Buffy woke in her old room the next morning in confusion. For a moment, she thought that everything since Angel’s death had been one long dream, that she was still at home, ready for summer vacation before senior year, happy with Willow and Xander and Giles and slaying and nothing else. Then the events of the night before came crashing back to her, and she sat up like a dart, gasping with sorrow.

Despite everything that had happened since she’d returned, despite the hatred, the exclusions, the dirty looks, she’d never felt quite so alone. She was homeless, and now, she was also friendless. She’d hurt a Scooby so badly last night, and she knew that they would rally behind Faith. Faith was their leader. She’d lost any tentative friendships she’d been building now.

…Except for Spike’s, and that was even worse. She hadn’t asked him to fall in love with her, but she felt it as a burden. It was one thing when they genuinely liked each other and were together, but once he fell in love with her, it had become a real relationship. And if there was one thing that Buffy had avoided like the plague for the last few years, it had been relationships.

But that was what she’d been doing, hadn’t she? Desperately trying to build lasting relationships with new and old friends? She laughed bitterly. Of course she had, not thinking about what it would mean once she’d pulled it off. More people she could hurt. More people who’d hate her when she disappointed them. And she inevitably would.

Ironic, wasn’t it, that she’d finally recovered from the relationship scars that Angelus had left, only to fall prey to new ones inflicted by Willow?

She reached for the phone with sudden resolve. She’d do it. Call Willow. Confront Willow with her pain, and beg her to forgive her. Maybe this time, instead of avoiding the witch like she’d been doing since the first day she’d returned, she’d try to apologize again.

She racked her memory, struggling to remember Tara’s dorm number with little success. Disappointed, she went downstairs to look for a phone book, only to stop to check the list of important numbers her mother had always had posted on the refrigerator. And there it was: Willow Rosenberg, UCS.

She picked up the phone to dial, only to set it back down in defeat. There was no dial tone. Of course. This was an abandoned house.

This time, when she ran upstairs, she went straight for her mother’s room, seeking maternal solace that she could only reach while curled up in Joyce’s bed.

--

Angel awakened somewhere around sunset in an old, familiar mansion.

How did I…where did I…?

The last thing he remembered was hell. Lots of it. Fire, and pain, and danger…he’d finally given up, surrendered any humanity that was left in him and let his stronger side take the brunt of the pain.

But now…it was almost like he was in Sunnydale again. Was this some new kind of hell, where they dangled your deepest desires in front of you and snatched them away just when you were finally able to hope again?

He inhaled a long, deep sniff, taking in the area around him. Magic. It was strong here, potent and black and- Oh, hell, I really am back.

He stood on suddenly shaky feet.

If she was still around…if it had only been a few days…if it were even just her grandchildren who lived here… He had a girl to see.

--

Spike headed out at nightfall, intending to check on Buffy and comfort her, the space of the day since his confession more than enough time for her to move on from it. In his opinion.

He’d followed her back to Revello Drive the night before, stood under the tree in the front yard and listened to her cries, cursing himself for making it even worse. She hadn’t wanted to hear about his love. She hadn’t wanted the love at all.

Would he never learn? He had to stop falling in love with women who didn’t love him back. And yes, he acknowledged the irony of loving someone so much that for her sake, he wanted to stop loving her. Clearly, Buffy couldn’t handle it.

Or maybe she could just fine, he thought, freezing in his tracks. Because Angel- Angel!¬- had suddenly cut through the cemetery in front of him, and was walking swiftly in the same direction, toward Revello Drive, unnoticing of Spike behind him. Or, apparently, the fact that he was dead. Because Angel? Was not supposed to be around. Ever. Especially not when his girl was…

Buffy stepped into the cemetery, glancing in the direction of his crypt, and Spike felt a sudden surge of hope. Maybe…

Then the Angel-phantom, from just to the left of Buffy’s path, said hoarsely, “Buffy?”

Buffy turned to gape at him, her hand slowly going to her mouth and her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Oh, god, Angel?”

Then the two lovers were kissing fiercely, and Spike was rooted to the spot, gazing at the girl he loved and the man she loved with horror.

A hand tugged at his wrist. “Come on,” Faith ordered him, yanking him in the direction of the crypt. He followed her numbly, unwilling to turn back and see more of the long-gone relationship Buffy had insisted she was over.

Faith shut the crypt door and reached for his shirt. She barely registered in his pounding brain. Instead, he spun, lifted the first bottle he saw and hurled it against the wall with a scream.

“Hey!” Faith said, annoyed. “Take it down a notch or two.”

He ignored her, grabbing his television and throwing it down to the ground with a crash, shoving sarcophagi and the armchair and punching the wall so hard that several of his knuckles shattered. He stared blankly at the ruins that had been his crypt moments before, and his eyes finally lighted on Faith. “What are you doing here?”

Faith shrugged nonchalantly. “Revenge sex can be really great, you know? Forget that bitch.” She moved toward him, but he held her back with one hand.

“Get out of here.”

“But-“

He let loose a growl that would have made a Fyarl stop and run. “Get OUT!”

She sighed in exasperation and exited the crypt, and he dropped to the floor in sudden weariness. He could break every bottle he had in the crypt…or he could drink each one first, and then break them. That was it. Just drown out the pain.

--

Buffy didn’t know what she was doing. In one surreal instant, Angel had been there, an echo of faint memories of stolen kisses in the moonlight, and she’d been suddenly thrown back to a better time where all she’d had to worry about was school and her friends. She’d kissed him, drinking in the illusion, missing the simplicity…

And then she’d realized that it was all real and caught sight of a head of hair so blond, it was nearly glow-in-the-dark, moving away from them at a jerky pace, as though he was being tugged along. And she stared after Spike with mounting self-disgust. What have I done?

