XXI

“Sorry. Excuse me.” Even in his anger, Max was polite.

“No worries, mate.”

Spike’s eyes followed Max as he fled, leaving the iron door wide open behind him.

Slowly, Spike turned to close the door.

“Spike, I–“

He turned back around to face her, with a preternatural calm.

But her voice escaped her.

“Hey, look what the cat dragged in. How’s it hangin’, bro?”

He was looking beyond Buffy when he smiled.

“Gina.”

His eyes were on the younger Slayer when he stopped in front of Buffy. Gripping the back of her head gently, he placed a noncommittal kiss high on her brow. It was almost paternal.

And then he moved past her.

Oh god.

She felt sick. And scared. And she really needed to talk to him.

Turning around, she watched Spike and Gina exchange some sort of urban handshake. She could never figure out who came up with those handshakes – they were always changing – or how people always seemed to know how to do them. And how did Spike know?

“Hey, Spike.” Pipa had come in from the kitchen too, and looked genuinely happy to see him.

“Longstock. Feeling better yet?”

“Getting there.”

“Rachel.” Spike nodded.

“Hey, Spike.”

“So what happened last night with-?”

“Spike?”

Sally had reappeared with Tori and Mel from the weapons rooms, all three of them armed to the teeth.

Spike narrowed his eyes.

“Sally. How are you, love? What happened last night?”

“Nothing.”

Mel explained. “Buffy told us the Dragvloks left town.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah, they did. Sorry, ladies. I know you wanted your revenge.”

The room fell quiet.

“So uh… what’s with the portable armory?” Spike asked.

“We’re going out,” Sally declared. Her face was a portrait of heartache and unfulfilled vengeance.

He seemed to be considering Sally’s plans. “Pity,” he finally said.

Sally frowned. “Why?”

Spike started scratching the back of his head. “I was hoping to test you out myself tonight. There’s nothing on L.A.’s streets badder than me, ladies. I can assure you of that.”

Sally looked uncertainly at her sisters.

Spike leaned forward. “Come on, now. If you’re too scared to take on one Master Vampire, then you’ve got no business calling yourself a Vampire Slayer. You’re just a little girl then, albeit with a bit more strength than the rest.”

Sally gripped her sword tighter.

“Granted, with pointy weapons. But still…” He shrugged. “Just a girl.”

“We’re not afraid of you, Spike,” Mel argued.

“No?”

“No. Cause you’d never actually hurt us. You wouldn’t put up a real fight with Buffy watching. She’d kick your ass if you fought us for real.”

“Ya think?”

Mel rolled her eyes. “We know.”

THOOMP

More than one girl gasped as Mel went flying through the air, hitting a recently painted wall and ruining the paint. He’d moved so fast that even Buffy wasn’t sure how he’d done it.

Just as blindingly quick, he’d liberated Tori of her axe before throwing her backwards towards Pipa and Gina – sending all three to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

With a newfound urgency, Sally unsheathed her sword.

Quickly shedding his coat and throwing it behind him, Spike roared into game face . He was ducking a swing from Sally’s sword the next moment. She jabbed, missing his gut, and earned a devastating left hook in reply.

All the girls soon recovered and were encircling him, some barehanded and others with weapons far too dangerous for sparring. But he didn’t seem to mind.

As Spike took on all six girls, Buffy’s heart began to swell.

It was official. He was kind of wonderful.

No. He was amazing.

He knew Sally was grieving and had no business patrolling in her current state of mind. So too, Mel and Tori, who were the only Indies to have survived the Dragvlok attack. So he was keeping them safe, the only way a two hundred year-old master vampire knew how: by kicking their asses himself.

And he was ignoring her. Which made her heart ache with the swelling.

But he’d kissed her brow. Which… well confused her on top of everything else. Had he heard her conversation with Max? Did he understand what he’d heard? Had he gotten the wrong idea and just didn’t care? Or was he pretending not to care?

But he didn’t look jealous. Or hurt. Or angry. He looked… well, happy.

But then he’d always been happy fighting a Slayer.

Faith’s voice echoed in her mind’s ear, as it so often did. ‘Yeah, you’re not the one and only chosen anymore, B. How’s that feel?’

Buffy stepped back and settled herself on the stairs, feeling slightly irrelevant.

It was six against one but Spike was easily winning, and he wasn’t holding any of his punches.

It didn’t take long before the blood started to flow, and Spike seemed to feed off the sight (or smell) of it. With their growing injuries, Sally, Tori and Mel became even more serious in their attacks, while Pipa and Gina appeared to step back a little. They’d only really been sparring with him anyway. Rachel had barely engaged in the fight. To his credit, Spike reacted in kind – looking almost instructive in the way he countered Pipa and Gina’s moves. But with Sally, Tori and Mel, he was vicious.

