TITLE: A Place So Bitter

AUTHOR: Brianna1880

RATING: PG-13 (at least for now)

DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy owns all things Buffy; Dave Matthews Band owns the song lyrics

SPOILERS: Everything through the end of S6 is game, plus rumors for S7

FEEDBACK: Yes, but please be gentle.

SUMMARY: Buffy & Spike learn what it really means to love, give, and forgive.

Chapter 1: A Place So Bitter

Mother, father, please explain to me

Why a world so full of mystery

A place so bitter and still so sweet

So beautiful and yet so full of sad, sad…

’Mother, Father’, Dave Matthews Band

Pain. It radiated from the center of his chest, forcing his body to bow backward under its weight. He bit his lip, trying to endure, trying not to give the demon the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. The coppery taste of borrowed blood filled his mouth.

‘Do you want it?’

‘Oh, yes! God, yes.’

William’s soul was lost in a wash of ecstasy under the harsh prick of Drusilla’s teeth and the greedy suck of her mouth. Its return was being paid in torment. The pain spread hot fingers across his limbs and then probed under his skull. His eyes rolled back in his head as he screamed.

‘Well, I haven’t been to a hell dimension just of late, but I do know a thing or two about torment.’

He smelled his own burning flesh; he felt it split and crackle underneath the demon’s claw. Heat encircled his heart, squeezing like a fist. He took a desperate, choking breath that spread fire through his lungs. Pride gone, he howled like an animal.

‘I know I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man.’

He collapsed onto the ground, a puppet with its strings cut. Sobbing and shuddering, he screamed again. The demon laughed. The small part of his mind that still functioned rationally wondered why he wasn’t dust yet. He tried to open his eyes, but he was blinded by golden light.

‘Ask me again why I could never love you.’

He stopped struggling and lay still as the demon finished his work. His entire body burned as if he were at the center of some exquisite sun, drowning in a hot sea of pulsing waves. ‘Buffy!’ he cried silently; then he let go.

Buffy closed the door to the bedroom gently. It shut out the sound of Willow’s soft sobs, but she could still hear the deep murmur of Xander’s voice. She rested her forehead against the door briefly. A hundred different emotions were tangled inside her. Pain. Joy. Anger. Sorrow. Guilt. Fear. There was no time for any of them.

She walked slowly down the stairs. The twinge of sore muscles reminded her that she was still, after all of it, alive. Giles was stretched out on the couch, his eyes closed. Anya had been administering first aid. She was perched next to him, carefully wrapping gauze around his injured left hand. Neither one noticed Buffy.

Dawn was sprawled in an armchair. She looked up when Buffy came into the room. Buffy smiled and sat on the arm of her chair. Reaching out to stroke Dawn’s hair back from her bruised and dirty face, she mouthed, “You okay?” Dawn nodded and leaned in to Buffy.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then Anya said, “Giles will need to go to the hospital.”

Giles opened his eyes. “No hospital.”

Anya finished taping the gauze in place and began to neatly repack the supplies in the first aid kit. “You may have broken bones. Or severe internal injuries. Uncontrollable bleeding. Lacerated organs. I’m a vengeance demon, not a doctor.”

Giles rolled his eyes. Buffy, watching him, suppressed a secret smile. She continued to stroke Dawn’s hair.

Anya continued, oblivious. “I think at least one of your ribs may be cracked. Humans of your age have brittle bones that are extremely fragile.”

“Being dropped repeatedly from the ceiling to the floor can render even the sturdiest bones fragile, Anya,” Giles said dryly.

“Even more reason why you should…”

“No bloody hospital!” he roared. It had been a very long, very trying day. Buffy stopped stroking Dawn’s hair and they stared at him, shocked. Anya just sniffed. Turning his head towards Buffy, he asked in a more reasonable tone, “How is she?”

“She’s…” She stopped, not quite knowing what to say. “Xander’s with her.”

Another silence fell. Then Dawn asked, “What happens now?”

Giles smiled tiredly. “We go on.”

Dawn sat up in her chair and shook her head. “No. I mean what happens now?” When no one answered, she continued. “Willow’s upstairs. In our house. She just tried to…” Dawn’s voice cracked. “She tried to undo the spell that made me. She tried to rebury Buffy. She tried to kill you, Giles.”

Giles’s voice was calm. “Willow needs us now, Dawn. All of us.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” The tears welling up in Dawn’s eyes spilled down her cheeks. “I’m scared. Right now, I don’t care what Willow needs. I care what we need. To be safe.” She turned towards her sister. “Buffy?”

Buffy reached out her hand and smudged away one of the tear tracks on Dawn’s cheek with her thumb. She looked at Giles. “Dawn has a point. We really don’t know how dangerous Will still is. What damage all this has done to her. How to help her.” She stared off into space and finished quietly, “How she faces what she’s done.”

Giles struggled to sit up on the couch, wincing. Anya reached forward to help him. After he was settled, he rubbed his eyes. “You’re right, of course. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He smiled briefly. “One too many blows to the head, I expect.” He sighed and seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll take her back to England with me. To the coven. They can help her heal. We’ll leave in a few days.” His voice was inexpressibly sad. “After Tara’s funeral.”

Buffy nodded and pulled Dawn close again.

“Who’s leaving in a few days?” Xander stood in the doorway, looking at Buffy.

She avoided meeting his eyes. Finally Giles said, “Willow and I. For England.”

“Wait. Whoa.” Agitated, Xander ran a hand through his hair. “Who decided that? Was there a memo I missed? During the whole averting the apocalypse thingy? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, Willow’s not exactly ready for world travel.” He looked at Buffy again. “You’ve seen her, Buff.”

Buffy said nothing. Giles continued. “We thought it would be best to get Willow some professional help. I’m taking her to the coven in Devon. They’ll understand her issues.”

“Her issues? We thought it best? I don’t think it’s anywhere near the vicinity of best. It’s in a whole different state from best. Will needs to be here, with the people who love her. We’re her family. We need to take care of her.”

“Xander…”

He didn’t wait to hear it. “Is this the same thinking that had you on a plane out of the country while Buffy was having a nervous breakdown and boinking the evil undead? ‘Cause that plan didn’t work out so well.”

“Xander!” Buffy’s voice was sharp. “Willow needs…she needs more than we can give her. We couldn’t help her before. Now it’s worse.”

“Buffy, this isn’t…it’s just grief. Deep, loving grief. It made her go crazy.”

Anya spoke up. “It’s more than grief, Xander.”

Bitterly, he replied, “Yeah, you’d know about that, An. And by the way, you don’t get a vote here anymore.”

Anya stared at him. Then she got up and left the room. They heard the front door close behind her.

Buffy said quietly, “Anya was only trying to help.”

“We don’t need her help.”

“We’d all be dead right now if we hadn’t had Anya’s help,” Giles reminded sharply.

Xander shut up. Buffy tried again. “This isn’t the first time Willow’s gone off the deep end. We don’t know how much of a danger she still is.”

“She’s Willow, Buffy. She wasn’t before.” When Buffy didn’t respond, he pleaded, “Willow didn’t turn her back on you when you were poisoned and tried to kill us all.”

Buffy met his eyes squarely. “She murdered Warren. She tried to end the world. That changes a person.” She took a deep breath and continued. “She’s broken inside, Xander. We need to help her fix herself. If she’s ever going to be Willow again.”

Silence. Then Giles asked. “Then we’re all agreed? I take Willow to England?”

Buffy and Dawn nodded. Xander muttered, “I’m going back upstairs to Will,” and fled the room.

