It had been a hell of a year.

Spike's boots crunched in the dead leaves that littered the sidewalk
as he made his way home. You didn't really get a proper Autumn in
Southern California. The leaves that did fall just kind of turned
brown and fell off the trees. But, since the spectacular fall color
would be lost to him anyway, as he would only see it at night, he
didn't much mind. And the crunch factor was good.

He was in a contemplative mood tonight. Contemplative, he told
himself, not broody. Things had sure changed a lot. A year ago this
time, the majority of the Scoobies had been ready to stake him, and
he would have welcomed it, frankly. Put him out of his misery. In
the end, though, he had rallied. The Big Bad thought it could use
him to do its dirty work? If he wanted to be big and bad, he could
do a fine job on his own, thank you very much, soul or no soul. But
that's not what he wanted.

And it pissed him off.

Turns out, that's what it took to get that thing out of his head.

And now? Well, another apocalypse averted, another relatively
uneventful summer. Except that everything was different now. The
changes in his circumstances had been gradual, sneaking up on all of
them so that they barely seemed to notice. But if you compared the
way things were now to the way they were then, as he was currently
doing? Well, it was quite remarkable, really. Because now, he was a
full fledged member of the group. A card carrying member of the
Scoobies.

He belonged.

Didn't mean everything was perfect, of course. Far from it. He
still had trouble sleeping, and woke up most nights from terrible
nightmares, in a cold sweat. And though his heart refused to beat,
it still did in his dreams, thundering in his chest like a herd of
wild horses until he awoke nauseous with dread from visions of crimes
both real and imagined. Still, he figured if that was the price he
had to pay, even if it lasted all his remaining days, it was worth
it.

Then there was Buffy.

He had a job, he had friends, he had a decent place to live. But he
didn't have his girl, and he'd resigned himself to the fact that he
never would. Too much had happened between them, too much history
there. And though he was astute enough to realize that deep feeling
ran between them, he no longer believed that she loved him.
Acceptance of this fact had left a dull ache and a sense of longing
where acute pain had once lived. It was almost a comfortable feeling
for him now, one he thought he would miss if it actually went away.
No chance of that happening, though. Spike would always love Buffy.

So they worked together with an easy camaraderie, and he only felt
the occasional twinge, which he could live with, no problem, given
the other gifts in his unlife. Except when something like tonight
happened. Except when the scab on his heart was torn off so
violently that it left him shaking and bleeding. He pulled his
jacket closer around him as he remembered what happened.

It had started like any other night, just an ordinary patrol. He
and Buffy sat around and chatted while they waited for some vamps to
rise. Buffy seemed happy, content with her life, and she talked
about work, relaying some amusing anecdotes that made him smile.
They barely had to pause in their conversation to stake the
fledglings. Then, out of nowhere, a large group of Tavros demons
attacked. He and Buffy managed to dispatch a couple of them straight
off, but they hadn't brought their best weapons, and the demons put
up a good fight. Finally, it was down to the two of them versus
three of the Tavros. While he and Buffy were both occupied with a
demon each, the third caught Buffy with a wicked kick to the head.
This stunned her for a moment, and as she staggered backwards, the
one she'd originally been battling with pushed her into an open grave
a few feet behind her. The two demons then shoved the pile of dirt
that sat next to the grave into the opening before joining their
companion against Spike.

With three against one, it took him a bit of time to take care of the
demons. He kept calling to Buffy, asking if she was all right, but
he got no answer. Finally, he was able to defeat the last of them,
and then fell on his stomach next to the grave, peering down into the
darkness. "Oh God," he said.

They'd buried her.

Buffy must have hit her head and blacked out for a few minutes when
she first fell in, because she was just now trying to break free of
the mounds of dirt heaped on top of her. And she was terrified. She
tried to sit up, screaming, brushing the dirt frantically from her
face, inhaling some in her panic, which made her choke and cough.
Immediately, he jumped down into the hole with her.

"Let me out! Let me out!" she screamed. He reached down to help
her, but it was if she couldn't see him. She clawed frantically at
the dirt, trying to free her legs and torso. Her eyes were wild, her
face tear and dirt stained.

"Buffy. Buffy!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her,
gently at first, and then more forcefully. "BUFFY!" Finally, she
seemed to snap out of her hysteria, and was able to actually see
him. Then she began to sob. He swore under his breath, releasing
her in order to scoop away the heaps of dirt that covered her body.
Then he hauled her to her feet. "You're going to have to help me get
you out of here," he said. She continued to sob, but nodded in
understanding. Normally she could have jumped out on her own without
a problem, but he could see she was in no shape to do that now. He
made a bridge with his hands, and she put her foot there, her hand on
his shoulder for balance. He hoisted her out, and then climbed up
after her.

That's when it happened.

She sat in the grass next to the open grave. Her sobbing had turned
into a soft, hiccuping cry. He knelt in front of her pushing the
hair back from her face. "Are you alright, pet?" he asked. His
fingers lingered on her hair, then moved to her cheek, which was
bruised beneath the grime. Slowly she raised her eyes to his. With
another hitching sob, she flung herself into his arms, startling him
and pushing him backwards with the force of the impact. He lay on
his back on the cool, sweet smelling grass, Buffy on top of him,
clinging to him for dear life.

Her face was pressed against his, one arm tight around his shoulders,
the other around his waist. He held her, rubbing her back with one
hand, stroking her hair with the other, murmuring soft, mostly
nonsensical sounds in her ear. Sounds meant to comfort and calm.
Slowly, she relaxed.

As the tension began to leave her body, her crying slowed, then
stopped. Her body was molded to his, and it felt so good to have her
in his arms again. Then, of course, the guilt hit him. She wouldn't
be here if she hadn't been traumatized. He shouldn't be enjoying
this. The fact that it was the ordeal of her resurrection that
brought her to him in the first place was not lost on Spike. Still,
he could not bring himself to lose the connection. He held her
carefully, not wanting to scare her further. She, on the other hand,
just squeezed him tighter.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled. "I'm such a baby."

He could feel her breath, warm and moist on his skin. "No," he
managed, his voice sounding a little ragged to his own
ears, "completely understandable reaction, all you been through."

Her tears had run into his ear and made his hair wet. She seemed to
realize this at the same time he did. Raising her head slightly, the
hand that was around his waist dragged itself over his abdomen and up
his chest, never losing contact with his body until it reached his
face. Then she gently brushed her teardrops from his hair and
skin. "I got you all wet," she whispered.

Oh. God.

Did she not know what she was doing to him? He couldn't move. He
was certain if he did he would end up ravaging her. He burned
everywhere her body made contact with his. It had been so long since
he'd touched her, other than the occasional hand to help her to her
feet. Now he concentrated on keeping his hands where they were.
And then another part of his body decided it would move of its own
volition.

As gently as he could, he pushed her to the side and sat up. "We
should get you home," he said, clearing his throat. Spike stood and
took her arm, helping her up.

Buffy looked a little stunned, then ran her fingers through her hair
self consciously. "I must look terrible," she said, her voice
shaking.

He smiled. "Well, yeah. First time for everything, I guess." It
was dark, and her face was dirty, but he swore he could see her blush.

tbc...
 

