Water Under the Bridge by Buffy Meets Spike
 
Disclaimer: All the vampires and other characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.
 
Summary: Ten years after Not Fade Away, Buffy and Spike meet by chance. After all that has happened in the intervening years, what stories do they have to tell? And do they still feel the same way about each other?
 
Beta work by the lovely Sanity Fair. Any mistakes are mine.

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Chapter 1
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Why does anyone live here? Buffy grumbled to herself. She was patrolling down a narrow street in a run-down section of downtown Phoenix, sweating like a pig. Even at ten o’clock at night it was still ninety degrees, and despite everyone’s cheery protestations of, “But it’s a dry heat!” she still felt like she was literally in hell most of the time. The streets were still giving off their daily accumulation of heat, and there was no wind to temper the stifling feeling of the crowded alleys. She wished the demons could kindly congregate somewhere cooler, like Anchorage, but they were notoriously uncooperative.
 
She had been on her current assignment for a week now, cleaning up the larger than normal accumulation of demons that were gathered for some bizarre ritual involving some buried church or was it a mission? She honestly hadn’t paid a ton of attention. On the phone, Giles had said that she was needed to clean up Phoenix, so she had tossed her things in her two suitcases and hit the road again. As she stalked the dirty sidewalks, she remembered that she had forgotten to call Dawn, again, and let her know where she was. But Dawn was busy with her life and her family and didn’t seem to notice much if Buffy didn’t call for a month.
 
A sudden sound from up ahead put her on full alert, and she grabbed a short sword from a scabbard at her back, readying herself. The Corali demons that she was stalking were tough little bastards, as she had found out the first night. You could kill them with your bare hands or rather she could, but it was a lot of work. Swords made it quicker. The Corali were around six feet tall, with tough orange-brown skin and a penchant for green cloaks that completely clashed. I mean, if you’re going to be doing all these demonic rituals could you at least find an outfit that matches your skin? Buffy shook her head, willing herself to concentrate on killing them now and trashing their fashion sense later. She stayed in the shadows near the end of the alleyway, waiting for the demon to cross her path. When the figures crossed the end of the alley she silently sighed to see there were two of them. Not that she couldn’t handle two; she just wasn’t particularly in the mood. She adjusted her grip on her sword and prepared to pounce.
 
Suddenly, one of the demons went flying down the alley past her wide eyes. A dark figure was fighting the second one, whirling and kicking in a ferocious ballet. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she sprang after the first demon that had come up short in a pile of garbage cans. His head was rolling in the scattered trash before he could recover his composure. She spun to go investigate the mystery demon fighter, who was grappling with the second Corali demon at the mouth of the alley. She couldn’t see the newcomer over the head of the Corali, but as she watched, a pair of white hands came up, grabbed the Corali’s horns, and twisted sharply, snapping its neck. The Corali’s body hit the ground, and she found herself staring into a very familiar set of blue eyes.
 
“Spike?” Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open as she tried to process what she was seeing. “Spike, is that you?”
 
Spike’s eyes widened in turn. “Buffy? What the hell are you doing here?” His voice sounded as astonished as hers.
 
“Killing Corali demons, and you?” Her mouth ran on as her brain froze at the realization that Spike was here. The last time she had heard anything about him he had been reported missing in action, presumed dust, yet here he was. Does not compute.
 
“Um, same thing. Passing through, heard about the ritual, thought I’d clean up the place a bit before I moved on.” He looked at her and looked at her, drinking in the sight as if he’d never seen anything like her before. He finally got control of his mouth enough to say, “You, um, you look good, Slayer.”
 
“Not so bad yourself. For a dead man, especially.” Buffy’s brain kept running in circles. Spike was here. Spike. Long dead emotions swirled in both of them as they stared and stared at each other. Buffy found herself struck by a need to talk with him, to find out what had happened to him, and she blurted out, “Do you… do you have time for a drink?”
 
“A drink?” Spike looked as if that was the last thing he expected to hear.
 
“It’s just… it’s been so long. I’d like to just… talk for a while.” Buffy found herself nearly at a loss for words. It was like being in shock, some otherworldly experience, to have this person from her former life appear as if by magic.
 