There was dirt in his mouth and in his clenched fists. He clawed at the ground in panic until he was able to push himself into a sitting position. He watched the world spin crazily around him as bile rose uncontrollably in his throat. He gagged, hacking up a mixture of blood, mucus, and dirt.

‘Yeah. That’s…what I had to do.’

‘Done it myself.’

He rubbed a shaking hand across his face. It came away covered with sweat and vomit. Not buried. Not a grave. Calmer, he looked down at his chest and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sight and the smell of burnt flesh had him gagging helplessly again.

‘What you did, for me, and Dawn….that was real. I won’t forget it.’

He rested. Eventually, he pulled himself to his feet. The dizziness and the pain had him clutching the cave wall in a cold, shaking sweat. He forced his feet forward, scraping his hands raw along the rocky wall as he used it to hold himself up. Pain cut through his chest like a knife. A sickening pulse throbbed in his temples. Harsh breaths rasped in his throat.

‘You belong in the shadows…with me.’

The sudden shift from the darkness of the cave to the dazzling sunlight disoriented him. He stumbled forward blindly and collapsed on the sand, unconscious.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. An open suitcase lay next to her. Piles of clothing and toiletries were scattered across the bed. She clutched a green blouse in her hands.

“Do you need some help to finish packing?” Buffy came into the room. “’Cause I’m pretty good at cramming stuff into suitcases.” She laughed self-consciously. “Child of divorce. Lots of packing experience.”

Willow continued to stare out the window as if she hadn’t heard her. Buffy moved to the bed and began putting things haphazardly into the suitcase. “It was a lovely service,” she said softly. She noticed the blouse Willow was holding. “Do you want me to pack that, too?”

“It’s Tara’s.”

“Oh.” She finished packing the suitcase and then sat down next to Willow. She put an arm around her. “Will. I know it’s scary. What’s ahead. But the coven in England…they can help. It won’t be easy. But it’s for the best.”

Willow finally turned to look at Buffy. “Best for you, maybe.”

Buffy’s arm dropped from Willow’s shoulders. “What?”

Willow turned to look out the window again. “Where is Xander?”

“Right here, Will.” He smiled as he walked into the bedroom. “Ready for the big adventure?” He picked up her suitcase in one hand and held out the other. Willow stood up and took his hand, dropping the blouse to the floor. Buffy picked it up and laid it carefully on the bed. Then she followed them downstairs.

Giles and Dawn were waiting at the door. “Ready?” Giles asked, eyebrows raised. Willow nodded, not meeting his eyes. She clung harder to Xander’s hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. Buffy hugged Willow awkwardly before Xander led her out to the car.

Giles cleared his throat. Trying to be businesslike, he said, “I’ll call you after we get settled.” Buffy and Dawn nodded. They were both on the verge of tears. Fiercely, they hugged him. He whispered, “It will be all-right. I promise.” He pulled away, turning quickly to walk out. Buffy put her arm around Dawn. They watched together at the door, long after Xander’s car had disappeared from sight.

TBC

Chapter 2: So Full of Sad

Mother, father, please explain to me

Why a world so full of mystery

A place so bitter and still so sweet

So beautiful and yet so full of sad, sad…

’Mother, Father’, Dave Matthews Band

There was a light tap on the kitchen door. Buffy continued to frown at the newspaper that she was reading. “Come in!”

Xander stepped into the kitchen. “Buffster.” He gestured at the papers. “Sudden interest in current events?”

She grimaced. “Sudden interest in food and shelter.”

“No more doublesweet leftovers?” Xander’s hand flew to his stomach in panic. “Say it ain’t so, Buffy.”

“Three strikes and Buffy’s out.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Human burger scare. Riley and hatching demon eggs. Satanic temple and imminent apocalypse.”

Xander nodded sympathetically. “Tough luck. See anything?”

“Only more proof that slaying demons hasn’t prepared me at all for the real world.” She folded the paper up and sighed. “What’s up?”

Xander pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Have you heard from Giles again?”

Buffy fussed with the papers for a minute before answering. “Um. Yes. He called today.”

“Great!” Xander leaned forward in his chair. “When can we see Will? It’s been weeks; she must be homesick big time. I can get the time off from work right away.”

Buffy hesitated. This was hard. “No one’s allowed to see her. Not even Giles. That was the coven leader’s condition. No outside influences.”

Xander face darkened. “Outside influences? We’re her family. She needs us.” He shook his head. “This feels wrong. Cutting her off from the people who love her is just going to hurt her.”

Buffy put her hand over Xander’s where it lay on the table and squeezed. “We have to trust that we’re doing the right thing.”

Xander pulled his hand out from under Buffy’s. “Why should I trust these people? I don’t even know these people. They could be total nutcases. You seem pretty quick to accept all of this.”

Buffy was sure of one thing. “Giles trusts them. And I trust Giles. He wouldn’t leave Willow there if he weren’t sure it was for the best.”

“I still think Will needs us to be there with her, Buffy,” Xander said, frustrated.

Buffy seemed to struggle with something and then said, “Xander, when I first came back.” She played with a corner of the newspaper, folding and unfolding it. “I was so messed up. And all of you...you were…” She couldn’t look at him. “You all just loved me so much. But it just made it…harder.” She took a deep breath. “Sometimes things happen in your life that you just need to fix yourself. Nobody else can do it for you.”

Xander stared at her, stumped. “I just don’t get that, Buffy. I don’t get why you would want to shut your friends out at the worst moment of your life. That’s when you need your friends the most.” His voice went flat. “But Evil Dead made it easier? That’s why you went to him?”

Buffy’s felt her heart rate pick up a bit. How could she explain something she still didn’t understand herself? She tried to find the right words. “He…there was nothing he wanted from me. No expectations. I could just…be.”

Xander hooted in derision. “Yeah, right. He’s a totally unselfish soulless monster. As long as he’s getting some. Of course, after you cut him off, he figured he’d take it by force.”

Buffy’s hand fisted in the newspaper, crumpling it. “That’s not -- that’s not how it was.” She unclenched her hand and then she glared at him. “And you had no right to tell Dawn, Xander. I specifically told you not to.”

Xander refused to back down. “It’s about time one of the Summers women saw him for what he is. The best thing he ever did was to leave town. And if he has the nerve to show his pale face again, he’s dust.”

Buffy forced herself to calm down. Deliberately changing the subject, she asked, “Have you talked to Anya yet?”

Xander’s self-righteousness evaporated. “No,” he muttered.

Buffy refused to let him off the hook. “I think you really hurt her, Xander.”

“I know. I know.” Xander dropped his head into his hands and moaned. “I was just…out of my mind over Willow and over what happened.” He looked up at Buffy, anguished. “I’m a total jerk.”

Buffy thought for a minute. “You know, the grand reopening of the Magic Box is tomorrow. Dawn’s over there right now helping with some last minute shelf-stocking.” She smiled. “She still has some shoplifting debt to work off. It might be a good time to stop by. I’m heading over there, too.”

Xander wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know if this is such a great idea.”

Buffy stood up and pulled Xander out of his chair. “Come on Mr. Foot-in-Mouth. Time’s a-wastin'.”

“Hey!” Buffy walked into the Magic Box. Anya was standing near the cash register, making some notations in a ledger. Dawn was busy dusting some statues she had just uncrated. Buffy stopped and took a long look around the room at the shiny new display cases and the freshly-painted shelves. “The place looks great.” She wrinkled her nose. “Still a little new paint smelly, though.”

“Maybe the customers will get high and buy more. Sort of like the munchies,” Dawn offered encouragingly.

Anya looked up from the ledger and beamed at her. “That’s the way to think like a capitalist, Dawn.”