Spike let himself into the apartment quietly. It was dark, and
illuminated only by the flickering of the television, it's volume
turned low. He jumped when the light suddenly came on. "Bloody
hell!"

"Spike, you're a dead man."

"Tell me something I don't know," he said, throwing his keys on the
table next to the door. He took off his coat and grabbed a hanger
out of the closet. "What did I do this time?"

Xander held up a jar of peanut butter. "Crumbs, man. There are
Wheatabix crumbs in the peanut butter *again.*"

Spike hung up his jacket and closed the closet door. "You got the
wrong jar, mate," he said. He took the jar out of Xander's hand as
he passed, and walked into the kitchen. Spike returned a moment
later with a second jar of peanut butter, and handed it to his
roommate. "Your very own jar. Labeled and everything."

Xander turned the jar around and saw that there was a big "X" written
in marker on the label. "Wow," he commented. "that was really
thoughtful of you. And can I just add, a little disturbing." He
opened the jar, ripped off the seal, and stuck his spoon in.

Spike sighed and shook his head. "At least I use crackers."

Of all the strange changes in Spike's life in the past year, his
friendship with Xander Harris ranked among the most unexpected. When
Buffy had talked Harris into giving him shelter, he'd never have
guessed that Xander would have become his main defender when all the
badness went down and everyone had doubted Spike, even himself. The
man's innate sense of fairness had overcome his dislike, and he'd
done the right thing.

And in typical Xander fashion, it had been a rather simple
concept. "Are you sure?" he'd asked. Spike's evil again, Spike's
killing again, Spike's turning people, Buffy had said. "Seems like
you're making a lot of assumptions based on what one fledgling said.
And you know what happens when you assume," he had quipped. "You
make and `ass' of `u' and `me.'"

"And dust of me," Spike added, eyeing Buffy, who still had her stake
inside her coat, but was fingering it nervously.

Buffy looked from one man to the other. "Oh my God," she said, "You
two really are Felix and Oscar."

Since then, their relationship had evolved from an association due to
necessity to grudging respect and finally into genuine feeling, which
usually manifested itself through a variety of traded insults and
mildly disparaging comments.

"Were you working tonight or patrolling, bleach head?" Xander mumbled
through a mouthful of peanut butter. He flipped the channel from
Leno to Letterman and back. Both were nearly over anyway.

"Patrolling."

"Oh." Xander glanced over at Spike, who had collapsed in the chair.

"Or judging from your expression, uh oh. Something wrong?"

"What? Oh, sort of. Ran into some Tavros demons. Spot of trouble.
Buffy `wigged' a bit, as you would say."

Xander sat up and set his peanut butter on the coffee table, sticking
the spoon into the middle of the jar. "Hold on. Buffy wigged over a
demon? Does not compute."

"No mate, not the demon. They threw her into an open grave, which
stunned her for a minute. Tossed a few inches of dirt on top of
her..."

Xander's eyes grew wide. "Resurrection déjà vu?"

"Yeah, it was a whole flashback thing. Not good. She's alright,
though. Red and the Bit are fussing over her as we speak, I'm sure."

Xander's hands dangled between his knees and he looked down at the
floor. "You know, I never told you that I was sorry. And I am."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For not telling you about the whole resurrection thing," Xander
said, running his hand through his hair.

Spike dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Another lifetime,
literally Harris."

"I know, it's just, we should have told you." He looked directly at
Spike now.

"Things were different, then."

"True statement. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to tell you, I
think we should look into getting a bigger place."

"Why? This place is fine," Spike said looking around. "The windows
are a bit large for my taste, but..."

"But, you live in a closet, man." Xander smiled. "Don't you think,
eventually, you might want something larger than a single bed? Have
a lady friend over sometime, you know," he smiled. A cloud passed
over Spike's face. Xander knew that Spike's love life, or lack there
of, was an off limits topic. He still carried a torch for Buffy, and
it was a subject neither of them were all that comfortable talking
about. "Spike, I'm sorry, I just thought..."

Spike recovered quickly. "There are advantages, you know. Two can
get right cozy in a single bed!" he said with a grin.

"Spike, I'm serious here."

"I don't make enough bartending to afford much more than this,"
Spike said apologetically.

"I can pay the difference. It's not a problem. It was my idea,
after all."

He considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, can't
let you do that, mate," he said. "But, you know, I think I might
have an idea of where I might get some extra cash."

***************************

Anya was working behind the counter when the basement door opened.
She didn't even look up before she spoke.

"Hello, Spike. What can I do for you? That doesn't involve my
reuniting with Xander Harris?"

Spike shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. He'd tried
unsuccessfully to play a bit of the matchmaker between Anya and
Harris, but it hadn't worked out. Trying to ease the lingering guilt
he had carried from his and Anya's little dalliance, he supposed;
though he knew it didn't cause their break-up, it surely didn't help
them get back together. Both had eventually reassured him that that
particular incident was the least of their problems, though, so he
could let it go. In fact they insisted he let it go. Loudly. It
was, of course, the least of his problems as well. He had worse
things to feel guilty about. Much worse. Happily, though, Anya had
decided to stay in Sunnydale, and she'd refurbished the Magic Shop as
well. Retail was truly her calling, it seemed.

"I, uh, need some advice, pet."

Anya brightened. "Well, I have knowledge in many different areas.
In what category would you say your problem lies?"

"Monetary, I guess. I need money."

She frowned. "Well, you can't have mine."

Spike laughed. "Not looking for a handout, pet. Don't want to
sponge off my roomie, either, so I've decided to sell my car."

"Really? I thought you loved that car."

"I do. Or did. Used to love to go for a drive at night when I need
to think, or just wanted to be alone. Windows down, radio on.
Lately, well, too many people riding with me, know what I mean?"
Anya patted his hand awkwardly, and he smiled at her attempt at
comfort. "Anyway, I hear that you can sell cars on the internet?
And I thought you might be able to help. Red said you're good at
that stuff, helped her find some rare something or other on ebay
once..."

"Yes! Yes I did!" she beamed. She turned her computer screen
towards her and began to type. "I'm going to check on the book value
first," she said.

"Oh, right." Wow, Red wasn't kidding, Anya knew her stuff.

"Year, make, and model?"

"1958 Desoto Fireflite."

Anya typed in the information and pressed enter. "O.K., I know it's
not a convertible or station wagon. Is it a two door hardtop
sportsman, four door hardtop sportsman, or four door sedan?"

"Four door hardtop sportsman."

With a few clicks of the mouse, she had the information. "Alrighty
then, the average retail is $5600, and the high is $8850."

It was Spike's turn to frown. "That's it? It's a classic!"

"Oh, that's just retail. We can get more from a collector."

"Really?" he asked, leaning over the counter and peering at the
computer screen. "How much, you think?"

"Oh, potentially twice the high retail. Maybe $15,000, maybe more.
Depends on the condition."

"Well, it's a bit worse for wear, but I've been fixing it up lately.
It'll be right spiffy when I'm done, no worries. Now, just tell me
what I need to do for this auction thing."

"Bring the vehicle over and I'll take a photo of it with my digital
camera. Then we'll put it up on the auction site and watch the
offers of money come rolling in!" She smiled widely at him. Then
her eyes narrowed slightly, and he could almost see the wheels
spinning. "You know Spike," she said, "I don't know what you need
this money for, but even $15,000 is not going to last that long.
Have you ever thought about investing?"

