48. Never break the chain

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, canto iii, stanza 32

Only the broken-hearted know the truth about love.
Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, 13th selection

Love is dead; let lover’s eyes,
locked in endless dreams,
the extremes of all extremes,
ope no more, for now love dies.
John Ford, The Broken Heart



It was an odd thing, watching a couple fall apart, seeing two lives separate. Especially when it wasn’t anticipated.

This wasn’t how she remembered her parents’ split up, there had at least been signs of that happening. The fights, the long nights listening to her mother cry, the missed dinners and family moments, all escalating until they weren’t a family, until her parents weren’t a couple. That end had almost been inevitable.

This was different. This was a zephyr, a blitzkrieg, a rapid strike, this was lightening in a bottle. One moment things were fixable and in the next heartbeat everything was broken.

And now she was the one watching as Willow despondently tried packing up her belongings, using the boxes Spike had emptied earlier. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her chin, plopping indiscriminately onto clothes and papers.

Ordinarily, Dawn would have been moved to pity, moved enough to plead for some form of reprieve, a sort of forgiveness. But this wasn’t ordinary, not even by Sunnydale standards.

Willow paused, the flood of tears rendering further movement impossible. Burying her face in her hands, Willow sobbed broken heartedly.

Dawn was singularly unimpressed. If anything, her sympathies lay completely with the dark blond girl downstairs, who was sitting in the living room with a much calmed Buffy and a still agitated Spike.

By default, Dawn had been the one to stay with Willow while she packed what she could on such short notice. Xander was coming by after bowling, sometime around nine or so, and he would be taking Willow back to her parent’s house. And also by default, Dawn and Tara were going to be the only two home when he arrived, little over three hours from now.

Willow gathered herself and continued packing, while Dawn watched, a silent unforgiving sentinel.


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

It took him about an hour or so of soul searching before he reached a decision. It was two hours since he’d called Buffy’s house in Sunnydale and no one had called him back.

Darla was sleeping, her belly lumping up under his sheets. She was constantly uncomfortable, her body weighed down by more than the unlikely pregnancy. Guilt prayed on her mind, like rabid mice nibbling away on a round of cheese, the souled infant within infecting her.

He loomed over the bed, torn in two. He should stay, watching over Darla, guarding her and protecting the others from her. A part of him wanted to stay, wanted to be here for Darla, but an equal part of him was urging him to go to Sunnydale, to at least see Buffy, to prove to himself she was back in one piece.

Two hours now and still no word from Dawn. No call back from Buffy. His mind refused to believe that Wesley might be right, that Buffy wasn’t ready to see him, wasn’t ready to see anyone.

And Spike was there. No telling what kind of damage he was doing to the two girls.

He told himself that he wasn’t making this decision to go to Sunnydale now, because Spike was there, with two defenseless girls. He told himself he was going because he loved Buffy and needed to see her.

That’s what he told himself.

But he wasn’t entirely sure even he believed it.

Shackling Darla to the bed, Angel figured he could be in Sunnydale long before nine.


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

He eyed the girls warily. If he could, he’d take them both out, get them both away from the house while Willow packed up her things. He probably could get them out, if either of them gave an indication that they wanted away.

Neither did. In fact, sprawled on the couch as they were, neither one looked inclined to move. Shell shocked the pair was. He, on the other hand, was not.

After settling the pair on the couch, Spike had stalked into the kitchen needing something. He’d grabbed a drink, but that hadn’t worked. He needed to hit something, to pound away and work out some of the anger, work off the aggression. There was no way he’d be able to contain his temper until it was time to patrol.

Shortly after moving in, he’d set up some equipment, hanging a punching bag, things he could bash at will without fear of the chip firing.

Stepping back into the living room, he took in the scene before him. Buffy was curled up on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, talking softly to Tara, who was now sitting on the floor next to her.

Girl stuff. Grinning a bit, he waited until they noticed him watching them. “Goin’ downstairs.”

Buffy caught on immediately nodding her understanding. She smiled knowingly going right back to her conversation with Tara.

When Spike was gone, Tara said, “Buffy, what’s he doing?”

She laughed a bit, saying, “he’s gonna beat on the bag for a bit. Work out a couple of things.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

“He’s worried about us.” Buffy smiled again, seeing the confusion in the other girl’s eyes. “Doesn’t like to see either of us upset.”

“I think you mean you.” Tara was shaking her head, disagreeing with Buffy’s words.

“Nope. I mean us. He’ll probably never tell you this and would be all denial guy if you asked him, but he likes you.” At Tara’s disbelieving look, Buffy continued, “oh yeah, too late to get out now. You belong to William the Bloody, you’re one of his.”

Her eyes were twinkling so Tara at first thought Buffy was just teasing her, but when she looked closer she realized that Buffy wasn’t teasing her at all, she was just reacting to her own expression.

“Is that a good thing?” She couldn’t help herself.

“Well, it’s a thing.” Buffy was laughing now.

It was a good sound, Tara realized. Something that had been sadly lacking in the house for a long time.

At least now it wasn’t tinged with tears.


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

Giles was sitting in his office at the shop trying to ignore the ranting that was currently being conducted in the main area and it was proving difficult at best. Anya was typically unsympathetic, alternating between telling Xander to be quiet because he was going to drive away customers and then making snide remarks that went right over the boy’s head.

While he’d hoped for something different Giles was pragmatic enough to realize that something had gone wrong after he’d left the house. He was tempted to call, but had no doubts that the situation there was even more fraught with tension than the one here. Despite his inclination to stay out of their personal lives, he found himself increasingly acting as a surrogate father to nearly all of them, which was disconcerting. Giles never imagined he’d be the father of seven. Not that Spike really needed a father figure. Or Anya. But sometimes the others. . . . Giles sighed, realizing that, by the sound of Xander’s voice, he needed to either quiet the boy down or make him leave.

“I just don’t understand how Buffy would make Willow leave. Its got to be Spike’s influence. He’s going to keep us all away from her and then he’s going to . . . do stuff.” Xander was sitting at the table, while Anya was dusting around him. Neither one noticed his approach.

“Xander. Spike isn’t going to hurt Buffy.” Anya moved about the shop, fixing things, straightening up before the evening rush.

“How do we know that Ahn? We can’t trust him. He’s a vampire. Vampire equals non-trusty.” It was so very clear and black and white to Xander.

“I’ve met some vampires that were very trustworthy. In fact, some of them actually keep . . . ”

Xander cut her off, “not the point. This is Spike we’re talking about. Spike who tried to kill us.’

Anya was shaking her head, “Spike never tried to kill me.”

Giles spoke up, unwilling to let this go further, “you are forgetting Glory and everything he’s done this past summer.”

Both of them looked at him, Anya welcoming his interruption, while Xander’s expression narrowed on the older man. “How can you defend him? He’s a vampire. Aren’t you like sworn to remove them from existence?”

“I’m sworn to help the Slayer and any assistance I receive on behalf of the Slayer is welcome. From wherever it comes.” Giles moved further into the research area, reaching for a cup and setting the automatic teapot to boil. “Its not the first time a Watcher has accepted assistance from an unconventional ally. It isn’t even the first time I’ve done so.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s Spike.” Xander was being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.

“And you are blaming Spike for what now?” Giles wanted to bring this to a conclusion, end Xander’s diatribe.

“Willow has to move out.” His tone and expression were both petulant.

“This is Spike’s fault how?” Giles knew changing Xander’s opinion of Spike was going to be probably the single most difficult task of his life.

“Because . . . he’s Spike. Its got to be his fault.” The petulance was wearing very thin.

Anya caught Giles’ eye and rolled her own eyes at Xander’s childish insistence on blaming Spike.

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps this has nothing to do with Spike at all? And that this is mostly between Willow and Tara?”

Xander gaped at Giles. “Why would you say that?”

Anya’s voice was carefully modulated. “Willow’s using magic without worrying about the consequences. She’s not listening to anyone else. She’s playing with fire and she just doesn’t understand what she’s unleashed.”

Seeing that everything she’d just said went completely over her boyfriend’s head, Anya broke it down again. “She hurt people Xander. Stole something from Tara and Dawn.”

Xander thought for a minute, but his natural reluctance to distrust others surfaced. “How do we know that? I mean, Tara’s the one that keeps saying that. Dawnie doesn’t.”

“Dawn isn’t even talking to Willow.” Anya tossed that out over her shoulder.

“Oh.” There was nothing he could say to that. “Well okay. So why does Tara get to stay? She’s the one doing the breaking up. Maybe she should leave.”

Knowing what he did, Giles couldn’t let that go without comment. “Tara has no place else to go. No dorm rooms and no place else, Willow has a family she can go back to. Tara has none.”

He neglected to add that Buffy had all but insisted Tara stay, with the only alternative that the girls take separate bedrooms. Apparently that compromise hadn’t worked.

It was clear that Xander hadn’t thought of that and his opened mouth indicated as much. “Didn’t think of that.”

Sharing a look with Anya, Giles realized the same thought was in both their heads. Thinking and Xander were usually mutually exclusive things.


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


Tara had gone upstairs a little while ago, needing to relieve a headache that had sprung on her unexpectedly, so she was left to her own devices. She could hear the occasional noise from upstairs as Willow piled up boxes by the stairs and a thud beneath her when Spike gave a particularly good hit. Buffy didn’t feel like moving from the couch, but she also didn’t feel like feeling guilty if she didn’t go up to help Willow.

Instead she followed her feet. And obviously her feet missed Spike because that’s where they were leading the rest of her body. Silly feet. How could we miss Spike – he’s always around, doesn’t give us a chance to miss him. As quietly as she could, Buffy slipped down the basement stairs to watch him.

His movements were fluid, controlled, his sleek muscles flexing beneath marble white skin. Not bothering with taping up his hands or any other preparation, Spike had just started pounding away at the bag. Now, over an hour later, his movements hadn’t slowed or faltered or changed in rhythm. His proximity set off two sets of bells within her, the first was master vamp and the other was pure Spike .

She’d know him anywhere. In a dark hole at the ends of the earth, all senses stripped from her, she had a feeling she would know if he was near.

And she knew he’d know her too.

Just like he’d known she was here the minute she opened the basement door. But he’d kept on, working out his frustrations. He paused a moment, adjusting for the bag’s return swing and she finally spoke.

“Save some of that for patrol.”

“I’ll be fine, jus’ havin’ a go.”

“Its been a day.” Her sigh was deep and heartfelt.

“That it has love, an’ hours left.”

He didn’t need to be facing her to see the grimace. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Spike grabbed the bag and said, “need to talk to you Buffy.”

“Gonna look at me while you do it?”

With a slight grin, Spike turned, saying “could look at you all day, kitten.”

She gave him a delightful blush as a reward.

“Giles had more news.”

“Figured that. What’s the 411?”

Shaking his head at her deliberate misuse of English, Spike stood in front of her as she sat on the stairs. “Darla’s back in LA.”

“No . . . oh god. Is everyone okay? Is Wes?” She was immediately on edge.

“Yeah. They’re all in one piece. Darla’s not in any condition to be torturing innocents.”