Buffy frowned. “I so don’t want to know how you know about the munchies. Just don’t learn any more about them. Ever.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m fifteen, Buffy, not five.” She gestured towards the colorful display of crystals by the cash register. “Anyway, take a look at that. I created it. All by myself.” She walked over to the counter. “See? The people come over to check out and they can’t pass by the pretty stones. Impulse purchasing. I am a marketing genius,” she said proudly.

“Technically, you’re a marketing genius after we sell them,” Anya pointed out. “Until then, you’re just a poor person with a dream.” She returned to perusing her ledger.

Buffy gave Dawn a quick hug. “At least one of us might be able to make some money.” She looked at Anya. “How’s the training room?”

Without raising her eyes from the ledger, Anya sighed. “It’s ready. I’m sure you’ll manage to damage it as soon as possible, though,” she said dryly.

Dawn squealed. “Cool! That means we can start…”

Buffy interrupted. “No. No. A world of no.”

“But you promised to show me the world, Buffy!”

“How about we start with a part of the world that doesn’t involve learning how to kill things and work our way up from there?” Dawn sulked and Buffy grinned. “Well, anyway, Anya, it really does look great in here. Like new. Better than new.”

Anya stopped writing and said enthusiastically, “I’m very pleased. It’s amazing what thousands of dollars of insurance money can accomplish. I used to resent all those premiums Giles made us pay. Why have all that money going out, when we weren’t getting anything back in return? But if I had known all this money was available, I might have destroyed the place myself, instead of waiting for Willow to do it.”

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look. The tinkle of the bell over the door saved them from having to reply. Xander stepped in, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. “Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi Xander! What are you doing here? “ Buffy asked a bit too innocently.

Xander gave her a strange look. “Uh…delivering some flowers?” He walked over to Anya and held out the bouquet. “These are for you. You know, to celebrate the whole grand reopening thingy.”

Anya took the bouquet and laid it on the counter. “Thank you.” She picked up her pen and started writing again.

Uh oh. The temperature in the room seemed to drop about 10 degrees. Buffy elbowed Dawn in the ribs. “Dawn. We totally forgot. You asked me to help you tonight. With that thing.”

Dawn looked confused, but then her eyes widened. “Oh yeah. The thing. We’d better go right now. Gotta run, guys. See you tomorrow, Anya!” Buffy and Dawn hurried out of the shop.

Xander cleared his throat. “So. All ready for tomorrow?”

Anya came out from behind the counter and headed for the statues that Dawn had been dusting. She began placing them on shelves. “Why are you here, Xander?”

Anya was never one to beat around the bush. Xander had to admire that, even if it was a damned uncomfortable quality sometimes. “I wanted to apologize. What I said. I was way out of line. Big with the craziness of the day.”

Anya placed the statue she was holding very carefully on a shelf. As if it didn’t matter at all, she said, “Don’t be sorry. You were right to say what you did. I’m not part of the group anymore. I’m just the ex-fiancée.”

That stung. “What happened between us…what I did…that doesn’t change how everyone feels about you.” He walked over and stood next to her.

Anya avoided making eye contact. “They’ve always been your friends. And because they love you, they befriended me.” She paused and thought hard. “Except maybe for Giles. It’s hard to say. The British are so reserved.” The last statue in place, she began clearing away the packing material and the crate. “You are my best friend, Xander. But I have never been yours,” she finished sadly, walking away from him.

Xander followed her. “Um…translation, please. What does that mean?” Anya said nothing and continued cleaning up. “Do you mean Willow?” His temper flared. “Anya, she was trying to end the friggin’ world. I had to put her first.”

Anya looked directly at Xander, and for an instant, admiration and pride flashed in her eyes. Xander caught his breath. “I know that. You were very brave. You love Willow unconditionally. The way I love you.” Encouraged, Xander stepped towards her. But then her eyes turned cold. “But not the way you love me.”

“Anya, that’s not true.” He was desperate to convince her. “I love you so much. More than anything.” His voice broke. “I know all of this was totally my fault. I just want another chance for us, An.”

Something uncomfortably close to pity colored her voice. “You don’t love all of me, Xander. You love the parts you think are clever, or funny, or sexy, or…human. The other parts, the parts you don’t even like to think about -- they embarrass you or they scare you. You don’t respect me.”

“That’s not true,” he insisted.

Anya’s face transformed. Xander took an involuntary step backwards. “Do you love Anyanka?”

Xander reached out and gently cupped Anya’s shoulders. “You don’t have to be Anyanka. I know I hurt you and I understand why you did it -- but you can be human again. You can be just Anya.”

She smiled, and her human mask rippled into place. “I will always be Anyanka, Xander. It’s who I am, whether I’m wearing the pendant or not. And you can’t love her.” She paused. “But you could love Willow.”

Xander felt panic rising in his throat. Why couldn’t she understand? “It’s not the same thing at all, Anya! She was crazy with grief and the magicks. It wasn’t really her. I brought her back. With love.”

“And you’ll bring me back with love, Xander? Is that your plan?” Anya shook her head. “What Willow did is as much her as what I have done is me.”

Xander released her, and his shoulders slumped. He was tired of this argument. “You’ve always been jealous of Willow. And there’s no reason to be! You’re just trying to hurt me, to make me pay for hurting you. I thought we got past this.”

“You keep thinking this is about vengeance. It’s not. This is about me, about my feelings and my future. Do you think it doesn’t hurt me to realize these things?” Anya’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She reached out and laid her hand on Xander’s cheek. He leaned into her it, closing his eyes. “You taught me what human love really is. What friendship really is. Now I want those things for myself.” She removed her hand from his cheek and Xander’s eyes opened. “But you can’t give them to me.” She looked at him steadily. “You need to move on. I’m going to.”

Xander stared at her in shock, before turning to stumble out of the Magic Box.

For a long time, he didn’t know who or where he was. There was just the pain. Sometimes it was hot, a vicious fire burning in his blood. Other times it was cold, sharp claws digging into his bones. He heard soft, musical voices around him that he couldn’t understand. Gentle hands would wipe him down with cool cloths when he was sweating and layer him in thick blankets when he was shivering. They spooned food in his mouth for him to eat and held water to his lips for him to drink.

The dreams were the worst: fever dreams, of people and places drenched with blood. It coated his hands and filled his mouth. The coppery smell of it sickened him. He wandered lost, crying out in horror and in terror at the things he saw; then the voices would come and find him, soothing him with smoky incense and sweet liquids.

Eventually, the medicines took hold. The fever abated and the illness left his body. He woke one night to find himself lying naked on a pallet in a dark hut. He was alone. His eyes struggled to adjust to the starlight coming in through the lone window.

He sat up carefully. When he finally had the strength to stand, dots swam in front of his eyes and he almost passed out. He had to sit for a bit more until he could try again. His body wasn’t used to being upright and the rush of blood made him dizzy. When he was able, he made his way over to a table underneath the window that held a bowl of water. He scooped some out, sluicing it over his face and neck. He rested his hands on either side of the table, letting it take his weight. When the water in the bowl settled, he saw his reflection - gaunt and severe, a broken Lucifer fallen from heaven.

‘So give me what I want. Make me what I was…so Buffy can get what she deserves.’

He knew who he was and what he was doing there. He was William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe. A neutered vampire with the temerity to love a Slayer and the audacity to think there was anything he could ever do to deserve her.

That was the bloody irony of the whole thing. The great, sodding cosmic joke of it all. He had won what he sought. But now that he had it, he knew…no, not knew…he felt…he finally understood…how futile his quest was. He was further now from what he wanted than he had ever been; and he only had himself to blame. “’Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell’,” he whispered.