Spike scratched his head. "No. Don't you need, say, a social
security number?"

"I bet Rupert, I mean, Giles, could help us out with that."

He nodded. "Well, I must admit, I'm a bit nervous. I don't want to
lose the only chunk of cash I'm going to have."

Anya looked offended. "Well, I'm quite successful at it. I've made
lots and lots of money for myself."

"Really pet?" he asked, intrigued. "You really think you can do the
same for me?"

"I'll triple your investment in the first six months," she said,
pounding her fist on the counter. "If I don't, I'll return every
penny you give me, plus interest, out of my own pocket."

Spike reached out and shook her hand. "You've gotta deal."

"Yay!" she said, bouncing up and down on her toes. "What do you
prefer? Stocks, bonds, mutual funds? Of course, that's just the
basics. Then there's...."

Spike held up his hands in surrender. "You're the expert. I'll let
you decide."

She rubbed her hands together. "Ooh, this is going to be fun. I'll
be like your stock broker!"

"That you will, love. And I'll pay you for your services, of
course. What do you think is fair?"

"Oh, no!" she said seriously. "The fact that you trust me with your
money is payment enough. Besides," she added, "you're my friend."

"Anya," he said, "you are truly a treasure."

*******************************

When Buffy woke up late that morning, she was momentarily panicked
until she realized it was not a slimey demon who had a hold of her,
dragging her down into the depths of hell, but her sheets and
blankets tangled around her legs. She sighed and hugged her pillow,
waiting for her heart to slow down as the nightmare gradually
released its hold on her. She finally stumbled into the bathroom and
gazed into the mirror. The face that looked back was puffy, red, and
blotchy. Her eyes were swollen from hours of crying. "Ugh. I not
only dream about it, I look like hell, too."

She'd been in a kind of daze as Spike had walked her home, one of his
arms supporting her all the way to her door. He'd left her in what
she knew he thought were the capable hands of Willow and Dawn, but
her heart sank as she watched him walk down the steps and off into
the night. Tears had started anew, and had continued through the
bath that Willow had drawn for her. She'd finally gotten it together
enough to convince Dawn to go back and sleep in her own room, but had
started sobbing again once the house was quiet and she knew they were
asleep, the sounds muffled by her pillow.

God, she missed him.

She wanted to slap herself for the way she'd acted last night. Old
habits and all that. Being afraid was such a foreign concept for
her, such an odd, unfamiliar emotion, and all she wanted was his
strong arms around her, his hard body solid against her. Solid, that
was Spike. Always there when she needed him. And he had felt so
good. It had been so long. But she'd blown it. She'd practically
come on to him. Well, no practically about it, actually, and she'd
gotten her answer.

He was gentle with her of course, but he'd pushed her away just the
same. He still had feelings for her, she was pretty certain of that,
but maybe he didn't love her anymore. And even if he did, too much
had happened. Too much had passed between them, much of it not
good. Perhaps their time had come and gone. Ironic, really. He
probably thought she wanted to use him to feel again. But it was
actually all she could do not to blurt out her feelings for him every
time she saw him.

She turned on the shower, disrobed, and stepped in, her fresh tears
washed away by the pounding spray.

tbc...
 

It didn't take her long to find him.  She could hear metal clanging
against metal and a litany of British curses from quite a distance
away, and couldn't stifle a giggle.  As she drew near, she could see
only the lower half of his body, faded jeans and the ever present
Docs, sticking out from underneath the car.  The radio was on, and he
didn't hear her approach.  She gently kicked his booted foot with her
own.

"Hey Spike."

He jumped and apparently hit his head.  "Ow!  Bloody Hell!" he said,
sliding out from underneath the DeSoto.  He had a wrench in his hand,
and his shirt was off.  His chest and one cheek were streaked with
grease.  She took a deep, calming breath.  This was going to be
harder than she thought.  No, actually, it was going to be just about
as hard as she thought.

"Sorry," she said.

"S'alright," he replied, rubbing his head and looking a little
embarrassed.  "What are you doing here, pet?"

"I was looking for you.  Xander said you were here in the parking
garage working on your car.  Wasn't hard to find you.  Just listen
for the swearing and the punk rock."  She laughed nervously, and the
sound echoed in the cavernous space.

He stood up.  "Yeah, so, you found me.  What's up?"  He took a rag
that was lying on the trunk and wiped his hands and chest off on it.

"You missed a spot," she said, pointing to he face.  He attempted to
wipe it off, but kept missing.  Buffy walked over and took the rag
from him.  "Here," she said, reaching up and gently wiping away the
mark, "that's the problem with no reflection, isn't it?"  He just
stared at her, and she felt her face becoming flushed.  She backed
away, and tripped over his tool box.

"Sorry!" she squeaked.  He just shook his head, bemused, and started
picking up the tools.  "Something  wrong with the car?" she asked.

"I'm just trying to fix it up a bit.  Gonna sell it, but it needs a
tune up.   Then I'll have to clean it up some, too.  It's hard, you
know, all the...."

"Memories?" she supplied sympathetically.

He smiled.  "Well, I was going to say, `stains,' but yeah, those too."

"Sorry," she grinned sheepishly. "My bad."

"Nah, actually kind of the same thing, now, aren't they?  Anyway, you
came by because?"  He was leaning against the car now, arms crossed
over his chest, muscles rippling.  Did he have to be so freaking
sexy?  She felt like telling him to put a shirt on. 

Instead, she nudged his toolbox with her foot.  "I wanted to talk to
you about last night.  To apologize."

She expected him to feign ignorance, pretend it didn't happen, or at
least to say, no need, and brush it off as nothing.  Make it easy for
her, in other words.  But he didn't.  He just looked at her
steadily.  "Go on."

"I, uh, shit, o.k., I came on to you, and it was inappropriate, and
I'm sorry."

He looked at her for a long moment, and she could see the muscle in
his jaw working.  "Forget it," he finally said, turning around and
opening the trunk of the car.

"What if I don't want to forget it?" she asked, not quite believing
that it had come out of her mouth.

He didn't turn around, but started loading his tools into the
trunk.  "Look, you just said you didn't mean it, which I already knew
anyway, so just, leave it be, alright?  Please?"

"Spike, I'm scared."

When he turned around, his features had softened.  "I understand
that, pet.  Your reaction to being in that grave was completely
understandable.  And things got a little out of hand.  Let's just
forget it, and everything can go back to the way it was."

"Wait, you're not getting it...."

He slammed the trunk closed and threw his shirt over his
shoulder.  "I think I get it all too well, slayer.  Now, I've got
someplace I need to be.  See you later." 

With that, he got in the DeSoto, and she watched helplessly as he
backed out of the parking space and drove off.   She kicked the tire
of a nearby car.  "For the first time in, say, ever, *I* want to
talk, and you're not listening!" she yelled.  "Stupid vampire!"

*******************

"Stupid vampire!   Would you look at this?  The freak's ruined every
towel we have with his stupid peroxide."  Xander was folding laundry
while Buffy lay on the sofa, one arm thrown over her eyes.

"You're right.  He is a stupid vampire."

Xander looked up from the April freshness and considered his gloomy
friend.  "Yeah," he said, watching her carefully.  "Stupid. 
Brainless.  Never has any good ideas."