Spike heaved a sigh, drawing one of her hands up to his mouth for a quick kiss. “Seems Darla’s got a bit of a condition.”

“Is it fatal? Coz that would be of the good.”

“Dunno, love, not sure how this is goin’ t’ end. She’s pregnant. And before you ask, it’s his.”

“What? I thought . . . Spike, what’s going on?” She was confused and the confusion showed clearly on her face.

Threading their fingers together, Spike launched into the tale as best he could, leaving out nothing. Getting to the part about Angel’s theory, Spike wouldn’t look at her. This affected them both, if Angel’s theory had any weight at all, this was something they had to at least be aware of.

Buffy watched him throughout, knew when he was fighting his own nature to try and lie to her, to try and hide the truth. She was very aware of everything, the hard wood beneath her, the gentle swing of the punching bag, the smell of bleach and unwashed socks, her own heartbeat echoing in her ear. And him.

Standing over her, studiously avoiding her upturned gaze, Spike’s whole body was taut with tension. Her eyes traced his averted face, idly noting his clenched jaw. Dark lashes covered his crystal eyes and Buffy got a sudden vision of a baby’s face with his eyes. Her breathing hitched and her heart beat changed. Enough for him to notice, enough for him to steal a glance at her features, to tighten his grip on her hand. Mistaking the changes as triggering a different reaction, Spike was surprised when instead of tears he found an enigmatic look on her face and a faraway stare in her eyes.

“Buffy?”

“Angel got Darla pregnant.” She stopped, aware of just how strange that sounded. “After she came back from dust.”

“Yeah, sounds a bit dicey.”

“And I thought weird stuff only happened on the hellmouth.” Buffy’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“You’re not upset?” Spike’s voice was laced with perplexity.

“Should I be? Angel isn’t part of my life anymore. Hasn’t been for two years. Aside from the creepy factor, its no big thing.”

He peered at her, trying to sense any change in her that may have indicated she wasn’t being completely truthful. Far as he could sense she was fine.

“What ‘bout the other?”

“Angel’s theory?” Buffy looked straight at him, almost daring him to look away. “Is it a bad theory?”

“Opposite. Has the ring of truth.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Sometimes he just didn’t understand this girl. He loved her deeply but he just couldn’t figure her out.

“I don’t think so, but you need to know.”

Buffy tugged him closer, whispering, “I don’t either.”


[A/N: I’m still not sure if I’m going to just continue writing this as one HUGE long story or break things up. Any thoughts? Either way, this has been . . . I just am not sure how to describe this, but its been great. You’ve no idea how much your kind words and acceptance of my little story mean to me. Without you, the readers, this wouldn’t be worth anything except the paper its printed on. The title comes from Genesis, from a B side (meaning it was never on an album) song called Evidence of Autumn. It’s a really sweet song about lost love, and well. Its just nice. Quotes as attributed. Disclaimers are still in full force and effect. I own nothing]

Previously: Willow’s bags are packed and she’s waiting for Xander to arrive. Angel has left Los Angeles and is on his way to Sunnydale; unbeknownst to anyone. And Spike has just shared Angel’s baby theory with Buffy. This picks up mmediately where we left everyone.

49. The girl from all those songs

A love that dies has never lived.
Franz Grillparzer, Notebooks and Diaries

The girl from all those songs
who made everything feel right
she came in like an angel, into your lonely life
and filling your world with light
oh and everybody told you “you’re oh so lucky”
Genesis, Evidence of Autumn



He was speechless. Gobsmacked. Buffy was sitting on the basement steps, her hand fisting in his shirt, smiling up at him. Spike wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly or that he was understanding her completely.

“Buffy?”

Pulling him closer, she looked up at him, mischief in her eyes. “Yeah?”

“You hearin’ me?” Spike wasn’t exactly fighting her off or resisting, he just wanted to make sure she had heard him and understood.

“Loud and clear.” Their faces were inches apart and her warm breath blew across his lips.
His nostrils flared, catching her scent woven with traces of his own, and the need for her rose up in him like a big cat scenting his mate. His knees collapsed onto the riser below where she sat, her legs opening, brushing against his flanks. Spike tilted his head just watching her breath, a knowing smile playing across her lips. Her hand slid up around his neck, playing with the fine hairs at his nape, her touch burning against his skin.

“Buffy?” Her name rolled off his tongue, dark chocolate intertwined with the roughness of whiskey and leather, his fingers reaching out to brush against her cheek.

“Mmmm?” Was all she said, closing the gap between their mouths, her eyes lazily drifting closed. He held himself away, teasing them both, drawing out the moment.

His tongue reached across the distance, unable to resist tasting her, licking across her lips. Opening hers, Buffy smiled, breathing him in. Taking the smile for the invitation it was, his mouth invaded hers, slowly, gently but strongly without fear of rejection. Her breath caught in her throat as his hand drifted down her side, cupping her breast, running his fingers over the shielded surface. Pulling her close, Spike deepened the kiss, lifting her in his arms and staggering to his feet.

“Love you so much.” He whispered against her ear, his cool breath ruffling her hair. “Never leave you.”

Buffy tightened her arms around him, her heartbeat speeding up at his words, her head falling against his shoulder, just listening to the sound of his voice. Smiling against his skin, she breathed out “I know.”


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

Xander had finally left, taking off to go bowling and then pick up Willow and her hastily packed belongings. Giles was drinking a cup of strong Earl Grey, watching Anya as she filled out orders.

“Giles we should think about expanding.” Checking their current stock of deadly herbs behind the counter, Anya quickly inventoried their supplies.

Fighting a smile at her efficiency, Giles asked “and why is that?”

“There’s clearly a market niche for our services and if we expand via the internet and mail order business, we’ll have minimal overhead and lots more money.”

“Mail order is very time consuming. One of us would spend an enormous amount of time daily just filling orders.” Giles found himself watching her carefully, noting, not for the first time either, that she was very perceptive. The others wrote her off as being blunt and singleminded in her pursuits, but Giles found her candor refreshing, so long as it wasn’t at his expense. Her willingness to work hard was a definite asset.

“Well,” she said interrupting his musing, “we could hire someone just to do mail orders. This way I wouldn’t lose any valuable consumer interaction time.”

“Obviously you’ve thought this through. There are a few drawbacks though.” Anya turned to face him, her arms crossed in front of her, waiting for his next words. “We’d have to get a website running and we’d have to . . .”

She waved off his objections. “Already done. And before you ask, I didn’t use Willow. I got Jonathon to do it.”

“How?” He shook his head in near disbelief.

“I told him he owes us for saving his life all those times. And that I’d give him a discount on any purchases for one year.”

Raising an eyebrow, he waited for her to continue.

“Its good business. Besides, its only a prototype, a test site. If we like it, he gets the discount. If not, he gets nothing.”

Creative blackmail. Giles was convinced she was a bloody financial genius. So far every single marketing ploy she’d implemented had made them money. He had no reason to doubt her now.

“All right. I’ll take a look at it. How many days do we have to test it before we agree?”

“Thirty.”

She turned away when the overhead bell at the door rang. He watched her greet the incoming customers, an amused half smile on his features.

She really was a remarkable girl.


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

Willow and Tara were both upstairs, although in separate rooms. Tara was currently napping in Dawn’s bed while Willow was still packing up her belongings. The remaining three were downstairs in the living room, the television on as background noise and the glass living room doors closed off to block the hallway. They ate in comfortable silence, Dawn sitting on the floor between them, two pizza boxes on the coffee table. She kept stealing Spike’s wings, giggling every time one disappeared into her mouth.

Buffy had watched them, laughing right along with her sister, whenever Spike growled at her.

This was fun.

Fun like it hadn’t been in a very long time. Since long before their mother got sick.

Buffy decided it was over far too soon because suddenly it was time for them to leave.

“Dawnie. We’re taking the cell phone. If anything happens, call and we’ll come right home.”

“You mean other than Xander being a jerk?” Her eyes darted between the two standing in the hallway.

“Yeah, other than that.” Buffy shot a glance at Spike.

“He’s not likely to get too bad ‘s long as I’m not here. Should be fine Platelet.” Spike pulled her hair, then play shoved her when she smacked him.

“He’s gonna say something stupid though.” Dawn made faces at Spike, trying to distract him.

“Well wouldn’t be him if he didn’t.”

They were out the door and long gone before Dawn realized he’d tied her hair in knots.


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

When he drove into Sunnydale, it was just past eight thirty, the night sky was settling into full darkness. He headed straight for Restfield, parking as close as possible to the nearest entrance. The place was quiet, no one wandering about, no vampires or other creatures of the night out seeking prey. In fact, the only one on the premises was him.

Angel made his way slowly to the spot where they buried her, reluctant to view the evidence of her death once more. He’d spent the last two hours thinking about his conversation with Wesley, realizing reluctantly that perhaps he shouldn’t just knock on the door, announcing his uninvited presence.

The ground had been disturbed. There was evidence that something had happened here. He didn’t know the particulars, hadn’t bothered to get the full story from Wesley, or even find out if the Englishman even knew the whole truth. It didn’t matter. Angel’s temper began to simmer, believing that somehow Spike was at fault for all this. He couldn’t imagine anyone else daring enough to attempt something of this magnitude. Or quite as stupid.

Giles was still in Sunnydale. Still owned the Magic Shop. Angel made his way out of the cemetery, his stride covering the distance back to his car in mere moments. He had no illusions that Spike’s latest sins were going to set the watcher against him.

He just wanted to be there to help take care of Spike.


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

They walked into the shop, hand in hand, laughing like they hadn’t a care in the world. It was a sight that Giles hadn’t seen in a very long time. Probably, if he truly thought about it, he’d never seen such a glimmer in her eyes. They might be unconventional, even by hellmouth standards, but as a couple they made a striking pair.

“Hey Giles.”

“Hello Buffy. Spike” Motioning them both to the table, he spoke quietly so the few customers wouldn’t overhear. “Everything all right?”

“We’re doing okay. Everything else? Not so much.” Buffy looked around, noticing that Anya had her hands full, saying “Willow’s all weepy and Tara’s, well, she’s doing okay I think.”

“Glinda’s all right.” Spike nodded his agreement with Buffy. “So long as the whelp keeps his yap shut.”

“Little chance of that happening. He was rather vocal earlier. I take it nothing went well?”

“Well” started Buffy with heavy inflection and drawing out the one word to sound like three, “I hadn’t planned on being outburst girl and . . . She lied to us right there about calling Angel.”

“Oh dear.” Giles took off his glasses, peering at the two of them. “And Tara asked her to leave?”

It was Spike who answered. “No, Niblet did it. Th’ other two were . . . Glinda told her after, yeah, but ‘t was Niblet who said it first.”

“Dawnie said Willow’s going back to her parents for a bit.” Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happening, everything. . . When did stuff get so weird?”

She sat down in one of the chairs, looking up at the two men. “I don’t understand her anymore.”

Unfortunately, neither one of them had a good answer for her. “So not wanting to deal with this.”