He staggered towards the center of the hut, laughing so hysterically that tears began to stream down his face. He fell to his knees, now sobbing in earnest, and raised shaking hands to cover his eyes.

TBC

Chapter 3: Keeping Afloat

There’s no God above

And no hell below

Oh, it’s here with us

It’s up to us

To keep afloat

‘Mother, Father’ Dave Matthews Band

It was official. Xander’s pacing was going to drive her insane. She’d survived (mostly) six apocalypses, the death of a parent, and abandonment by three -- no, make that two, she mentally corrected -- boyfriends. But this pacing was going to do what The Master and a portal into a hell dimension had been unable to accomplish. She sighed. “Xander, sit down.”

Xander stopped pacing and for the third time he asked, “She’s on the flight?”

Buffy suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. Be one with the calm. “Yes. Giles called us, remember? He watched her get on the flight. He gave us the flight number. We checked the board. The plane has landed safely.”

Xander resumed pacing. “Then what’s taking so long?”

She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. International travel and Buffy are not mixy things.” She pursed her lips. “Well, unless you count travel to other dimensions or alternate realities.”

Xander wasn’t paying attention; something at the security checkpoint had caught his eye. It was a flash of bright red hair. “There she is!”

Willow walked towards them across the long hallway, struggling with her suitcase. Since it didn’t have wheels it kept slamming painfully into her shins.

“Will!” Xander yelled, waving to catch her attention.

A big smile broke out on Willow’s face. Dropping the suitcase, she raced forward. Xander grabbed her in a huge bear hug and then spun her around. “Need air soon,” she gasped.

Xander put her down. “I missed you, Will.”

She hugged him again quickly. “I missed you, too. Every day.”

Buffy caught up to them. “Can I hug you, or has Xander broken something?”

“Nothing’s broken.” Willow stepped forward and gave Buffy a hug. “Just watch the Slayer strength, though.”

“Slayer strength totally in check.” Buffy looked at Willow carefully. “You look good, Will.”

“I think…I feel good.” She nodded. “Yeah. That’s me. With the feeling good.”

Xander retrieved her suitcase and gestured grandly towards the parking garage. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady. Shall we go?”

“We shall.” As they walked out of the terminal, Willow asked “Where’s Dawnie?”

Buffy hesitated almost imperceptibly, and then said, “She had some stuff to take care of at the house. Party prep.”

Willow’s eyes lit up. “Party? There’s a party?”

Buffy put her arm around Willow and squeezed her shoulder. “Of course, silly. You’re back. Cake and ice cream are mandatory. There may even be balloons.” She gave Xander a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “No clowns, though.”

“Heh, heh. Funny, Buff. Mock a fella’s totally understandable clown phobia.” He shuddered. “Freaks.”

Xander stowed Willow’s suitcase in the trunk. Buffy climbed in the back, letting Willow sit up front. The last time they’d all been in a car together, Willow had been taking them to kill Warren. Each of them struggled silently to push away that memory.

Meaningless small talk was a possible antidote. “How was the flight?” Buffy asked.

“Long.” Willow wrinkled her nose. “I was trapped next to some huge, sweaty man. Next time I come home from England, I’ll teleport. Lots faster.” Startled, Buffy and Xander looked at Willow. Awkwardly, she said, “Just a joke, guys.”

“Sure,” Xander said. “We know. It’s cool.” He forced a smile.

It was time to change the subject. “Will Anya be at the house?” Willow asked.

Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Buffy answered for him. “Uh, no.”

“Oh.” Willow felt a wave of guilt wash over her. “Is that because of me?”

Quickly, Xander said, “No, of course not.”

“Is she, still, you know -- big with the vengeance?”

Xander’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Another subject ended in an unpleasant dead end. They passed the rest of the trip in uncomfortable silence.

When they arrived at the house, Willow climbed out of the car slowly. There was a big banner over the front porch that said, ‘Welcome Home Willow!’ The house looked the same, but somehow it felt different.

Xander grabbed the suitcase from the trunk and they headed inside. Buffy pulled the door shut behind them and yelled, “Dawn? We’re home.” Dawn shuffled out of the kitchen. Her hands were shoved defensively in her pockets, and her eyes were wary.

She stared at Willow. Willow stood there, unsure what to do. “Hey, Willow.” After a minute, Dawn hugged her awkwardly. “There’s cake.”

“Uh, thanks, Dawnie.” They all just stood there, no one knowing quite what to say. Willow cracked first under the pressure. “Um. Can I go upstairs? I feel sorta grungy.”

Buffy jumped to action. “Sure. Of course. This is your home, too. You can do whatever you want.” Willow headed up the stairs, followed by Buffy. Xander brought up the rear, lugging the suitcase. “Will. Wait,” Buffy called. Willow stopped, her hand on the doorknob to her bedroom. “Actually, we sort of…changed rooms while you were gone.” Buffy pointed to her old room. “You’re over here.”

“You changed my room?” Willow asked, confused. Her hand fell away from the doorknob.

“We thought, you know…memories and stuff.” Buffy looked a bit uncomfortable. “Dawn and I tried to decorate it just the way you’d like.”

“Yeah. And I gave it a few coats of fresh paint. Cleaned it up a bit.” Xander added.

Dazed, Willow said, “Oh. Okay. I see. That’s good.” She walked into her new bedroom. Xander followed, putting the suitcase on the bed. Buffy stood in the doorway. Another awkward silence fell.

“Do you want help unpacking?” Buffy headed for the suitcase and began unzipping it. Xander moved away, showing a man’s instinctive fear of glimpsing female unmentionables. “’Cause I can…”

“No -- no.” Buffy stopped what she was doing. Sounding strained, Willow said, “It’s okay. I’ll do it later.” She looked around, more than a little disoriented. “I’m really -- I’m tired. Really tired. I think maybe I just want to go to bed.”

Buffy looked upset. “But we were going to make dinner. Well, order Chinese takeout.” Her voice got a bit smaller. “There’s cake. And ice cream.”

Willow rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I know, um…I just…I have a bad headache.” And suddenly, it was true. There was a strong, steady pulse right behind her eyes that was beginning to make her feel a bit sick to her stomach.

Buffy and Xander exchanged a brief look. Xander put his hand on Willow’s shoulder and squeezed. “You get some rest, Will. We’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

Willow smiled wanly. “Yeah. Eight good hours and I’ll be a regular party animal.” They left and she closed the door quietly behind them.

When they got downstairs, Buffy stopped and looked up at Xander. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Xander blew out a breath. “Sure. I mean, she’s tired. Long trip.”

Buffy wasn’t so sure. “I hope -- I mean I only switched rooms because Tara was…” She couldn’t finish that sentence.

Xander’s expression was full of sincerity. “She knows that Buff. Don’t worry.”

Dawn wandered over from the living room. “Are we ordering dinner now?” She looked around, puzzled. “Where’s Willow?”

Buffy tried to keep her tone neutral. “Willow’s tired. She’s going to get some sleep.”

“Oh.” Dawn’s eyes widened and she nodded knowingly.

“’Oh’ what?” Xander asked, starting to get a little pissed off at Dawn’s tone.

“’Oh’, as in ‘oh, like before.’” Buffy and Xander looked confused. “The bottles of water. The sleeping all day. You know the drill.”

Xander lost it. “No! No drill. She’s just tired,” he insisted.

Dawn shrugged. “Denial much?”

Xander stayed on the attack. “What’s with the attitude today, Dawn? Show a little compassion.”

Dawn had an incredulous look on her face. “Compassion? She tried to turn me back into a blob of green energy! Sorry if I’m having a problem with it.”

“But if Spike walked in the door…”

“Okay, so not gonna go there,” Buffy said firmly. “This isn’t helping anybody. Let’s just order some dinner.”

