. I, uh, have to go now.” She rolled her eyes, an amused gleam shining through the sarcasm. “Dawn drug Giles out to the movies. No telling what she made him see.”

A faint grin crossed Spike’s face. “She likes the strange movies.”

“Yeah. Giles’ll probably need a week to recover.” She glanced behind her towards the door then faced Spike again. She took in his appearance, hazel eyes sliding from head to toe. She shook her head softly.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Buffy shrugged. “You… look the same. The glasses… the hair… all black.”

“Buffy, you haven’t seen-”

“No, not in Sunnydale. In my dream.” She paused, flashing him a brief smile. “Bye, Spike.” Buffy turned and left the room, slipping out of the house, before he could think of anything to say.

 

* * *

“Pass the popcorn.”

“There isn’t any left.”

“You ate it all?”

Anya rolled her eyes and pointed towards Faith. “No, *you* ate it all. And you ate the cookies. And the chips, too.”

The two women were in Anya’s apartment, surrounded by empty bowls of junk food, music blaring from the stereo. Faith looked at the empty bowls and shrugged. “Guess I’m still craving food with taste. Prison food’s like watered down cardboard.”

“Sounds… yummy.”

“Not really.” Faith drew her leg up on the couch and set her chin on her knee. “Could’ve been worse. Stale bread and shitty water. Or nothing at all.” She drifted into silence, her years in jail replaying through her head. Constant threats, other women wanting to try their luck against the strong one, the silent one, the loner; suspicious glances from the guards, waiting for her to loose her cool and lash out; quiet nights filled with memories of hatred and rage, cries of pain and anguish. She would never go back. Ever.

Her stomach rumblings brought Faith back from her thoughts. Rubbing a hand across her belly, she looked at Anya and said, “You got any of those pizza rolls?”

“Yeah. Xander used to eat them.” Anya sat on the couch for a moment, a distant expression on her face, golden-brown eyes lost in memories, before standing and walking into the kitchen.

Faith followed her. She watched Anya dig through the freezer and yank out a frost covered box of pizza rolls. Taking a few small steps into the kitchen, Faith said, “Look, Anya, I wanted to, you know, say thanks. For letting me crash at your place and everything.” Her gaze traveled around the room, restless and nervous, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I- They all hate me, especially Xander, and-”

Anya held up her hand. “Right now, I don’t give a fig’s ass what any of them think. Especially Xander. I asked you to stay here because you’re my friend. Not because they hate you or because I want to make them angry by harboring the Slayer that tried to kill them. You’re my friend, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Anya lifted the box of pizza rolls, ripped open the thawing cardboard, and tossed the frozen snacks into the microwave. She set the timer and turned back towards Faith.

Faith stared at Anya, dark eyes assessing her friend. After a minute, she nodded, then moved next to the cabinets and pulled out a clean plate. Setting the dish next to the microwave, Faith said, “I talked to Angel yesterday. Connor came back.”

“Did he try to kill Angel again?”

“No. Apologized for dumping him in the ocean and explained about a scheme between some Slayer wannabe and an old guy that wanted revenge.” Faith opened the door to the microwave and dumped the sizzling pizza rolls onto the plate. “Angel still took the kid in. First Spike, then me, now Connor. Guy’s looking to be killed.”

“Did he say anything about Spike?”

“Nope. Think he’s still in L.A.?”

Anya reached for a roll, biting carefully into one steaming end. “Maybe.”

Faith arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“There’s something… different about Spike. I’m not sure what exactly, but something’s different.” Anya shrugged and grabbed the plate of pizza rolls. She walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, placing the plate on the coffee table. “Did he appear different to you?”

“Not really.” Faith picked through the pizza rolls, collecting a few in her hands, and sat back on the couch. “But I don’t know him too well. It’s mostly been crude suggestions and threats between us. The fun stuff.”

“You do know he’s in love with Buffy?”

“Get out. Blondie has a thing for B?” Faith chuckled at the thought of Buffy involved with another vampire and Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, in love with one. “Got to hand it to her. She’s got good taste in men. Well, in vampires at least.” Faith and Anya glanced at each other and burst into laughter. Poor Riley. He never stood a chance.
 

* * *

The door to the long hall opened, and the six people composing the Inner Circle filed into the room. The stone fireplace and gold chandelier lit the luxuriously furnished interior, highlighting the rich wood surfaces and plush carpet.

The man set his briefcase on the table and watched the others file into position around the table. He turned towards the man on his left, eyebrows lifted in disdain. “Well, you’re troupe of vampires failed. The Slayer dispatched of them without even breaking a sweat. At our last gathering, you showed your ignorance and lack of preparation through your significant lapse in knowledge concerning the vampire William the Bloody. And now this…”

The second man licked his lips. “Sir, the vampires were not expected to succeed. They-”

“No, they were not expected to succeed. But they were expected to last more than a few seconds.” He sighed and turned towards his second-in-command sitting to his right. “What is the status of William the Bloody?”

The woman dug through her briefcase and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper. She handed it to him and said, “We know he’s back in Sunnydale. However, he did not return to his crypt, and our sources haven’t been able to ascertain where he is living now. It’s only a matter of time before we know.”

The man nodded. He slipped the piece of paper into his briefcase as he said, “What about the Larouse demons? Are they ready to proceed?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He glanced across the table at the man lounging in his chair. “And what is your opinion concerning the Larouse demons?”

Straightening in his chair, the man smirked and said, “They’ll fail. The Slayer will probably kill them as quickly as she did the vampires.”

“Yes, I suppose she will. But this allows for the situation brewing in Sunnydale to come to a head, so I have decided to continue with the previously arranged plan.” He looked around the table, hard eyes drifting from one face to another. “Everything is proceeding according to plan. It is only a matter of time before the Slayer and her cohorts are dead.”

 

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Silent Observers

By: Wynn

The night air was crisp and cool, a welcome departure from the stifling heat and humidity of the past month. Buffy drew her hooded sweatshirt around her as she stepped out of Mossino’s and onto the sidewalk. She had worked for the past five hours, teaching various groups of men, women, and children the basics of self defense. Her patience was thin and her muscles were sore; all she wanted was to be in a luxurious hot bath surrounded by scented candles with-

“Buffy!”

Sighing, Buffy turned back towards Mossino’s. She saw Tyler standing next to the glass doors, a piece of paper dangling from his right hand. She smothered a frown and said, “Yeah?”

He moved closer towards her and extended his hand, fluttering the paper at her. “Paycheck. Figure you’d want it.”

Buffy’s brows drew together. “I thought I didn’t get paid until tomorrow.”

“I got some stuff I need to do tomorrow, so I won’t be in to give this to you.” Tyler ran a hand over his short black hair and walked back towards the building. “Of course, if you want to wait for your money, I can always-”

“Give.”

Tyler smirked and passed the paycheck to Buffy. He stared at her for a moment, grey eyes burning into her with fierce intensity, before he smirked again. “I got to admit it, honey, you’re doing a mighty fine job. You weren’t lying when you said you knew what you were doing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Still wondering how I was able to beat you so fast?”