“I think you should, well, perhaps its for the best that she go to her parents for a while.” Giles wasn’t really sure how he felt about this turn of events. It would probably be safer all around for someone to keep a close eye on Willow and the easiest way to do that was to have her stay in Buffy’s house. On the other hand, given Willow’s actions of the past few weeks, and the message from the Huntsman, some distance might be better all around.

Changing the subject, Giles drew their attention to one of the books that was opened on the table. “I’ve found something of importance, regarding the Wild Hunt.”

“The who-hah?”

He could tell by the look on her face she was teasing him but Giles fell for her ploy. “Really Buffy, must you?”

His only answer was a soft giggle.

He was just about to show them something else, when the bell over the door rang. Glancing up automatically, Giles stiffened, moving to block their view of the entrant.

“Hello Giles.”

Buffy froze then looked at Spike, who was sitting across from her, his movement stilled. Oh god, oh god, not this not now. Please, I’m dreaming this, this isn’t real. Buffy’s eyes closed, her hand automatically seeking Spike’s. She didn’t know how he did it, but he was round the table and at her side before her breathing returned to normal.

His voice was pitched low, so that only she could hear the words, though Giles was intensely aware of the shift behind him, and Spike leaned in close to her. “Kitten? It’s goin’ to be all right. I’m here.”

She clutched at him, her fingers constricting around his, holding on tight. “Spike?”

“Right here love.”

Buffy collapsed against him, her head dropping down to rest on his shoulder, her arms pulling them together.

“Angel.” Giles moved to shield them, blocking Angel’s view of the table.

Spike silently moved them into the corner, so they were further blocked by the display shelves. She was shaking in his arms panting breaths heaving against his skin. “Hey, kitten, slow down . . . shhhh . . . I’m here.”

His voice was softer than a whisper, felt rather than heard. Buffy raised her head from his shoulder, her warm fingers sliding around his face, resting against his cheeks. Her forehead rested for an instant against his then she moved back fractionally. “Spike? Promise me . . . . “

“Always Buffy. Goin’ to stay always.”

Tears fell from her eyes only to be caught by his cool fingers. Her lip quivered as she drew in a steadying breath. His thumb brushed over her face, ending at her lips and she kissed it as he smoothed it over them.

“I love you” he whispered, “always.”

They held still, lost in each other, while Giles spoke above them.

“Why are you in Sunnydale Angel?”

Anya had drifted closer standing next to him while he faced the vampire.

“Willow called me. Told me Buffy was back.”

The girl at his side flinched but Giles had suspected this would happen sooner or later.

“I see.”

Angel had come no further into the shop than the steps using the added height to intimidate. “How did he do it? Used black magic?”

“By he I assume you mean Spike?” Giles was going to enjoy blasting holes through Angel’s misconceptions. Sharing a glance with Anya, Giles smirked a bit. “It wasn’t Spike. Willow brought her back.”

“Willow?” That set him back momentarily, but Angel leapt right back into his assumptions. “So he got Willow to do his dirty work? Typical. I told you he couldn’t be trusted.”

Angel looked smug. At least until Anya spoke up.

“Hardly. Willow did this all on her own. Used Lethe’s Bramble on Tara and Dawn and, well, I think the power’s going to her head.” Anya chirped that last bit conspiratorially, causing Giles’ smile to widen.

“What? Willow did all that?” Angel shook his head. “Are you sure Spike wasn’t involved in some way?”

Not once taking her eyes from Spike’s, Buffy spoke up “positive.”

“Buffy?” Angel’s voice held a thousand differing emotions and he fairly flew down the steps to circle around Giles and Anya. What he witnessed stopped him in his tracks.

She was there. Whole. Safe.

Kissing Spike.


[A/N: Remember how I said I didn’t like Xander? Well, I don’t like Angel either. I have a lot of issues (if only you guys knew) with the casting of that part. He doesn’t look like an angel at all, unless you are talking one of the lesser ones; why the writers chose to make him Irish, I’ve no idea. The actor’s lame and piss-poor attempts at an Irish accent must have made the real Englishman and the real Irishman cringe. The attempts made me cringe. The title comes from a song by Depeche Mode, Enjoy the Silence, from the album Violator (damn freakin’ fine music). Quotes are as attributed, and the disclaimers are still in full force and effect. I own nothing, not even the contents of my desk.]

Previously: Xander is on his way to get Willow. And Angel has arrived at the Magic Box and seen Buffy . . . and Spike. Immediately following the last chapter.

50. Words like violence

Memories are just where you laid them
drag the waters ‘till the depths give up their dead
what did you expect to find?
was there something you left behind?
don’t you remember anything I said
when I said
don’t fall away, and leave me to myself
don’t fall away and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
love lies bleeding
Fuel, Hemorrhage from the album Something Like Human

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted
more than to feel you deep in my heart
there was nothing in the world that I ever wanted
more than to never feel the breaking apart
all my pictures of you.
The Cure, Pictures of you, from the album Disintegration

The turning point in the process of growing up
is when you discover the core of strength
within you that survives all hurt.
Max Lerner, The Unfinished Country


He couldn’t be seeing what his eyes were looking at. There’s no possible way he was seeing this. This was not happening. Angel blinked, then looked at Giles, who wasn’t moving to separate the two. He blinked again hoping the vision would go away. Anya sighed a little, which drew Giles’ attention, then smiled wistfully.

Angel tried one more time. He cleared his throat and the two blondes broke apart reluctantly. Buffy’s head rested against Spike’s and even his ears didn’t hear the words murmured between the two. All he could hear was the low vibrations of Spike’s voice and Buffy’s answering murmur.

“Buffy?” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until the others looked at him.

Spike lifted his head away from Buffy’s, raising his eyes to meet Angel’s intense gaze. Neither man looked away. Anger was rolling off Angel in waves, both humans feeling it. Buffy turned around, holding onto Spike’s hand, all signs of her previous tears gone.

“Hello Angel.”

“What the hell is going on?” His tone was snappish.

“Nice to see you too.” Buffy wasn’t in the mood for this, wasn’t ready for this confrontation at all, but apparently today was full of major badness. She offered nicely, “sit down Angel.”

“I’ll stand.” He shot back, not even waiting for her to finish speaking.

“Angel please sit.” She tried again, this time sounding more weary that anything else.

“I’d rather stand.” His hands were fisted at his side, tension tightening his jaw.

“So you can be all looming guy?” Buffy paused, leaning back against Spike. “Please sit down.”

Spike kicked one of the chairs, pushing it away from the table in a belligerent invitation then dropped Buffy’s hand. “Sit you bloody great git. Do as the girl asked.”

If anything, Spike’s actions had broken the other two from their inertia. Giles turned away to go lock the front door, while Anya hurried over to the last customers. Angel, however, wasn’t impressed.

“What are you doing Spike?” He still hadn’t moved.

“Angel please just sit down.” Buffy tried one last time, almost pleading with him.

He finally looked at her, and something in her eyes pierced his anger because he sat down, after pulling out a different chair from the one Spike had kicked.

“Thank you” was all she said.

They sat in awkward silence for long minutes. Buffy was leaning against Spike, her eyes downcast, trying to avoid Angel’s pointed stare. She was very conscious of the fact there were complete strangers in the shop and her mind was desperately seeking and discarding different ways to avoid the coming confrontation. She knew there was going to be one. The moment Angel had walked in the door that had been a foregone conclusion. Why did he have to come? Why did Willow do this? What the heck am I gonna do now?

It was impossible not to feel the increasing tension in Spike’s body. He hadn’t taken a breath since she’d turned around to face Angel and she was suddenly desperate to make him understand she was scared and worried and upset and confused . . . but not about him. Shifting in her chair, her head resting against his upper arm, Buffy knew this wasn’t enough contact. Wriggling around, she nudged his arm, bumping up against his hard bicep. Her fingers reached for his under the table, squeezing hard when she found his. For long seconds he didn’t move, but when she nudged him again, Spike took the hint. He leaned back, almost lounging in the chair, his right arm circling the back of Buffy’s chair. Their left hands were melded together, Buffy clinging tightly, their legs pressed against each other from hip to knee.

Angel watched them, his expression growing more thunderous by the second. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” His tone was harsh, the words clipped and terse.

“Ease off you bloody jackass.” Spike’s voice was low and dangerous, almost growling.

“Tell . . . me . . . what . . . is . . . going . . . on.”

“Quit makin’ demands peaches.” His actions hidden by Buffy, Spike moved his right hand, sliding it under her shirt, needing to touch her skin. She relaxed against him, an unconscious sigh of relief shuddering through her. “Ask nicely an’ we might tell ya.”

Angel clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth, laying a fisted hand on the table. Buffy imperceptibly shrank back against Spike. Giles came to stand beside the pair, lending his support, his eyes boring into Angel’s.

Caving in, Angel unclenched his jaw long enough to say, “please.”

Buffy opened her mouth to start, but Giles’ voice sounded from above her, saving her the explanation.

He narrated it almost dispassionately, clinically, laying out only the bare facts. It was a marked contrast to the way they’d explained things to Wesley and those who were there for both encounters knew it.

Spike watched the imperceptible reactions displayed by Angel. Only someone who knew the vampire well would be able to see them and he’d spent nearly twenty years learning all the nuances of the Irish vampire’s moods. Angel was in a towering rage – the kind that only he used to incite – the kind that only a good bloodletting would assuage.

Who that rage was directed at was anyone’s guess.

Which was why, despite his thumb running across Buffy’s back, Spike was poised for action.

A long silence filled the shop when Giles finished.


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

Her boxes were all packed, waiting by the door for Xander to come and load them into his car. Everything she’d accumulated in two years was in those boxes. Her life encased in cardboard. Willow stood in the kitchen, waiting . . . hoping that Tara would come downstairs before she left, before it was too late.

She wanted to see her face once more, gaze into her blue eyes, hoping to find some trace of the love they’d shared still within her. But Tara wouldn’t come down, was still upstairs in Dawn’s room, secluded away from Willow.

Willow was afraid to go upstairs to confront her – afraid of the rejection she was almost certain would happen. She hadn’t . . . Dawn had ignored her, refusing to even look in her direction after all her boxes were packed and piled up beside the front door. The teenager was watching television, flipping channels, pretending she was alone.

Xander was due any minute.

And Willow couldn’t stop the tears.


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

“So Willow did all this on her own?” It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular and Giles once again chose to answer.

“Yes. She waited until I was on my way back to England and Spike was out patrolling.”

“And Willow retrieved you from a hell dimension?” He paused, then, “that explains this,” motioning at the blond pair.

“Angel.” Buffy leaned forward, letting Spike’s hand go, dropping her hand to grasp his thigh. “Stop it.”

“Well have you got any other explanation for what you’re doing?” He got up, no longer able to keep still. “This is . . . I didn’t leave so you could fall into the arms of . . . Spike?”

“In the room.” Spike’s voice was very dangerous.

Angel tried ignoring his statement, just like he’d been ignoring Spike’s presence since he’d arrived. Pacing around, Angel turned around to face Buffy.

“What are you doing? What is this?” Angel’s voice was harsh and full of disdain.

