Beta'd by Slackerace

Chapter Eighteen

Everyone's juggling and everyone's acting
With smiles of greasepaint three feet wide
Everyone's caught on a carousel pony
One time around is a lifetime ride
~ Circus Song, Don McLean

When Spike awoke the sun was high in the sky and the house was empty. He could tell at once - that strange background humming of white goods, but otherwise silence. Which meant, Spike presumed, that the littlest Summers was at school and the eldest already departed for the airport and he'd slept through the morning routine of two noisy young women. He stretched slowly and concluded that a long heavy sleep had done him the world of good. And by Spike's calculations he had a few more hours alone. The Slayer had been quite emphatic when she declared she'd be taking the bus to meet her friend at LA International.

Spike was not eagerly anticipating the arrival of the witch. Seemed she'd moved on a great deal from the tasty, nervous teenager he remembered and he'd had more than enough of people poking around in his head. Also, a day with no serious upheaval would be a very nice thing and Spike didn't need any vampire sixth sense to tell him that today would not be that day.

Last night's revelations were enough for him to be mulling over for a week or two, but Spike wasn't in the mood for mulling. He nuked some blood, put the telly on and surfed the daytime soaps until his brain shut down and time lost all meaning. By the time the back door rattled open, Spike'd more or less resigned himself to be the show-and-tell for another day, even if he didn't feel the need to get up and greet his fate with enthusiasm. But the voice that drifted in after the sound of the door closing was male and only vaguely familiar.

"Buffy?"

Not being Buffy, Spike held his peace. He heard a thud, then the kitchen door, and then the voice again, louder now. "Willow? Dawn?"

The Slayer's other sidekick, he realised. His brain wouldn't provide a name right then, couldn't recall if he'd ever known it, but it gave Spike a face. The face of another American teenager not old or wise enough to be tangling with the forces of darkness, last seen unconscious. For a split second Spike's instinct considered the options for concealment in the living room, but then his brain caught up and he pulled himself together. If the boy was still close enough to the Slayer to wander into her house then he'd presumably seen Spike much more recently than Spike had seen him and would know he was defanged.

The name - Xander - came back to Spike on seeing the floppy brown hair. The boy froze in surprise when he spotted Spike. He stared, blinked, and stared some more.

"Slayer's gone to the airport," Spike supplied helpfully. "Be back soon, her and the witch."

"You... What... You!"

"She knows I'm here. S'alright."

Spike watched the young man with a good deal of curiosity as the blood drained from his face. It had been a long time since Spike had managed to cause fear in anyone or anything and he was tempted to bask awhile but training and a very practical desire not to piss off the Slayer won out. "Still got the chip," he added, remembering how Buffy had been reassured by that piece of information. "Completely harmless." He only realised his mistake when purple took over from white as the dominant colour on the boy's face - what he'd taken for shock was in fact fury.

"You!" It was an impressive amount of venom to fit into the one syllable. Spike took a swift step back as the boy came further into the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Slayer said to-"

"Shut up!"

The furious command for silence brought out a Pavlovian response in Spike, snapping his mouth shut, but a second later he opened it again. Well fed and welcomed, the conditioning was getting weaker by the hour.

"You asked me a bleeding question, mate. How would you like me to answer, interpretive bleeding dance?"

Another step back, but the boy wasn't coming for him. Too late, Spike realised his destination was Buffy's weapons chest.

"I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to come back here."

"Look... Harris, right? It's not-"

"Shut up!"

Maybe 'fury' wasn't quite the right word, either. 'Murderous rage' might be closer to the mark. Murderous rage now holding an axe and coming straight for him. Spike dodged, and a rickety lamp took the fall in his place.

"Shit! You've got-"

Another swing, another dodge, and this time the back of the sofa took the brunt of the blow. Spike looked from the blade to the formerly-expensive-looking upholstery in horror.

"Slayer's gonna have a fit-"

Turned out, furious people weren't all that concerned with the furniture. Spike should have remembered that; he'd started enough killing sprees of his own. This time when the axe came towards him, Spike grabbed the handle, to save himself and the one lamp still standing. There was a brief and one-sided tussle before Harris let go suddenly, leaving Spike unbalanced and unprotected against the fist that ploughed into his nose. The chip fired and Spike reeled back as Harris cursed and cradled his knuckles. Spike rubbed his head and struggled to right himself.

"I hurt your fist with my nose?" he complained. "How the fuck is that fair?"