“Yeah.”

One corner of her mouth quirked up as she folded the paycheck and slipped it into her coat pocket. “Trade secret. Goonight, Tyler.” Buffy pivoted on her heel and continued down the sidewalk, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head. She felt Tyler’s hand on her arm and stopped again, jaw clenched in frustration.

“Wait! What’s the rush?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black pants as she turned towards him. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Am I that repulsive?”

A small smile curved Buffy’s lips. She folded her arms across her chest and said, “No. You’re only slightly repulsive.”

“Thank you.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath and forced her jaw to relax. Being rude to the boss was not of the good, especially if one wanted to be paid again. “My sister’s waiting for me to get home so I can beat the crap out of her.”

“What?”

Buffy laughed at his confusion. “I’m training her how to fight. It’s only basic sparring now. I thought I’d wait another week or two before we broke out the weapons.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes at her. “Weapons?”

“Weapons. You know, crossbows, swords, stuff like that.” She grinned at him as she felt a slow tingle spread through her stomach. Buffy straightened, her blood beginning to pound through her veins, and searched the shadows enveloping the surrounding buildings. Her eyes strained to pierce the darkness but failed to discern anything in the murky black.

“Something wrong?”

Buffy’s head whipped back towards Tyler. She had forgotten he was standing with her. “What? Oh, no, nothing’s wrong. Just thought I heard something.” She shrugged and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Must have been the wind. Um, what were you saying before the, uh, wind?”

Tyler glanced at her and raised one eyebrow slightly. After a few seconds, he said, “I asked if your sister was as strong as you are.”

Buffy shook her head. “No. Only one freakishly strong tiny person in the family. She didn’t eat her Wheaties as a kid.”

“So… only your sister waiting for you at home? No boyfriend?”

Buffy remained silent. Her gaze flickered from Tyler to the shadows and back again. “Not really. My sister’s waiting for me. Goodnight, Tyler.” With a small wave, she turned and walked down the bare sidewalk. She reached the end of the block and rounded the corner, disappearing behind the building.
 

* * *

He watched her glance towards him, then back at the lug standing before her. Her murmured goodbye drifted on the cool winds, softly swirling around him, as he leaned back against the rough brick wall. His eyes followed her as she sauntered down the street and vanished into the night.

Spike sighed, attempting to stifle the jealously flaring within him. There was no reason to be jealous. Buffy was his friend. He was Buffy’s friend. Nothing more. After all, they had only seen each other a few times over the past three weeks. She had always arrived after sunset, knocking softly on the front door. They would sit on the porch and talk. Talk about poetry, about the nasties roaming the Hellmouth, about Spike refurbishing the old farmhouse. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a tall, massive, black haired lump of flesh named Tyler.

His gaze snapped back to the mirrored building. The lug was locking the door; he placed his keys within a brown messenger bag slung across his chest and looked around the street. Spike could sense his heart beating quickly, adrenaline flooding his system. He watched Tyler glance down the street in the direction Buffy had traveled, wipe the palms of his hands on his pants, and head in the opposite way.

Spike frowned at the boy’s nervousness. He emerged from the shadows and followed Tyler, keeping close to the buildings. As long as the boy was traveling in the same direction as Spike, a little recon wouldn’t hurt. Especially if this guy was involved in Buffy’s life. The lug turned down a side street and headed into the gloomy alleyways of Sunnydale; he looked behind him a few times but never stopped. He exited the alley and walked down a vacant road, sparsely lit by street lamps, and dotted with rusted, windowless cars. Tyler halted in front of a massive brick house and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a tiny scrap of paper. He glanced from the paper to the building and shoved the scrap into one pocket of his pants. Sighing softly, he peered at the darkened windows and gothic stonework before moving to the tiny side alley stretching alongside the building and walked to the back of the house.

Spike heard the sound of a door opening. A mumbled conversation followed and then the door slammed shut. He waited, covered by the darkness of the night, senses trained on the oppressive house for any sign of life. After five minutes, the blonde searched for the street number of the brick building, eventually spotting a small brass sign with an elegantly carved 2403 upon it above the pale blue door. 2403 Mulholland Rd. Spike stared at the house, mind swirling with jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and ran his hand over his light brown curls. They were just friends. He had no reason to be following one of her… acquaintances. They were only friends.

Yeah. Like her and Angel were just friends. Spike looked at the building once more before slipping back into the shadows and continuing to his original destination.
 

* * *

Spike walked into the dark and smoky interior of the Bronze. The strobe lights and colored lasers flashed in time with the pulsing and sensual beat of the music; the club was half-filled, some people venturing onto the dance floor while others crowded around the pool tables. He maneuvered through the patrons and approached the bar. Sliding onto one of the stools, he signaled for the bartender. A tall man with long red hair slicked back into a ponytail sauntered over, a white towel grasped loosely in his hands. His eyes, suspicious and cautious, scanned Spike as he placed a thin paper coaster in front of the vampire.

“I don’t want a drink,” Spike said. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and removed a torn shred of newspaper. Handing the paper to the bartender, Spike continued, “I’m looking for Smith.”

The bartender smirked. His eyes inspected Spike again. He handed the paper back to the blonde and pointed to a small room adjacent to the bar. Spike glanced at the room, noticing a beam of light escaping from the closed door. Nodding his thanks, he jumped off of the stool and moved to the door. He knocked once, opened the door, and entered the small room. A muted glow illuminated the room from a series of circular lights on the ceiling. A woman with long silver hair sat behind a battered metal desk; a stack of papers were balanced precariously in front of her, and a sleek laptop resided on the corner of the desk. She looked up as Spike shut the door behind him and smiled.

“Hello, William.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at the woman. She stood and edged around the desk; she wore strapless silver top and a silk cerulean skirt. Her eyes were large and violet. Spike looked down at the paper in his hand, then at the tiny woman before him. “I’m, uh, looking for Smith. The large, mute bloke behind the bar pointed to this room.”

The woman smiled again. “I’m Smith. Emilia Smith. I assume you’re here about the job opportunity, William.”

“Why do you keep calling me William? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

Tilting her head to the side, Emilia said, “Would you prefer Spike? Neither Spike nor William is quite appropriate now, are they?”

A stony mask descended onto Spike’s face. He backed towards the closed door and said, “Well, Emilia, it’s been swell but if you don’t mind, I’ll be going now.” His hand groped for the doorknob and he stiffened when Emilia walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She gently moved him into a dented metal folding chair and resumed her seat behind the desk.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you-”

“You didn’t.”

“Most are alarmed upon first meeting me. I have… a tendency to speak without thinking. And in my case, that isn’t always such a good thing.”

“And why exactly is that, luv?”

Emilia sighed and leaned across the desk. Her large, violet eyes gazed into Spike’s turbulent blue as she said, “They aren’t just a pretty color. I can see the essence… the aura of a person. I can see souls, if you prefer. And I have some ability in telepathy.” She grinned at Spike. “Don’t worry. I haven’t used it on you yet.”