“Sure. There’s a decent enough bar a few blocks from here.” He led the way out of the alley, and she fell in step beside him. They said nothing although both kept stealing glances at the other. The situation was awkward, like meeting an old college roommate that you weren’t sure if you had anything in common with any more. The odd quiet was beginning to feel slightly ridiculous when they finally arrived at a small Mexican restaurant and bar at the edge of a commercial district. Suddenly aware that walking in with a sword would look odd to most people she stashed it behind some decorative cacti next to the entrance. Spike held the door for her and they went in to find the bar mostly deserted. They found two seats in a quiet corner and ordered: tequila for him, a Corona for her. They raised their drinks to each other and took several sips before Spike finally broke the silence. “So what brings you out here so far away from all the Slayerettes?”
 
“It’s sort of what I do now. If there’s an area with no Slayer and a heavy demon infestation, I get sent there to deal with it. I spend a month here, a few months there – Giles just sends me wherever a short term heavy duty cleanup is needed.” Buffy looked Spike over as she spoke. He had let his hair go natural, and she was amused to find out that it was really a lovely shade of brown under all the bleach. He had a new scar down one side of his face, near his ear, but otherwise had the same smooth skin and chiseled features that she remembered.
 
Spike raised an eyebrow at her explanation. “Seems to me they could find a better use for you. Don’t they need you to train all the newbies?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “Faith took that over. After I…” She paused, realizing that there was a lot Spike didn’t know. “I should probably start at the beginning. There’s a lot you don’t know about.”
 
Spike leaned on the bar and settled in. “I’m all ears.”
 
Buffy took a deep breath and another drink of her beer then began. “Not sure how much you know, so feel free to stop me if you’ve heard any of this. Anyway, after Sunnydale we went to Europe. Giles was intent on getting at whatever Council resources were left after the big kaboom. It was okay at first. There was so much to do, girls to find and things to sort out. Kept me from thinking too much.”
 
“About?” Spike interjected.
 
“About you, for one thing. About all I’d lost. About Anya and the girls who didn’t make it.” Her voice wavered a bit, and she took another drink to steady herself. She went on, firmly avoiding the issue of their last meeting. “Anyhow, things settled down a bit, but then I got into a fight with a massive Chirago demon. Stupid thing fell on me and broke half my ribs and damn near crushed my arm to a pulp.”
 
Spike looked her over. “You seem to have healed up alright,” he observed.
 
“Yeah, I did. In, like, record time. Remember that big stomach wound I got when we were fighting in the Hellmouth?”
 
“Vaguely. I was a bit preoccupied at the time.” Spike shuddered involuntarily at the memory of that particular experience.
 
“At the time I didn’t really think about how I survived that. But after the run-in with the Chirago I had Willow run some tests. Turns out I’m, well, immortal now.”
 
Spike sat up, a serious look on his face. “Come again?”
 
“Apparently a side effect of the spell to activate all the Slayers,” Buffy explained. “Turned all the potentials into Slayers, turned the original Slayer into something that can’t be killed. Although I suppose if someone lopped off my head that would do the trick. For some reason it didn’t affect Faith, only me. Maybe because I was the original? Who knows? Doesn’t matter I guess.”
 
Spike whistled. “How did you feel about that?”
 
Buffy laughed a bit. “I pretty much went off the rails for a while. The thought that I would have to do this literally forever just sort of…”
 
“Drove you mad?”
 
“Yeah, that. I started partying, drinking, pretty much doing whatever I wanted for a while.”
 
Spike paused then asked, “Was that when you started dating the Immortal?”
 
Buffy blushed slightly. “Heard about that did you?”
 
“It… came to my attention.”
 
Buffy wondered why it sounded like he was hiding something but went on. “I made a total ass of myself with him. Thought he might be the one to understand me. Turns out he just wanted to screw a Slayer since he’d done just about everything else.” She shook her head and took another drink, finishing the beer and motioning the bartender for another round.
 
“I had heard that you were married or engaged or something,” Spike said.
 
“I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet,” she said absently. “Don’t interrupt.” She frowned at him and took a long drink.
 
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Spike said, starting on his second tequila with a bemused smile.
 
Setting down her beer she continued, “Anyhow, the Immortal took off, and I decided to grow up and deal. You actually helped a lot with that you know.”
 