She turned on her side and looked at  him.  "That's not true.  He
comes up with a lot of good ideas for, you know, fighting the evil."

Xander nodded and went back to folding.  "I suppose.  Selfish,
though.  Always thinking of himself.  It's me, me, me with that guy."

She sat up.  "That's not true!  He puts all of us first, he'd die to
protect us, and you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

He smiled.  "That would be, uh,* yeah.*"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  "Why?"

He sighed a dropped the laundry basket on the floor.  "Because you're
both driving me crazy!  Look, I just want you to know that if you're
not with Spike because you think I'll be upset or something, well,
you know, life's too short.  I'm o.k. with it.  And even if I wasn't,
who the hell cares?"

"Well, thanks, but that's not it, actually.  I'm kind of over
the `what would my friends think?' portion of our show."

"Ouch!  O.K., so what is it then?  He was pretty upset last night."

She sighed.  "Well, there was an...incident.  Sort of.  I sort of,
came on to him.  A little."

"And he was upset about that?  I'm confused."

"I'm not all that sure he's still interested." 

"Say what?"

"Xan, I was a crappy excuse of a girlfriend.  I was beyond horrible. 
Not that I would be that way now, but why would he want to give me
another chance?"

"Because, he loves you?"

"I don't know...."

"You don't know?  Are you insane?  Everyone knows that the only sure
things in this world are death, taxes, and Spike loves Buffy."

Buffy sighed wearily and pushed her hair back off her face.  "There's
so much going against us.  So many obstacles to overcome.  It doesn't
seem like it could ever work."

Xander smiled.  "And you've just described every great love story."

******************

"Barkeep.  Do you carry a decent ale?"

Spike had been wiping down the bar, and he looked up to address his
customer.  It was early, yet, and the place wasn't crowded, so he had
busied himself with tidying up.

"Got Bass on tap.  That's the best you're going to do in these parts,
I reckon."

"Fine, fine.  Draw me a pint, would you?"

Spike drew up a mug of the amber liquid and set it on the bar.  "Here
you go, Rupes.  Didn't know you were back in town."

Giles took a sip of his beer and nodded.  "Just got in."

"Business or pleasure?" Spike asked, pulling up a stool.

"Bit of both, actually.  First, though, I have this for you."  He
pulled a large manila envelope from inside his coat and handed it to
Spike, who opened it and shook the contents out onto the bar.

"Impressive.  All I asked for was a social security number."  He
surveyed the paperwork, which included a birth certificate, social
security card, and California driver's license.

"I thought you could use the whole package.  Did I get everything
right?  Other than the year of birth of course."  Giles smiled.

Spike peered at the papers.  "That you did.  I guess your interview
with the vampire was good for something,"  Spike smirked.  Spike had
become Giles pet project last year, once the watcher had discovered
he had a soul.  And Spike submitted to his seemingly endless
inquiries, mostly because he liked hanging out with his fellow Brit. 
Giles seemed to enjoy it as well.  Eventually.  "Thanks ever so,
mate.  Really."

"No trouble.  Acquiring forged identification is disturbingly easy,
I'm afraid."

Spike nodded and replaced the paperwork in the envelope.  "So what
else brings you to Sunnydale?  And I want to hear about the pleasure
part, Rupert," he said with a wink.

"Well," Giles smiled.  "I'm visiting a lady friend."

Spike leaned forward on the bar.  "Do tell?  Someone I know?  A
certain attractive capitalist who slips up and refers to you
as `Rupert' instead of `Giles' like she always has before?"

Giles laughed.  "I'm afraid we're going to have to go public soon,
though you're a tad more perceptive than the average Scooby, I must
say.  Anya has wanted to keep it a bit quiet.  She's sensitive to
Xander's feelings, which is admirable, but bloody inconvenient.  I'm
not the sneaking around type."

Spike nodded sympathetically.  "I hear you, mate.  But at least her
reasons are good, you know.  Not like she's ashamed of you or
something."  He rubbed a non-existent spot on the bar with his rag.

"Spike...."

Spike held up his hand.  "Sorry, sorry.  Shouldn't be talking to you
about things like that."

"She knows she was wrong, Spike."

Spike looked up at Giles.  "I was a lot more wrong.  Anyway," he
said, "what about the business part of your trip?  Watcher business,
is it?"

"I'm afraid so," said Giles, pinching the bridge of his
nose.  "There's a rather troubling prophesy that's been discovered. 
Something to do with the slayer."

"The slayer?"  Spike sat up straight.  "What's it say?"

"That's part of the problem.  We're having some trouble translating
it.  I have a friend working on it right now."

******************

Angel sat flipping through a stack of mail and looked around the
Hyperion, a feeling of peace and sense of satisfaction overcoming
him.  They were all back in the fold.  Wesley sat in the office,
pouring over some ancient texts.  Cordelia was attempting to pay some
bills.  "Robbing Peter *and* Paul is more like it," she had grumbled,
making him smile.  Fred did research on the computer while Gunn
inventoried the weapons.  Connor was stretched out on a sofa in the
lobby, reading a novel. 

Unfortunately, none of their various romances had survived the most
recent apocalypse.  But *they* had all survived, and for that Angel
was grateful.  And, he still had hopes that he and Cordy could
eventually work things out.  He looked up when Wesley stepped out of
the office.  Wes brought with him a dusty book and a worried look. 

"Um, Angel, I think we may have a bit of a problem here," Wes said,
his voice low, so only Angel could hear.

Angel sighed.  "What is it this time?  Another prophesy of doom? 
Because I really, really hate those."

Wesley's jaw clenched and he took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes
wearily.  "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it is."

tbc...
 

The bathroom door swung open slowly, and Buffy looked up from the
floor to see Willow peering cautiously around the door.  "You o.k.
Buff?" she asked.

Buffy smiled ruefully and patted the floor next to her.  "Not
really.  Pull up some tile and I'll tell you all about it."

Willow sat down gingerly on the tile floor, her back against the
tub.  "Oh, hard.  And chilly!" she remarked.

"Yeah, it's even harder and chillier when you're...forget it."

The confusion was evident on Willow's face.  "Buffy?  You thinking
about that again?  I thought you forgave Spike?"

"I did.  I have.  And he forgave me for all the crap I did to him. 
We're all forgivey."

"Then, what....?"

"I was just thinking about what a Catch 22 this is, you know?  How,
if this thing never happened, Spike would never have gone to get his
soul, which he thought would make it so we could be together.  But
the fact that this happened at all, it still keeps us apart."

Willow turned to face her, leaning her arms on the edge of the
tub.  "Sounds like you don't want to be apart."

Buffy looked down at the floor. "I don't," she answered.  "I want to
be with him.  Like, all the time."

Spike had always accused her of not knowing what she wanted.  And it
was true.  She had refused to think about things that made her
uncomfortable.  But being around him the past year, seeing him deal
with the difficulties of a new soul with such courage, well, it
helped her face her own fears.  And now that she knew what she
wanted, she wasn't sure if what he still wanted was her. 

Willow smiled.  "Have you told him how you feel?"

"I've tried, you know, hinting, but he pretends like he doesn't even
know what I'm talking about.  And I'm not sure that he still wants to
be with me.  The closer I try to get to him, the further he pulls
away."