Spike shifted on the cold metal of the folding chair and tore his gaze away from Emilia. Her stare was disconcerting; he felt as though he was laid bare before her, all of his secrets and sins exposed in one penetrating glance of violet. He licked his lips and breathed deeply. “What are you? And why are you here in Sunnydale?”

“I’m an Elf.”

Spike snorted. “Elves don’t exist anymore. They disappeared from this dimension around the time of the Crusades.”

Emilia smiled. “Are you always so certain about everything? You are partially correct. Most Elves left this dimension a millennia ago. But some remain. We have merged with humanity and become a part of it.”

“What the hell is an Elf doing in Sunnydale?”

“What better place for a supernatural being than the Hellmouth. I own the Bronze.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “*You* own the Bronze?”

“Yes.”

Spike laughed, the harsh sound echoing in the tiny room. “Well, isn’t this rich. An Elf owns the Bronze. I always wondered who would be stupid enough to open a club on top of the Hellmouth.”

“I was looking for an adventure.” Emilia frowned, the delicate space between her brows creased with worry. “Unfortunately too much adventure has occurred. That’s why I placed the ad in the paper. I need someone to help counter the more… active troublemakers.”

“You’re looking for a bouncer for the evil nasties of the Hellmouth?”

Emilia nodded. “Yes. Are you interested in the job? That is why you came to the Bronze tonight, isn’t it? Unless your only purpose in venturing out was to follow the massive, dark haired lump of-”

“Hey! Get out of my mind! Now.”

A broad grin broke out on Emilia’s face. Her violet eyes shone with amusement. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I wouldn’t worry too much about him though. She’s not interested. So will you take the job, William?”

“You do know what I am, right?”

The grin faded. Her face grew serious as she stared at Spike. “I know what you are. Probably more than you know what you are.”

“What-”

“So you’ll take the job? Excellent.” Emilia stood and walked next to Spike. She reached for his hand and shook it, leading him over to the door. Smiling gently, she opened the door and nudged him into the club. “How about coming back by in two days? We’ll work out a schedule, which will be flexible of course, and adequate pay. Goodnight, William.”

She nodded to the bartender and closed the door. Spike stood in front of the small office, brows drawn together in bewilderment. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, shaking his head softly. Signaling to the bartender, Spike said, “I think I’ll take that drink now, mate.”
 

* * *

The warm, sudsy dish water slowly spiraled in the sink, escaping into the metal drainpipe. Buffy opened one kitchen cabinet and lifted the stack of clean plates, carefully maneuvering the still dripping dishware into the cramped storage space. Closing the cabinet door, Buffy reached for the paper towel roll, ripped two sheets off, and dried her soap covered hands. She threw the damp towels into the garbage can and grabbed her glass of orange juice from the corner of the counter.

As she walked to the living room, her mind drifted, replaying the events of the night before. She had felt him, in her gut and in her mind, even though he had remained outside of sight. Buffy shook her head and sighed as she plopped down on the couch. She had never been able to sense Spike like this before. The only person who had had this primal, instinctive reaction within her had been Angel. She sipped her orange juice, mind racing. Something had happened to Spike when he had left Sunnydale. He had changed, changed enough for him to warrant an appearance in her Slayer dreams. But what had changed? Was it the chip? Had he gotten it removed? Or was it…?

Buffy snorted and smoothed a stray lock of hair from her face. That was impossible. He would never want… or would he? How could he-? Buffy started at the sound of knocking at her front door. She set the glass onto the coffee table and moved over to the door. She opened the door and smiled.

“Hey, Giles. Thanks for coming over.”

Giles nodded slightly as he entered the Summers home. “It’s no problem Buffy. Actually, I also have something I need to tell you.”

Buffy returned to the couch and looked at Giles with wide eyes. “What is it? Are you leaving again?”

“No. I’m not leaving,” Giles said as he sat across from Buffy. “I heard from the coven last night-”

“Is something wrong with Willow? Is she Ok?”

“Willow is fine. In fact, she is doing remarkably well. They said that a-a change occurred within her. Almost overnight. Willow will not talk about it, but some of the others mentioned hearing voices within her room and seeing a bright light.”

Buffy frowned. “You don’t think it was anything dangerous do you?”

Giles shook his head. “No. It seems to have been a positive force for Willow. The coven said that she has devoted herself to her lessons wholeheartedly and is progressing very well.”

A small smile curved Buffy’s lips. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing good.”

“Yes. Now what is it you needed to talk to with me about?”

Buffy took another sip from her orange juice and examined her Watcher out of the corner of her eye. She was stalling, and he knew it. Sighing, Buffy said, “Spike is back.”

Giles straightened. He stared at Buffy, his eyes narrowed in concern, and said, “Spike has returned to Sunnydale?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. There’s something that I need your help wi-”

“How do you know he has returned?”

“Um, I saw him. One night while I was patrolling.” She picked at the seams on the couch, hazel eyes focused on the multicolored threads. “I tracked him down to a place near Rest Haven. Talked with him a few times.”

Giles was silent as he absorbed Buffy’s information. He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his face. He looked at Buffy again. “How long has he been back?”

“Three weeks. Giles, what’s with-”

“Three weeks?” Giles pushed off of the couch. He glared at Buffy; his voice was tight with fury as he said, “Spike has been back in town for three weeks and it is only now that you tell me.”

Buffy stood and crossed her arms over her chest; she gritted her teeth and stared at Giles with hard eyes. “Yes.”

“Buffy, he is dangerous. To you and to everyone else in Sunnydale.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is. He is a soulless vampire who is capable-”

“Giles, the last time you saw Spike, he was dressed in god awful tweed and trying to hide from a loan shark. What is with the ‘Let’s kill the evil vamp’ attitude? You…” Her mouth dropped open as she trailed off. Buffy shook her head when Giles looked down at the floor. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, as she paced the length of the living room. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “He told you, didn’t he? Before he left.”

Giles stepped next to Buffy and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Xander told me what happened. He was conc-”

Buffy jerked out from underneath Giles’ hand and stalked over to the opposite corner of the living room. “It doesn’t matter what he was! Angry, giddy, concerned. It wasn’t his place to tell.”

“Well, you were not very forthcoming with the fact that Spike almost raped you. I have a right to know.”

Buffy shook her head. “No, you don’t. You left. You left so that I would become an adult and handle my life on my own. And I am doing that. I’m sorry if you’re mad that I didn’t run to you-”

Giles sighed. “Buffy, I am not mad. I’m concerned. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Spike is dangerous-”

“I know exactly how dangerous Spike can be. I know what he is capable of.” She turned and faced the window, arms drawn tight around her middle. “But so does Spike. He knows what he did was wrong. And he’s apologized to me. To me, Giles. The only other person who knows exactly what happened between us.” Tension and anger rolled off of her in hostile waves. She pulled her shoulders back and faced Giles. Her mouth was set in a hard line, emotions hidden behind an impervious mask. “I have to get to work now. I trust you know your way out.” Moving to the coffee table, she grabbed her glass of orange juice and stalked out of the living room.
 