“I did?” Spike raised an eyebrow.
 
 “Yeah. Dawn and I were having a big fight about my behavior and she threw something out about you not sacrificing yourself just so I could screw half of Europe. I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me, wherever you were. So I tried to be a good little Slayer and get back to my job.” Buffy was amazed at the torrent of words coming from her mouth. I don’t think I’ve strung this many words together in a year or more.
 
“What happened next?” he prompted, evidently fascinated by her tale.
 
Buffy’s expression sobered a bit. “The apocalypse in LA,” she said quietly. She hadn’t cried in ages, and she firmly told herself she wasn’t going to start now. He didn’t need to see her tears. “We didn’t hear about it until it was all over and Angel showed up at my doorstep, all human and stuff.”
 
“So the poof got the big prize, huh?” Spike was trying, but failing to mask his irritation at the mention of Angel. He bolted down his tequila and motioned for another.
 
“Yeah, he was the big winner,” Buffy said with a shrug. “He showed up with a pulse and told me all about the, whatever it was, sand shoe prophesy?”
 
“Shanshu.”
 
“Whatever. He also told me how you had come back, and how instrumental you had been in the last fight, and how you had fallen into a demon dimension with some… woman or something.”
 
“That would be Ilyria,” Spike explained. “She was a god in another dimension. Opened up a portal and yanked most of the demons, and me, through the hole. Ended up fighting demons there for quite a while before I managed to get back here. But that’s for later. How long have you and Angel been married then?”
 
Buffy choked on her beer. “Married? To Angel? Who told you that?”
 
“I guess I just assumed,” Spike answered, clearly confused by her reaction. “I mean he was the love of your life, he turns human again, I figured that would be that.”
 
“Um, no,” Buffy said with a frown. “Oh sure, that was pretty much his plan. Get the heartbeat, come and sweep me off my feet, live happily ever after. Might have happened except for the fact that he lied to me about you.” Spike’s mouth dropped open slightly as she continued. “When he told me that you had come back, but that you had somehow decided it would be better if I moved on, and that he didn’t think he should tell me, I was… well pissed doesn’t cover it. Then when he told me you were gone again, probably dead, I lost it.”
 
“Lost it?”
 
“I broke his nose.”
 
Spike couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “That’s my slayer. Always discussing things with your fists.”
 
“I guess it’s my first language,” Buffy said with a crooked smile that vanished as rapidly as it appeared. “Anyhow, I was pretty upset, threw him out of my apartment, and pretty much didn’t talk to anyone for a few weeks. I think that was the first time I cried since Sunnydale.” She started peeling the label off her beer, not wanting to meet Spike’s eyes right then. “I mourned you for real then. Before I could blame the First, or fate, and console myself with the thought that you must be in some good place after all you did.” After you left me alone. Again. She shook herself slightly to keep herself from going down the bitterness path.
 
Spike looked at her in disbelief. “I had no idea. Figured you’d have moved on. Honestly didn’t think you were missing me.”
 
Buffy shrugged again. “Well, I did. Miss you. Took me a good year to really get over it all.” She took a drink, deciding she wasn’t going to be forthcoming with a lot of details about that year. At least not until she was a lot more drunk. “Finally decided to move on, for Dawn’s sake if nothing else. She missed you too, by the way,” Buffy added offhandedly.
 
“Never meant to hurt you girls. Just want you to know that,” Spike said, a little guiltily.
 
Another shrug. “It’s okay. We survived. I started dating again. Guy named Steve. His sister is actually one of the Slayers. He showed up looking for her, decided he wanted to become a watcher, started hanging around. We started dating and stuff. About nine months or so into the relationship I got pregnant.”
 
Now it was Spike’s turn to choke on his drink. “You’ve got a kid?”
 
“Yeah. He’s eight now. Lives with his dad.” She took another drink, still addressing her remarks primarily to the now denuded Corona bottle.
 
“So you’re not together anymore?” Spike asked, as if unwilling to broach a difficult subject.
 
“No. We broke up when the baby was about a year old.”
 
“Sorry to hear that.”
 