Stevie and Sonny must have heard the commotion, because they soon came racing down the stairs. Stevie took a seat beside Buffy, while Sonny stopped short to sit several steps above them.

“Oh my god, this is awesome,” Stevie murmured in awe.

“No. It was awesome. Now it’s just bloody.”

“Um, yeah. That’s why it’s awesome, Buffy.”

Tori was down, crawling to a corner and cradling her gut as she spat out a mouthful of blood. Stevie was up the next second.

Buffy grabbed her leg. “What are you doing?”

“Time for an interchange,” she responded with glee.

“Stevie, he isn’t sparring out there. He’s out for blood.”

“And they’re asking for it, Buffy.” Stevie wrestled her foot out of Buffy’s grasp. “And so am I.”

Stevie hopped off the step and into the fight, getting a backhand to her cheek in the process. But it only made her laugh.

Rachel had withdrawn the moment Tori had went down, and was now pulling the injured girl into a chair.

Gina and Pipa were also withdrawing. Bloody and battered, they made their way over to Buffy.

Gingerly, Gina lowered herself into a sitting position. “Now that’s a bad ass motha’ fucka’ right there, sis. Your boy schooled us good, and didn’t even break a sweat.”

“Vampires don’t sweat, Gina.”

“Figure of speech, Pip.”

Buffy puffed up a little with pride. Spike was looking pretty incredible out there. He’d clearly gotten better. Stronger, too. But the way the fight was going still made her uneasy. “Are you two alright?”

“We’ve been hurt worse,” Pipa assured her. “And he wasn’t trying to hurt us too much. I think he was more playing with us actually.” Pipa sat down on Buffy’s other side and the three watched with interest as the fight wore on.

Stevie didn’t have the benefit of grief or vengeance to spur her on, so she didn’t last long. Reluctantly, she took a seat in front of Buffy after Spike had broken her nose.

Pulling her shirt up to catch the blood, she tipped her head back as well.

Gina pushed her head back down. “You’re gonna kill yourself doing that, Stevie. Let the blood flow out, not down your throat. You’ll choke that way.”

“What are you, a doctor? Did you even graduate high school?”

“Fuck you, Stevie. You wanna choke? Be my guest.”

But Stevie kept her head down.

“So how long do you think they’ll keep fighting?” Pipa asked, her inner worrywart showing.

“Until the girls have had enough,” Buffy replied with resignation. “He could dance with them all night,” she added softly, almost to herself.

“No shit?”

“Yeah, Gina. He’s got the stamina of a–”

Both girls looked at her eagerly, eyebrows raised, waiting for the end of that sentence.

“Um…”

“Yeah, we know,” Gina teased, elbowing Buffy in the side.

Behind her, Buffy heard Sonny snort in disgust.

As the fight dragged on, Tori‘s punches became increasingly more ineffectual, with Spike merely batting away her swings. He finally forced her out of the fight with a punch to the temple that knocked her out.

“Get this one outta here, ladies!”

“I’ll take her upstairs,” Pipa offered, standing up.

Gina followed. “I got her feet, Pip. Let’s go.”

Buffy watched the two friends carry Tori upstairs and inadvertently caught Sonny’s eye.

She saw nothing but hate there.

“Sonny–“

“Just shut up, Buffy.”

Buffy did just that. Sighing, she returned her attention to the fight. If she’d felt irrelevant before, she was feeling altogether unwelcome now.

Shit. Mel was beginning to look like a disaster victim. Buffy stood up to intervene but Spike was already throwing the battered girl behind him into Buffy’s unsuspecting arms. Gathering the Slayer more securely, Buffy carried her upstairs and handed her to Gina on the landing.

“Can you see to her too?”

Gina nodded and took Mel away.

From her position upstairs, Buffy watched with alarm as the fight changed in character. There was only Sally and Spike fighting now. And Spike had stopped throwing punches.

He was taking them instead.

With every punch that Sally threw, Spike goaded her to throw another. She was beginning to beat him mercilessly. And he was taking it.

Buffy’s chest tightened and her stomach threatened to revolt. She knew this scene too well. Only the setting had changed. This wasn’t the back alley of a police station.

The shame of the memory overwhelmed her, and for the second time that night, she could feel her throat begin to constrict and her eyes moisten. And again, because of the pain she’d caused a man whose only offense had been to love her.

She wanted it to stop, needed it to stop. But it wasn’t her place. He was letting this happen. For Sally. Like he’d let it happen in that alley for her. And like her, it didn’t take Sally long to realize what she’d done; her expression slowly shifted from one of fury to dismay.

She was crying in his arms the next moment.