* * *

The sound of the back door slamming, followed closely by the front, echoed through the silent house. Dawn sat at the top of the stairs, body trembling with anger and pain. She had heard Giles knock on the door and had started to descend the stairs when she heard Willow’s name. Freezing, she listened to the conversation about the absent redhead turn into the conversation about the present bleach blonde. She slid next to the wall and silently observed the tense exchange between Slayer and Watcher over the return of Spike.

So much for honesty between sisters.

Standing, Dawn ran to Buffy’s room and slammed open the door. She entered the dark bedroom, stepped next to the heavy chest at the foot of Buffy’s bed, and threw the lid open. She grabbed a stake, shoved it into the waistband of her jeans, and reached for a large wooden cross. Her jagged breaths sounded in the silence and her pounding heart throbbed in her chest as she streaked out of Buffy’s bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the house to the Rest Haven cemetery.
 

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Confessions of a Soulful Mind

By: Wynn

The front door slid open with barely a whisper across the bare wood floor. Sunlight streaked into the darkness, illuminating the front hall of the old farmhouse. Dawn edged inside the house and eased the door shut, wincing slightly at the audible click of the door lock. She leaned against the wall, attempting to calm her racing heart and slow her rapid breathing. Three hours of searching had passed before Dawn had discovered the farmhouse nestled between the cemetery and woods. She wondered if anyone noticed she was gone. Brushing a lock of light brown hair out of her eyes, she grabbed the stake from the waistband of her jeans, clutched the cross in her hand, and moved deeper within the house.

Dawn peeked into the room on her left. Two chairs surrounding a glass coffee table resided in front of a marble fireplace. A couple of books lay haphazardly on the table, next to a deck of playing cards; heavy oak bookshelves filled with musty volumes rested against two walls. Backing out of the room, Dawn crossed the hallway and walked into the dining room. An ornate cherry table consumed the majority of space and six plush chairs circled the oval table. A fine layer of dust and grime coated the table and chairs, smudging the window panes and dulling the elegant candelabra on the table. A glass cabinet filled with an odd assortment of dishes and china lay against the far wall, next to a set of swinging doors. Creeping across the vacant dining room, Dawn nudged the door open, revealing an empty, spotless kitchen.

Sighing, Dawn returned to the front hall and looked up the staircase to the second floor. Darkness covered the top of the stairs. Shifting the stake in her sweaty palm, she walked to the foot of the stairs and slowly ascended. Her wide blue eyes were trained on the blackness awaiting her; sweat dripped down her neck and trailed across her spine to pool in the small of her back. Dawn paused when she reached the second floor. All of the doors to the four rooms composing the floor were closed save the one at the end of the hall. She could hear muffled mumblings emanating from the room, echoing down the narrow hall, reverberating within her consciousness. Mouth set in a thin, hard line, Dawn moved down the hall to the open room.

Flattening against the wall, she peered into the room. A massive four poster bed covered in black cotton sheets sat in the center of the room. Heavy curtains covered the windows, completely obscuring the bright afternoon light. Dawn tensed as she heard a harsh groan from the bed. She leaned back on the wall and sucked in a deep breath, glancing between the stake in her hand and the dark bedroom. She squared her shoulders, stepped to the door, and slid into the bedroom, maneuvering around the edge of the room until the center of the bed came into view. Spike was asleep, twisting slightly underneath midnight sheets, face pinched in pain. He moaned again and gripped the sheets, knuckles whitening from the force of his exertion.

“No… no… ‘m sorry… didn’t… stop… god… so much, so much blood.”

Dawn froze, her blue gaze riveted to the writhing figure on the bed before her. The wooden cross slid out of her hand and landed upon the carpeted floor, a hollow thud amid panicked cries.

“Stop… stop… no… nonoNoNO!” A jagged scream was torn from his throat as Spike slammed into a sitting position. His lower lip trembled, his eyes were squeezed shut. He drew in a ragged breath and rubbed a shaking hand across his face. His head snapped up as the stake fell from Dawn’s hand, crashing against the floor and rolling next to the bed. His face was pale, lined in tracks of tears. “Bit…”

Dawn flinched and snatched her stake off the floor. She gritted her teeth and stared at Spike through a thin film of tears. “No. I talk. You listen. I-I have something I need to say. One, if you ever, ever, try to do what you did to my sister again I will kill you. I am being trained by the best, so believe me when I say I can.” She lifted the quivering hand clasping the stake as glistening drops of tears fell from her eyes. “Two, if you ever leave town again without saying goodbye I will kill you.” Dawn trembled, her body barely containing the conflicting passions welling within her. “Three, if you ever come back to Sunnydale without letting me know you’re back I… I will…” Soft cries escaped her clenched jaw. The stake dropped from her hand once more.

“Dawn…” Legs buckling underneath her, Dawn collapsed onto the floor, soul tearing sobs ripped from her raw throat obliterating the hold she had placed over her emotions. Spike stood, black sheet slipping onto the floor, and moved towards Dawn. He kneeled before her, and he raised one hand, softly caressing the top of her head. “I-”

“No!” Dawn knocked his hand away from her. She punched him on the chest, then again, her short nails digging into his pale chest. “You said you wouldn’t leave me! That you would always be here! That you would always protect me! But you left! And I needed you! Buffy needed you! Tara died and Willow went psycho and Buffy had to fight Willow and I was all alone and I needed you…but you left…” She threw her arms around his neck and crumpled against his chest, coating his cool skin with scalding tears.

Quiet cries and icy tears merged with her harsh sobs. Spike drew his arms around Dawn as he whispered, “I’m sorry. Niblet, I’m sorry. I had to go. I couldn’t stay.”

Dawn leaned back in his arms; her eyes were red and puffy. She sought his steel blue gaze. Her voice cracked as she said, “Why? What was so important?”

His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping her tears then brushing a strand of silky hair behind her ear. He stared at her for a moment, bowed with the weight of his failure to protect her, of his failure to protect everyone from the world, from the demons, and from himself. His voice was low as he murmured, “My soul.”

“Your what?”

“I left Sunnydale to get my soul back. My human soul.”

She closed her eyes, willing the revelation to make sense in her chaotic mind. Spike with a soul… Spike wanting a soul… Chipped, cocky, snarky Spike possessing a soul… She opened her eyes and looked. Looked at the man kneeling before her, shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed with the heavy circles of exhaustion, face coated with tears. Her friend and protector; the vampire who loved her sister and respected her mother, who killed two Slayers and thousands of people, who endured torture for her, who hurt her sister and left them both. She looked and whispered, “How?”