“It was never really meant to be,” Buffy said as she methodically shredded the label into a small pile of dust in front of her. “We got married because it seemed like the right thing to do, but I don’t know if I would have ever said yes without the baby. It was a little like with Riley. I liked him, maybe loved him a little, but I couldn’t give him what he needed. When the baby came I thought maybe I would feel something, but it didn’t really work out that way. I suffered a lot from post partum depression and all that. Never really felt that connected to either of them somehow.” She wondered why she was pouring all this out to Spike after all this time. She hadn’t really talked any of this out with anyone, truthfully. Her split with Steve had been more of a drifting away than a knock out fight. If she was honest, her unwillingness to really discuss her feelings had been one of the things that drove them apart. It was hard for her to really blame Steve for not knowing what she was going through when she never really told him.
 
“What’s your son’s name?” Spike asked, clearly trying to defuse things a bit.
 
“Tyler William,” Buffy said. Spike raised an eyebrow. “Steve wanted Tyler – he’s an Aerosmith fan and thought that ‘Steve and Tyler’ would be a hoot. I was too wiped out by the birth to argue, but I picked the middle name.”
 
“I’m flattered,” Spike said, and he looked like he meant it.
 
“I… I wanted something to remember you by. I didn’t have anything else.” Could I sound any more pathetic? She finished her second beer and stifled a belch.
 
“Another?” Spike inquired.
 
“Better have a glass of water first, or you may have to carry me home,” Buffy said. She got a glass of soda water with lime from the bartender and sipped that for a while.
 
“So how did he end up with custody?” Spike wondered. “Doesn’t the mom usually get that automatically?”
 
“Depends on the mom, I guess,” Buffy answered. “I took some time off from the Slayer gig when I was pregnant. Had to, really. Hard to fight vampires when you can’t get up without a forklift. Then Steve really leaned on me to stay home when Tyler was first born. I went along with it – I figured maybe I would feel more maternal the more time I spent at home.”
 
“And did it work?”
 
“Not really. I felt bored and trapped. Don’t get me wrong, I did… do… love Tyler. But it always seemed like I had to work at it. Steve on the other hand was an instant father. I could try to put Tyler to bed for an hour, no luck. Steve walked with him for five minutes and the kid was out.”
 
“Maybe Steve was just boring,” Spike ventured.
 
Buffy cracked a small smile. “Maybe. Anyhow, when the kiddo was six months old I got a call from Giles. Big demon uprising in Prague, more than the others could handle. It was literally a matter of life and death, and even Steve could see that I was needed. So I went, we triumphed although we lost a bunch of Slayers in the process. But after that I really couldn’t go back to just staying home all the time. It started out with just a weekend job here and there, but before long I would be gone half the week. At first Steve was supportive, but after a while he got resentful. I got twelve different versions of ‘He’ll only be a baby once and you’re missing it’ speech. When I was late for Tyler’s first birthday party it was sort of the last straw for him. He told me that either I gave up slaying, or he was leaving. I guess you can figure out how that went.”
 
Spike drank in her story with pitying eyes. Unwilling to go into things more deeply, Buffy sipped at her soda water, her face an impenetrable mask that betrayed nothing. “Do you ever see him?” Spike asked.
 
Buffy shook her head. “I meant to fight for joint custody. But something apocalypsy came up like it always does, and I missed the court date because I was fighting my way out of some demon lair at the time. Not really an excuse that a judge is going to buy. Steve moved away and got remarried. Tyler’s got a little sister now. Steve sends me his school picture every year, but otherwise, Tyler doesn’t really know about me. It’s probably better that way.”
 
“I can’t believe that,” Spike said. “For a kid not to know his mother? Just can’t picture you giving up something so important with hardly a fight.”
 
Buffy’s voice came out in a monotone; she had had this discussion with Giles, with Willow, with Xander. Sometimes she felt like she should just record it already. “He has a mother. His stepmom adopted him and everything. Besides, with me as a mom he’d probably be in danger. It’s been bad enough for Dawn, and she’s old enough to handle it. Not fair to saddle a little kid with that.”
 
Spike brightened a bit at Dawn’s name. “How is the Nibblet anyhow? She must be all grown up and on her own.”
 