Xander sighed and shook his head. “I’m wiped out. I’m just gonna head home. Maybe grab a beer at The Bronze. I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”

“All right, Xander.” Buffy reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night.”

After the door closed, Buffy turned to Dawn. “What?” Dawn asked, automatically sinking into abused teenager mode.

“We talked about this,” Buffy reminded her.

“Sorry if I’m not all ‘yippee, the witch who almost killed me and my sister is home.’” Dawn’s tone was bitter.

“Dawn…” Buffy said warningly.

“Whatever. Your house. Your rules. I just live here.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Can we eat now?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Our house. Our rules. We live here. And yes, we can eat now.” She herded Dawn towards the kitchen.

Dawn opened the door to the crypt. “Clem?” She had learned the hard way not to sneak up on him. The last incident with the Spaghetti-Os had taken forever to clean up.

He was standing over by the refrigerator, emptying some snacks into a bowl. “Hey Dawn! What’ll it be tonight? ‘Harry Potter’?”

Dawn stepped further into the crypt, scuffing her sneakers on the ground. “Uh. Yeah. Sounds good. I’m not sure how long I can stay, though.”

“Okay.” Having finished with the snacks, Clem opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. He handed Dawn an ice cold YooHoo. “Have a seat anywhere.” He smiled happily and went to put the tape in the VCR.

Dawn curled up in the armchair. Clem settled himself on the couch with his snacks and his YooHoo. “Want some? Baked Lays.” Dawn shook her head. He contemplated a chip. “Less cholesterol than Bugels. The doc says I gotta cut back.” He put it in his mouth and chewed. “Not as tasty, though,” he said sadly.

“Demons go to -- wait, just forget it.” Dawn took a sip of her drink and watched the credits as if they fascinated her. Nonchalantly, she said, “Willow’s back.”

Chips flew up in the air and landed on Clem’s lap. “Whoa,” he said, eyes big.

“Yeah.” Finally, someone with a normal reaction. Or as normal as things on a Hellmouth get.

“Is she…feeling better?” he asked cautiously.

“Guess so.” Dawn shrugged. “She hasn’t tried to kill anyone in the last three hours.”

Clem nodded, Sphinx-like.

Dawn put her YooHoo down and started playing with the laces on her left sneaker. “So…heard anything from Spike?” Her tone was casual, as if the answer didn’t matter very much at all.

Clem paused with a chip halfway to his mouth. “No. He said it could take a while.” He sighed and then ate the chip, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s not great at keeping in touch.” He took a swig of his drink.

“I hope he never comes back,” Dawn said, her voice low and vicious. Shocked, Clem choked on his YooHoo. “He tried to rape Buffy.” Her face was sharp with pain.

Clem’s expression was mournful. “Oh, Dawn. He felt terrible about that. It’s why he left town.”

“Ran away, you mean,” Dawn remarked snidely.

Clem sighed. “Some demons…well, some demons just wanna live in peace. Not attract attention. Raise families. Maybe play a little kitten poker every once in a while.” He smiled nostalgically. Dawn made a face. “Not vampires. Vampires are another kettle of fish.” He shivered a bit. “They have issues. All sorts of dark stuff going. Never knew a vampire who wasn’t a mean, vicious killer totally out for number one, you know what I’m saying?” He emphasized his point by waving a chip at her. Dawn nodded. “’Cept for Spike. He’s…well, he’s an odd guy. Loves the Slayer. Loves you.” Clem shook his head, ears flopping. “Never seen anything like it.”

Dawn wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and rested her head on them. “If he loves Buffy so much, then why’d he hurt her?”

Clem shrugged. “It’s hard for him, having to act against his nature. A chip’s not a soul. Don’t think he knew he could hurt her, though. He surprised himself.” He thought some more. “Scared himself. So he left.”

Dawn wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “What good did leaving do? How does that fix anything?” Why does everyone leave when things get hard?

Clem shifted uneasily in his chair. “You’ll have to ask Spike that.”

Dawn turned her face away from Clem. “He didn’t even say goodbye.” Her voice was muffled. “He broke his promise.”

Clem didn’t have an answer for any of that.

Dawn lifted her head a bit and surreptitiously wiped tears from her face. She hopped out of her chair, a bit embarrassed. “I’d better go. Buffy’ll wonder where I am.” At the crypt door, she stopped and said quietly over her shoulder, “Thanks, Clem.”

Giles turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. He shut it behind him and then leaned back against it, closing his eyes. It had been a long day. A very long day. Forcing himself to move, he checked the answering machine on the table in the foyer. No messages. He frowned, irritated. Couldn’t they at least have called? Let him know that she had gotten home safely? Of course not. England was an ocean away in more than just miles. He threw his keys down and headed for the study. He needed a drink. A very big drink.

He didn’t even bother turning on the light. He went right for the bottle of Glenfiddich sitting out on the bar and poured several fingers into a glass. He picked it up, swirling the liquid around.

“Drinkin’ alone again, Rupes?”

Giles dropped the glass, spilling whiskey everywhere. Slowly he reached out to snap on the light and then he turned toward the voice. It was him: sitting nonchalantly in Giles’s best leather chair, one leg slung over a padded arm. “Spike.” His voice was flat. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” He looked annoyed and then, “How did you get into my house?”

Spike shrugged. “Fancied a jaunt back to the motherland, mate.” He smirked a bit. “Still got a dab hand with a pick, too.”

“Well, your visit’s not done much for you by the look of you.” Giles examined him more closely. Spike’s hair had grown wild and he had stopped bleaching it; only the tips were platinum, with the roots a much darker blond. And he was skeletally thin. “You look as though you haven’t eaten in days,” he said bluntly.

Spike laughed: a thin, peculiar sound, as if he were somehow hollow on the inside. “Special diet.”

Stepping towards him, Giles continued to inspect Spike. Something was off. Despite the casual pose, Spike gave off vibrations as if he were strung just a bit too tightly, like a rubber band about to snap. I don’t need this today. Willow was enough. “I don’t have time for your little games, Spike. Tell me what you want or get out. I don’t care which one you choose.” He paused. “On second thought, just get out.”

Spike stayed put, slouching down in the chair a bit as if afraid Giles might remove him bodily. “Need some help.”

Giles snorted. “And what could possibly induce me to help you?”

“Because it’s what you do.” he answered quietly.

That brought Giles up short. Something was definitely off. The tone in Spike’s voice and the look in his eyes both confirmed it. He seemed desperate. But not in his usual drama queen way. Not in any way Giles had ever seen before.

Spike looked up at him, waiting. Something nagged at Giles. He watched the rapid rise and fall of Spike’s chest. Rise and fall. Breathing. ‘Still got a dab hand with a pick, too.’ Hoarsely, Giles demanded, “How did you say you got in? No one invited you.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Better sit down before you fall down, mate.”

Giles felt a cold shiver start to crawl up his spine at Spike’s tone. “I’m not your mate,” he protested faintly. But he took the advice and sank down in the other armchair. “You’re alive,” he accused, incredulous.

Spike smiled mirthlessly. “’Fraid so.”

“How is that…possible?” Giles felt dazed. Spike was alive.

“More’n heaven and earth, Horatio, and all that rot. Should know that by now. Keep gettin’ bitten on the arse by it enough,” Spike said bitterly.

Giles pulled off his glasses and absently began to clean them with a handkerchief he took from his pocket. He had a million questions racing around in his head, all struggling to be asked first. “Was it an accident? A curse?”

Spike ran a shaky hand through his unruly hair. “No,” he ground out. “Just another bollixed up plan.”