Spike told her everything. Why he had left town, meeting Whistler, the cave in Africa, the fight for his soul. He explained his search for Angel, his stay at the Hyperion, fighting with Faith, and his return to the Hellmouth. He talked about his discussion with Buffy, watching her with Tyler, and his encounter with Emilia. He spoke about the feeling of the soul burning into him while he lay on the cold cave floor; the shock flooding his system at seeing Buffy again, left breathless by her beauty shining beneath the moonlight; the nightmares assaulting him as soon as he closed his eyes.

He told her everything, and she listened.
 

* * *

She stalked through the cemetery. Her body was tight with anger, frustration, and betrayal. She clenched her fists; her nails cut into the palms of her hand. She roughly wiped the blood off on her jeans as she let out a muffled scream of rage, foot crashing against the granite tombstone, the echo of impact reverberating through the night covered graveyard.

“Uh… B?”

“What?!”

Faith stepped over the cracked and crumbled tombstone. She edged in front of Buffy, one eyebrow raised. “Um… usually I’d be all for mindless rage and destruction, but it just doesn’t suit you. It’s a little scary, and that’s saying a lot coming from me. You want to, uh, talk or something?”

Buffy sighed and drug her hands through her golden blonde hair. She rolled her shoulders, stretching the iron muscles in her neck and back. Shaking her head, she said, “No. No, that’s Ok. I- I just had a fight with Giles. You wouldn’t understand. He-”

Faith snorted as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Whatever, B. Sorry I didn’t have the magical Watcher-Slayer bond that you and Tweed did.” She spun on her heel and took off across the silent cemetery.

“Faith! Wait!” Buffy ran after the brunette Slayer, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. Faith jerked out of Buffy’s grasp as the blonde said, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you would have no clue as to who we argued about. You don’t know him.”

A smirk twisted Faith’s ruby red lips. “Right.” She turned and walked away from Buffy again.

Anger began to course through the tiny blonde. She sprinted after Faith, cutting her off before she could pass through the iron gates and exit the graveyard. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Faith cocked an eyebrow. “It means nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me what I mean to say in addition to telling me what I know and don’t know?”

“What? I’m not telling anything.”

“My point exactly.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and placed her hands upon her hips. Her hazel eyes shone with irritation. “What did you expect? Did you expect me to just pour my deepest, darkest secrets out to you? The girl who tried to kill me and take over my life?”

Faith laughed, a rueful, pain filled burst of scorn. “That’s all I’m ever going to be to you, isn’t it? The evil Slayer who tried to kill you?” She grasped the hem of her navy tank and yanked the shirt up, revealing a thin white scar across her stomach. “Remember this? Remember when you tried to kill me? You slid my knife into my gut and I ended up in a coma for a year.”

“I wouldn’t have had to go after you if you hadn’t poisoned Angel.”

Another cruel laugh escaped Faith. Her dark eyes glittered with venom, masking the hurt of having another sin thrown back in her face. “Yeah, you did all that hard work to save him and he still left you anyway.”

“Shut up. You know nothing about me and Angel.” Buffy glared at Faith as she backed away from the brunette, out of the cemetery and onto the open road.

“You’re right. I don’t know shit about that. But I know a whole lot about Angel.”

Buffy stopped.

Faith sauntered over to Buffy, a wicked grin appearing on her face as she circled the blonde. “You thought he was your soul mate. Your one true love. Your knight in shining armor. Bet you dreamed about the day he would swoop back into your life and sweep you off your feet.” Faith paused before Buffy and leaned into her, their faces inches away from each other. “You think he was thinking of you when he was banging Darla? Oh… you didn’t know. Chick was brought back from the dead. Guess you’re not as special as you thought. Just a poor substitute for Darla-”

Buffy’s fist crashed into her face, cutting off Faith’s scathing soliloquy, knocking the brunette onto the ground. Faith pushed herself into a sitting position and drew her thumb across the corner of her mouth. It came away stained with blood. She stood and faced Buffy. Her voice was rough and hollow as she said, “Give us a kiss, B.”

The two Slayers launched themselves at each other. The empty street was filled with primal growls and pain filled howls. Fists slammed into chests, feet smashed into faces. Nails clawed across flesh, drawing lines of blood amid sweat slicked skin. Buffy flew at Faith, crashing into her midsection, sending both to the ground. They rolled end over end, each trying to gain the advantage, to capitalize on the other’s moment of weakness. The two women slammed against the brick wall enclosing the graveyard. Faith straddled Buffy. Her hand clutched Buffy’s throat just as the blonde’s hand closed around Faith’s.

“So, B, how’s-”

Faith’s fingers were torn from Buffy’s throat as she was wrenched off the blonde and thrown across the vacant road. She landed on the concrete, breathless as the air rushed out of her. Gasping, she struggled to stand. Faith turned toward Buffy again and came face to face with twin pools of furious blue.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Faith scowled at Spike. She rubbed a hand across the clawed gouges on her throat and pointed at Buffy. “She started it, Blondie. She’s nuts-”

Buffy snarled and jumped at Faith again. Spike’s arm shot out and grabbed the blonde Slayer in midair. He held onto her arm as he moved between the two women. “Buffy. Buffy!” She jerked her gaze away from Faith and locked eyes with Spike. Her hazel eyes were sparkling with hatred. He brushed her honey hair away from her face, his cool fingers lightly caressing the scratches across her throat. “What happened?”

Buffy sighed and closed her eyes. She leaned against his hand; her body trembled, overwhelmed by the emotions broiling underneath her skin. She sighed again, forcing her muscles to relax, and opened her eyes. “Nothing. I’m just stressed and Little Miss Friendly got pissed because I wouldn’t have a heart to heart with her.”

“Whatever, B.”

Spike turned his head and scowled at the brunette. “Zip it, Faith.”

“What?! You’re just going to take her side and not even listen to me.”

“No, I’m trying to understand what the bloody hell happened. If you want to tell me, then-”

“You know her.”

Spike and Faith looked at Buffy. Her mouth was open in shock, brows knitted together in confusion. She glanced from one to the other and said, “You two know each other. How…You two never fought…” An image from her Slayer dream popped into her consciousness: Faith tackling Spike, straddling him, holding a stake above his chest. Buffy running towards them to push the brunette off Spike. “But you did. You two fought… but not in Sunnydale… where?” Another memory flashed into her mind’s eye of Anya and Faith in front of the Magic Shop, explaining how they met: We crossed paths in L.A. …At Angel’s.

Her eyes snapped to Spike’s face. He stepped towards her. “Buffy-”

“You went to Angel’s after you left town?”

“I stayed there for a while, but-”

“No. You were at Angel’s with Faith. And with Anya. And you didn’t tell me.”

“I know, but-”

She spun on her heels and sprinted down the street. Tears flooded her eyes, threatening to spill across her flushed cheeks.

Spike raced after her. “Buffy! Stop!”