She was very conscious of Spike beside her. His body close, his irregular breathing wafting across her shoulder. Buffy wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. His hand flexed against her back then let go. She tensed, knowing Spike was about to launch into a verbal attack, trying to come up with some way to divert it.

It came from the most unlikely source.

“Why does everyone think Buffy was in a hell dimension?” Anya was shaking her head, “she was probably stuck somewhere very boring, someplace heroes go, unless it was Valhalla.”

Smiling very brightly, Anya continued, “well, she’s a hero right, the Chosen One. It just is logical for her to go to well, some sort of reward.”

Rocking forward, she smiled wider, noticing the shared looks. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” Buffy shook her head in disbelief that Anya, of all people, would figure out something this important on her own. “It wasn’t a hell dimension.”

Spike’s hand slid back under her shirt, his fingers splayed across her warm skin. She leaned back resting against him. Angel narrowed his eyes, watching the two of them. “So what, you came back from Valhalla and just decided to take up with William?”

He said his name with such contempt that Buffy flinched. “Stop it Angel.”

“No Buffy, I don’t get this and I’m not going to stop.” Angel was leaning on the table, looming over the blond pair.

“Get over yourself peaches, the girl obviously has.’ Spike’s posture was deceptively lazy.

Giles thought he was watching a bear trying to incite a panther into fighting over a particularly good kill, but the panther already had the prey. It was a fitting analogy, only he wasn’t entirely comfortable with thinking of Buffy as prey.

Squeezing his thigh, Buffy turned her head to share a look with Spike. Neither one spoke, just stared at each other, then Buffy leaned into him. He kissed her forehead and smiled grimly.

“Angel come with me.” Buffy got up from the table, moved purposely toward the training room, not waiting for any acknowledgment from him.

Spike watched her go, watched Angel as he stood there stunned, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. Angel whirled around, following after Buffy.

The smirk disappeared and Spike’s voice sounded softly in the air. “Bloody fucking hell.”

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

She was standing in the middle of the training room, running her hands over the pommel horse, her back to the inner doorway. He stood watching her for a moment, unsure of what was about to happen, unsure what to say. Welcome back felt really inappropriate.

“I loved you so much you know. With everything I had, everything . There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for you.” She paused, not looking at him. “I defied Giles, lied to him and everyone else for you – even after everything you did when you were Angelus.”

He must’ve made some noise, because she turned further away from him. “No. Its my turn to say this. Let me say this first. I loved you . . . and I thought you loved me back.”

“But . . . I don’t know anymore.” She stopped moving, ducking her head down, studying the floor. “People in love don’t make decisions alone, they don’t hide from each other. They don’t treat . . . . they don’t make the other person feel like something less than what they are.”

Angel took a step closer to her. “Buffy I didn’t . . . “

“Oh yes you did Angel. You treated me like something you needed to protect – like a possession. Like I wasn’t smart enough to make a decision without you.”

“You always made pronouncements or issued orders and expected me to just . . . go along with what you decided was best for us.”

“I made the right decisions.”

“You made easy decisions Angel. They weren’t always the right ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angel wasn’t understanding her.

“It was easy to walk away. Easy to run to LA. Easy to give up being human to protect me.” This time she did look at him.

“How did you know about that? That was supposed to be erased from your memory.”

“See, making a decision you thought was best.” Pausing, she said, “I remembered a lot of things after I died. . . . and even more when I came back.”

“Buffy, it as for the best, what I did that day.”

“Keep telling yourself that. You made that decision alone, just like when you decided to spy on me one Thanksgiving.”

“Buffy, I wasn’t spying, was just trying to spare you. It was torture for me that day. I didn’t want to hurt you further by being there.”

“Another time you tried making a decision for me.” She shifted on her feet, prelude to some other movement, then thinking better of it, stood her ground.

“So you spared my feelings by hiding and stalking me? What was that? It hurt more to find out that you’d been here and didn’t want to see me.” She held up a hand to forestall his retort.

“That’s not love Angel. I’m not sure what it is, but its not love.” Buffy folded her arms across her chest, craving the comfort of Spike’s arms, but knowing she had to do this alone. “You never once asked me what I wanted, what I needed.”

“I was thinking about what was best for you.”

“You know what? Not impressed with other people thinking they know what’s best for me. Its kinda my decision to be making.”

“And that includes deciding to be with Spike?”

“Funny thing about Spike. He doesn’t decide what’s best for me, he lets me figure it out on my own.” Buffy reflected on how Spike had gotten her to change her mind about telling Giles where she’d been. “And he isn’t always happy about my decisions, but he lets me make them.”

She waved a hand, “and so not the point.”

“It is the point Buffy. You’re making a mistake. He’s not . . . what about the chip in his head? What happens when that goes haywire?” Angel couldn’t believe his ears.

“Not worried about that right now.” And she wasn’t. But she wouldn’t talk to Angel about the chip before talking to Giles or Spike. In fact, he was probably the last one she would talk to about Spike’s chip.

“This isn’t about Spike. This is about you and me, Angel.” Buffy moved a step away as Angel moved closer into the room.

“He’s a killer.”

“So are you. So am I.” Buffy stopped moving when he did.

“What we had Angel wasn’t real. Wasn’t love.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because Angel, love doesn’t go away when you don’t see the other person, it doesn’t just stop. Love doesn’t die. Love stays . . . even when you’re gone. When there’s no hope of ever seeing that other person again. Love . . takes care of the ones you care about . . the ones you left behind. Love never leaves . . . and love is there when you come back against all odds.”

There were tears in her voice, matching the ones that sprang to her eyes. Angel looked at her, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

“What we had wasn’t love. You never loved me Angel.”

“I did” he paused, “I do, Buffy, I still do.”

“No you don’t.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, fighting off the nonexistent chill. “Tell me something Angel, would you have stayed for Dawn, to take care of her?”

“What?” He was surprised by her sudden change of subject.

“If the others hadn’t been around, if Spike hadn’t been here, would you have stayed in Sunnydale to take care of my sister after I died?”

“Buffy, I . . LA. . that’s my life. I couldn’t just abandon that.”

“Not even for my memory.” Buffy echoed Spike’s words. “No, of course you couldn’t.”

“That’s not love Angel.”

“And what, you’re telling me that because Spike had no where else to go, that’s love?” Angel almost laughed, but Buffy’s expression stopped him.

“He could have gone anywhere , he is still a master vampire of the Aurelius line.” Buffy shot back at him, anger rising in her belly.

“Spike stayed because I asked him to, the night I died. Because he loves me and Dawn. Because he doesn’t know how not to love. He stayed and took care of Dawnie and patrolled and he even took care of my friends and he hates some of them. Spike did all that because he loves me.”

The tears were openly sliding down her cheeks now, her shoulders shaking with emotion.

“It was Spike who rescued me that night – took care of me . . . “ her breath hitched, caught on a soft sob, “he’s been taking care of me since. That’s love Angel. . . “

She smiled then, like sunshine breaking through clouds, the tears drying up. Her eyes focused on something behind him and before he turned around Angel knew it was Spike.

“Go back to LA, Angel – go back to Darla.”

And he watched while Buffy crossed the room, walking toward Spike, an expression he’d never seen on her features.




[A/N: Emotionally draining moments can be more exhausting than physical violence. Words that have been held for years are sometimes the hardest to let escape. Releasing old hurts is very cathartic. I was always waiting for that moment with Buffy – and it never really came. Poor girl. I should probably explain my last notes. I actually liked Angel when he left Sunnydale and went to LA – I just didn’t like the pairing of Buffy and Angel (cause chemistry – they didn’t have it). Angel and Cordelia were a much better couple. The title is from a Dave Matthews song – although I’m not really sure the song’s lyrics really apply here, I just liked the title. The quotes are as attributed and the disclaimers are still in full force and effect.]

Previously: Buffy settled some things with her first love. This starts exactly where we left everyone.

1. The space between your heart and mine

Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest . .
William Butler Yeats, He Bids His Beloved Be at Peace

Peace and rest at length have come
all the day’s long toil is past,
and each heart is whispering, “home,
home at last.”
Thomas Hood, Home at last.



He’d become so attuned to her in the short weeks since she’d returned, aware of her every mood, quickly learning what might cause her a problem. The return of the great foreheaded one was without a doubt something to set her off. Just the end of this whole damn day was enough to set her off and cause a backslide of enormous proportions. It was bad enough when they’d tried to get her to go shopping. This was bound to be twice as difficult. He paced around the shop, shooting glances at the closed training room door, every couple of moments. This was . . . god, what he wouldn’t give to be able to fight this battle for her. To tell the Irish git that he could go back from whence he came.

But he couldn’t. Because there was a small part of him that feared she wouldn’t be able to do that. Wouldn’t be able to tell Angel he wasn’t wanted here in Sunnydale. That she didn’t love him anymore. That they were no longer a part of each other’s lives, except as memories.

And that part of him was also afraid that he would burst into that room only to find the two of them snogging like teenagers.

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d found Angelus with his lady-love. But he thought this one might be the hardest of all to recover from.

Pacing around, he nearly walked into Giles, who was watching the doorway with almost as much concern. They’d been in there for a while and Spike could feel his own agitation growing. Before he realized it, he was at the door, leaning against it, straining to hear any sounds from within. Nothing clear came through, only the sound of her voice. It was enough.

Spike opened the door slowly, to hear her saying, “it was Spike who rescued me that night, took care of me. . . “ and he winced when the tears that he’d heard in her voice broke, a soft sob hitching in her throat, “he’s been taking care of me since. That’s love Angel.”

He’d made no sound, made no move other than to barely open the door, but when the last words crossed her lips, he drifted inside the doorway, leaning back against the wall, just watching her. Buffy sensed his entrance, shifting her head to look at him, smiling at him through her tears and he stopped breathing just to watch her walk toward him. Spike almost didn’t hear the last thing she said to Angel, only catching the end of it, which sounded suspiciously like “go back to Darla.”

And then she was in his arms, her face buried against his neck, holding on tightly.


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

The last of the boxes was loaded, every trip, beyond the first one, conducted in silence. When he’d first arrived, Xander had hugged Willow for long moments, letting her sob onto his shoulder. Dawn had barely returned Xander’s greeting, smiled at him once, her attention immediately refocused on the television.

Willow was standing in the hallway, staring at nothing, praying for Tara to come down the stairs. Xander stood in the doorway, watching her. “C’mon Will.”

He tugged on her arm, pulling her outside, drawing her away from the stairs. “Wait right here, I’ll be right back.”

Xander walked in the door, closing it firmly behind him. “Dawn, where’s Buffy?”

Without looking at him, she said, “out patrolling.”

“This isn’t right Dawn. Letting Willow leave . . . letting Spike throw her out.”

“What are you talking about?” Dawn finally looked up at him. “Spike had nothing to do with this.”

“He probably rigged the whole thing to separate you from the rest of us.”

“Xander are you deranged? Spike never even said a word to Willow. I’m the one who told her she had to leave.”

“No. Dawnie, why would you?” Xander was completely confused now.

“Willow’s off the deep end Xander.” She was losing her patience, not that she’d had much to begin with, especially regarding this situation.