“Buffy?” Angel’s soft voice pulled her from her reverie. “Am I really here?”

She stared at him. “Um. Yeah. How are you here?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. I woke up at the mansion, alone. But there were probably strong magics involved.” He blinked at her. “How long was I gone? You look…older.”

Willow. Of course. She can’t force Tara to come home, so she’d rather force Spike and me apart. She managed a smile for Angel’s sake. This wasn’t his fault, no matter how much he’d screwed things up for her. And maybe it was for the best. Maybe she could stop ruining Spike’s life by her association with him, and try to build again with Angel. She quashed Spike’s confession of love from her mind as best as she could. “About three and a half years.” She squeezed his hand. “Come back to my house with me. It doesn’t have electricity or water, but it does have shelter from the sun, and I can explain everything to you there.”

She told him what he’d missed, what she knew about the years that had gone by. She admitted how long she’d been gone, too, and what losing him had done to her. She told of Willow’s powers, of Faith’s role, even of Anya and Tara. But not once did she mention Spike. Spike was hers, and she didn’t want to hear what Angel would say about it, his disappointment with her and condemnation of Spike. Because in the story of her and Spike, Spike was far more innocent than Buffy had been, and he was certainly the wronged party. She didn’t want to hear Angel cheapen what they had by writing Spike off as evilsoullessvampire.

So when dawn broke, she sent him to the basement, promising that she’d pick up blood for him later. On her way upstairs, she’d been startled when she opened the freezer, still a bit cold for lack of being opened, and found blood bags stacked neatly behind the frozen spinach. Spike hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed that he’d spent time with her mother. And he was probably around even more often than he’d said, judging from the amount of blood stocked.

She pulled it out of the freezer, casting an irritable glance at the nonfunctional microwave. Oh, well. Angel would have to drink it cold. Hopefully, it would defrost by the time he woke.

She climbed into bed, wondering what had happened to her vampire. Had Faith taken advantage of this? Was he with her right now? Suddenly very queasy, she went to her window and pulled it open, intending to go find Spike.

No. She inhaled slowly, letting the fresh air fill her lungs. She was finally with someone who wanted her to be there, and she was going to take the curse Willow had meant as the gift it truly was. She would stay with the one-time love of her life.

Except, if what I feel for Angel is love, then I’ve loved Spike a hell of a lot more all along.

She wiped the treacherous thoughts from her mind and forced herself to go to sleep.

--

“Wake up!”

Spike groaned. Was he sober? Not likely, if he thought that Dawn was in his crypt. She’d made her current opinion on him known, and there’s no way that she’d come visit.

“I said, wake up!” No, that was definitely her. There was no way he could hallucinate that unique, high-pitched screech that was Dawn Lehane’s annoyed voice.

“What do you want, Bit?” he mumbled, trying ineffectually to open his eyes.

She punched him on the arm. “It’s been, like, two days since Faith kicked Buffy out. Get over it!”

“Get over it?” His eyes shot open. “I love the traitorous bitch! You don’t just move on from that!”

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “You love Faith? Since when- oh. Buffy.”

“Yes, Buffy.” He shut his eyes again at the jolt of pain that shot through him when he said her name. He would have thought he’d get used to losing his loves to Angelus, but no. It still felt raw. He still wanted to be dead…er.

“So that’s why Faith’s been doing extra hours at Willy’s,” Dawn said knowingly, moving to sit next to him. “What happened to turn you into a crazed drunk, anyway?”

Spike rubbed his head, trying to make his now searing headache go away. “Willow and Faith…they brought back her dead lover. Haven’t seen her since then.”

“That sucks.” Dawn turned to him, suddenly somber. “You really loved each other?”

“I love her. Don’t think she loved me,” Spike admitted.

“You should have told me.”

He squeezed her hand. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But…” She shrugged helplessly. “I guess if you’d said something, before I found out on my own…I mean, you love her. That makes it okay, right? Kind of romantic, even.”

Spike turned away from her. “Not really.” He reached blindly for the closest bottle. “You can get out now. I’ve still got at least another case to drink before I have to go out again.”

“Spike!” Dawn said, frustrated.

He just ignored her until she left.

--

“Do something!” Dawn ordered her sister.

Faith blinked at her from where she’d been sharpening a dagger in anticipation of another night keeping Spike from killing all of Willy’s customers. “Huh?”

“Spike! He’s all drunk and useless and depressed. Fix him!” Dawn stomped her foot against the linoleum floor of the kitchen irritably.

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?” Faith drawled. She had never expected that Willow would do this, would find away to keep the lovers apart, alone, and miserable, but she was going to give it time. Eventually, Buffy would go off into what Willow called “her happy little lala land with Angel” and Spike would come back to Faith for fucks without feeling. He’d moved on from Dru; he could certainly move on from Buffy.

She frowned at a sudden memory, a time when she’d asked him why Dru had dumped him. Dru had cheated on him, claiming that he didn’t belong to her anymore, but to the slayer. Or something like that. Back then, she’d thought the idea of Spike having feelings for her was a riot, and he had, too.

Except what if Drusilla wasn’t talking about me at all? The truth hit her with frightening accuracy, and she shuddered. No, this might be even worse than the Dru breakup.

“He really loves her,” Dawn said, echoing her thoughts. “Make Buffy come back so Spike will be okay.”

“Whatever, Dawnie,” she said dismissively, holstering the dagger and heading for the door.

“Faith!” Dawn protested, exasperated. Faith tamped the guilt down ruthlessly. So maybe Spike would never forgive her for this. But she wasn’t about to go groveling to Buffy to come home.