Giles was starting to organize his thoughts. “And where exactly did this happen? When? Who did it?”

“Africa. Couple months ago. Big, ugly demon. Twenty questions over now?” Spike slid his leg off the arm of the chair and sat up.

Giles carefully put his glasses back on. “Do you have a soul?”

Spike was silent for so long that Giles wasn’t sure he was planning to answer that question. “Yeah. Got the whole bleedin’ package.” Something passed through his eyes that Giles couldn’t quite decipher.

“I would have thought you’d have gone back to Sunnydale.” Then, very deliberately he added, “To Buffy.”

Spike visibly flinched. “No.” He refused to meet Giles’s eyes. Hm. Giles was certain there was something Spike wasn’t telling him; something more than just the breakup with Buffy. Spike had the demeanor of someone tensing up to meet an anticipated blow.

When whatever he was expecting didn’t happen, Spike continued. “Just need some help.” He swallowed hard. “Some...cash. ID. Bloody hard to get ‘round when you don’t exist.” He looked again at Giles, his eyes hopeful but wary. “Then I’ll be off to parts unknown and out of your hair.”

Spike, begging for help to get away from…Buffy. Wonders never cease. What the bloody hell happened? Back in Sunnydale, Xander had tried to tell him something when Giles had asked where Spike was, but Buffy had cut him off sharply.

Pulling himself back to the present, he said, “Spike, you have to let me research this. Test you. Document findings. This is unprecedented. We need to know more about what happened. I’m sure the Council of Watchers will want to know all about this.” He started to stand up, muttering, “Perhaps we should consult the Compendium of…”

In low voice, Spike said, “The Council can sod off. Not some pathetic lab rat for you to poke and prod, Watcher.”

Giles sat back down in his chair. He felt a wave of shame wash over him. “Yes. Of course. You’re right.” Whatever Spike had been, there was no getting around the fact that he was now human.

Spike stared at him in surprise. Then he stood up, rather unsteadily to Giles’s eyes. “Look, need an answer here. You helpin’ me, or shall I piss off?” Despite the bravado, Spike looked as if he might fall over if he tried to make any sudden moves.

Giles was very tempted to tell him to go to the devil. Spike had been a thorn in his side for years. Dawn will be devastated if anything happens to him. Especially now. And Buffy… Giles cut off that train of thought before it could reach its destination. He made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret later. “I’ll help you.”

TBC

Chapter 4: Nothing But Shadows

We’re wearing nothing

Nothing but our shadows

‘Tripping Billies’ Dave Matthews Band

This wasn’t her room. Willow drifted around in a circle, letting her fingertips skim over the surface of the dresser and then the bed. None of her memories were here. It wasn’t the place where she had made love with Tara. It wasn’t the place where she had cried after Tara had left and where she had laughed when Tara had come back.

And where she had cried when Tara had left again.

Willow stopped in front of the nightstand to look at a framed photograph of the two of them. She trailed her fingers gently over the smooth surface, tracing Tara’s laughing face. All the little things Tara had left behind had been removed. Half-empty lipsticks. Discarded hairbands. Her scent on their sheets. All the smudged fingerprints of Tara’s life had been wiped clean.

Willow left her new bedroom and wandered downstairs to the kitchen. She could hear the soft murmur of Dawn and Buffy’s voices, interspersed by an occasional giggle. They were seated at the island, eating breakfast. They both looked up when Willow entered the kitchen. “Hey, Willow. Up for a short stack?” Buffy jumped out of her chair and headed for the stove. “You’re in good hands. I’m a grill professional.” She grimaced. “Was a grill professional.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Welcome to IHOP. My name is Buffy. May I help you?” Buffy threw an oven mitt at Dawn’s head that she easily caught.

“I’ll -- I’ll just have some juice.” Buffy opened the cabinet to get a glass while Willow pulled out a chair and sat down. She frowned slightly. “No more slinging of the burgers?”

Buffy came over and poured some orange juice for Willow. She made a face. “Um. No. Fired. Too many emergency absences.”

Willow’s face burned. “Was it because of me?” she asked anxiously.

Quickly, Buffy replied, “No. Of course not. All me.” Sitting back down in her chair, she smiled ruefully. “Slaying and gainful employment. Hello oil, meet water.” She tapped the folded paper lying next to her. “But the new and improved Buffy Summers does not give up quite so easily. Sunnydale Gym has an opening for a self-defense instructor. I figure I’ve got to be way qualified for that.”

“Yeah. I can vouch for that.” Willow smiled tentatively. “Maybe you should use me as a reference.” That remark produced an uncomfortable silence. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll knock ‘em dead. Not literally, though, ‘cause then there’d be no one to hire you,” she finished lamely. Willow decided to try a different subject. “No school today, Dawnie?”

Dawn stopped eating long enough to give her a strange look. “Still on summer break,” she mumbled through a mouthful of pancake.

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Willow looked confused for a minute. “I have to visit the Registrar today and see if I’m still persona grata at UC Sunnydale. I think my parents took care of that while I was, um, away.” Willow suddenly seemed very far away for a moment. Then abruptly, she asked, “Where’s Miss Kitty Fantastico? With Xander?”

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look. “Uh, Will.” Willow waited, not yet sensing anything wrong. “There was sort of an accident.”

“An accident?” Willow asked faintly.

Dawn tried to explain. “Well, not really an accident.” She stopped, feeling the weight of Buffy’s glare. “Maybe Buffy should tell this.”

“Yes, Buffy should tell this,” Buffy said dryly. Her tone softened. “Xander collected Ms. Kitty from Tara’s dorm room. But she must have been upset or something, because she just sort of….” Buffy’s voice trailed away.

“Wandered off,” Dawn supplied, weakly.

Willow looked perplexed. “She ran away?”

“Yeah.” Buffy’s face was a study in guilt.

“Did you look for her? How long ago was this?” Willow stood up quickly, the legs of her chair scraping loudly across the floor. “Maybe we could put signs up? Offer a reward? Try the animal shelter?”

Buffy looked even guiltier, if that were possible. “Will, this happened weeks ago. We tried, but she’s just gone.”

Deflated, Willow sank back into her chair. “Oh.”

Dawn stood up awkwardly, wiping syrup from her mouth with a napkin. “Uh -- I gotta go. I promised Anya I’d work at the Magic Box today. I’m gonna be late.” She looked hesitant, as if not sure she should leave.

Buffy nodded. “Go ahead. We’ll see you later for dinner.” Dawn smiled and rushed out, letting the kitchen door slam behind her. Buffy turned back to Willow, who was staring at the countertop. “I’m really sorry. Things were so crazy.” Hesitantly, she offered, “Maybe a new kitten? Clem could….”

Willow looked up and shook her head. “No. No. It’s okay.” She closed her eyes briefly, her fingers massaging her temples as if she were in pain. Then she looked at Buffy. “Things seemed so clear when I was in England, you know? I knew what I had to do when I got back here. How to behave. What to say. But now everything is…” Willow stopped, struggling to find the right words. “It doesn’t quite feel like me in my own skin. It’s like everybody has moved on, but I’m still stuck.”

Buffy reached out and placed her hand over Willow’s on the table. “I get that. I totally get that.” Her voice was quiet. “It just takes time. Maybe a lot of time.” She squeezed Willow’s hand. “But it’ll happen. I promise.”

“I need to -- there are things I need to say to you.” She broke off, unable to finish.

Buffy withdrew her hand from Willow’s. “When you’re ready, we’ll make with the talking.”

Willow nodded. Something else occurred to her. “Where’s Tara’s stuff?”

“Her stuff?” Buffy asked, bewildered.