“You wouldn’t recognize her,” Buffy said with a fond smile. “She graduated from college two years ago. She got married right out of college – she met Brian in her freshman psychology class and it was love at first sight. She works as a researcher for an engineering firm. They’ve got a little girl – Amanda Joyce. She’s about nine months old right now.“ Her voice got distant, despite her efforts to keep things light.
 
Spike narrowed his eyes, and Buffy knew he wasn’t fooled. “How often do you two see each other?”
 
“I haven’t seen her in person since right after Amanda was born. She kinda doesn’t want me around too much.”
 
“The hell? After all you’ve done for her?” Spike shook his head. “What would make Dawn cut you out of her life like that?”
 
Buffy sighed. “Some demons with a grudge against me crashed Dawn’s wedding. Everyone survived, but Brian got hurt and Dawn got pissed. We got in a huge fight. She was tired of being in danger all the time because she was the Slayer’s sister. She made it clear that she didn’t want anyone to know we were related. She and Brian moved to Ireland, took Brian’s last name, and otherwise left the whole Slayer life behind. If I visit, it’s got to be totally undercover, and I don’t think Brian’s ever really forgiven me. So we call sometimes, but it’s a little strained.”
 
“Christ, Slayer.” Spike didn’t come up with a response for a while. They probably would have sat there until doomsday, each staring at their empty drinks if the bartender hadn’t roused them out of their reverie with a cry of “Last call!”
 
“What time is it?” Buffy asked, blinking a bit. She had completely lost track of the hour.
 
Spike peered at the clock behind the bar. “Midnight.”
 
“Maybe we should go,” Buffy said slowly. In truth she didn’t want to go home alone to another empty anonymous rental apartment. But she felt she had no right to hold Spike up. Probably has places to go, people to see.
 
“Could I walk you home?” Spike asked. He looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment, and Buffy was sure that he would be blushing if it was possible.
 
 “I’d really like that,” she said, and she was unable to stop the smile that flickered briefly around her lips. Spike tossed some money on the bar, waving her offer to pay aside. They left, retrieved the sword, and Buffy led the way through the streets toward her current abode. “The council pays for a furnished apartment wherever I happen to end up. Unless it’s somewhere really out there, of course.”
 
“Where do you live when you’re not on assignment?” Spike asked as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
 
The smell of cigarette smoke gave Buffy a feeling of nostalgia, and for once she didn’t insist he put it out. Answering his question she said, “I don’t have anywhere in particular. I just go from place to place as needed.” They walked on through the thick heat and the thicker silence until they arrived at a plain looking apartment building. “This is home then?”
 
“For the moment,” she answered. They stared at each other in awkward silence for another moment before Buffy stuttered, “Can you… I mean I… “
 
Spike cocked his head. “What is it, pet?”
 
God, could I be any more desperate? Why not just cling to his leg like a two year old? “It’s just… I haven’t talked to anyone, I mean really had a conversation in so long and I just… do you want to come in? Just for a while? To talk?”
 
Spike tilted his head and looked at her with an expression that seemed equal parts concern and confusion. “Sure, Slayer. I’ve got no particular plans right now. Lead on.” Relieved, Buffy unlocked the front door and lead the way up to the third floor. The one bedroom apartment was clean, with reasonably comfortable looking furniture and completely devoid of personality. Spike looked around and in a polite voice said, “Nice place.”
 
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. It’s pretty boring, but at least it’s free of vermin and quiet so good enough.” She set her sword in a corner and said, “I’ll be right back. There’s some beer in the fridge. Make yourself at home.” She disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed. Spike’s here. After all this time. Her brain still couldn’t quite get wrapped around that fact. She used the toilet and washed her hands in a bit of a fog. As she dried her hands she caught a look at herself in the mirror. She still looked like a fresh out of college California girl, blonde hair and toned body, clear tan skin carefully moisturized. Only her eyes betrayed her true age. They were tired and full of years of pain and heartache. She had long since decided that the easiest thing to do was to just concentrate on the work. Relationships with men always ended in disaster, the remaining Scoobies were too much work on a regular basis, and she felt she had no right to intrude on Dawn’s first stable relationship ever. She exchanged emails with Willow and Xander a couple times a month, cursory affairs that usually said little. She called Dawn on occasion, talked to Giles when it was necessary. But overall she had found it was easier to shut down the interpersonal relationship center of her brain and just exist on her own. She’s been fairly successful in putting everything behind her. Her routine consisted of sleeping until noon, making herself a small lunch, reading, watching TV, or doing whatever until nightfall then slaying all night. She avoided crowds, rarely talked to anyone other than store clerks, and while she wasn’t exactly happy she wasn’t really depressed either.
 