"I know he still cares for you.  I have eyes, you know.  The way he
looks at you, when you're not looking?  Pretty obvious to me."

"You sound like Xander.  He said Spike loving me was as sure a thing
as death and taxes.  But, you know, death not such a sure thing in my
world."

"Actually, death is a very sure thing.  It's just the staying dead
part that's questionable."

Buffy shook her head.  "Not helping, Will," she said with a smile.

Willow leaned her chin on her hands.  "Buffy, is there a reason why
he wouldn't be picking up on your feelings?  Have you thought about
it?"

"Yeah," she said softly, tracing the outline of the tile in front of
her with her finger.  "Last year, with all the badness, he kept
telling me that I was in denial, you know, about my feelings for
him.  And he may even have been right, I don't even know at this
point.  But, after what happened in here, maybe he's afraid to, you
know, assume anything."

Willow put her hand over Buffy's.  "I'm not a vampire psychologist or
anything, but is it any wonder he's not taking your little `hints,'
sweetie?"

Buffy reached up an grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter, and
blew her nose.  "No, you're right, as usual.  I just, maybe I should
just try to forget the whole thing.  I mean, it's not exactly normal,
to fall in love with a guy who tried to hurt me like that.  And then
there's the way I treated him.  Sometimes I just can't imagine how
he'd ever be able to get past that."

"Forgive me, Buffy, but in case you haven't noticed, neither of you
*are* exactly `normal.'"  Willow made little air quotes with her
fingers.

Buffy laughed.  "Touché.  Alright, oh sage one, say I decide I want
to be him.  What should I do?"

"Are you absolutely sure?  That you want him, that is?"

"Oh yeah," she sighed, "real bad."

"Then my advice is to be direct.  Hit him over the head with a
sledgehammer."

Buffy grinned and stood up.  "Good idea," she said, as she ran out of
the room.

"Uh, Buffy?" Willow called after her.  "You do realize I meant that
figuratively, right?"

*****************

Spike was just about to sit down and try to watch a picture on the
telly when the doorbell rang.  One of Harris's mates, perhaps, though
he was out tonight with most of them at yet another bachelor party. 
Or maybe a Scooby looking for some company.  He didn't really feel
like visitors; too much on his mind.  This whole thing with the
slayer, and now Rupert mentions this prophesy, and oh by the way,
don't tell Buffy yet.  But he could never turn down Red or the
Nibblet when they showed up, looking for companionship.  He
understood loneliness.  Spike sighed, and opened the door.

The slayer brushed passed him, a whirlwind of blonde hair and black
leather.  "About damn time you answered," she barked.  He closed the
door and turned to face her.  She stood in the middle of the room,
arms crossed in front of her, a vision in a long black leather coat
that was cut perfectly to fit her body.  A body that was a tad
curvier than this time last year, he was happy to see.  God, she was
beautiful when she was angry.   Even when the anger seemed directed
at him.  Especially when it was directed at him.

"Sit down and shut up," she said, eyes flashing.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He stalked toward her, purposefully invading her personal space,
stopping mere inches away, nose to nose with her.  She didn't back
down.  "Since when do you come in to my home and start giving orders,
Slayer?" he growled.  "You're the general in the field, no question. 
Never has been.  But were not in the field now, are we love?"

Her breathing came fast and hard, and her face was flushed, and he so
wanted to kiss her.  But he wouldn't, couldn't give in to that
impulse, no matter how much she seemed to be asking for it.  The
slayer, as usual, didn't know what the bloody hell she wanted, and he
wasn't going to go *there* again, not for anything in the world.  He
had barely survived hurting her once.  There was no second chance for
him, and he was through trying to suss out the way she felt.  The
last time he thought he knew her feelings, well, that way lay
devastating pain and insanity.

"Please," she whispered, "please sit down."

He stepped back, surprised at her tone, her sincerity, the
desperation that suddenly appeared in her eyes.  Confused, he walked
over to the sofa and sat.

She began to pace in front of the coffee table, and he watched her
with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and well, let's face it,
lust.  She seemed to be trying to figure out what she wanted to say. 
He could almost see her lips move.

Finally, she spun on her attractively booted heel and stopped dead in
front of him.  "O.K.," she said, holding her hands out, "here's the
thing.  This may come as a shock, but I'm not exactly talky girl.  So
you're going to have to bear with me.  I have something to say, and
you just need to let me get it out.  It may not be pretty.  I don't
talk pretty about feelings and stuff like you do."

He smiled at the compliment, but said nothing.  She seemed to be on a
bit of a roll, and he didn't want to interrupt her.

"When I said I was scared before, in the garage, you thought I meant
the being in the grave thing, which, yeah, I freaked out.  But that's
not what I was talking about."  He looked at her expectantly.  "I'm
scared about the way I feel.  About you."  Bloody hell.  He didn't
know what to do, or say.  So he just sat there, which seemed to make
her uncomfortable, as she began to pace again.

"There are lots of logical reasons for us not to be together," she
said.

He nodded, looking down at the floor.  God knows she was right.  A
million reasons.  Still, it was a bit of a kick to the gut to hear
her say it right out like that.

"I mean, we've done terrible things to each other.  Most people would
think we were crazy for even forgiving each other, but we did that a
long time ago.   And over the past year we've worked together, and
become friends.  And God, this sounds lame.  Maybe I shouldn't have
practiced so much before hand."  She stopped and he could feel her
staring at him.  He raised his head and gazed into her eyes.  "You're
my best friend, you know,"  she said softly.

He blinked back the tears that stung the back of his eyes, and looked
away.  So this was the let's be friends speech, was it?  He should be
grateful to be considered her friend.  He wasn't.

"But it's not enough," she said, her voice breaking.  "I don't want
to be just friends with you.  I've tried.  I've tried as hard as I
can.  I've even tried dating other guys.  I can't even kiss them good
night without feeling like I'm cheating on you or something.  Not
that I'm remotely attracted to any of them anyway."

"Buffy...." he said, clutching the edge of the sofa.  He so wanted to
get up and go to her, comfort her, but he held himself back. 

She held one hand up.  "Let me finish, because I'm just winging it,
now.  I'm not sure when it happened.  Falling in love with you.  It
seems like, it's just always been there.  But I'm afraid," she
continued, "that it isn't enough.  Or that it's too much.  Or that
we'll screw it up majorly and I'll lose you completely.  And mostly
I've just been afraid to tell you, because I'm not sure you still
feel the same way about me.  But right now, right this second, I'm
more afraid of what will happen if I don't."  She took a few steps
towards him.  "Or maybe it's just too late.  Is it too late, Spike?" 
Her voice had dropped to a whisper.  "Is it too late?"

She loved him. 

I must be in shock, he thought.  He felt a bit disconnected from his
body, like he was watching this scene unfold from across the
room.  `In love with you,' that's what she said.  Not just love, like
a friend.  In love.  He had tried to convince himself that if it
never happened, he could live with that.  But now he knew how much he
needed it, needed her.  He felt a warmth start in the pit of his
stomach that spread throughout his body, into his extremities until
he half expected to see light come out of his fingertips.   He
thought it must be his soul.  He thought, this must be what it feels
like to be happy.