Willow sat back in her chair. “Her clothes. You know. Her, uh, effects.”

“After we cleaned out her dorm room, we donated her clothes and things to charity. We thought she’d like that.” Willow looked dejected. Buffy thought for a minute and then said, “Ooh, I almost forgot. We did pack up some mementos and things. The box is in the basement. Let me get it.”

Willow stood up slowly. “No. I’ll do it.” She smiled briefly. “You should get ready for that job interview.” Without waiting for Buffy’s response, she headed for the basement.

She found the box on a shelf in the corner, neatly labeled in Buffy’s handwriting. Putting it on the ground, she knelt down, gently running her hands over it. She pulled the flaps open and breathed deeply. She smiled. It smelled like Tara.

‘The moon to the tide/I can feel you inside.’

Willow’s hands slid over the jumbled pile of photographs, crystals, and books. Unexpectedly, she felt the caress of silk against her fingers. She tugged feverishly until she had pulled the green blouse from the box. She wrapped it around her shoulders, hugging herself. She rocked back and forth, surrounded by Tara’s scent, with cold tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Giles would never have admitted it (not even under pain of excruciating torture or horrible death) but he missed the old Spike. He missed the cynical attitude. He missed the biting honesty. He missed the snarky wit -- well, that was still present in small, yet intensely irritating quantities. He even missed the brash, blustering façade of big badness. The old Spike had been tolerable. On occasion, he had even approached amusing.

The new Spike was neither tolerable nor amusing. He was (not to his credit) quite a bit like the old Angel. But whereas Angel had been tremendously earnest in his pursuit of misery, Spike’s suffering was tainted with a whiff of melodrama that made Giles grit his teeth.

Spike spent a good deal of his time just sitting about, lost in a funk of what Giles could only presume was self-loathing, remorse, or self-pity -- or some wretched combination of the three. He had acquired a soul and apparently, at the same time, had lost the power of speech. Considering how fervently in times past Giles (and everybody else Spike had ever encountered, in all probability) had wished for Spike to just shut up, there was a rather bitter irony in his current clamlike state.

Obtaining information from Spike required an application of mental force that invariably exhausted Giles. Painstakingly, Giles managed to assemble the jig-sawed pieces of Spike’s story. He had headed off to Africa to consult a demon that reputedly performed ‘restorations’. After enduring a series of trials, Spike had laid claim to his reward. The demon had severely burned Spike while granting his boon; he had subsequently suffered from what sounded like infection and heatstroke. Native tribespeople had nursed Spike back to health. Once he was back on his feet, Spike had wandered aimlessly until he finally showed up in Bath. Giles’s repeated questions about precisely what Spike had requested and had received were met with stony silence. Spike had functioning bodily processes and claimed to have a soul (surely the broodiness was evidence of that); other than that, Giles knew next to nothing about the cause or effect of the transformation.

Giles couldn’t ferret anything more specific out of Spike about his future plans other than his desire to disappear into a sea of humanity as far away from Sunnydale as possible. Giles had even told Spike of the recent events there, including Buffy’s near death, hoping to shake him out of his torpor. The news only appeared to depress him further. The only blessing was that the new version of Spike was silent in his misery, unlike the prior version.

Giles wasn’t sure if Spike was determined to exile himself as some sort of ill-conceived compensation for his crimes or out of an inability to face them. Despite his own very conflicted feelings about Spike’s sudden transformation, the sheer uselessness of it offended Giles.

By means of the various contacts available in the Council’s network Giles had obtained the documents that Spike required. The forgeries were expensive, but they were expert. He had also done a great deal of thinking. It was time to get answers out of Spike, one way or another.

Buffy rushed down the street, clutching a newspaper in her hand and muttering to herself. “I can handle this job. I mean, ‘Slayer here’.” A young couple passed by her on the sidewalk, staring and snickering. Oblivious to the impression she was creating, Buffy continued her pep talk. “Slaying is just…reverse self-defense.” She frowned a bit. “With killing.” A woman carrying several shopping bags approached from the opposite direction. She stopped and abruptly crossed the street to avoid Buffy.

Arriving at the Sunnydale Gym, Buffy adjusted her ponytail nervously and took a deep breath before opening the door. She blinked, her eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the harsh fluorescent light bouncing off the blank white walls. The room was small; it contained little more than a registration desk. There was an open doorway to the right of the desk. Buffy couldn’t see through it, but she could hear weights clinking together and the murmur of voices. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled sweaty. The customers obviously weren’t coming for the ambiance.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, Buffy marched over to the big, beefy man sitting behind the desk. She tried to look perky, yet competent. “Hi! I’m here to answer your ad.” Mr. Big ‘N Beefy raised his eyes from the body building magazine he was reading and eyed her dubiously. Too BuffyBot. She turned down the wattage of her smile and reduced her perkiness quotient. “For the self-defense instructor.” He continued to stare at her. Her smile faded a bit more. She held up the folded newspaper. “In yesterday’s paper?” she asked hesitantly.

Mr. Big ‘N Beefy gave her the once over. “Nah. Don’t think so.” He returned to reading his magazine.

“Have you already filled the position?” Buffy asked anxiously. “Because I’m --”

He didn’t even bother to lift his head. “Nah. Not right for the job.”

Buffy struggled to control her temper. “Listen, er --.” She looked at the name sewn on his polo shirt. “Joe.” He closed the magazine slowly. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and resumed staring at her inscrutably. She gave him what she hoped was another winning smile. “I really, really, need this job. Need as in they turn off the telephone and the electricity if I don’t get it. And I’m very qualified. Really.” She tried to project as much sincerity as possible into her voice.

Joe was remarkably unmoved. “Listen, miss. You seem nice. But you’re just too….” He thought for a minute. “Fragile. We got night classes to teach. We got classes at the local high schools. You gotta be able to handle the work. Lots of weird stuff in Sunnydale. We’re teachin’ people how to fight dirty to survive.”

Buffy suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. Tell me about it. “But if you’d just…”

“Nah.” Joe cut Buffy off before she could finish. “Try the health club two blocks over. They might need an aerobics instructor.” He reached for his magazine.

Buffy grabbed the magazine out of his hands. Condescending jerk. “Hey Joe.” Perky hadn’t worked. Neither had sincere. Now it was time for plain pissed off. “Just give me a tryout. That’d be fair, right? Let me show you what I’ve got.”

Joe sighed. Apparently he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her unless he agreed. He shrugged. “Your funeral. Nothin’ much goin’ right now anyhoo.” He stood up and nodded towards the training room. “Over here.”

Buffy walked into the training room, noticing several men lifting free weights near a Universal machine in the corner. They ignored her. She felt her feet sink into the spongy training mat.

Behind her, Joe said, “Okay, let’s…”

Buffy spun quickly on her toes, bringing her right elbow up to slam into his throat. Joe fell to one knee, choking, his hands clutching his injured throat. The guys in the corner put their weights down and began to watch with interest. Buffy brought her right foot up quickly and slammed it down on the side of Joe’s knee. He crumpled in agony to the mat, now grabbing his leg. The guys in the corner began laughing uproariously.

Buffy dropped the crumpled magazine on to the mat next to Joe. “Sorry.” Well, that was only a teeny white lie. “Didn’t realize you were all fragile.”

Joe looked up at her, tears of pain in his eyes. Hoarsely, he said, “You got the job. In fact, honey, you got the calling.”

Buffy grimaced. “You have no idea.” Then a moment later, her eyes brightening, she asked, “Are health insurance benefits included?