Buffy stood frozen in place, a voyeur to the scene. Spike backed himself into a chair and cradled the crying girl in his lap. Gradually, Sally’s cries turned into whimpers, and then into sniffles, before they dried up completely. Spike said nothing – just gently stroked her hair with bloodied hands.

Approaching from the hallway, Pipa spoke in hushed tones. “I think maybe she’ll start to feel better now, Buffy. Don’t you think?”

Buffy wasn’t so sure. “Yeah.”

“We should take Sally off his hands. He must be battered too.”

Buffy tried to swallow the growing lump lodged in her throat. She had no idea what she was feeling, or for whom she felt most. And she hated that her own self-pity was confusing the matter.

Suddenly, Spike stood up with the now sleeping Slayer in his arms and looked to Sonny.

“Mind helpin’ me here, love?”

Sonny seemed to take a moment to process that he was speaking to her, before she nodded and took Sally from his arms.

“Spike, you alright, man?” Gina had come back out and was hobbling clumsily down the stairs.

“Yeah. Thanks for asking, pet.”

“You’re one badass motha’ fucka. You know that, right?”

“Pretty sure I said something to that effect earlier.”

Gina laughed. “You ain’t humble though. Come on, man. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Gina guided him to the kitchen, one arm hanging off his shoulder.

Buffy really needed to talk to him.

But something told her not to disturb him and Gina. She didn’t want to get in the way of his forming friendships with the others. Also, the girls needed a mentor, and since most of them didn’t want that to be her, Spike was probably the best alternative.

But she really needed to get him alone.

The sudden blast of a punk song interrupted her thoughts.

Buffy scanned the room for the source, and realized it was coming from Spike’s duster on the staircase. It was a ring tone. She hurried down the stairs and dug his cell phone out of his pocket. She thought twice about answering it at first, until she saw the number on the screen.

“Dawn?”

“Buffy?”

“Hey.”

“How are you? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Dawn. Everything is fine.”

“I figured it was. I mean, I wasn’t really worried when you didn’t come home last night. Or this morning. Or this afternoon.”

“I know. I should have called.”

“Yeah, you should have. I know you’re like, eighty years old and indestructible. But still.”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile.

“So you stayed with Spike?”

“Why are you even asking, when you already know the answer?”

“Because I want details, Missy. Gimme, gimme.”

“There are no details, Dawn. We watched TV and he slept on the couch.”

“Hm. So what are you guys doing tonight? Patrolling for Dragvloks?”

“No. The Dragvloks have fled. And I don’t think we’ll be patrolling tonight at all. We’re at the warehouse. Spike was sparring with the girls and everyone got pummeled, so I think we’ll stay in for the night.”

“Sounds cozy. Now you can be Nurse Buffy and get with the naughty.”

“No. I think Gina beat me to that.”

“What? She’s like sixteen!”

“Not the naughty part, Dawn. The nurse bit. And she’s eighteen I think.”

“What, you think he likes her?”

“Not like that. At least, I don’t think so.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Buffy, you’re an idiot. I’ve seen him with you. It’s still all about you.”

“You always see what you want to see, Dawn. Not what is. Meanwhile, Spike saw me with Max.”

“Max? Max, Max? When? Where? And more importantly, what the hell did he see you doing with Max?”

Buffy sighed. “I ran into Max at the mall earlier today, and he was all with the puppy dog eyes and the declarations of love.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. And then he followed me back to the warehouse, but to see Sonny apparently.”

“Okay. I guess that’s good.”

“Yeah. Nice idea. Bad reality.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I’m not sure, but I guess they fought. Sonny ran upstairs and I found him in tears. He was angry – like, really angry. So I tried to calm him down, but he just got angrier and pushed me away, and so I got teary and started begging him to stop and to talk to me or something, and then...” She grimaced at the memory. “Spike walked in.”

“And? What did he see?”

“That’s the thing. You know how stealthy he is. I don’t know when he came in, or what he thinks he saw.”

“So did you explain?”

“I haven’t really had a chance yet.“

“Ugh. That is so lame, Buffy.”

“Dawn!”

“I’m sorry. But, you guys have a combined age of, like, three hundred. You’re way too old to be acting out some crappy soap opera, circa 1993. Time for something different, Buffy. Go be a grown-up and explain yourself.”

“Dawn, I want to, but–“

“No buts. Just talk.”

Buffy growled. “You suck.”

“Cause I’m right.”

“Whatever.”

“So this means I won’t see you tonight.”

“I guess not.”

“Alright. Tomorrow then. I’ll make pasta.”

Buffy smiled to herself. “Sounds good.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too. Oh, speaking of which, how’s the wedding planning going?”

“Fine. We got into a fight over the veil and she won.”

“Well, it is her wedding.”