"Spike?"  He finally was able to focus, and he realized that she was
waiting for an answer from him.  Her face was streaked with tears and
her bottom lip trembled just a bit. 

He stood up quickly, shaking his head.  "No, baby," he said,  "It's
never too late."

William," she sighed, "I am so in love with you."

He moved to take her in his arms in some sweeping romantic gesture,
but the damn coffee table was between them, and he had to walk around
it to get to her.  "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath.  She
giggled. 

Finally, he had her in his arms.  One hand came up to caress her
face, and she leaned into his touch.  "I love you so much, Buffy," he
said.

"Oh, thank God."

Their hands and lips were everywhere at once.  Exploring, touching,
tasting.  Rediscovering each other.  "Say it again," he demanded, his
mouth at her ear, his voice rough with desire.

"I love you, Spike."

He swept her up in his arms and carried her towards his room.  Then
he came to an abrupt stop just outside the door.  "This isn't right. 
I can't believe our first time is going to be in a closet!  Well, not
first time, but first time, this time...."

"Does it have a bed?  Because, that would be novel."

"Sort of."

"To the closet, William!"

He laughed pushed open the door with his shoulder, setting her gently
on his single bed.  Then he began the task of slowly removing every
garment with infinite care. 

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" she asked, more than a bit
breathless.

"That's the idea,"  he replied with a grin.  "I'm formerly evil, you
know."

****************

Spike reached behind him to a shelf where several CD's were
stacked.  "I've got the perfect song for us," he said.

"It's not `Anarchy in the UK,' is it?" she asked, looking a bit
concerned.

He slipped a disc into the player, and she heard the gentle strains
of reggae music.  "It's Bob Marley," he answered.  He sang along
softly while he traced patterns on her skin in rhythm with the music.

I wanna love you, and treat you right
I wanna love you, every day and every night
We'll be together, with a roof right over our heads
We'll share the shelter, of my single bed...
Is this love - is this love - is this love - Is this love that I'm
feelin'?
Is this love - is this love - is this love - Is this love that I'm
feelin'?

She giggled.  "God, you're just a big, sappy romantic aren't you?"

He hid his face in her shoulder, embarrassed.  "Sorry," he mumbled. 

Buffy took his head in her hands and forced him to look at
her.  "Don't be sorry.  I love that about you.  Keep it up, promise?"

He kissed her softly.  "Promise.  Just don't tell anyone."

"Don't worry," she said, "that part of you I want to keep all to
myself."

Spike propped himself up on one arm, bottom lip caught between his
teeth.  He looked down at her, eyes traveling over her nude body and
back up to her face, staring at her so openly that she began to flush
under his gaze.  "Stop it," she said shyly.

He shook his head slowly.  "Can't help it," he said.  "I want to
remember this.  Remember everything about this moment.  Everything
about you.  If I live a thousand years, I never want to forget what
it feels like."

"What it feels like?" she asked, brushing a stray curl off his
forehead.

"What it feels like, to be loved."

tbc...
 

Her absence awakened him.  The weight of her leg slung over both of
his, her head on his shoulder, her breasts pressed against his chest,
her arm around his waist - this is how he had fallen asleep.  And now
she was gone, and he was alone. 

He raised his head slightly to look at the digital clock on the
dresser, whose numbers glowed green in the darkness.  Three twenty
seven.  He felt heavy.  It was hard to move, like a boulder had been
placed on top of his chest. 

Then the door opened, and she stood there, backlit by a small lamp
that was still on in the living room.  She wore his black t-shirt and
nothing else, all tan legs and tousled hair. 

The boulder was lifted.  He sat up, and released the breath he didn't
realize he'd been holding.  "You're still here."

She got that little crease between her brows, the one she got when
she was upset about something.  "Of course I'm still here," she said
softly, "I was just using the bathroom."  Then she closed the door,
and they were plunged into darkness.

It was only a few steps to the bed, and she climbed in and kneeled on
the mattress in front of him, folding her arms around his neck and
pressing her forehead against his.  "Did you really think that I'd
leave in the middle of the night without telling you?"  she asked. 
Her voice was thick with emotion.  She sounded as if she was about to
cry.  God, he felt like such an idiot now.

"I wasn't really thinking," he admitted.  It had been his gut
reaction, to expect abandonment.  How terribly sad and pathetic was
that?  He just couldn't completely get his mind around the fact that
she was really here, in his bed.  No head kicking, no running away. 
Just loving touches, and soft kisses.

She pressed her lips against his, and he tasted the salt of her
tears.  "Baby don't cry," he said, wiping them away with his thumbs. 

"I love you" she said fiercely.  Her fingers dug into his
shoulders.  "This is real.  You have to believe it."  She kissed him
then, like her life depended on it, and he could feel all the emotion
pouring out of her and over him, like a waterfall, washing away his
doubts.  He fell back on the bed, taking her with him.  They didn't
get back to sleep for a long time.

*******************

He was completely knackered, and slept without bad dreams for the
first time since he could remember.  When he finally woke up, she was
gone again.  But there was a note laying on the pillow this time.

Spike,
I need coffee.  I'm also starving.  Wonder why? (smile)  I'll hang
out until you get up.  I would have woken you up, (and I had several
interesting ideas for how to do it, too), but you seemed so tired. 
But I was tempted.  Seriously.  Xander's awake now, though, so, you
know, ewww.

By the way, this is my attempt at a love note.  Sorry it's so lame. 
I have no experience in these matters.

I love you, (that was strange to write, but nice.  AND I MEAN IT. 
Stupid vampire.)
Buffy

P.S.  You are gorgeous when you sleep.  And the rest of the time, too.

He laughed out loud, folded up the paper and placed it carefully in
his wallet, briefly pausing to marvel that he now carried a wallet. 
Then he pulled on a pair of sweats and walked out into the kitchen. 
Buffy sat at the table, still wearing his t-shirt, along with her
jeans from the night before.  Xander leaned against the kitchen
counter, drinking coffee.

"Hey sleepy head," said Buffy.  She smiled shyly at him over the top
of her coffee mug.

"Sleepy head?  This is way early for him," said Xander, who was
desperately trying to act normal, like Buffy was in his kitchen every
morning with Spike's shirt on.

Spike ran his hand through his hair and realized that it must be a
mass of curls by now.  He gave up trying to straighten it.  "Yeah,
well," he yawned, "early to bed, early to rise." 

He and Buffy shared a lingering look, while Xander turned three
shades of red and made a noisy show of pouring himself more coffee. 
Buffy noticed his blush, though, and pointed it out to Spike.  Then
she began to giggle.  Which caused her to choke.  Coffee began
spurting out her nose, and she laughed harder.  Spike sat down next
to her, took the mug out of her hand and began patting her on the
back while she hid her face in a napkin. 

"Well, I can see why you've got it so bad for her, Spike.  She's the
epitome of grace and style, isn't she?" asked Xander.  Buffy was now
laughing so hard that barely a sound could escape, her face turning
red and tears pouring from her eyes.  Spike put a helpful arm around
her and she leaned into him, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to get out between giggles, "I must
be a little punchy.  Sorry, so sorry."  She wiped her face with the
napkin.

Xander just shook his head.  Then Spike returned Buffy's mug to her,
noticing the `Kiss the Librarian' logo on the other side.  It was one
of the few personal items he had from the old days.  He remembered
Clem bringing it over, along with a few other small items from the
crypt.