He’s here. In the next room, she thought again. The sight of that familiar long lost face and those ice blue eyes had flipped a switch inside her and emotions she had long buried surged to the surface. It was like not realizing you were hungry until someone else made popcorn in the next room. She had managed to forget that she was lonely and disconnected and not particularly happy until she had seen the man who had been with her in her darkest hours. The ache was even worse because he wasn’t going to stay. He was going to leave like everyone did, and she would be stuck here in this limbo again, only now with the realization of how miserable she really was. Would have been better if we hadn’t run into each other. But even as she thought it, she knew she didn’t mean it.
 
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Spike wandered around the little living room, wondering how he had gotten there. He never expected to meet her again. Then to meet her and have her want to catch up with him was just… inconceivable. Of all the things that could have come out of her mouth at that moment, an invitation to go drinking was about the last thing he expected. He wouldn’t have been surprised to get a punch in the nose or a tongue-lashing. He probably had those coming. From her tale so far, it sounded like he had a lot of explaining to do to justify his absence in her life. The idea that she had tried to honor his death in small ways came as a humbling surprise to the vampire. When he and Angel had gone to Rome, Andrew had seemed to indicate she was over both of them completely. Angel’s return to the land of the living had been news to him, and he had thoroughly expected to hear that they were living happily ever after. He couldn’t deny that he’d been pleased as punch to hear that she had tossed him out, and he wondered why the idea of her being divorced lifted his spirits so much.
 
At the same time, there was no denying that she had changed. Immortal. Shit, that would mess with your head, especially after the whole resurrection thing. It was different when all your mates were also immortal, and you were evil so you didn’t tend to give a rat’s ass about most of them. But to be an immortal human, knowing your friends and family were going to age and die around you? He’d had no one left to mourn by the time he’d set off across Europe with Dru and the rest. No wonder she seems so… distant. He glanced at the bathroom door, but since it was still closed he took her up on her invitation and went to raid the fridge for a beer. The fridge contained a new six-pack of Corona, some yogurt, leftover take-out, some salad, and not a whole lot else. She clearly wasn’t into cooking, and apparently had overcome her aversion to beer. He grabbed two beers, found an opener in the drawer of random utensils that must have come with the apartment, and went to sit down in the living room.
 
Buffy finally emerged, her face carefully controlled. “Thanks,” she said as she took the beer he offered and sat down in an armchair while Spike sprawled on the couch.
 
“So when we last left our heroine, she had become estranged from her sister,” he said with a lame attempt at humor. “What happened next?”
 
“Nothing all that interesting,” Buffy said. “Let’s see... um, Faith and Robin got hitched a few years after Sunnydale. She’s still a walking attitude, but Robin seems to be able to handle it. Xander’s married –to a Slayer named Mindy. I guess he was so used to hanging around Slayers it just seemed natural to hook up with one. Willow’s still doing magic stuff for the Council. She’s pretty big in those circles.”
 
“She still with what’s her name? Kennedy?” Spike tried to keep his voice neutral, but his memory of Kennedy was one of an annoying smart mouth who needed to be put in her place.
 
“God, no. They broke up pretty soon after Sunnydale, and I don’t think anyone was particularly upset about it.” Buffy sipped her beer and added, “Sort of weird how time has been divided into Before Sunnydale and After Sunnydale. We could say ‘the year 1 BS’… well, no, that would sound weird. Never mind.”
 
Spike chuckled. “I see your grasp of the English language is as interesting as ever.”
 
“Yeah, well, not like I practice much. I don’t really interact with a lot of people these days. Or at least, the people I interact with tend to come to a dusty end.” She shrugged for the hundredth time that night and drank some more.
 