Giles found Spike in the study. He stopped in the doorway, still rather unused to the sight of Spike in the sunlight. Giles often stumbled upon him napping in a sun-drenched corner somewhere in the house. During the night, Giles frequently heard Spike prowling about; he wasn’t sure if Spike was unable to make the adjustment from a nocturnal to a diurnal schedule or if something else was bothering him. Spike never said so, but Giles suspected he was having nightmares, judging from the rather haunted look about his eyes.

Over the course of the last few weeks, Spike had gained some much-needed weight, despite having to be continually reminded to eat. Giles had forced him to cut his hair, since the untamable riot of curls in combination with his blue eyes and sharp features made him look like some sort of depraved cherub. His new soul apparently required abstinence from hair gel, since he still wasn’t slicking back the shorter (and now entirely dark gold) curls. He looked both like and unlike the Spike that Giles had known. It was profoundly disturbing.

Giles crossed over to the desk, watching Spike carefully. Idly he fingered the Kukuri knife that he used as a paperweight. “Spike.”

Spike jumped, startled. He had been napping. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Watcher. Watcha want?”

Giles hurled the knife towards Spike’s chest with considerable force. Spike leapt out of the chair as if he were shot from a cannon, simultaneously deflecting the knife with the heel of his left hand. The knife skittered across the floor and slammed into the baseboard. “Holy bleeding f -- you tryin’ to kill me!?” Spike trembled with rage and fright, massaging his left hand with his right one.

Giles snorted. “Nonsense. You’re like some type of noxious weed. Unkillable.” He opened the desk drawer to retrieve some documents. “Besides, that knife has an entirely blunt edge. I merely needed to ascertain something.”

Spike fell back in the chair, his heart still pounding. “Right. Glad to assist your Watcherly pursuits.”

Giles walked over and perched on the arm of the other chair. “You’re not curious about what I discovered?”

Spike yawned and closed his eyes. “Hardly.”

Giles was undeterred. “No mere human has reflexes like that, Spike. Nor would any mere human have survived those burns you sustained.”

Silence.

Giles pressed on. “What did you ask the demon for Spike?”

“Bugger off.”

Giles decided a change in tactics was required. “I have your documents. Passport. Birth registration. Driver’s license. Social Security Card. You have dual citizenship in the UK and the United States.”

Spike opened his eyes. He looked conflicted. Nevertheless, he said, “Means I can shove off now.” He reached out a hand to take the credentials.

Giles withheld them. “I have something I want to discuss with you first.”

“What? Payment schedule for the dosh I owe you?” Spike snickered.

“I’m sure you’re good for it,” Giles said dryly. “Actually, I want to talk to you about an offer of gainful employment.”

Spike’s mouth opened. He shut it with a snap. “You offering me a job?”

“Yes, I believe that’s what I said.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m concerned about the implications of the temple Willow raised on Kingman’s Bluff. I feel the Council could use someone on site to…assist with any eventualities that might arise.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Council of Wankers wants to hire me as informant on the Hellmouth?”

“Crudely put, but yes. In point of fact, though, I’m hiring you. I have that authority.” Giles waited for Spike’s response.

Spike rolled his eyes at that last bit. “Isn’t keepin’ an eye on nasties in SunnyHell the,” he hesitated a bit, but got it out, “Slayer’s raison d’etre?”

“There are other issues at play.” Giles shifted uneasily. “The situation is rather complicated.”

Spike eyed him shrewdly. “Bollocks. Want me to keep an eye on Red, just say so.”

That astute observation made Giles visibly uncomfortable. “A Hellmouth attracts strange things. Willow may have inadvertently stirred something up. I’m not sure we’ve heard the last of that incident.”

Spike shook his head and slumped back into the chair, as if the conversation had suddenly exhausted him. “Not your man.”

Giles still had a trump card to play. “And of course, there’s Dawn.”

Spike sat up, suddenly tense. “Bit? What of her?”

Giles shrugged elaborately. “She’s of an age now when certain characteristics begin to manifest themselves.”

“What exactly are you sayin’? Dawn’s a Slayer?”

Giles took off his glasses and squinted at them, looking for smudges. “Summers blood. It’s always a possibility. One that Buffy certainly won’t like and will in all probability refuse to see. And we hardly know what Dawn’s continued status as The Key means.” He put his glasses back on and looked directly at Spike. “I don’t like to leave them unprotected.”

“Yeah, done a right good job protecting ‘em thus far,” he muttered. For a moment, Spike appeared torn. Then he turned away from Giles, his face sharp with regret. “No. Don’t plan to go back there. Sorry.”

It was time to tell a few home truths. “So what exactly do you plan to do, Spike? Head off to parts unknown, donning a hair shirt along the way, to do penance for sins you’d commit all over again given the same set of circumstances?” He laughed; but the sound had a nasty edge to it. “You’re more like Angel than you care to admit.”

Spike flushed an ugly shade of red and flew out of the chair. “I am bloody well not --” He cut off in mid-roar when he caught the look in Giles’s eyes. He sat back down. “That’s not Marquess of Queensbury rules, Watcher.”

Giles smiled wryly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Spike drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the chair in an angry tattoo. “Why do you even care? I’dve thought you’d be glad to see the back of me.”

Giles raised his eyebrows and inquired again. “What did you ask the demon for, Spike?”

Spike stopped drumming and gripped the arm of the chair so tightly that Giles feared his fingers would burst through the leather. He exploded. “I asked to be what Buffy deserves! Satisfied? An’ this is what I got.” He sneered. “Put this down in your soddin’ journal: William the Bloody was ever and always a stupid git.” He shook his head in frustration. “Stupid git enough to imagine that was even possible,” he finished bitterly.

Giles raised his eyebrows. “Buffy deserves better than to have another man walk out of her life for her own good. I thought at least you’d be man enough to allow her to chuck you out, if she so chooses,” Giles challenged.

Stung, Spike hit back. “Like you were, Rupes?”

“No,” he admitted quietly. “I wasn’t.” That shocked Spike into silence. “But I never thought I’d see the day you’d give up, slinking off because you aren’t good enough to black her boots.” He looked at him contemptuously. “You’re absolutely right. You have never deserved her and you never shall. What does that matter? If all we ever got was what we deserved…” Giles shook his head. “It would be a sad, sterile world indeed.”

Spike ran both hands through his hair, tearing at it. “You don’t bloody well understand!” he yelled. “It’s not just all the killin’ I have to my account. It’s what I’ve done to her!” His voice was anguished.

Sterner measures were obviously required. Giles crossed his arms and stared at Spike. “Are you familiar with the Cruciamentum?”

Confused and exasperated, Spike demanded, “What does that have to do with the bleeding price of tea in China? We havin’ a lesson in Latin now? ‘Cause I’m a bit rusty, Professor.”

“The Cruciamentum is a coming of age ritual that the Council of Watchers imposes on every Slayer, should she make it to her eighteenth birthday.” Giles checked to make sure Spike was paying attention.

“Case you’ve forgotten, my interest was in the killing of Slayers, not the educating of ‘em,” he said sarcastically.

Giles continued. “The Cruciamentum requires the Slayer to be rendered helpless and locked in a tomb with a vampire. She must prove her cunning and resourcefulness by killing him without her strength.” His voice hard and flat, Giles confessed, “I injected her with a drug without her knowledge. I would have let her go through the test, if the vampire hadn’t escaped. As it was, I almost got Buffy and her mother killed.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then pinned Spike with a steely glare. “So don’t bleat at me about forgiveness and trust. If you want her forgiveness, her heart’s big enough to grant it. If you want her trust, go back there and earn it.” He put his glasses back on. “Or go find Drusilla and have her turn you back into the worthless, damned creature that you were.”

He threw the documents down on the table and walked out of the room.

TBC

{Next}