But the boy wasn't interested in the vagaries of Spike's chip either and, deprived of his weapon, he switched tactics. He grabbed one fistful of hair and one of T-shirt and pulled. Spike let himself be dragged past fragile knick-knacks but dug his heels in when he realised they were heading for the front door.

For the first time it occurred to Spike to be afraid. Strange maybe, after three years living in fear, but the Slayer'd told him he was safe and the girl had a way about her that was hard to disbelieve. And being hacked to death by a child having a tantrum was not high-up on the list of things that kept vampires awake at night. But if the chip kept firing every time Harris bruised himself on his face Spike would soon be too unconscious to defend himself. And it was plain to see there was no reasoning with the boy. Spike tried anyway.

"If you would just let me explain-"

A vicious punch to the stomach cut Spike off, driving the air out of his lungs and making speech impossible. At least the boy was aiming for softer targets and the chip stayed silent. A few more punches before Harris found another weapon - it didn't surprise Spike to realise the Slayer kept a cudgel behind her front door - and the blows went from inconvenient to painful. Spike gave up his hold on the door frame, twisting free and leaving behind a fistful of hair, but there was nowhere to go next. The stairs were cut off by the sunlight streaming through a landing window, kitchen likewise impassable, Harris shoving him away from the living room. Each punch and push moving Spike inexorably closer to the front door and a dusty introduction to the California sun.

********

A half hour after Buffy had loaded a distraught Willow onto the bus home, the girl was still shaking. It had taken a half hour more to get her to the bus stop, make any sense of the near-hysterical rambling. All Buffy's explanations and reassurances on the long bus ride from LAX to Sunnydale and the young witch was still nowhere near calm as they disembarked at Sunnydale's urine-scented bus depot and started the final leg of their journey on foot.

"But it was her, Buffy. The way she spoke, the words she used, the way she ducked her head and let her hair fall. Everything."

"Apart from the way she told you to kill yourself," said Buffy firmly. "That wasn't Tara."

"No," Willow conceded miserable. "Unless-"

"No unlesses. You know Tara wouldn't come back from the dead to tell you to kill yourself. It's just the same pathetic overrated ghost that's been messing with Spike. Of course it would look like Tara. That's how it gets you to listen."

"But she knew me, Buffy. She knew everything about us. Tara and I."

"She - It - knows all of us. It made Dawn think it was Spike, right down to all his stupid nicknames. This is good, really. Now we know it doesn't want you using magic, so that's like a clue. Magic must be the key to defeating it. You make it take its true form and I'll beat it to a bloody pulp. Easy."

Willow managed a watery smile at her friend's scraped-together peppy confidence, but the fear never left her eyes. Buffy struggled to hide her own disappointment. The weirder life got the more Willow's return had seemed like a lifeline, but it was obvious now her friend was only just keeping her own head above water. Whatever healing might have taken place in England had had the scabs ripped open by The First's untimely appearance.

Buffy's feelings about this latest big bad were veering into distinctly personal territory. It had messed with her boyfriend, not something that Buffy forgave easily. Three years on, the thing that stood out in Buffy's mind was the miracle that had saved him but she hadn't forgotten how easily and expertly The First had played Angel. And it had threatened her sister - capitol offence number two. Nearly tricked her into staking Spike, upset her fragile best friend, made her have a whole heap of conversations she'd much rather have avoided and given her one hell of a headache. Buffy wasn't quite sure how The First tied in to the sister-kidnapping-demon-slave-ring thing but until she knew otherwise It would be taking the blame for that too. But by far its worse crime was having no corporeal head that Buffy could rip from its body and squish like an overripe tomato.

"Knowing it wasn't really her doesn't make it better." Willow cut into her friend’s vengeful thoughts softly. "And just because it wasn't Tara doesn't mean it wasn't right."

The Slayer shuddered at the implication. "It was wrong."

"I don't mean... The killing myself thing. But I am dangerous, Buffy. I nearly killed you. I nearly killed everyone. And she - it - was right. I could do it again."

Buffy pursed her lips, knowing Willow was right, but unable to articulate why she was also wrong. They'd turned this subject every which way on the bus ride home and she had no more reassurances to offer, except the one that secretly made the Slayer feel safe. As Willow was unlikely to find another Tara, she was unlikely to lose another Tara. Reassuring, to the people who'd witnessed Willow's grief, but not exactly a consoling thought to share with Willow. Their interminable journey was nearly at an end, anyway, as they turned in to Buffy's front garden.

"It's not just the magic, anyway," Buffy said. "It's trying to split us up. Make it so we don't trust each other - don't trust ourselves. We just need to stick together. That's what Giles said too, right? Do the magic with other people, that it's safer. Work as a team. Not let The First distract us with petty squabbles."