God, what happened to you? Spike wanted to ask. It was like when she came back from the dead. She just seemed to be sleepwalking through life, going through the motions again. True, she seemed infinitely more functional than she had been back then, but this emotionless, matter of fact recitation of the intervening years made him wonder if he was talking to some less pleasant version of the Bot. “So now you just, what, do free-lance slaying for the Council?”
 
“That’s the job description,” she replied. “Go to place x, kill everything demony, repeat ad infinitum.” She looked over at him curiously. “Enough about me. When did you get back to this dimension?”
 
Spike blew out a long breath. “Where to begin?”
 
“Well, why not begin with that whole ‘getting sucked into a demon dimension’ thing and go from there.”
 
So she doesn’t want to talk about the year after Sunnyhell disappeared, I guess. He shrugged and joined her in avoiding the elephant in the room. “Well, all hell broke loose in LA, literally when we went after the Circle of the Black Thorn. They sent every demon in the dictionary at us. There was a fucking dragon for God’s sake.” He shuddered again at the memory.
 
“How many of there were you? I only heard about you and Angel, and what’s her name…”
 
“Ilyria,” Spike said. “That’s about all there was left. Wesley was gone before the final attack. Gunn – one of the team from way back – he was injured already. Lasted about fifteen minutes before he went down.” His voice faltered a little as he remembered the defeated look in Gunn’s eyes in that split second before he fell for the last time. He took a long drink mentally toasting his fallen comrade.
 
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, with a voice that held genuine emotion.
 
“We all knew what we were getting into. Still hurt.” Spike ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing his story. “Anyhow, the battle was total madness. Surrounded on all sides, no time to think. Then at some point Ilyria stopped fighting and grabbed some… medallion or something off one of the demons. Turns out it was some sort of amulet that could let her focus her power. There was this bright light then… I don’t know what. Like being in a washing machine or something. I hit the ground, and I was still surrounded by demons, but now I was somewhere else. Blue – sorry, Ilyria. Bint had blue skin in her real form, and I never could call anyone by their proper name.”
 
“That’s true,” Buffy said with a little chuckle. “I think if you ever called all of us by our given names in one day there would be an apocalypse or something.”
 
“Must be a vampire thing,” he agreed. “Anyway, turns out we were in some other demon dimension. No particular advantage for me and Blue, but we saved the city I guess. We fought until we could get away and hole up for a while to rest and heal. Spent a few years there, fighting and hiding. Learned to live on demon blood, which makes pig blood look like fucking ambrosia, let me tell you.”
 
“How did you get back?” Buffy wondered.
 
“Ilyria again,” Spike replied. “We eventually got to the point that the demon population had been knocked down pretty low. One of the more intelligent demon leader types finally decided to try to come to terms with us They promised to stay out of the Earth’s dimension if we promised to just get out of their hair. They did some ritual, sacrificed one of their own, cast some spell to ensure that any demon of their bunch that broke the truce would die horribly, and we called it good enough and left. I don’t know where Blue went. There was another flash, and I woke up in the same bloody alley in LA.”
 
“When was that?”
 
“About three years ago.”
 
Buffy’s eyes boggled. “You were fighting demons for six years?”
 
“Give or take.” Spike took another drink.
 
“What did you do then?” Buffy was sitting curled up, like a child hearing a bedtime story despite the beer she kept sipping at.
 
“I tried to figure out if anyone else had survived. I poked around LA, found nothing. Ended up in Las Vegas where I found Lorne – demon friend of ours who took off before the last battle. He wasn’t too keen to renew an acquaintance with anyone from back then, but he did tell me that Angel had survived, although I guess he hadn’t heard about the human thing, and he didn’t know where Angel was. Then I went looking for you.”
 
Buffy looked surprised. “Why?” She seemed like she genuinely couldn’t fathom a reason for him to seek her out.
 
Because God help me I still love you after all these years. Figuring that she didn’t want to hear that he said, “I didn’t know what else to do. I guess I just wanted to… I don’t know, make sure you were doing well.”
 
“You were pretty stealthy about it.”
 
“I ran into Vi in Memphis,” Spike explained. “She’s the one who told me you were married, at least the last she heard.”
 
“Yeah, I really hadn’t kept in touch with her much,” Buffy admitted. “Her info was a little out of date.”
 