“No! I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Sighing, he said softly, “Buffy, please-”

She turned and slammed her fist into his chest, causing him to stumble back a few steps. She shook with anger, with hurt, with shock. “Why don’t you go talk with Faith? Take her back to Anya’s. You three can call up Angel and have a wonderful bonding time together. Talk about how much of a bitch Buffy is. How she’s emotionally fucked and-and uptight and elitist. Have a grand old time.” She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Her gaze traveled from Spike to Faith before she spun and ran down the street.

Spike lowered his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Fuck…”

“Told you she’s lost it.”

“Faith, would you-”

A sharp cry pierced the night air. Spike’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide at the sight of Buffy down on the ground surrounded by two massive demons. “Shit.” He ran towards her, crashing into something large, brown, and covered with thorns as it jumped in front of him. It was another demon, exactly like the two attacking Buffy. He felt Faith move behind him until the two were back to back.

“Shit, Spike. Here comes another one.”

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Spike watched the demon before him. The thorns covering its mud brown chest dripped with clear fluid. “Don’t touch the thorns! They’re poisonous!”

Faith darted to the side as the second demon swung at her. “Then how the fuck are we supposed to kill them?”

Spike ducked as the first demon punched; its thick brown fist sailed over Spike’s head. Rolling out of striking distance, Spike said, “Not sure.”

“Great.” The second demon kicked at Faith. She staggered backwards towards the cemetery wall, pressing flush against the rough stones. The demon paused in its advances before charging Faith. She jumped aside as the demon closed in on her, causing it to crash head first against the wall. The demon swayed and crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Faith stepped on it, one foot on its head, the other on its neck, and shifted, breaking its neck beneath her boots. The demon convulsed, knocking Faith off balance, then vanished, leaving only a small patch of clear slime coating the grass.

“Neck breaking works.”

“Usually does.” Spike dodged another blow from the demon and glanced at Buffy. She darted between the two surrounding her and rolled to a standing position, her back to Spike. The demon kicked again and connected with Spike’s gut. Doubling over, the blonde glared at the demon as it moved towards him. He kicked at it, crushing its knee and sending it to the ground. Spike aimed another kick at the demon’s head before he reached down, grasped both sides of its head, and roughly twisted its neck. The dead demon shuddered for a few seconds then disappeared.

Buffy stood in front of the two demons. He hands were upon her hips and a scowl covered her face. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

The demons stopped and glanced at each other, before fanning out to surround the Slayer again.

“And that obviously means nothing to you.” She walked backwards, Spike’s warning about the thorns echoing in her mind. One of the demons ran towards her and slammed against the iron gates of the cemetery as Buffy moved out of the way. Its head was stuck between the thick bars. The second demon punched the blonde Slayer. She fell, scrambling backwards as the demon stepped over her, fist cocked back. Its head twisted violently, and it collapsed against the concrete and vanished.

Breathing hard, Buffy looked up and saw Spike standing above her. In the distance, she watched Faith walk away from the graveyard gate and from the dead demon captured between its bars. Buffy stood, brushing off her dirt covered jeans, her eyes locked on Spike. They stared at each other, a minute creeping by, before Buffy mumbled, “Thanks.” She stepped around him and headed in the opposite direction of the brunette Slayer, leaving Spike alone in the graveyard.
 

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: No Punching Allowed

By: Wynn

Buffy lay on the bed, eyes closed, fingers trailing over the cuts and bruises on her neck. Her mind was numb, overwhelmed with the conflicting emotions careening inside her head and heart. Embarrassment, anger, hurt, confusion, guilt, rage. Faith had struck again, interjecting herself into what was hers. Buffy frowned. Hers? Spike wasn’t hers, far from it. She had no claim on him. They were barely friends. Angel was in the past, and his involvement with Faith came as no surprise considering his support of her in the past. And Buffy had never been close to Anya, even when she was dating Xander. But the feeling of betrayal and jealousy swirled within Buffy, stoking her resentment, fanning the flames of fury.

She sighed and sat up in her bed, staring at her opened closet, at the red silk shirt hanging amidst her skirts, shirts, and sweaters. How long had Spike and Faith known each other? Were they close? Were they more than friends? Did he want to be more than friends? Buffy shook her head, attempting to clear her mind of the endless stream of what-ifs running through her. Maybe if she had stayed last night, her questions would have been answered. But how could she have stayed and listened to the explanation of the relationship between the woman who had tried to steal her first boyfriend and slept with the second, and… what? Her ex-enemy? Ex-boyfriend? Her relationship last year with Spike did not exactly qualify as typical “boyfriend-girlfriend.” It would be natural for him to move on to someone else, to want to move on to someone else. But he had come back to Sunnydale, and he said he had come back for her.

And why was she so concerned about what he felt for her and what he could possibly feel for Faith?

She grabbed a pillow off her bed and threw it against the wall. It smashed against a picture, knocking it off of its nail and onto the floor. She moved next to the broken picture, carefully brushed away the shards of glass, and picked it up. It was one of her, Xander, and Willow, taken a few months after Buffy had moved to Sunnydale. The people in the picture were happy and were best friends. Now so much had happened that she didn’t know who her friends were anymore.

She didn’t know who she was anymore.

Setting the picture on her dresser, Buffy looked around her room, at the decorations that had been there since she was sixteen years old. She wasn’t the same girl with the fantasies of a normal life, who cared more about shopping and gossiping than anything else in the world. She was caretaker to a fifteen year old mystical ball of energy-turned-little sister. She had a steady job. Hell, she had died twice. The sixteen year old girl with visions of Prada and Johnny Depp was no more. But who was she now?

Buffy sighed again, a lone tear sliding across her cheek. She brushed her fingertips across her face, smearing the glistening teardrop, and walked to the bathroom. She splashed cool water on her face and looked into the mirror. The face in the mirror belied her scant twenty-one years. It was pale and exhausted, and it had seen too much, witnessed too many apocalypses, suffered through too many betrayals that it had hardened, forming an impenetrable mask over her heart. Seven years of slaying had taken its toll on Buffy, but she didn’t want to exist like that anymore, like a hardened shell. She didn’t want to be ostracized from her friends and family and she didn’t want to have to fight Willow or Xander or Giles or Dawn or… Spike.

She wanted to live.

Straightening her shoulders, Buffy took one last look in the mirror and left the bathroom. “Dawn! Hey, little sis of mine!”

“In the kitchen.”

Descending the stairs, Buffy said, “I was thinking we should go out today. You know do something fun. Just you and me. What do you…” Buffy trailed off as she entered the kitchen and saw Dawn glaring at her, her blue eyes shining with barely restrained anger. “What? What is it? Did something happen?”

Dawn crossed her arms over her chest. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About Spike!”

Buffy drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “How did you find out?”

“I heard you. You and Giles.”

Opening her eyes, Buffy said, “Dawnie-”

“No! Don’t even!” Dawn stalked forward, scowling, and stopped before Buffy, planting her hands on her hips. “Don’t even try to make an excuse. ‘Dawnie, I meant to tell you.’ ‘Dawnie, it’s complicated.’ ‘Dawnie, it’s my life. Stay out of it.’ ‘Dawnie-”

“-I’m sorry.”