“I know. But maybe I could have won if I’d been at the shop with my Mom face on.”

“Well then I’m glad you weren’t.”

“You always take her side.”

“Duh. Cause it makes her love me more.”

“You’re so needy.”

“No. I’m greedy. There’s a diff–”

Buffy looked up sharply, as she saw Spike walking towards her and grabbing his coat off the banister.

“Spike, what–“

“Gotta go, love. Could use a drink, and there’s nothing in that kitchen to quench my thirst, if you know what I mean.” His face was unreadable, his tone flat.

“Um, sure.” Buffy returned to the phone she’d left forgotten in her hand. “Dawn, I’ll talk to you later.” Hanging up quickly, she gave him his phone and began searching the room. “Um, just give me a minute to find my keys, and–”

“Don’t need a ride, pet. Feel like walking a bit.”

A ride?

“Oh.”

He started walking away.

“Spike, wait.”

He turned his head.

“I… “ She paused. “Um… are you feeling alright?”

He looked at her blankly. “I’ll feel better after a drink.”

Pause.

“Of course.” She exhaled shakily. “Uh… thank you. For this.”

He screwed up his face. “Huh?”

“For sparring with the girls. For keeping them safe for the night – well, in your own way.”

He frowned. “Didn’t do it for you, love. Did it for them.”

He walked away again.

Oh god.

So she followed him.

“I know that, Spike. I just meant–“

“No worries, love. I know you want meant.”

“Spike –“

“Pet, I need a drink in the worst way. I’m pretty beat up if you haven’t noticed.”

But it was her throat that felt dry. “Of course,” she said hoarsely. “I won’t keep you.”

Nodding, he slipped on his coat, turned on his heels, and was gone.

Only then had she realized that she’d forgotten to give him his gift.


* * * * *

“A neg and Jack.”

The bartender nodded.

“Fucking fiancé.”

“What was that?”

“Wasn’t talking to you mate.”

Spike felt like a pile of steaming shite. He could handle himself in a fight with six Slayers, for sure. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell afterwards.

He guzzled his drink down in three gulps and slid his empty glass down the bar.

“Keep ‘em comin’, mate.”

“You got it.”

“Fucking fiancé.”

She’d neglected to mention that little tidbit. And according to Gina, this Max bloke was a much more recent development than Peaches. So she’d been engaged to the prat. No, he wouldn’t call him that. The guy actually sounded like a half decent bloke from what Gina had said.

“Fucking fiancé.”

“That’s the third time you’ve said that, Bill.”

Spike looked up sharply. He knew that voice.

“Let me guess. Your regular snack?”

It was the Slod. Still looking like a Comptel salesman with his sallow complexion, premature balding and sweaty golf shirt. He was sitting on the other side of the bar grinning stupidly.

“What of her, mate?” he gritted out.

“I knew there was something suspicious about you two. She was more than a snack to you, I think.”

“Do me a favor, mate, and change the fucking subject.”

“Alright, Bill. Alright. I’ll leave that one alone. I can see you’re not in the mood.”

The Slod slid off his seat and walked over to join him. He was wearing the same rumpled khakis and dirty white Nike’s that he’d worn the last time that Spike had suffered his company.

“Tell, you what. Drinks are on me.”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow and gave the Slod a once over. “Cheers, mate.”

“Now, now. Nothing in life is free, you know. You have to give a little to get a little.”

“A little blood and booze for my undead heart? Don’t think so, mate.”

The Slod chuckled. Spike hated that fucking chuckle.

“Not your heart, Bill. I told you, I’m frying bigger fish these days.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Dragvlok talons and Slayer tongues. What kind of dosh did you get for those anyway?” He did his best to sound only mildly interested.

“Enough to buy you a few rounds,” he replied with a wink.

Spike chugged the next two drinks just as quickly as the first, and signaled for two more since they were free.

“Your buyer have any interest in fungus demons? Cause there’s a right slimy bastard in Venice Beach I wouldn’t mind hackin’ to pieces.”

Again with the chuckles.

“I highly doubt it. No one has any interest in fungus demons, Bill. They’re pretty worthless.”

“Tell that to Dru,” he muttered bitterly.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

Spike downed the next two drinks in succession as well, but more slowly this time. He could see the Slod’s eyes on his throat as he swallowed, and caught the demon unconsciously licking his lips.

Turning to face the Slod, he leaned forward and spoke low. “So you wanna get out here or what, mate?”

The Slod’s mouth parted slightly and his eyes glazed over. “What have you got in mind, Bill?”

“Let’s just see where the night takes us, Giggles.”

On cue, the Slod let loose a chuckle, while he raked his eyes over Spike’s torso. “Okay.”