“How can you say that?” He moved closer into the living room, trying to keep her attention.

“Because its true. She’s like so not herself. Doing freaky magic things.” Dawn got up, moving away from Xander toward the kitchen. She really didn’t want to be having this conversation with him.

“That’s not freaky – she’s not hurting anyone.” Xander parroted with what Willow had kept on insisting.

“Gee, then Tara and I don’t count. Thanks Xander.” The sarcasm was dripping from her tone, impossible for even him to miss.

“Oh c’mon, Dawnie, she did that to rescue Buffy from hell.” He kept following her as she moved about the living room.

“Yeah sure she did. Only Buffy wasn’t in a hell dimension. Willow kind of lied about that.”

“What?” He was shocked.

“Buffy was in heaven Xander. Willow pulled her out of heaven .”

“She’s also been lying to us.” Tara’s voice preceded her down the stairs. “She called Angel and lied . . . “

“How do you know that?” Xander cut her off, feeling defensive.

“Because Angel called here earlier and left a message. He said Willow had called him.”

Making her way down the steps, Tara stopped on the last riser. “I don’t trust her anymore Xander, and maybe if she hadn’t lied to our faces about telling Angel, we . . . well, Buffy might’ve let us both stay, but she did.”

Tara rested her arm on the newel post, watching Xander for signs of comprehension. At the time Willow had proposed calling Angel, Xander had thought it was a good idea. But now he wasn’t so sure.

“So what happens now?” Xander’s head was reeling from all the information.

“We go back to everyday stuff Xander. We try to pick up the pieces.” Tara shrugged, not really sure where they were going, or what was in store, only knowing this was a sort of ending.

There was a noise at the front door and Dawn said, “take Willow home.”


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

He held her for long endless minutes, ignoring the third presence in the room. Angel wasn’t important now Buffy was. Spike had no idea what had been said beyond the little bit at the end. Right now that was enough.

The tears had dried up but she was still shaking. Buffy had dug her fingers into his sides, her nose butting his sternum. One of his hands held her tight around the waist, while the other stroked her, running over her hair and back. Neither one of them spoke, it wasn’t like they needed words anyway. Her face was hot, the warmth leeching through to his skin, tears and snot wetting the cotton fabric of his tee shirt. Spike leaned back against the wall, his shoulders resting against the brick. Buffy sighed against him, her breath warming him.

“Love you kitten” he murmured into her hair, feeling her smile. The shaking increased, her fingers digging in hard, the tremors rippling throughout her body. Suddenly she sagged against him, letting it all go. Spike held on, whispering against her, wishing he could just whisk her out of here. She needed to be home, tucked into her own bed, away from the stress of the day.

It had been a hellacious day though it had started out so promising. Spike had no idea what in all hell had gone wrong but something had. Buffy slumped against him, her body molded to his, utterly spent. His attention was all for her and he didn’t even notice when Angel left the training room.


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

Giles was watching the door, straining his ears to hear what was going on behind that closed door. Spike had gone in about ten minutes prior and there’d been nothing since. No noises. No shouting. Giles was hoping that was a good sign. If something were going on with Buffy and Angel, no doubt Spike would have stormed out, leaving the pair alone. He’d been anticipating some sort of physical violence between the two vampires, more than half expecting it, afraid Buffy would be caught in the middle. The poor girl was already between the two of them but Giles had a suspicion this was just another battle in their long rivalry.

Not knowing how this was going to end, Giles watched the doorway, not realizing Anya had come to stand beside him.

“I hope she picks Spike.” Anya whispered as only she could. “I’m not sure I like Angel. He’s too broody for good orgasms.”

Giles suppressed the grin that was threatening, waiting with anticipation for what might next pop out of her mouth.

“Spike’s much more deserving of Buffy orgasms.” Pausing, she cocked her head to the side, continuing, “he’s much better looking also.”

Looking down at her, Giles bit back his laughter at her completely inappropriate yet somehow logical remarks, commenting dryly, “I’m not sure I share your appreciation for Spike’s obvious charms.”

“Oh” she chirped.

He smiled at her and she smiled back.

Neither one was really paying attention then, when the training room door opened and Angel walked out.

The big vampire stopped, watching the two of them, noting how close they were standing. He thought the girl was Xander’s but maybe this wasn’t Anya. He didn’t know her on sight so he couldn’t be certain. And it wasn’t like he really cared. Angel walked over to the table bypassing the pair who were now staring at him. The rage he’d felt earlier was now a simmering heat in his veins, lending false warmth to his muscles, directed solely at Drusilla’s childe. At the moment he wanted to disavow all ties with the Englishman almost as much as he wanted to sever the bastard’s neck. There was nothing right with any of this. His mind was reeling from all that had happened just now.

Rage had started upon speaking with Willow growing stronger with the time spent driving to Sunnydale. Actually seeing Buffy’s disturbed grave had set match to smoldering ashes then seeing her with Spike had just thrown gasoline on the blaze.

Angel was not the forgiving sort. His anger was raging with no clear target. Willow. . . what arrogance for a little girl to attempt a retrieval of, no, it was really a resurrection, and how dare she? What was her purpose in calling him? Did she just assume he would swoop in and eliminate Spike? He disliked being manipulated into getting rid of someone Willow considered a threat. His anger with Spike needed little or no outside help. That was something so old, Angel wasn’t sure that anything would change it, not even Buffy’s impassioned speech about Spike and love.

Angel wanted to break things. Spike and love were just . . . . Angel knew he was capable of love, he couldn’t fool himself about that, but he doubted Spike truly loved Buffy, not the way he did. Buffy was his ideal, she was perfection, she was his . How dare William, that pathetic excuse, that simpering fool presume to love, to touch his girl.

Buffy belonged to him.


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

“Kitten?” Spike murmured into her forehead, his lips against her skin. “You wanna go home?”

Her eyes drifted closed lazily, nuzzling into his kiss, “yeah. Can we go?”

“Anythin’ you want Buffy.” Spike shifted away from the wall, his hand cupping her butt, walking her backward.

Her arms slid around his waist anchoring herself to his solid presence. She was feeling insubstantial again, fragile, like her skin was stretched too thin and there was nothing protecting her. Spike traced a finger over her face, almost lighter than air, but it was enough to warm her, enough to break through the bubble surrounding her.

Closed eyes finally opened, lifting tortured hazel orbs to search his features. Tilting her head up gently, Spike kissed her forehead and both her eyes. Whisper soft his thumb stroked her lips crosswise, followed by his own lips. “All right then, love. Time to go.”

Ducking her head against his arm, Buffy nodded, grabbing his hand and holding on tightly. With Spike in the lead, they left the training room, encountering Giles wiping his glasses.

His unspoken signal drew Spike’s attention to where Angel stood by the table. The big vampire growled, seeing the pair of them hand in hand, Buffy almost hidden behind Spike. She clenched his hand, her other circling his upper arm, using him as protection. Angel growled again and Spike raised an eyebrow. “Thought Buffy told you to go back to LA?”

“She’s not thinking clearly. I think you need to go.” Angel ground out the words, taking a step forward trying to gain some advantage.

Spike stood his ground. Glancing sideways once, he caught sight of the look on Buffy’s face. Sensing his eyes on her, Buffy looked up at him and smiled softly. His eyebrow raised in question and was rewarded with Buffy’s answer. Whispering against his arm, Buffy knew only he would understand her next words and she said them deliberately so he would know exactly what she meant.

“Not just crumbs.”

It only took half a second. The light in his eyes burned incandescently, darkening at first, then lightening to ice. A thousand different emotions shimmered in shades of blue, causing her golden green to sparkle in answer.

“Love you Buffy.” He mouthed at her.

“I know . . . I . . . “ but before she could say anything else, he dipped his head down and stole a kiss.

Turning to face Angel, Spike said, “don’t believe Buffy’s not thinkin’ clearly. Just seems you aren’t happy with the train of her thoughts.”

Angel stepped closer. “When she comes to her senses, she’ll shut you out. I only hope I’m there when she does it.”

“Aren’t we sore peaches.” Spike smirked, knowing it would set him off. “Too bad Buffy’s not a toy. Stop treatin’ the girl like she’s your possession.”

The Irish vampire started forward again only to be held up by the sound of Buffy’s voice as she stepped up to Spike’s side. “Angel. I told you to go back to LA. Don’t come back unless you get an invitation.”

“Buffy, he’s using you. He’ll turn on you.”

Spike snorted his annoyance. “Could’ve done that any time if I wanted you bog-trottin’ paddy. Why in all hell would I turn on Buffy?”

“You have no soul Spike, the only thing holding you back is the chip.” Angel grinned. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“The only thing holdin’ me back is me , peaches. Chip doesn’t define me any more than the soul does you. And,” he continued, “stop actin’ so high and mighty you nit, not like you went out and earned the bloody thing. Yours is a curse.”

Advancing on the big lummox, Spike’s temper started getting the better of him. “I know the difference between right an’ wrong, you wanker. Jus’ don’t care either way. That’s the difference between us – you never could figure out what was wrong.” Thinking for a minute, Spike kept on speaking, “or worse, any way that wasn’t yours was wrong. Your way or no way. Get over yourself peaches.”

He stood his ground, not intimidated by Angel’s belligerent stance at all. Spike was sure of one thing, he wasn’t leaving this place his tail tucked between his legs, cowed by Angelus. He’d not bowed before him over a hundred and twenty years ago as a fledgling, though he’d gotten beaten for it, and he’d be damned further if he was going to kowtow to him now. Not this time. Not with this woman.

Angel flexed his fists, visibly straining his hands to keep them by his side, trying hard not to take a swing at Spike. The strain was beginning to tell. His jaw was clenched and his eyes flickered between murky brown and amber. Spike, on the other hand, was loose-limbed and relaxed. Buffy’s whispered words had sent hope zinging through his veins, coupled with his own inner strength, and Spike was not going to backdown.

Giles aligned himself opposite Angel, within short distance of his office where he kept additional weapons. The physical confrontation he’d imagined appeared imminent.


Angel caught Giles’ movement out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t tell me you’re still buying his line of crap. I would’ve thought you would see reason.”

“Actually, I have.” Throwing a glance at Spike, Giles smiled. “Seen sense that is. Can’t imagine why I trusted you in the first place. Spike’s earned my trust, more than once.”

Staring at Giles, Buffy’s smile was tinged with almost happy tears. To tell her he trusted Spike when no one else was around was a big step. To voice it out loud, in front of Spike – Buffy squeezed his hand, getting a return and a second, firmer pull toward his body.

Angel snorted in disbelief. “You can’t trust him. The minute you let down your guards he’ll strike.”

“Not bloody likely. Not my style ‘t all, more yours.” Spike rocked forward, mischief lightening his features. “Need to go check on the mistress and the sprog.”

“What? How did you know about that?” Angel’s disbelief at being called out over Darla and his child was a masterful distraction on Spike’s part.

“Not so high an’ mighty now, are you?” Pointing to the door, Spike said, “go on ya great looby. Don’t let it hit ya on your way out.”