"Hey pet, you're using my mug, you know."

"Am I?  Do you mind?"

"Well, no, `course not, but you might.  I mean, I drink my blood out
of there," he explained, remembering the disgust she'd often
exhibited for his meals in the past.

Buffy shrugged and picked up her coffee, taking a sip.  "Eh, you wash
it, right?  Besides, the places my mouth has been the last eight
hours, what's a little blood residue?"

"Oh my God!  I am still standing here!  I can *hear* you!" Xander
shouted.  Spike just snickered, and Buffy looked at Xander drolly
over the top of the mug.

"Consider that pay back for all the times I had to hear about *your*
sex life."

"That wasn't me!  That was Anya!  And sure, rub it in you two, the
Xan-man isn't getting any!" he said, as he walked away.  "I'm going
in my room and turning the radio up very loud.  I can't believe I
encouraged this.  `Tell him how you feel, Buffy.'  What have I gotten
myself into?"  he grumbled to himself, slamming his bedroom door.

Buffy smiled evilly at Spike.  "He'll get over it."

"You're a very bad girl," Spike scolded.  He tried his best to give
her a reproving look.

"Yes I know," she said, moving to his chair and straddling his lap. 
She wrapped one arm around his neck and ran a finger enticingly along
the eyebrow he had arched at her.  "And you love it."

"That I do," he grinned.  "And you look right cute in my shirt."  His
hands moved up underneath the fabric to caress her back, and she lay
her head on his shoulder.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy," she said, kissing his neck.

"I know I haven't," he murmured into her hair.  Unexpectedly, Giles
warning about the slayer prophesy came back to him in a rush, and he
felt overwhelming guilt at not telling her.  Giles hadn't wanted to
alarm her before they knew exactly what it was, but that was before. 
Things were different now.  "Buffy....?"

"Yes?"  She raised her head and looked into his eyes.  And she was
glowing.  Absolutely glowing.

He crushed her to him with a force that would have damaged anyone
else.  "I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you too, Spike.  I love you too."

******************

The gang waited patiently outside the office as Wes completed his
phone call.  He gave his colleagues a weary smile as he opened the
door.

"You two get it all figured out?"  Angel asked.

Wes shrugged.  "As best one can, when one is talking about
prophesies.  You'd all better sit down for this one."  Angel remained
standing.  "Or not," he sighed.  "The prophesy involves the slayer,
Angel."

"The slayer?  You mean, Buffy?  Or Faith?"

"It appears to be Buffy.  The prophesy mentions the slayer who has
twice visited the other side."

Angel began to walk around the lobby.  "Buffy died twice."

"Yes, I'm aware of that.  There's more."

"Hold it.  Is this the slayer who shared the doomed love and the
melodrama with Angel?" asked Gunn.

Angel, Wes, and Cordelia all turned to Gunn.  "Yes," they answered in
unison.

"I guess it's really doomed, now."

"Gunn...." Angel glowered, taking a step toward him.

"O.K., shutting up now," Gunn said, holding his hands up in
surrender.

"Wesley, you were saying?" said Cordy.

"The prophesy also talks about the slayer with a borrowed soul.  That
a soul is owed to the other side.  Rupert says that Buffy was
resurrected by magic, and that the spell was interrupted before the
sacrifice Willow was making could be properly completed."

"Sacrifice?"  Lorne asked nervously.  "Who is this Willow?  And how
can I get on her good side?"

"She's a very powerful witch, who also happens to be Buffy's good
friend.  But that's not all of it either.  The prophesy also mentions
a vampire with a soul."

"What about it?  How do I figure in?" asked Angel.

"I'm afraid we're still having a bit of trouble with that part of the
translation," Wesley smiled.

"So let me get this straight," said Fred.  "Some big kahuna from this
mysterious `other side' is going to come and take the slayer's soul,
because she's apparently on borrowed time?  And in some way, we don't
have any idea how, Angel is involved?"

"That's the gist of it, yes."

"Well," said Cordy, "I guess there's only one thing left to say." 
They all looked at her expectantly.  "Road trip!"

"When are we leaving?" asked Gunn.

"Now," said Wesley.  "We only have a couple of days until the mid-
point of the lunar cycle.  That's when Rupert and I believe the
prophesy will be fulfilled."

"Let's get moving, folks," Angel said, clapping his hands together.  
He noticed Connor's hopeful face.  "Yes, you too, kid.  Go get your
things."  They all took off for their rooms to pack.  As Angel
started to leave, Wes called him back.

"Angel, there's just one more thing.  Something Rupert told me, which
apparently you are unaware of."

"What is it?"

"Well, the vampire mentioned in the prophesy?  The vampire with a
soul?  There is a possibility it might not be you."

"Wes, you're not making any sense."

"Apparently, there's another.  Another vampire.  With a soul.  And
he's in Sunnydale."

Angel peered at Wes intently. 

"What?"

tbc...
 

Cordelia rode shotgun while Angel drove. Connor and Fred dozed in
the back seat, while Wesley followed in his car, with Lorne and Gunn
for company.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or brood all the way to
Sunnydale?" she finally asked.

"I don't brood," he said, glancing at her quickly. "Anymore."

"Well, something is wrong. Care to share?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" he asked, fiddling with the
radio.

"Well," Cordy shifted in her seat to make herself more
comfortable. "It could be the set of your jaw, or the death grip you
have on the steering wheel. Or maybe it was the way you broke the
trunk of the car earlier when you slammed it shut."

"Nothing is..."

"Cut the crap, Angel. This is me you're talking to."

Angel sighed in defeat. "It's something Wesley told me. About
Spike." Spike had a soul. He still couldn't quite believe it.

She nodded sympathetically. "Ah, you found out about him and Buffy
did you?"

His head snapped toward her and his hands followed. The car swerved
and almost hit the guardrail before Angel was finally able to
correct, the tires flinging up gravel as he hit the brakes hard,
coming to a shrieking halt on the shoulder of the road. The violent
motion woke the two in the backseat, who sat up and looked around
them, too stunned to speak.

Angel gripped the back of the seat with one hand and stared at
Cordelia.

"What?!"

***************************

Buffy kicked a stone along the sidewalk as she made her way towards
home. It was mid-afternoon by the time she left Spike's apartment.
They had actually played footsie under the table and read the paper
together this time. She sat sipping on coffee and reading the
lifestyle section with her feet in his lap. He massaged them
absently while turning the pages of the world news.

"People just keep getting more and more violent. Hard to believe,"
he'd commented, shaking his head. "Just when I think I've seen it
all, I find out different."

"Don't tell me," she'd said with a small smile. "Not today."

They'd stayed that way until Xander had left, walking past them
quickly, eyes averted. "Don't mind me, just passing through.
Leaving now. Carry on," he'd said as he grabbed his jacket out of
the closet and hurried out the door.

They'd both looked at each other and laughed. Then raced back to his
bedroom.

She lay directly on top of him after making love, head tucked into
the space between his head and shoulder, hip fitted against his waist.

"We fit perfectly together," she said.

His hands traveled over her backside. "That's because you're
perfect."

She raised her head, and an eyebrow. "Hardly."

Spike raised his eyebrow right back. "Don't argue with me, missy!"
he smirked.