Slipping out of his seat, Spike was halfway out the door before the Slod had paid the bill. But he didn’t have to wait long outside.

The demon burst out the door a bit breathless. “So where to, Bill?”

Spike tilted his head towards the alley on the side of the bar. “Short-cut to my place.”

A grin spread across the Slod’s face, which Spike reluctantly returned.

Once they were deep in the alley, Spike stopped.

“Bill?”

Slowly, Spike walked the demon backwards towards the wall of a run-down building. “That’s the problem with vampires, you know.”

The Slod was still looking more eager than nervous. “What is, Bill?”

Spike bit down on his bottom lip and grinned. “Impatience.”

Breathing heavily, the Slod placed a hand to Spike’s cheek and stroked it reverently. Spike closed his eyes briefly, pretending to enjoy the Slod’s touch. Then with the same degree of gentleness, Spike wrapped his own hand around the side of the demon’s neck and stroked his jaw with his thumb.

A sigh escaped the Slod’s mouth as his eyelids fluttered shut.

Then Spike squeezed.

Opening his eyes in alarm, the Slod pulled hopelessly on Spike’s sleeve with his hands.

Spike looked him in the eyes and squeezed tighter, waiting patiently for his prize.

Slowly, the Slod stretched open his mouth, gasping for breath.

“AGH!!!!!!!”

And Spike ripped out his tongue with his fingers.

It was a quick and ugly job, but satisfying as hell.

Spike looked on with delight as the Slod slumped against the wall, gurgling and choking on his stump.

“How much do you reckon I could get for this, mate?” Spike was swinging the demon’s tongue in the air and grinning maniacally.

“Doesn’t matter, I suppose. It’s a gift for a lady, anyway.” Forgetting the mess he’d make on the leather, Spike pocketed the slippery, pink flesh.

The Slod tried to bolt, but Spike caught him in one stride and lifted him high in the air by his shirt.

“Nuh uh. Afraid I can’t let you do that.”

The Slod struggled to speak, but could manage only a garble of gutturals.

“Huh. On second thought, guess I can.”

Spike dropped him like a bag of second-hand clothes and searched his coat for his fags. Lighting a cigarette – his first in a while – he took a deep, slow drag. It was only a short stroll home from the bar. With a tongue in his pocket and a belly full of free blood and booze, he was feeling a hell of a lot better about himself.

* * * * *

Buffy felt a bit like a stalker – waiting in a parked car outside of his building – but she didn’t know what else to do. She could have borrowed a phone and called him, she supposed, but that wasn’t how she wanted to explain things.

After waiting for him for an hour, she began to wonder if he’d be getting home anytime soon. He was a vampire, after all, and it was still pretty early. But he was beaten up pretty badly, so she’d assumed he’d want to rest. Or knowing Spike, get drunk.

She could go to his local pub, but then she’d really feel like a stalker. And if he wanted to drink in peace, then she wanted to let him.

The Mini was stuffed to the brim with shopping bags, so Buffy occupied herself with reviewing the day’s purchases. As she handled her new things, it occurred to her that she had no closet to put them in. No home – at least not one that was habitable at the moment. She hadn’t really thought about where she’d put all the stuff when she’d bought it.

She was a fool. Gripping the steering wheel two-handed, Buffy lowered her forehead against it and sighed.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Startled, Buffy looked up and found Spike standing outside her car door.

Okay. She was waiting for this. No reason to be nervous.

He opened the door for her but blocked her from exiting.

“Waiting for me?” he asked calmly.

“Yes.” She could have used sarcasm, but she decided for straightforward.

“Well, I’m here.”

“Can I come in?”

He stared at her for a moment, still unreadable. “Like I said, Buffy. You’re always welcome.”

She smiled slightly for want of something else to say.

Stepping back to let her exit, he turned and descended the stairs to his flat.

She grabbed the bag with his gift, but left the others in the car and rushed to follow him.

“Welcome home, sir.”

Spike slipped out of his coat and threw it over the kitchen counter.

“Hi, Kit,” Buffy greeted, a bit too cheerfully.

“Welcome back, Buffy.”

“Hey! She knows my name now.”

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah, she’s clever that way.”

This wasn’t going well.

Spike walked to the kitchen to wash his hands, and for the first time she noticed that they were bloody. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard.

“Drink?”

“Thanks.”

He looked at her in surprise, then grabbed two tumblers and filled them both.

“Spike, listen. About Max–“

“You mean your fiancé?” His eyes were on his drink as he swirled it in his glass. He downed it one gulp and poured himself another.

“Ex-fiancé.”

“My condolences.” He walked over to her and handed her a glass but wouldn’t look at her.

“Spike–“

“What, Buffy?” he asked wearily. “What?”

Her mouth was open, but nothing was coming out.