Angel didn’t move, continuing to glare at the blond. Spike, growing bored instead of angry, stared back. Stupid bloody ox. Can’t an’ won’t hear the truth when its written on the wall.

The two kept staring at each other until Buffy threw up her hands in exasperation. “Augh,” looking from one to the other, she said, “enough. Angel. Leave. Go away. Go back to LA.”

Tapping Spike on the shoulder she nagged playfully. “You promised to take me home.”
As he turned to look at her, that bottom lip snuck out to tease him and he was lost.

“All right kitten, let’s go.”

And before Angel could make a further dire prediction or pronouncement, the pair was out the door, completely ignoring his presence.

The titular head of the line of Aurelius was speechless, floored by the dismissal. She’d chosen Spike – over him.

Staring at nothing for a few moments, Angel focused his attention on Giles. “You’ll regret this, when he turns on her, when the chip stops working.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Giles watched the broad shoulders hunch a bit at his words, noting the grimace on the other’s face and, as he pushed open the door, said, “goodbye Angel.”



I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed this story. Each and every one has meant alot to me. And don't worry, the sequel is already being written and I'm not taking off two weeks. I'll probably start posting part deux no later than Thursday.
[A/N: Here endth the beginning. To quote Winston Churchill, “now is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” I’ve always liked that quote, even before I really knew what it meant. After this, I’ll be taking about a week off, (perhaps, depends on a few things) then will start posting Origins: Revelations (or something like that – got a better title, send me an email). I’d like to take a moment here, to thank someone that I’ve never mentioned before – my son. He’s put up with a lot from me in the last couple of weeks, while I focused on this and he deserves the PS2 that he won not to long ago. So, to my own, my heart, I love you so much I could barf (and that’s a quote from his Valentine’s day card to me). Disclaimers are still in full force and effect. The title of this comes from the song by The Cult, (she sells) Sanctuary (great English underground band); and the quotes are as attributed. Slainte, one and all – Nia]

Previously: Buffy (and Spike) has faced Angel and come away whole. Willow is back at her parent’s house and the rest of the gang are all trying to settle into something resembling normalcy. . . . We’ll see just how long that lasts.

52. In her you’ll find sanctuary

and the world and the world
the fire in your eyes
the world drags me down
keeps me alive
and the fire in your eyes
keeps me alive
I’m sure in her you’ll find
sanctuary
I’m sure in her you’ll find
sanctuary
The Cult, (She sells) Sanctuary

At the close of day
the sunset cloaks
these words in shadowplay
here and now, long and loud
my heart cries out
and the naked bone of an echo says
don’t walk away
Reach out your hands
I’m just a step away
how in the world
Can I wish for this?
Never to be torn apart
close to you
til the last beat
of my heart.
How in the world
Can I wish for this?
Never to be torn apart
til the last beat
til the last fleeting beat
of my heart
Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Last Beat of my Heart, from the album Peepshow


Tara had gone back upstairs after Xander and Willow left, telling Dawn that she wasn’t hungry and that if she wanted anything she’d fix it herself later.

Dawn watched her go, worry written on her face. Tara, along with Spike, occupied a very important place in her life, all unexpectedly. They had become, in the time that Buffy was gone, the two people she could rely upon. Tara had helped her, and it was nearly as good as having her mom, probably doing a way better job than Buffy could’ve. She’d done stuff for her that a friend shouldn’t have to do – like help her with her first period. And other stuff, like making sure the everyday things were taken care of – food – laundry, hell Tara had paid the bills, using a lot of Spike’s money, but she still paid them.

Stricken by a sudden thought, Dawn pounded up the stairs after the other girl.

“Tara?” Tapping on her bedroom door, Dawn wasn’t surprised when she heard Tara crying. “Tara?”

The door opened and she watched while Tara walked to the bed, her back to Dawn. “What Dawnie?”

“I just wanted to say something. Is this a bad time?” Oh god, what a dorky thing to say.

“What is it?” Tara slumped on the bed, turning watery eyes on the younger girl.

“Thank you. For everything you did for me, all summer.” Dawn sat down on the bed at Tara’s feet. Looking earnestly at the older girl, Dawn continued, “I had to tell you, because its important for you to know.”

Tara was surprised. “Dawnie . . th. . that’s so sweet.”

“Just wanted you to know. You’re important to me. Without you, dunno what would’ve happened.”

Fresh tears, this time not of grief, filled Tara’s eyes. “Oh sweetie.”

Her arms opened and the younger girl just settled against her. Dawn’s murmured, “plus I think you needed to know how much you mean to me,” went straight to Tara’s battered heart.

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

Going backwards, that’s what she was doing. Moving nowhere. Her parents weren’t home, they didn’t know she was coming back, not that either of them would notice. She’d left a message on her mother’s cell phone earlier, after she’d called Xander, just to let her know that her only daughter was returning home. He’d offered her the spare bedroom in his apartment, but she’d said no. Willow couldn’t imagine sharing living space with Anya. She wasn’t all that comfortable around the ex-demon even with their sort of bonding over Olaf.

Truth was, she still didn’t like Xander’s girlfriend. Could only take her in small doses. So she’d refused Xander’s offer.

And that’s how she ended up back where she started, lost and alone, no one at home and on the outside again.

Still with the not understanding why. She’d thought Buffy was in a hell dimension – it’s the only thing that made sense, but Buffy said that’s not where she was. How could she have made that big a mistake?

Had she?

Tara seemed to believe her, and except for the Spike situation, which was still oooky and bad, Buffy’s admission had a ring of truth.

What had she done?


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

They stood there stunned, as the door shut behind Angel, neither one sure what had just happened. Anya twitched a bit when some of the smaller display items teetered on the shelves from the force of the slamming door. The roll-down gate rattled ominously then stilled.

“Do you think he’s going to follow them?” Anya wrung her hands. “That wouldn’t be good if he did that.”

“I don’t think he will.” Giles ventured a guess. Replacing his glasses back on his head, he wandered to the register in preparation for counting out the day’s receipts, when Anya realized what he was doing.

“No. Giles, that’s my responsibility. I count the money. You deal with the rest of it.” Reaching out to shoo him away, she brushed her hand against his, feeling a jolt of energy go through her. Looking up at him quizzically, Anya fought the urge to blurt out her reaction, wondering if he’d felt it also. Giles stepped back from the register, moving away from her, suddenly aware they were in the shop, alone, after hours.

Brushing aside his reaction to her presence as nothing more than the over-charged atmosphere of the last few hours, Giles moved through the glass bead curtain to the front door, his hand still tingling from her touch.

“Anya?” His voice sounded over his shoulder. “Do you think perhaps Buffy or Spike might be interested in filling the mail orders?”

Ever since she’d mentioned it the other day, it had been in the back of his mind to broach the subject with her, get a feel for what she thought about it. He thought it felt right, offering the position to either one of them, rather than seek outside help. The job would go a long way to paying some of the bills, though between them all they’d managed to keep the house afloat, and give Buffy more time to acclimate back into the world.

With his back to her, he sensed the increased intensity of her gaze on him, suddenly attuned to her attention. As he reached the front window, releasing the roll-down gate, Giles asked her again, “well, what do you think?”

She was watching him, a calculating gleam in her eyes, but a mixture of emotions on her features. Anya thought about it for a moment then reached an internal decision, saying, “well its not an entirely bad idea. I’m not sure Buffy’s up to working and really, do we know what kind of work history Spike has? Is either one of them competent enough to handle the business?”

Giles gaped at her. “You are aware you are talking about Spike?”

Nodding her head, Anya countered with, “I do know its Spike. There’s no denying his appeal, but I mean, really Giles, I don’t know if he knows how to coordinate orders like that.” To Anya, nothing was more important than customer satisfaction, because customer satisfaction meant increased sales and increased sales meant more money. It was a win-win situation. She wasn’t going to sacrifice any of her profits for any reason.

“Do you realize that Spike is probably the best educated person you’ve ever met?” It pained him to admit that, but Giles had to give the vampire credit, despite his own reluctance to admit to Spike he was the smarter of the two of them.

Lifting her head up from counting the day’s totals, Anya stared at Giles. He’d just admitted Spike was intelligent. “Well, I’ve always known he was smart.”

Making his way back toward the counter, Giles shook his head in denial. “I don’t think you realize what I’m saying Anya. I think the last person we need to worry about being able to fill orders is Spike.”

Anya put the money down then reached across the counter to touch Giles’ hand. This time, neither one of them could deny the spark, because at the same instant, they both looked up at each other. She forgot completely what she was about to say and watched transfixed as Giles fiddled with his glasses. Keeping uncharacteristically silent, Anya went back to counting, her eyes downcast and tried vainly to stop the blush spreading across her cheeks.


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


They were both quiet on the walk home from the Magic Box, each immersed in their own thoughts. Spike had no illusions that this was completely resolved, especially given Angel’s single-mindedness. The only positive was Darla’s condition because there was enough turmoil there to keep the bloody poofter occupied and keep his attention away from them. But they’d weathered this storm, come through the first hurdles, and it amazed him.

Which was more than he’d ever hoped for. He’d been prepared for her rejection once she found her bearings, but she hadn’t cut him loose as she gained her footing. If anything she’d opened up more.

They weren’t hiding in the shadows, pretending they weren’t together, pretending there was nothing real between them. The opposite was true. They were openly living together. A couple. Giles approved. Tara approved. Dawn – well, his Niblet was happier than a piglet. And Buffy had just given her first love the boot but good.

He gazed at her for a moment, catching sight of her profile. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but gods above how the thought of her affected him. He stopped in his tracks just to watch her.

The enormity of what she’d just done hit him with the force of a drowning wave. She’d just told the love of her life – and some vague memory of a half-drunken impassioned speech he’d made to her once about it flashed in his head – she’d told the love of her life to leave. And now, here she was walking home, to a home they shared together, beside him.

And obviously not thinking he was the second prize.

He stared at her back, dumbfounded.


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

God, so needed out of there, was her first coherent thought away from the Magic Box. Away from Angel.

Watching Willow and Tara fall apart had forced Buffy into some serious thinking, about control and power and what it meant to be a couple – Spike’s actions since her return doing the same thing. And she’d realized some hard truths. She may have loved Angel, but he hadn’t loved her back, not the way she needed, anyway.

She’d been blind, unable to see what was in front of her the whole time. Angel had controlled and manipulated and made decisions about their life together, never once taking into consideration her wants or needs or desires and he’d completely ignored her dreams.

Whatever that emotion was – it sure as hell wasn’t love.

Buffy was pretty sure she knew what love was now. Like she’d just said to Angel, love was doing all the things Spike had been doing, taking care of the people she’d left behind, all of her loved ones. She’d trusted him with everything that was important to her – with Dawn. And he’d kept them all safe – even Xander.

She was pretty sure that alone was love.

Buffy stifled a teary laugh.

To think she’d once told him he was beneath her. God what a bitch she’d been to him. Still he’d done it all for her.

For her memory.

She’d almost blurted it out – in front of Angel, what she was beginning to feel, what she was going to stop denying. Instead, almost as if he’d known what she was about to say and wanted it said differently, he’d stolen a kiss.