Buffy put Willow's case down on the front step and opened the front door. Xander and Spike stared back, in a passable imitation of an action photograph. Buffy, more than used to the cosmic joke that was her life, didn't really appreciate the humour. She gritted her teeth, tried and failed to maintain her upbeat smile and motivational-speech mode. "We've got to make sure we don't get distracted fighting each other. Wouldn't you agree, Xander?"

She didn't give him time to disagree, snagging the sleeve of his T-shirt and yanking Xander upright, surprising him out of his death-grip on Spike. They both looked vaguely guilty for a split second, before Spike straightened his features into neutrality and Xander remembered his anger. Hardly missing a beat he turned his anger onto Buffy.

"I can't believe you let him back in you house. What he did... I can't believe you haven't staked him. What-"

"'Hi Buffy, how are you?' 'Oh, mostly fine. Being haunted by primordial evil, you know how it is. Yourself?' 'Well, I've taken up that kill-first, ask questions later thing that works so well for the bad guys. Hey Willow, fancy seeing you here.'"

This last at least got Xander's attention, before Buffy strained her sarcasm muscle, as he finally noticed Willow, still standing in the doorway. He dropped the anger long enough to greet Willow with traditional welcome-home-from-foreign-climes enthusiasm. Buffy couldn't help but feel that some of that effusiveness was aimed pointedly in her direction. It was a very short break before Xander resumed the let's-stake-Spike-now lecture. Every other sentence, Buffy noticed with a wince, was one she had used herself.

Spike was standing half to attention against the wall, just out of reach of the sunlight, wary but not cowed, eyes on Buffy as Xander ranted. Intentionally or not, Buffy suspected his lack of reaction was driving Xander to ever-greater heights of tantrum. Willow still hovered uncertainly on the threshold, looking very much like Buffy felt. Her eyes flickered tentatively to Buffy for her cue and Buffy shrugged. Xander had covered the dangers posed to humanity in general and was moving into distinctly personal territory before Buffy decided that enough was enough, shouldering past Xander to put Willow's bags in the living room. If she put a little Slayer strength into the shouldering then she justified it with all the bitchy replies she could have made but didn't.

"...and after Angel you'd think-"

"I get it," Buffy interrupted, as calmly as she was able. "You have issues with Spike. We all have issues with Spike. Willow fixes him, he leaves, voila, no more issues."

"How can you possibly 'fix' evil? Gonna soul him up? Get yourself an Angel replacement complete with apocalypse?"

"Not the evil thing. Spike has amnesia-"

Xander snorted with disbelief, and Buffy conceded he had a point. Her life seemed to be one long list of unbelievable.

"You have no idea what's going on, Xander. Couldn't you at least let me catch my breath before judging? Maybe, I don't know, listen?"

"I'm listening. And do you know what I'm hearing? I'm hearing that helping this... this rapist is more important than your friends. You've got him in your house, with Willow, with Dawn-"

Anger flared over Buffy's weariness. "Don't you dare! You're the one making Spike more important than our friendship. I haven't seen you in two months and I don't even rate a hello, because Spike is so much more important. To you. It's been a really long few days, Xander, and I don't really need this. Stay and listen, or go away."

"Now you're picking a vampire over me?"

"I'm picking peace and quiet over this! Dammit, Xander, I can't throw him out in the sun. He saved Dawn's life."

"Well maybe you should stop letting her get nearly killed!"

Both still lingering in the doorway, Willow and Spike winced in sympathy. Buffy glared and Willow opened her mouth to intervene but Xander got there first.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I just-"

"Hate Spike so much it turns you into a blithering idiot?"

"I worry about you," Xander corrected. "There's something wrong that you could... Yeah, I hate him. Can you really blame me?"

Not really. Not if she was being fair; if she remembered Jesse and six years since of learning to hate. Having that fear and loathing reinforced at every turn. That didn't stop her privately wishing Xander had been delayed in LA just a day or two longer.

"I don't understand why you don't. How can you have him here after... I don't understand."

"Maybe we could make coffee and I could explain?" Buffy offered silent gratitude as Willow left her ringside seat to link her arm through Xander's, tugging him gently towards the kitchen. "I can do that, mostly. The explaining thing."

Xander hesitated. Deflating, ranted out, but looking very much like he didn't want to leave Buffy and Spike alone together. "Would you rather I made the coffee?" Buffy prompted.