Spike slumped into a chair. “You don’t have to explain a thing, pet.”

She sighed. “But I want to. Whatever you saw or heard, it’s not what it looked like.”

“It looked like you two had some unfinished business.”

“Well we don’t. That’s over. We’re over. We’ve been over for a long time.”

“You didn’t look too happy about that tonight.”

She couldn’t help but sigh again. “Spike, I was upset for him. He’s Sonny’s big brother, and she’s all he has in the world. But he and Sonny have a… well, a distant relationship. She pushes him away for reasons I don’t entirely understand, and it hurts him.”

He stayed silent.

“And I pushed him away for very good reasons a long time ago. And that hurts him too.”

Finally, he looked up at her.

So she decided to tell him everything.

“We were only engaged for a few days, Spike. We’d dated for a year and…” She shrugged guiltily. “It was good. I felt… normal. And he loved me – like, ‘love-of-his-life’ kind of love. And he was really nice. And he knew about Slayers because of Sonny, so there was nothing to hide.”

She paused for a moment, revisiting the experiences somewhat painfully. “He wanted to marry me. To have babies and family snorkeling vacations. And… I don’t know. I guess after watching from the outside as Dawn and Xander raised their kids, I wanted that too.”

Pause.

He was quiet when he spoke. “So what happened?”

She smiled sadly. “I woke up.”

He furrowed his brow. “You died?”

“No. Not that kind of waking up.” Buffy took a deep breath in and exhaled forcefully. “Spike, I’m immortal, which means I don’t age and I don’t die.”

“I know what it means, love.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what it means for me. Spike, I can’t have children and watch them grow old and die. No mother should have to do that. It’s not natural. I’m not natural.”

He was standing in front of her the next moment.

“Don’t ever say that.”

“Spike–“

“There‘s nothing remotely unnatural about you, Buffy.”

“Out of the mouths of vampires.”

“Buffy, you’re–“

“No. You’re wrong. Stop kidding yourself and stop trying to fool me. We both know that there’s nothing natural about my situation. And don’t pity me either. I’ve accepted what I am, what the future holds for me, and what it doesn’t. I get it. Max didn’t. That’s the point here.”

He lowered his head.

“And don’t misunderstand me, Spike. For a while I did want to get married and to have kids. And the truth is, I might have even gone through with it if I had loved Max more.” Her face fell. “If I had really wanted him.”

He looked up at her again.

“But I didn’t love him enough,” she added quietly. “And a guy like Max deserves better than that.”

“But I don’t.”

Buffy looked at him with alarm, her eyes widening. “What?”

“You’re lonely,” he accused her, almost bitterly. “Afraid to get attached to a human because you’d have to say goodbye in the end. That’s where I come in, right?”

She scrunched up her face in confusion. “What?”

“There you were, living all alone in your little white cottage in your sleepy, little town. Fighting the good fight, but with nothing but your silly Sci Fi movies at night to entertain you. Until I showed up. Someone to keep you company. To make you feel a little less lonely. Someone that never has to say goodbye.”

“Oh my god. You think I’m using you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.” Now she was bitter.

“Well I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I get it. It’s a fucking awful deck of cards Red’s dealt you. Like you said, humans weren’t meant to live forever. And you’re the only one who has to.”

“So…”

“You’re lonely.”

She couldn’t believe her ears.

“Am I hideous?” she asked angrily.

“What?”

“You heard me. Am I hideous?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t think I could find someone to keep me company if I wanted it?”

“What? Buffy, no. I–“

“It’s been forty years, you idiot. I’ve lived on five continents, traveled to more than a hundred cities. Do you think I haven’t had lovers?”

He looked away.

“Look at me, damn it.”

He did.

“Do you think I need to dig up old lovers to keep me company?”

His eyes were darting around the room now.

“I’ve dated men in a dozen cities, Spike.”

He started tensing his jaw.

“Paris, Rio, Milan, Tel Aviv, Shanghai –“

“I get it Slayer,” he gritted out.

“No. You don’t. You don’t get it at all! I’m a smart, confident, well-travelled woman with the body of a twenty-year old triathlete, for god’s sake – a body that will never go out of shape, never wrinkle, and never sag. And I’ve got superpowers in and out of the bedroom, if you haven’t forgotten.”

He ducked his head.

“Do you really think I’d have trouble finding a man to keep me company?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you have any idea how many men would love a no marriage, no kids, no strings attached kind of affair with me?”

He was sucking his teeth now.

“And you’re not the only man around who doesn’t age, Spike. I could have Angel in my bed tomorrow if I wanted him!”

He tensed instantly. “Then what the fuck are you doing in my bed?!”

She flinched.

Oh god.

She put a hand to her mouth and turned away. This was all going wrong.