Buffy looked up at him – and realized he wasn’t there, walking beside her. Whirling around, slightly panicked, she turned about and caught him watching her, a pensive look on his face.

“Spike?” Tilting her head, she watched him as he shook off his reverie.

“Yeah?” He tried for the swagger, but it faltered after a moment, his awe too great to overcome.

“What’s wrong?” Her smile was a bit tentative almost as if she were afraid of his answer.

“Nothin’s wrong love. Jus’ . . . “ struggling to find the right words, he settled for honest emotion to carry him through, “jus’ dunno if you understand . . how I feel. I love you, Buffy. W’everythin’ I am, all I have. Isn’t anythin’ I wouldn’t do for you.”

Her lip quivered and tears sprang, not just in her eyes, but in his also. “Give up my life to keep you safe, you an’ Dawn.”

Taking a step forward, he continued, “think I’ve always loved you, from the first, knew I wanted you then, jus’ . . god kitten, so full of fire an’ life. . . . you light up the world for me.”

Spike watched as tears slid down her cheeks, her hand raised to her mouth, holding back little hitching sobs.

“Christ . . you jus’ . . I love you.”

Neither one was sure who reached out first, neither one cared. All that mattered was his arms around her and she holding onto him. “Oh Spike . . I . . “

“Shhh, love. I know.”

And he thought, for the first time in his long existence, that he actually might be right.

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

After leaving Tara, Dawn had gone to her own room to get ready for bed, tired and drained. Today had been difficult. She should have known major badness was on its way, after all, school had started. Dawn was beginning to wonder if activity around the hellmouth was triggered by excessive teen-aged hormones in the vicinity. It was as good a theory as any.

She had a sudden need to write all that had happened down in her journal.

Pulling it out from under her pillow, Dawn unintentionally grabbed two of the monks’ journals. For a long couple of minutes she stared at them, wondering where she got the constant need to chronicle her day from, was it because the monks kept journals? Opening the top one resolutely she curled up on her bed and began to read. On page fourteen, she hit pay dirt.

We have found him again. He has radically changed his appearance once more. Brother Adam almost missed him. His hair is white blond and he’s taken to dressing in leather and ripped denim. He is tracking another Slayer, this one located in New York. Her name is Nicholette Wood, that much we have discovered but not much else, other than the fact she has been the Slayer for five years now. We have also discovered his true name. It is William. The Council of Watchers calls him the Slayer of Slayers. By my own hand, this 18th day of August, 1977, Gerald, Prior.

Dawn stopped breathing.


[A/N: I thought a glimpse into the day (night) of life between books of Origins might please everyone, so this one-shot is a bridge chapter, between the first book and the coming one. And, no, this isn’t just a “throw everyone a bone because I’m not ready to start posting” because funny thing, I am ready. Next installment will be posted on Saturday The title is from Sting’s Fortress Around Your Heart, from the album Dream of the Blue Turtles, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are still in full force and effect. Enjoy.]

Previously: Angel’s gone and what happens between Spike and Buffy after he does?

Book One, Epilogue. Build a Bridge

And if I’ve built this fortress around your heart
encircled you with trenches and barbed wire
then let me build a bridge
for I cannot fill the chasm
and let me set the battlements on fire
Sting, Fortress Around Your Heart

I didn’t hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
I don’t want to move a thing
it might change my memory
oh I am what I am
I’ll do what I want but
I can’t hide
I won’t go
I can’t sleep
I can’t breathe
until you’re resting here with me
I won’t leave
I can’t hide
I cannot be
until you’re resting here with me.
Dido, Here with me, from the album I’m no Angel



The house was dark when he got home. No lights on and the girls were all tucked away in their beds. Funny how his unlife had undergone yet another change. A year ago, if someone had told him he’d be living in this house instead of standing outside, he’d’ve laughed.

But here he was, possessor of house keys and locking the door to Joyce’s house at night. Spike smiled, listening to the different heartbeats surrounding him. Emptying his pockets into the house jar, Spike reached into the refrigerator for a beer.

Unlife was good.

Stepping back outside for a fag, he stared up at the stars, thinking about this last couple of weeks. Three weeks ago his world had been grey, muted, with brief fleeting moments of . . . not happiness but something akin to contentment. He’d found a place where he was needed and mostly wanted. But his nights had lacked vibrancy – there’d been no . . . joy, no happiness. . . no colour.

And then Red had done the impossible.

She’d reached out, tweaked the hand of the gods, the powers that be, the universe, whatever you cared to name them, but she’d grabbed the Slayer out of their hands, snatched her away from her reward – stolen her from heaven and brought her back to the mouth of hell. Willow had, in one fell swoop, turned his world on its ear.

He couldn’t imagine what it might’ve been like if he hadn’t found Buffy those first minutes. Christ. As it was, she was still recovering from her climb which was just complicated by the knowledge of where she’d been.

Spike sipped his beer, thinking about the consequences of Willow’s hubris. Buffy was back, yeah, and as far as he was concerned it was a mixed blessing. He still wasn’t sure his girl wanted to be back, or even knew how to cope with all of it. Day to day living was still hard on her, he could see it in her eyes. The strain of just getting through the day without letting the memories overwhelm her, coupled with the grief of losing her mother, which for her was still fresh, didn’t make anything easier on her. He and Tara were doing all they could to keep money worries from her, but they were a problem. They were skating by, but there was nothing extra if something went wrong. Thankfully, medical expenses, which in this household could be problematic, weren’t really a problem. But all that was mundane stuff, things that Buffy wasn’t even ready to deal with yet. He was more concerned with her emotional state.

Since her return his life had changed again. She’d clung to him, wanted him around – still wanted him and miracle of miracles, she’d allowed him. . . . hell, they were a couple and his girl had called him boyfriend. Spike snorted at the label. So very American, so very Buffy to try putting that name to their relationship.

What he felt for her was deeper, stronger and more intense than what he’d ever felt before. It went so far beyond girlfriend that he couldn’t begin to put a name to it.

She gave his world colour.

She was sunshine . . . rain . . she was everything. His world within green-gold depths and dangerously deadly hands . . . She was . . .

Helen to his Paris, because she was more beautiful to him than any words he could compose;

Cleopatra to his Antony, because with her he could rule their world;

Heloise to his Abelard, because she made him defy everything he was, becoming instead everything she needed, remaking himself to please her;

Beatrice to his Dante, Eurydice to his Orpheus, for her he would defy heaven and hell and everything in between.

Spike grinned at his own feeble attempt to compose epic poetic lines. God he could be such a romantic git. He’d been an absolute poncey wanker, spouting bad poetry and making poor pathetic attempts daily. Ah well, worse things than bein’ love’s bitch.

Mentally stepping away from further comparison to literary and historical great lovers, Spike lit a second cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, he thought back, going over the last three days.

Willow’d gotten called on the carpet by both Tara and Buffy, but mostly Tara. Glinda hadn’t hesitated either, telling her girl what was what.

What worried him about the whole situation there was a couple of things – Willow’s lack of remorse about any of it, her arrogance about having been able to perform a ritual designed for multiple witches, her willingness to put both Dawn and Tara in harm’s way – but what really truly worried him was the way she’d left the house.

Dawn had told him that she’d done nothing but cry while she was packing up her things.

Cried.

Maybe he was just . . . over compensating or borrowing trouble – but that wasn’t how he’d expected her to react. He’d been prepared for something more, some show of power, some flexing of witchy muscle to get them to rethink asking her to leave.

Instead she’d gone meekly for the door.

He could be just borrowing trouble, but somehow Spike didn’t think he was. His intuition, his gut instincts were telling him Willow was just regrouping, just gathering steam for what was brewing in the back of her mind.

And he’d no doubt that she’d somehow blame all this on him. Lay all her miseries at his door and come gunning for him. No doubt with help from Harris. Demon girl would probably stay out of it, at least he hoped so, but there was no doubt in his mind that the whelp and Red would be difficult in the coming days or weeks.

Well, he was ready for it. Part of him was wishing for it. Itching for a good showdown.

Not that their little face to face with the great souled one hadn’t been a bit of satisfying. Spike was harboring no illusions at all about that being anywhere near resolution.

No, that was just a brief lull in the action.

A chance for the broody one to regroup, to rethink his arguments.

Oh no, Angelus was a thorough bastard. He’d be back. That much Spike was certain of; the thickheaded mick couldn’t let it go, couldn’t and wouldn’t.

Because Angelus considered Buffy his.

Spike snorted, his nostrils flaring as his jaw flexed.

Slayer wasn’t a possession. Somethin’ to take out and play with when the mood struck him. No, she was her own person, not some cute little doll.

Not that Angel saw that. Wanker was too thickheaded to see Buffy had ceased being his the moment he’d walked away – without a soul. Angel had left her long before he’d moved to Los Angeles, long before Spike had left the first time. Angelus was one sick fucker, unable to love the girl without a soul, unable to see or sense anything that wasn’t according to his world view.

Asshole.

Angelus or Angel. Shouldn’t matter. Soul or not he still should’ve been able to love Buffy.

Hell, he didn’t have a soul and he knew he loved her. Knew it didn’t matter, wouldn’t change anything whether he had a soul or not. His feelings didn’t change on the flip of a coin or the loss of something or the gaining of something else.

Spike was fairly certain that had he been in Angelus’ shoes, he wouldn’t have left Buffy. Wouldn’t have gone on a rampage. He had a bit more restraint than that. Helped that he wasn’t an unthinking idiot either. Or an unfeeling git.

But he knew Angelus. So expecting trouble from that corner wasn’t some nebulous itching. That, unfortunately, was real.

Gonna have t’watch for him. Maybe Oxford . . . Spike’s thoughts were interrupted when a noise sounded from inside the house.

Getting to his feet, Spike was inside and flying up the stairs before the whimpers from his bedroom became outright sobs.


✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵

No air. She was back in the box, back in that place. . .

Couldn’t breathe. . . too close.

Everything was too close.

Didn’t want to be here. Lost . . . alone . . . no safety . . . No safety without him. . where is he?

No. . . not this place. The box was gone and instead she was standing on top of a rickety tower, nothing but air between her and the ground. . .

Want to . . . need to go back. Need to find home. . . Mommy’s gone . . .

Wrong.

No air. Nothing. No escape.

Can’t breathe. Fear was everywhere. . . she heard the snick of steel sliding against itself, blades whirred and . . . oh gods, he was here. . . Angel. . . no. . not Angel . . the other. . . bad Angel

Need . . . help. Where is . . . he. . . images of sparkling blue eyes. . Home. Safety.

Love.

Need him. . . Can’t breathe . . . oh god. . . help me. . . please. . . find me. Need you. Need . . . you . . . . Spike.

Muffled whimpers grew louder, becoming more coherent than just garbled sounds in a desert-dry throat.

Need you Spike . . . can’t breathe . . . need you . . . here. . . please find me.

Cool hands reached out, deep voice soothing, calling her back, strong arms keeping her safe.

His name broke from her lips, tears seeping from behind closed eyes afraid this was all a dream.