She smiled a little sadly and traced her fingers over his
lips. "Seriously," she said softly, "don't do that. Don't put me up
on some pedestal. I can never live up to your image of me as it is."

He turned them both over on their sides so they were facing each
other. "I know who you are, Buffy," he said, pushing her hair back
over her shoulder. "No illusions here. We got past that a long time
ago, remember?"

She kissed him softly. "I remember. It's just, you're so much
better at the love thing than I am. I mean look at all you've been
through just for me. How can I compete with that?"

"It's not a competition, pet. You don't have to prove anything to
me."

"I feel like I do." She reached down and pulled the sheet up over
them. "I mean, I was shut down for so long. I feel like my ability
to love started to slip away the moment I put that sword through
Angel, and then..." She watched his face change, almost
imperceptibly, and then he sat up slowly, running a hand through his
hair. "What? What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter."

She sat up too, pulling the sheet with her. "Of course it matters.
Tell me. I said the `A' word, right?"

"It's not important. I mean, I get it. You said it yourself. You
can't love anyone as much as you loved Angel."

"I never said that! And you didn't even let me finish!"

"It's o.k. I don't blame you, I blame him," he said, swinging his
legs over the side of the bed. He reached for his pants. "Not your
fault." He snapped the pants out in front of him and pulled them
over his legs with a jerk.

"Well isn't that big of you!"

"What?" Spike asked, not looking at her. He stood and pulled his
sweats on the rest of the way.

"I should have known this would happen. This whole insane jealousy
thing. Remember Willow's little marriage spell? Is this the part
where I start getting jealous over Dru?"

"Gave her up for you. Don't see the logic in you being jealous of
her," he stated calmly.

She got out of bed and began violently grabbing her clothes and
throwing them on. "And I am with you. Not Angel," she said, her
back to him.

"Only because you can't be."

She swung around, fist clenched, instinctively heading for his nose.
He caught it in mid-swing. "Sorry pet. No more kick the Spike for
you. William doesn't find it that much of a turn on. Hope that's
not too awfully disappointing."

She pulled her hand away and began to shake. She could feel her face
burning and tears stung behind her eyes. "Why?" she asked,
swallowing a sob. "Why did you ruin it? It *was* perfect. And now
it's ruined." He stood looking at her with his mouth open as she
grabbed her shoes and ran out the door.

She could hear him calling after her as she ran down the hallway, but
she turned on a burst of slayer speed, and before he could even think
about following her, ran out into the sun.

******************

Buffy peeked through the window in the back door, and was relieved
when she saw that the kitchen was empty. She really wasn't in the
mood to talk to anyone. All she wanted to do was sneak upstairs and
try to pull herself together before she had to face them. She had
almost made it to her room when Willow stepped out into the hall.

"Hey! Late night, huh? I guess that means things went well!" she
smiled. Then Buffy's lower lip began to quiver. "Or, not? Buff
what happened?" Willow walked up to her friend and put her arm
around her shoulders.

"It went great. Like, major fireworks great. Up until I ran out
crying."

"Oh no, did you two have a fight?" Buffy nodded. "It's probably
just a little lover's quarrel," said Willow. "He'll be here
apologizing any minute, wait and see."

"Yeah, if it wasn't for that pesky sunshine, I guess. But it wasn't
just a lover's quarrel, Will. It was pretty serious." The phone
rang, and Buffy looked at Willow excitedly. "Maybe that's him?"

"Then, you probably should answer it." Willow watched as Buffy flung
herself across her bed to answer the phone, and then quietly closed
the door.

"Spike?" she answered.

"Sorry, dear. Wrong ruggedly handsome Brit."

"Oh," she said, "hi, Giles."

"You sound disappointed."

"No, I was just expecting it to be Spike, is all. No biggie. What's
up?" She sat up and placed a pillow across her lap

"Well, I do have a matter of some urgency to discuss with you."

"Don't tell me; another apocalypse is on the horizon," she said,
hugging the pillow a little tighter.

"Well, possibly. The problem is, we're not exactly sure. There is a
prophesy involved."

She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, joy.
Because prophesies, always big with the happy."

"Indeed."

"And did you say, `we?'"

"Yes. I've had Wesley working on the translation."

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?"

"The one and only. And I should probably mention that he's on his
way to Sunnydale, accompanied by the rest of Angel Investigations as
well."

"Angel is coming to Sunnydale?" she groaned. "Perfect timing. This
must be quite the prophesy."

"Apparently so. They should be at your house in an hour or two.
I'll meet you all there. And Spike should be there as well."

"You actually *want* Spike and Angel in the same room?"

"I'm afraid it may be necessary."

"Giles, now you're really scaring me."

**********************************

Cordelia had unsuccessfully tried to get Angel to hand over the
steering wheel to her, but even Wesley could not convince him. Wes
had pulled up behind them after their near accident, but everyone was
alright, strapped securely into their seatbelts. With both cars back
on the road, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now tell me," said Angel, "what about Spike and Buffy, and how do
you know about it?"

Cordy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her
eyes. "Powers that Be, remember? Kind of a know-all sort of gig."

"So you knew all this time and didn't tell me?"

"Angel, just because I know things doesn't give me license to go
around telling everyone else's secrets. It was none of your
business. And I only mentioned it now because I thought you knew
already."

"But now you have to tell me the whole story."

She sighed. "Oh, alright. Spike and Buffy had an affair."

Connor sat forward, suddenly interested in the conversation. Angel
glared at him from the corner of his eye, and the boy sat back,
reluctantly.

"So, after Spike got his soul, they had an affair," Angel stated,
trying to get his mind around this concept.

"Uh, no. Actually, it was before he got his soul."

"What?!"

"Angel! Keep your eyes on the road!" Fred shouted.

"Alright, alright. I'm calm. Calmer. Just, tell me!"

"O.K., before you have a seizure or something. Jeez Louise! After
Buffy was resurrected, she was very depressed. She turned to Spike
for comfort. He was the only one she could talk to."

"What about me? Why couldn't she talk to me?"

"Wild guess? She sent you to hell. And she went to heaven. You do
the math."

He sighed. "Right."

"And, she knew that Spike was in love with her. He had been for a
long time, hard as that is to believe."

"Actually," said Angel, "that part's not so hard to believed. Go on."

"The short story is, they were together for awhile, and it
ended...badly."

"What do you mean?"

"That's all I'm saying. It ended. That's all. And he loved her, so
he sought out this legendary demon who could grant his any wish. For
a price, of course."

"What kind of price?" asked Connor.

"Oh, various trials, you know the drill. There was this guy with
flaming fists he had to fight. And a two headed demon, I think. Oh,
and the beetles!" She shuddered. "I didn't really look during that
part."

"You got to see it?" asked Connor, sounding envious.

"Yeah," Cordy said, turning around and grinning. "It was wicked
cool!"

"So he won, huh? Sounds like one tough guy," said Connor. Angel
snorted.

"Yes, he won. And he got his soul back. For her."

"And then what happened?" asked Fred from the back seat.

Cordy turned and smiled at her. "And then I got sent back to the
Hyperion. So I don't know anymore than that. Sorry."

"Wow," sighed Fred, "that's so romantic."

"That's Spike," Angel said disgustedly. "So romantic."