“I get it, Buffy,” he gritted out. “You can have any man you want, whenever you fucking want. Good for you. So what the hell are you doing here with me?!”

Oh god. She was gonna be sick. Her back to him, she shut her eyes and held herself. But he was spinning her around the next moment.

“Answer me, goddamnit.”

She shut her eyes again. “Spike–“

“Open your bloody eyes, Slayer, and answer me! What the hell are you doing here? What do you want from me?!”

“I don’t know!”

“The hell you don’t!”

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “Nothing! Anything! I don’t know! I just want you to be here, Spike! Is that so horrible?”

“Now that you’re through fucking, Peaches, you mean. What, is it my turn now?”

She smacked him hard.

“How dare you judge me for that!”

“Oh, I dare, goddamnit. I judge you plenty for that fucking lapse in judgment!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Like that would have mattered!”

“Well, we’ll never know now, will we?! You left Spike! You lied! You lived for god’s sake and you lied! You let me believe that you were dead for forty years! You don’t have the right to judge me for anything!”

His mouth dropped open in seeming disbelief. “What the hell was I supposed to do, Buffy? Come waltzing back into your life in London or Scotland or wherever the hell you were traipsing around, and demand a place by your side? A place in your bed?! I’m not that big a fool!”

“You were supposed to be honest with me, Spike. I was supposed to be able to trust you of all people to be that!”

“That works two ways, Buffy.”

“What–“

“You want honesty? Then answer the bloody question. What am I doing here? What the hell do you want from me?”

Silence.

Her mind was in chaos.

“Buffy.“

“I want…”

“Say it.”

Oh god. Why was she so scared? “I just want…”

“Buffy–”

“I don’t know, damn it! You! Here! I want you here! I want you to stay!”

“We’d already decided that I would.”

She nodded weakly. “I know.”

“The question is why.”

Damn it. She dug her hands into her hair. Why was this so hard? Why did she feel so out of control?

She couldn’t stop the tears once they’d started to flow.

“Buffy?”

So she let herself cry. Big fat tears silently streamed down her face.

“Buffy–“

“I’m sorry, Spike,” she spoke pitifully.

He exhaled. “Buffy–“

‘I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you.”

“What?” He sighed wearily. “Buffy, you’ve treated me just fine. Really.”

But the tears kept flowing.

“Love, you gave me a place to crash, back in Santa Lucia. You bought me that wolf’s blood and the ox–“

“No.” She wiped at her wet cheeks with annoyance. “I meant in the past. The way I used to treat you.”

He looked away. “Buffy, that’s over, love.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Buffy, I wasn’t innocent.”

“No, you weren’t. But you didn’t have a soul, Spike. You’d been trained for a century to be a killer. I was supposed to be so much more than that.”

“Buffy, please, love. Just let it go. It’s done. However you treated me in the past was deserved, and…” Almost inaudibly, he added, “it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She looked at him with disbelief.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he murmured.

“Spike–“

“But a little less every day, love.” He gave her a small smile. “Especially now that you’re being so nice.”

She sniffled. “Am I really being nice?”

He laughed through his smile. “You’re being a peach, love.”

She hesitated for a moment.

“I can be nicer, you know.”

Spike narrowed his eyes.

She giggled nervously and went to grab her bag from the table. With shaky hands, she pulled out an elegantly wrapped box.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so nervous. She pushed the gift forward.

“For you.”

He blinked.

She smiled.

“What’s this?”

“We covered this already, moron. It’s a gift.”

He shifted on his feet. “But… what is this?”

“Spike. It’s a gift. You know the drill. You have to open it to find out.”

He looked down at the box in her hands, but didn’t take it.

“Strange.” He frowned slightly. “I’ve got a gift for you too.”

“Really?”

“Um, of sorts.”

“What is it?”

“A tongue.”

“What?”

Spike went to his coat pocket and dug out her prize.

“Ew!”

He chuckled. “Ask me where I got it.”

“Where–?” Wait. Her eyes widened in realization. “No way.”

He grinned widely.

“The jerk from the bar?” she asked hopefully.

“They call ‘em Slods.”

“Him?”

“The very one.”

Buffy jumped up and down, squealing in triumph. “Is he dead?”

“Nope. Just mute.”

She jumped up and down some more.

“Okay. That gift is way better than my gift, Spike.”

He looked pretty pleased with himself too. “Thought you’d like it.”

“I really do. But um, can we maybe get rid of it now?”

Laughing, Spike took it to the kitchen and chucked it down the drain.

“Ugh! You can’t put it down the garbage disposal, Spike!”

“Why not?”

“It’s a tongue!”

“Slayer, you’d put leftover chicken down the garbage disposal.”