“Shhhh love. Spike’s right here. I’ve got you.” She curled into his embrace, seeking to get impossibly closer.

“Need you. Weren’t here. Missed you.” Reduced to a five year old by her fears, the girl in his arms clung to him tightly. “Spike. . . promise.”

“Oh kitten. Hush. Gonna be here ‘til I’m . . . never gonna leave you.”

Buffy curled further into his embrace, practically laying on his chest, her nose against his neck, one arm tight around him. Inhaling deeply, Buffy contented herself with his current nearness. Her fingers messed with the curls at the back of his neck, her leg automatically curling over his waist.

His hands were running over her back holding her close and when her leg swung over his hips, Spike dropped one down to hold her wriggling butt still. “‘s all right princess. I’ve got you.”

When her tears had calmed somewhat, Spike leaned back a bit to look at her. Her face was tear-streaked and still tense, the strain showing around her eyes and lips. “Tell me love.”

With that gently voiced command, Buffy opened her eyes to look at him.

So much concern for her. So much caring. . . so much love. So not deserving girl. He loves me. I can see it. Sometimes feel it. Is this it? Is Spike the one guy for the one girl? Buffy traced a warm finger across his jaw and over his lips. He nipped her finger, kissing the tip when he was done.

“Bad dreams again. Stuck there. . . can’t always get out, get back home.” Ducking her head against his chin, she went further, “wanted to find you and couldn’t. Knew finding you is finding home.”

Her hand rested above his unbeating heart, her fingers rubbing over the soft cotton, smoothing over the black leather encasing his shoulders. He didn’t speak, couldn’t find his voice. Buffy whispered against his skin, her breath warming him, “can’t sleep when you aren’t here. Don’t feel safe without you.”

Oh god.

This woman could reduce him to blubbering git in ways no one had ever been able to. If she wanted him to beg he would, what ever she wanted, how ever she wanted it. . . there wasn’t one thing he wouldn’t do for her.

“Love.”

“Spike . . . please. . . I’m not good with words” her forehead rested against his chin, her body as close to his without him being inside her and suddenly that wasn’t enough for him.

“Buffy . . . “

Her name was enough. She could feel the need coming off him in waves answered by her own need.

“Buffy . . “

Dipping his head down, his lips captured hers in a searing kiss. His hands cupped her bare ass, his fingers running restlessly over her soft skin, dipping in to brush the spot in between. She gripped his face, held on for dear life, assuring herself he was really there, really home and he wasn’t leaving.

Tears slipped from under her closed eyes falling gently on his. Breaking off the kiss, Spike pulled back, looking at her, “kitten, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t leave me alone, please Spike? Promise me you won’t leave.”

Her voice broke on the last word, a soft sob catching in her throat. Tucking her close, Spike rolled her onto her back, his steely arms encircling her in safety and love. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”

Tears seeped out from behind her closed eyes and Buffy was afraid to open them. His voice soothed her, giving her courage to trust his tone.

“Buffy love, look at me.” His thumb caressed her cheek, coaxing her, along with the whiskey promise in his voice. “Sunshine . . . c’mon . . . look at me.”

Her eyes peeked up at him, widening in the dim light. His face was inches from hers their noses practically touching.

“There she is.” Spike smiled down at her, his eyes serious. “Kitten. . . I love you. Not going anywhere. . . don’t wan’ t’go . . . to be any where else.”

His hand brushed back her hair, his eyes searching hers. “Can’t leave you kitten. Buffy . . . don’t want. . . promise you, I’m not leavin’. Never goin’ any where you aren’t.” His mouth over-rode his brain and before he could censor his words, he said, “‘m not the leavin’ type. Didn’t leave Dru an’ ‘m not leavin’ you.”

He realized what he’d said the minute the words left his mouth and Spike braced himself for the backlash that mentioning his sire’s name would cause. What he got wasn’t nearly what he’d expected. Buffy curled her arms underneath his, her hands resting on his shoulders, between cotton and leather. Her forehead rested against his lips, her smile hidden from his view.

“Spike” she drew a shaky breath, trying to compose her words. His assurance about Drusilla only eased her fears. But he was worried about it she could feel it. “Spike, I just. . yeah.”

He didn’t quite understand what she was trying to say and he asked her “Buffy?”

“How long were you with Dru? A hundred years?”

His answer came reluctantly, “‘bout that.”

“Sounds like a good number.”

Lifting his head away from her, Spike looked down. There was nothing he could say. Nothing. His brain wasn’t even completely sure he was awake and not dreaming. Her eyes were bright, sparkling in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Peppering her face with light kisses, Spike couldn’t fight his need for her. Her hands wormed their way beneath his shirt and an inarticulate whine sounded from her, signaling her desire.

Disengaging from her, Spike stood up, the coat falling from his shoulders. Lifting up his tee shirt, Spike was surprised when her warm hands skimmed up his back. Her kisses trailed up his spine, freezing him in place. Her touch setting off tremors within him and his breathing increased, her breath hot against his cool skin.

Buffy moved away from him, picking up his coat. Before hanging it up, she brought it up to her face, inhaling his scent. Sitting on the bed to remove his boots, Spike was struck by the utter normalcy of their movements. They were functioning like a couple who’d been together for years and not mere days. He’d imagined being with her, but nothing like this. Never dreamed he’d be living with her, sleeping with her night after night. Untying his boots, Spike watched her move about their room, straightening things that were fine, just marking time waiting for him.

“What?” She turned to face him, his dirty tee shirt in her hands and an adorable blush across her features.

“Nothin’ sunshine.” Shaking his head he went back to taking off his boots.

“Spike?” Her hand came down on his shoulder, then she moved to stand in front of him when his attention shifted to her. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

“Jus’ . . . . never mind.” He shook his head, deciding against telling her what he was thinking.

“C’mon, tell me please?” Knowing he couldn’t resist her, Buffy pouted.

His groan was enough to tell her he was going to give in, “‘s like we’ve been at this for years, yeah? Like we’ve been . . . together longer.” Ducking his head so she couldn’t see the emotions swirling within him, Spike refused to meet her eyes.

Her hand pushed his head back, forcing his face up so she could see him. “It does. Thought it was just me being all needy-Buffy. But its not, is it?”

Both hands were on his shoulders now and Spike couldn’t resist pulling her closer to him.

Head buried between her breasts, Spike smiled. “Not jus’ you. ‘S both of us. Dunno why that is sweets.”

Cupping his face in both hands, Buffy titled his head away from her chest. “Do we have to know? “

“Guess not. ‘S nice. . . right?”

His sly grin caught her attention, his hands reaching out to pull her down onto his lap and just like that, that one look in his eye and the atmosphere between them changed, becoming charged with sexual tension. Spike stared at her face, his hands lifting up another one of his tee shirts from her body. “Not gonna have any shirts if you keep wearin’ ‘em kitten.”

She was completely naked now, straddling his knees, bared, open to his appreciative gaze. “Beautiful.” A hand skimmed down from her shoulder to tease a puckered nipple, his fingers rolling and pulling on it. She arched into his hand, and he spread his legs, left hand smoothing over her thigh. “God kitten . . . you jus’. . . “
His hands swept up her torso, thumbs running up her belly, arching over her breasts, circling round to cup them. Spike leaned in to grasp a distended nipple in his mouth, his hand holding her breast like an offering. Licking a path upwards to the hollow of her throat, Spike nuzzled her neck, his hands molding, shaping, teasing her breasts. Blunt teeth nicked at her, pulling on her skin, sending tremors from her neck to her core.

She whimpered out his name, her hot little hands gripping his shoulders, her own legs, trying to inch closer and closer to him. But he was holding her off, wanting to prolong this as long as possible. The whimpers became long husky whines, his name escaping her in a long exhalation, when his tongue licked a path down toward her breasts again.

Breaking away from her breasts after a long suckle, Spike leaned back to look at her. She sat, perched on his knees, breasts wet from his kisses, her glistening folds semi-hidden from his hungry view. His hands reached out as his legs widened, spreading her open, echoing his earlier movement, Spike ran his hands down her torso, thumbs sweeping down, opening her nether lips wide.

Unconsciously licking his lips, Spike was completely captivated by the sight of her open and wet for him. Pinching her clit with his thumbs, Spike watched while Buffy tried arching her pelvis up, seeking more contact, any contact.

“Wan’ t’ watch you . . . kitten.”

Buffy was aching, needing him . . . empty without him filling her. Hitching whimpers filled her throat, echoing in the room. Sliding his thumb against her, his other hand holding her open to his intense gaze, Spike whispered throatily, “that’s it, kitten, ride me . . . wanna watch you . . .”

Writhing on his thumb, Buffy felt wanton, open, exposed to his eyes, bare . . . . Spike pumped his thumb up into her, watching her closely. Buffy’s lip was between her teeth as she gave herself over to the feeling of utter abandon. . . .

Gripping her hip, Spike held her still, allowing her no other contact than his thumb sliding in and out of her aching pussy. Buffy grabbed his head, pulling him close to her breast, offering him a nipple.

Latching on, Spike spread his knees further, opening Buffy up completely. “Spike. . . please. . .need you inside me . . . please. . . “

His voice was raw with passion, “wan’ . . come. . . jus’ my touch . . . fuck. . . . god, kitten.”

Buffy jerked away from him, arching her back, as a tiny orgasm ripped through her.

“Spike . . . need you . . . oh. . . Please.”

Roughly pulling his thumb from her depths, Spike nipped her just above her curls, grinning when she nearly leaped from his arms. “Spike . . . please. . . “

Getting to his feet, Spike laid her out on the bed, spread open to his gaze. Her lungs were gasping desperately for air, her breasts pointed skyward. Leaning over her, Spike thrust two fingers inside her wet channel, pumping in slowly. “This what you wan’?”

“Ahhhhh . . . Spike. . . more . . . please. . . you need you.” Buffy held up her arms to him, begging him to come closer, clutching at him. “Please. . . “

One handed, Spike undid his zipper, sliding out of his jeans, his cock springing free, angling toward her opening. “Wan’ you. . . Buffy . . . look . . . see what you do to me?”

“Spike . . .” Buffy caught his shoulder in a strong grip, unable to stop her hips from rising to his touch. “Need you . . . want you . . inside me. . . now.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Spike leaned in for a kiss, sliding his length against her. “Do it sweet . . heart . . let me come in. . . . bring me home. . . c’mon . . love.”

Angling her hips, Buffy slid her hand down between them and grabbing his thrusting cock, Buffy pulled him close, her arms and legs wrapping around him, gasping as he slid within her slick depths.

“God . . . Spike . . . this . . . you . . home.”

“Fuck . . . “

Thrusting hard into her, Spike held off his . . . tried . . . “hold . . . c’mon . . . love. . . Buffy . . . . god . . . Love you.”

Buffy’s body convulsed around him, muscles bunching and contracting, bearing down, fingers scrambling, grabbing onto him, holding on. “My . . . Spike. . . you. . . ooohhhh.”

Riding the wave of her orgasm, Spike thrust deeply, then spent himself inside her.
 
Continued in Origins: Revelations