Dawn’s mouth closed with a snap. She blinked once, then again. “What?”

Buffy smiled, a small watery curve of her lips, and brushed a strand of hair off Dawn’s face. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Spike.”

“Well… yeah.”

Buffy shook her head as she walked through the kitchen, tears pooling in her hazel eyes. “It… it’s just that I didn’t know what to say to you. About Spike. I didn’t know what to think. He vanishes... completely. And then a couple of months later, he just shows up again. Drifts back into town and into my life, and I-I don’t know what to think. And it’s not just that. Something’s changed. He’s different. I know it. But he doesn’t say anything about where he was or what he was doing, and then I find out that he was in L.A. with Faith and Angel and Anya. And I’m more confused because I think that we’re friends but I don’t know if I should be friends with him after everything that happened, and we would be better off not being friends and just-just not…” Buffy sunk to the floor, trembling, tears streaming down her face. She leaned her head against the counter and crushed her bottom lip between her teeth, struggling to be strong.

Dawn watched her sister crumble before her. She moved next to Buffy and sat beside her, grabbing her hand and holding it tight. She laid her cheek upon Buffy’s shoulder.

Buffy sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. She shifted and locked eyes with Dawn. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have told you.”

“Yeah. And I shouldn’t have overreacted. I’m sorry too.” Dawn glanced at the floor and fidgeted; she returned her gaze to Buffy and said, “I went to see him yesterday.”

“You did? What did he say?”

Dawn sighed and stood. She reached down, grabbed Buffy’s hand, and helped her up off the floor. Moving to the cabinet, Dawn grabbed two mugs and set them on the counter.

“Dawn…”

“He told me where he went after he left Sunnydale. He told me what happened to him.”

“What happened?”

Dawn bit the corner of her lip and looked at Buffy, who stood next to the refrigerator, face tear stained, eyes red and puffy. “I- You should ask him.”

Buffy rubbed a hand over her face and opened the fridge, removing the orange juice and placing it beside the two glasses. “I don’t think he wants to see me.”

“Why?”

Buffy fingered the bruises on her throat, grimacing as the events of the night before replayed in her mind.

“Oh my god.” Dawn rushed over to her sister and pulled her hand away from her throat. She leaned down and examined the cuts and scrapes on Buffy’s neck. “What happened? Did you two get in a fight?”

Buffy shook her head and backed away from Dawn. Pacing the kitchen, she said, “Faith. I fought with Faith. And he broke it up.”

Confusion spread across Dawn’s face. “I thought you and Faith were getting along better.”

“We were. Until last night. Then we both lost our tempers and… bam! Another Buffy and Faith fight for the record books. At least no one ended up in a coma.”

“But what would that have to do with Spike not wanting to… oh. You learned that he knew Faith and freaked out, didn’t you?”

Buffy shifted, her gaze floating around the room, landing everywhere except Dawn. “I didn’t… freak out. I, um, ran away. But-but I didn’t fight with Faith about Spike. It was, um, because of Angel.”

Dawn raised an eyebrow. “Angel?”

“Sort of…uh… yum. Orange juice. Gotta love some nice, tangy OJ.” Buffy returned to the counter and poured two glasses of orange juice. She handed one to Dawn then sat on one of the stools surrounding the kitchen counter. “So… about tonight?”

“Spike doesn’t like Faith. He gets her, understands where she’s coming from. You know, formerly evil people trying to do good. But he doesn’t like her.”

“It… she’s like his perfect type. Psychotic brunette with an Angel fixation.”

One corner of Dawn’s mouth quirked up, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Face sober, she sat across from Buffy and said, “He gave up one psychotic brunette with an Angel fixation, one that he had a hundred years worth of history with, for you. He wanted you.”

“Yeah…”

“Just talk to him. Really talk to him. With no punching.”

Buffy smiled at her sister and smoothed Dawn’s hair from her face. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. So what are we going to do today? Maybe… some shopping followed by a trip to the Bronze?”

“Sounds good to me.” Buffy laughed as her sister jumped up and down. She watched Dawn bound out of the kitchen and race up the stairs, her words of wisdom weighing heavily in Buffy’s mind. Talk to Spike. No problem. She was an adult and adults have conversations all the time. Have civil, meaningful conversations… about thoughts… and feelings… without resorting to screaming and name calling and violence… oh god. It was hopeless. Buffy swallowed and ran a hand through her blonde hair as she slid off the stool and walked out of the kitchen.
 

* * *

“Cheer up. This is no fun with you two sitting here moping and casting broody looks around the room.” Two sets of eyes, one blue and the other black, turned and scowled at the overly perky voice of Anya. She glanced from Spike to Faith and sighed. “Your scary looks don’t work on me. I could kick both of your asses within a minute, and you both know it. So perk up. Now.”

Faith slouched lower in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest, and Spike rolled his eyes and turned to look out into the Bronze. The club was full. The friends sat around a tall table next to the dance floor, between the pool tables and the stairs to the second level. Anya had complained, whined, and nagged until Spike and Faith had agreed to go to the Bronze with her, and Spike had only acquiesced under the condition that Clem joined them. Thirty minutes had passed since the four friends had arrived, and Anya was beyond irritated at the moody silence of Spike and Faith.

“You know, guys, Anya does have a point,” Clem said as he looked at the Slayer and the vampire. “The fun factor is significantly less with all of the brooding.”

Spike clenched his jaw. “I’m not brooding.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever you say, Mr. Mopey Pants.”

Anya propped her elbows on top of the table and rested her chin in her clasped hands. “At least tell us what’s wrong if you’re not going to be cheerful.” Her request was met with hostile silence. Lips pursed, Anya examined her two friends. She raised one eyebrow and said, “I bet it’s Buffy.”

Spike stiffened. Faith flinched.

Anya continued. “She’s the only one that can get under both of your skins like this. What do you think, Clem?”

“I think you’re right, Anya.”

“Me, too. So what did Buffy do this time?”

Spike turned his head from the crowded Bronze and stared at Anya, exasperation shining from his blue eyes. “Buffy didn’t do anything.”

Nodding, Anya said, “So what happened?”

Faith stood, knocking her chair to the floor. “Can’t you mind your own fucking business and stay the hell out of it?” She spun on her heel and disappeared amid the mass of people.

“Touchy.”

Spike rolled his eyes. He let his gaze drift around the dark club, eyes widening when he saw Dawn and Buffy walk through the entrance, laughing, broad smiles on their faces. They looked beautiful, glowing like glimpses of the sun on a rainy day. The smile faded from Buffy’s face as she turned and locked eyes with him. He felt his heart constrict at the sight of her, tighten with the emotion he struggled to keep hidden from her, from everyone, from himself. Love. They were his world, his family, the only people besides the Great Poof that he cared about.