She grimaced. “Oh. Right. I guess I would. Okay. But, for the record: Ew.”

The sound of the disposal slicing Slod tongue made her one part satisfied, one part sick.

After washing his hands, Spike returned to the living room and folded his arms. “My turn.”

For the first time since she’d found his gift, Buffy was feeling excited.

“Okay, but it’s not great. I mean, I tried to think of something that you would like, that you wouldn’t buy yourself, or that I didn’t think you already had.”

“Buffy.”

“And it’s not like you couldn’t get it for yourself, and I don’t really know much about–“

“Buffy, just give me the bloody thing already.” He was trying not to laugh at her.

She handed it over.

Smiling shyly, Spike took his gift with both hands and sat down on the sofa, Buffy anxiously joining him.

“It’s–“

“Shh.” He was smiling more widely now. “Pretty paper.”

“I didn’t wrap it myself or anything.”

“Didn’t think so.” Carefully, he peeled back the tape on either end and along the back.

“Spike. You don’t have to save the paper or–“

“Oi! It’s my gift, innit?”

“Sorry.”

Returning to his task, Spike gently pulled away the paper to reveal an old white book. On top of the book lay a handwritten card with a description in a neat, scholastic hand.

He read the card out loud. “Shakespeare, William. The Sonnets. Edited by Edward Dowden. Publisher: London: Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co., 1883. First edition thus. Very attractively bound in vellum and edited by the distinguished Irish critic and poet Edward Dowden, who first made his name as a Shakespeare scholar.”

He gave her a look of quiet surprise.

“I know you like poetry, but I don’t really know much about it. I basically know of like, a handful of poets. Shakespeare, who I know is English, this lady named Emily Dickens–”

“Dickinson.”

“Right. And Maya Angelou – but I didn’t think she was really your thing. Oh. And Robert Frost – but I don’t actually remember any of his poems.”

He was turning the old book in his hands and fondling the binding with care. “Where’d you get it?”

From this place called The Poet’s Corner. There’s this stuffy old English guy there who owns the place. The store is actually pretty cool, in a Giles kind of way.”

His smile grew wider. And warmer.

“Anyway, I thought you might like this one because it’s old. Like, from your time, old. I thought you might remember this edition or something?”

It took him a moment to stop caressing the book before he responded. “Not this edition, no. But I know of Edward Dowden. And I remember vellum. Very fondly.”

“Oh.” She was a little disappointed.

“And I love Shakespeare, pet.”

“You do?” she asked hesitantly.

“I am English.”

She bit back a smile. “Right. So do you know the sonnets?”

“Of course. Very well. Don’t you?”

“Um, some. I mean, I remember the really famous one: ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’. But I don’t actually remember the rest of it.”

“Sonnet eighteen.” Spike paged through the book until he’d found that particular poem, and gave her the book to read. So she was surprised when he began to recite it instead. And from memory.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 

And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest.

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: 

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Buffy looked up from the page. “Wow.”

He rubbed the back of his head.

“So what does it mean?”

He paused and didn’t quite meet her eyes. “It means that everything loses its beauty, but her. That everything loses its youth, but her. That she will never die, because she lives on in his song.”

Pause.

“Oh.”

He swallowed. “So uh… you remember any others?”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Hm… I know there’s another famous one about love not altering. And tempests. I’m pretty sure there were tempests.”

He was sucking his teeth like he was trying to keep from laughing.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, love. That’s one hundred and sixteen.”

“Geez, Spike. You know the number and everything?” Curious, she paged forward in the book to that number. “Okay. Start rhyming buster.”

Spike looked her in the eyes this time, as if up for the challenge.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no. It is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests–“

“Ha! Tempests!”

He glared.

“That looks on tempests and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

“Okay. Very impressive. Translation? It’s about love always lasting. Right?”

He nodded. “It’s about the timelessness of love – real love. And how it doesn’t weaken with time, or with changes in circumstance, or with challenges.” He paused. “Or with tempests,” he added teasingly.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“Funny. Okay, so you know all of the poems. Good for you. And hey, good for me, with the gift-shoppage. So which one is your favorite?”

He didn’t answer, but she didn’t think it was because he didn’t know.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

He exhaled dramatically. “Twenty-nine.”

Eagerly, she paged back towards the beginning to find it. She waited for him to start reciting it, but he didn’t. She frowned. Clearing her throat, she recited it herself instead.

“When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate. 

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 

Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 

With what I most enjoy contented least; 

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Happily I think on thee, and then my state 

Like to the lark at break of day arising 

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate.
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Buffy closed the book slowly and put it back in his lap.

Spike kept his head down and brushed his fingers over the lettering. After a moment, he looked up. “You’re not gonna ask me what it means?”

She shook her head.