“I see that now,” Spike said with a hint of a sigh. “But at the time I figured you were taken care of, so I started wandering around, fighting demons and such. Ended up down in the wilds of Brazil for a while. Turns out there are some native cultures there who will gladly keep a vampire supplied in animal blood in exchange for protection against demons. Spent a couple of years down there.”
 
“What made you come back north?”
 
Spike shrugged. “Got a little bored, ran out of demons to kill. I’ve been working my way back to the US over the past year or so. “
 
“And now you’re in Phoenix.” Buffy’s expression was thoughtful as she stared into her nearly empty bottle.
 
“Same as you.” Her expression was maddeningly unreadable. He had made a study of this woman back in the day, and used to know her moods seemingly before she did. But she was so quiet and closed off from everything, and he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Was she angry at him? Depressed? She was lonely, he’d got that, but beyond that he had no clue what to say to her.
 
Buffy finished her beer and asked him if he wanted another. Nodding as he finished the last of his bottle, he watched her get up and walk, mostly straight, to the kitchen to return with two more beers. “When did you start drinking, Slayer?” he asked as he accepted the next round.
 
“Few years ago. Just developed a taste for it. Gives me something to look forward to after a patrol.”
 
“Seems like your tolerance has increased,” he observed. “I seem to recall someone who got completely hammered at my tomb one night long ago.”
 
“I almost recall that night,” Buffy quipped. “Tell me more tales of your travels,” she added after another swig.
 
The two of them talked, trading battle stories for a long time. The elephant of their relationship remained firmly ignored, but Spike was happy just to hear her voice. After all those years among demons, villagers, and strangers the sound of a familiar voice was more than welcome. He boggled a bit at her catalog of fights with this demon and that demon, her description of injuries that healed again and again. But throughout the whole conversation she seemed to be talking about someone else, as if Buffy didn’t really exist anymore, just a shell that looked like her. It troubled him greatly, but he had no idea how to address it. So he talked on and on, until the beer was gone. “What time is it?” he asked at some point. His vampire senses were prickling with that sensation that meant morning was near.
 
“Not sure,” Buffy said. She got up and went to the kitchen to look at the clock on the microwave, looking much more unsteady on her feet this time “It’s 5:30 in the morning,” she said when she returned.
 
Reluctantly Spike said, “I guess I have to go if I’m going to avoid getting caught by the sunrise.” Truthfully, he hated leaving her. To hear her voice, to see that shiny golden hair after all those years was balm to the soul, even if it was never going to go beyond conversation.
 
“Stay,” Buffy said suddenly. “You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch – the shades in here have a habit of snapping back up without warning, which sort of sucks from the sunlight avoidance perspective.”
 
“I don’t want to impose,” he began.
 
“You’re not. Imposing.” Speech seemed to be a little difficult to come by for the Slayer after that much beer. “But I… I’d like to… talk more. Before you go. Please?” The last bit came out in a small voice, as if she was afraid to hear his answer.
 
“Sure,” he said, smiling to put her at ease. “And thanks for putting me up.”
 
“No problem,” she said, relief evident in her voice. She made her way to the bedroom, closed the door, and came out a few minutes later in pajamas, carrying a pillow and a blanket. “Sorry, there’s no extra blanket. Think you’ll be okay with just the sheet?”
 
“Of course. Dead man, remember? I’m supposed to be covered with a sheet.”
 
“You move too much to be a dead man,” Buffy said. She yawned then. “I’m pretty beat. See you in the morning?”
 
“Yeah. Good night, Slayer.”
 
“’Night.” Spike watched for a moment as she arranged the couch to her liking then turned off the light. He turned and went into the bedroom, shutting the door. Looking around he saw plain but serviceable furniture and a full size bed. On the bedside table were two small framed pictures – the only personal items he had seen so far. One was of Dawn, a brown haired man, and a tiny infant with a pink headband around her head. The other was a tow headed boy with one front tooth missing and Buffy’s eyes. Can’t believe she’s a mother. Can’t believe she’d let him go. He and his own mother had been so close, and Buffy and Joyce had been as well. To see Buffy walk away from that to live this solitary existence was jarring. Gently replacing the picture he stripped and climbed into bed, turning out the light as he did so. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling for a long time.
 
TBC