Spike watched Dawn glance at Buffy. She leaned closer to her sister and followed her line of sight across the Bronze. Dawn waved when she saw him. She grabbed Buffy’s hand and attempted to drag her towards the table, but Buffy pulled out of Dawn’s grasp, eyes wide, shaking her head quickly. Dawn crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side as she listened to Buffy, then rolled her eyes and walked away, maneuvering past the dancing crowd towards Spike. “Hey guys.”

Spike smiled. “Dawn, you look beautiful.”

Dawn twirled in a circle, showing off her outfit, a lavender halter top and a pair of black pants. “Thank you. Buffy and I went shopping today. Sisterly bonding and stuff like that.” She looked at Spike, her blue gaze traveling from his ash curls down to his scuffed boots. “And I see you look the same as always. Basic black.”

“Never goes out of style.”

“Yeah, just ask Buffy. All the colors of the rainbow available to her and yet she still goes for black leather.”

Spike nodded, glancing at Buffy from the corner of his eyes. She stood in the center of the Bronze, arms folded, head down, mumbling. She drew in a deep breath, then another. “How…um…is she?”

Dawn’s eyes darted towards Clem and Anya before she leaned closer to Spike. Whispering, she said, “She’s fine. A little embarrassed, and you know how Buffy gets when she’s embarrassed.”

“So she told you about last night?”

“Yeah.” Dawn grasped Spike’s hand and pulled him from his chair. She circled around him and plopped onto his now vacant stool. “You should go talk to her. She wants to talk to you, but she doesn’t know how. Her basic conversation skills rarely extend past face punching.” She nudged him away from the table and faced Clem.

Spike looked back at Buffy and sucked in a deep breath. “Dawn, I-”

“I don’t hear you leaving yet.”

Clem and Anya laughed at Dawn’s commanding tone. Glaring daggers at his two friends, Spike sighed and moved onto the dark dance floor of the Bronze towards Buffy.
 

** *

Buffy ran her hands over the bare skin of her arms and shifted from one boot clad foot to the other. This was too soon. She wasn’t ready. She needed more time to prepare. Conversations weren’t something that happened everyday. She could feel him moving towards her, drawing closer and closer, and the urge to run swelled within her, swirling inside her stomach.

“Buffy.”

She froze, panic gripping her muscles, freezing her lungs, and stopping her heart. Buffy sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her body to relax. She turned towards Spike, opened her eyes, and said, “Hey.”

The colored lights of the club danced above Spike, highlighting the pale blonde streaks in his hair, the deep blue of his eyes. He glanced at her throat, grimacing at the faded ring of purple bruises. “Are you Ok?”

“Yeah. They’re not too bad. I’ve, uh, had worse. Which probably isn’t a good thing, but par for the course for me, you know, with the Slaying and, uh, everything.”

“Yeah.” Spike licked his lips and sucked in two quick breaths. “About last night, I-”

Buffy held up her hand. “Wait. I wanted to, um, say sorry. I kind of lost it last night. B-but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything. So… I’m sorry. For the punching a-and yelling.”

A small smile appeared on Spike’s face. “No worries, luv, I mean, Buffy. Do you want to talk about whatever made you mad?”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s not important. Got into a fight with Giles. No big.” Her hazel eyes darted to the side and locked on the black clad form of Faith. The brunette approached the table with Clem, Anya, and Dawn and retrieved a fallen stool off the ground, setting it upright next to Anya. She sat on the stool, shoulders hunched, arms folded across her chest. Turning back to Spike, Buffy said, “So you and Faith… um… known each other?”

“Sort of. We’ve threatened to kill each other a few times, but not much else.”

“Oh.” Buffy glanced down at her clasped hands and gnawed on her lower lip. Her gaze drifted up and locked with Spike’s. “Dawn said you told her what happened over the summer. Were you going to tell me?”

“You know most of it. Left town, went to Angel’s, came back here.”

“Why would you go to Angel’s? You hate him. A lot.”

Spike was silent. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply; his body trembled. He ran his fingers through his dark blonde curls and opened his eyes, his sapphire orbs locking onto Buffy’s hazel gaze. He stared at her for a few moments, silently communicating the words he could not speak, willing her to understand what had happened to him. What he had sought out. How he had changed. Her eyes traveled across his face, down his body, and back up again, slowly filling with tears and realization. Her mind flashed back to her dreams, to the vision of the strange mixture of Spike and William, to the dark cave and green eyed entity. We have fulfilled your request.

“Your soul…”

Spike nodded.

“Why?”

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He tilted his head to the side and stared at the toes of his boots. “I-I had to. Had to so I wouldn’t hurt… so I wouldn’t hurt you. To make sure I would never hurt anyone again.”

“So you got cursed with a soul?”

“No,” Spike said as he lifted his head. “I won my soul. It’s permanent, no clause, no moment of happiness. It’s here with me…forever.”

Mind racing, overrun with thoughts and feelings, overwhelmed with the revelation of his soul, Buffy shivered. She drew her arms tighter around her, drops of tears spilling onto her black top, and looked at Spike, stared into the turbulent blue of his eyes. She reached out with one shaking hand and brushed her fingers across his lips, the cool softness setting her skin ablaze. “I…” Buffy turned and ran out of the Bronze, heart thumping wildly inside her chest, golden hair streaming behind her. She burst through the door, careening into the night air, and sucked in lungfuls of the crisp night breeze. She stumbled over to the brick wall and leaned against the rough stones.

“Buffy.” Dawn laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder, gently tugging her away from the wall. She brushed a lock of hair behind Buffy’s ear. Concern etched itself across Dawn’s face as she said, “Are you Ok?”

Buffy shook her head. “I-I don’t… I don’t understand. Why he would…”

“Why he would want his soul?”

Buffy nodded.

“Because he loves you. Because he wants to be a better man. Because he wants to be more than just an evil, soulless thing.”

Tears fell from her eyes as Buffy grasped Dawn’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Dawn, when I say, you turn and run back into the Bronze and get the others.”

Dawn stared at Buffy, eyes wide with blooming fear and panic. “What? Why?”

Buffy’s tear filled gaze flickered to both ends of the alley before settling on Dawn again. “Because we’re surrounded. Eight men, four at each end, coming this way. Some with swords. Go get Spike. Get Faith and Anya. Now.” Buffy released her sister’s hand and shoved her towards the entrance to the Bronze. Dawn stumbled a few steps, crashing against the door to the club, and wrenched it open, disappearing inside the smoky, dim interior.

Buffy straightened her shoulders and blinked away the few remaining tears. Her eyes bounced from one end of the alley to the other, watching the eight men advance. Their hands were covered with black gloves; their faces were lined with scars. As they closed in on Buffy, they formed a circle, surrounding her on all sides. Mouth in a grim line, Buffy dropped into a fighting stance, adrenaline flooding her veins, the ancient power of the Slayer coursing through her. The man directly in front of her lifted is head and nodded.

All eight men stalked towards Buffy, swords held high in the air, eyes hard with bloodlust, drawing their circle tighter and tighter around her until one by one they charged.
 

* * *

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