Xander managed a watery smile. "You threatening me now?" he joked lamely and Buffy managed to smile back, mostly with relief as Xander allowed himself to be led away.

"Don't think he likes me much," Spike deadpanned.

"No."

"That another of those things you don't want to talk about?"

"No. That's a whole six years I don't want to talk about. You slept with his ex-fiancée, and then there's that, well..."

"The Thing?" Spike suggested.

"Yeah. And there's Angel issues. And the whole vampire thing, which is fair, really. It's not like you haven't tried to kill us all once or twice. And then, well, you're not exactly, um..."

"I'm an aggravating bastard and I get on his wick?"

"Also a factor," Buffy agreed. "You have a remarkable talent for annoying people even when you're trying not to be evil. And he doesn't have a long fuse where you're concerned."

"It was the axe that gave it away. Speaking of which, there may have been an accident or two with your furniture. Sorry."

Ten minutes later Buffy and Spike were still collecting the last of the broken glass when Willow came back in. She nodded toward the door and reluctantly Buffy followed her silent directions. Xander was in the kitchen, building a sandwich from the unlikely ingredients he'd scavenged from Buffy's fridge.

"Hey Buffy."

"Hey."

"Willow said I had to start over so... It's nice to see you, you're looking good. Still a little on the skinny side. You want a sandwich?"

Buffy allowed herself to relax slightly. Xander's grin was a pale imitation of his old, irrepressible smile, but it was there and Buffy struggled to respond in kind. "Don't you think I face enough dangers already?" she quipped.

Xander shrugged. Added a second slice of bread and licked the mayonnaise off his fingers. "Some things are worth the risk. So, I'm a little late. Do I get my hug anyway?"

Silently thanking Willow, worker of miracles, Buffy threw herself into a Xander-sized hug with some enthusiasm. "I just worry about you, Buff."

"And you hate Spike."

"And I hate Spike," Xander agreed, releasing her. "But quietly, because Willow threatened tears if there were any rows. So I'm going to pretend he's not here, until he isn't any more. Just, please tell me this is about solving the mystery and getting the bad guy? I think I can cope with that."

"At least seventy percent," Buffy reassured. "Xander, he's-"

"No! Don't tell me. Don't say he's changed or he's sorry or- We're doing the elephant-in-the-room dance here. Heavy on the denial. Lying, if necessary. Can we do that?"

It wasn't exactly perfect, but a world better than Buffy could have hoped for after their first acrimonious exchange in the hallway. Maybe, Buffy realised, she wasn't the only person who'd matured since the year from hell. "We can totally do that. Denial is virtually my middle name. I missed you, Xand."

"Missed you too, Buffster. I really did."

"It's been so dull this summer. No Scoobies, no evil."

"LA's dull too. In a well-paid way. But..."

"You needed to get away?"

"I really did. It all got kind of crazy for a while there. But I've recharged the old evil-fighting batteries, and- What the hell was that noise?"

Buffy groaned. "My guess? Dawn's home. And she's spotted Willow."

"Ah. Little bit of residual anger there?"

"Just a tad. She hasn't got the whole yellow crayon history to fall back on." Reluctantly Buffy took a step towards the kitchen door, but Xander stopped her.

"It's my turn," he said. "And I've got novelty on my side. Not even one of Dawn's sulks can withstand the charm of LA anecdotes."

"Fashion based anecdotes?"

"Fashion, and even the occasional minor celebrity. I took notes especially." Xander picked up his sandwich, bussed her on the cheek on his way past. "You stay and hide. Longevity's all very well but we don't want you to be the first Slayer in history to go grey."

"Thanks Xander."

Apart from the excited squeal that greeted Xander, all was quiet long enough for Buffy to walk back into her living room without bracing herself for more drama. Xander had been right, Dawn was eagerly interrogating him on his time away with no energy left over for ignoring Willow or worse. The ten minutes that followed were the closest Buffy had come to normal for a week. Small talk reigned until Buffy's front door opened yet again and Anya appeared, with manacles. She cast a brief, disdainful glare over Willow and Xander, but addressed Buffy, holding the manacles aloft.

"I found these in my glove compartment. I thought you might want them back. They're very high quality and could be very useful for-"

"Keep them," Buffy interrupted hastily. "Really. Call it a thank you gift for lending me your car."

Anya shrugged. "Okay. But I think you might need this."

She held out the pamphlet Buffy had been given with her newly purchased vampire. The handy diagram on the front made Buffy shudder.

"Thanks Anya. But I don't think I can read that."

"Well I think you should. There're a few chapters that are very enlightening."

To Be Continued...