Spike took a deep pull from the bourbon bottle and glanced across the room where he had lain the journal Buffy had given him. He’d spent the better part of an hour sitting with it in his lap, stroking the worn cover, rubbing the broken spine. He hadn’t dared crack the cover, though, because he wasn’t ready. Because he wasn’t prepared for that familiar ache that always came when he thought of her. Because he loved her. Because he was scared that what he would read would erase all the reasons he stayed away.

She deserved better than him. In the endless months he had been gone he had realized that he would never be the measure of man she needed. He wasn’t a man at all.

The bottle empty, he sat it on the table and stood, gently lifting the journal. Her bubbly handwriting was as precise as usual. He flipped through several entries, deciding that he would skim a few pages before he read it cover to cover. Maybe that would prepare him...


October 31, 2004

Dear Spike,

This entire month has been very Slay-Light. I don’t know what to do with myself. If I’m not the Slayer then what am I? It’s been a rough adjustment going from being THE Slayer to just one of hundreds of Slayers. At first I trained with them and tagged along for missions, but it was too hard not to get involved unless they really needed me. I guess I’m not wired for the sharing of duty. I keep feeling like I should be patrolling more, but there’s nothing.

It’s weird not having headlines in the paper like I had every single day in Sunnydale. My body isn’t used to the downtime. At least I could spar with you if you were here with me. And you’d keep me occupied and I wouldn’t spend so much time wondering if I really cheated myself of my purpose by activating all the Slayers.

I feel completely dead. It’s a lot like when I first came back from Heaven, but I don’t have you around to anchor me or put it into perspective. It’s like I don’t know why I’m here anymore and truthfully, I don’t want to be here at all. If you’re in hell then I’d trade this for that. Just to see your face again would be worth it.

I’m in a funk. Dawn says that I have to get out more so I’ve been going to a local club. The music is okay and I never have to buy my own drinks. As long as you’re a blond in Italy all kinds of doors open. I guess the men are used to dark haired women or something. I let them buy my drinks and I drink enough to forget what I am for a while, but I always go home alone.

That’s the hardest time. The nights. I can’t stop thinking about those final nights in my basement. Those memories are enough to keep me warm most of the time.

I love you. You didn’t believe me, but I do.

Forever,
Buffy




November 23, 2004

Dear Spike,

Thanksgiving is almost here. I had to laugh today when I thought about that time the Chumash people attacked us. You were tied to a chair (a position I would personally come to love and adore either one of us in) and the memory of that has gotten me through most of the day.

It’s like an unspoken rule that I’m required to be here for this. I was able to escape a lot of the holidays because they’re mostly American and not a big deal in Europe, but the big ones I get roped into. It was important to Dawn that we leave our place and go to Giles’ flat.

I sat around doing nothing for most of the day. I’ve been barred from the kitchen due to an unfortunate cooking accident in Sunnydale during mom’s last Christmas that I won’t get into. I read a book, some fluffy romance that turned my stomach ... and made me envision you and me in the roles. I’m pathetic.

Dawn has been preparing her ‘what I’m thankful for’ list because mom always said that was the best part of the dinner ... listening to everyone’s heart. I think my list will be short. My heart doesn’t talk at all.

I’m thankful for:

having the chance to really know you.

That’s all. I guess I’m thankful that we’re all okay and that starting over wasn’t hard for them. I wouldn’t know about starting over. Every night I’m back in Sunnydale pulling you up that ladder with me. Every night I tell you how much I love you and I kiss you and we walk into the sunset. Every night I save you.

Sound familiar.

I miss you. I’m thankful that no one is awake right now because they’d ask me why I’m crying and I’d probably tell the truth. I love you and that will be enough to get me through the rest of my life.

I think.

Yours,
Buffy





December 23, 2004

Dear Spike,

Christmas is not some kind of sacred holiday for vampires, but I did buy you a present. I knew you’d love it. I found it in a really neat punk shop in London. It’s funny how just about anything reminds me of you, but this time, it was very apparent.

It’s a silver chain with a spike dangling from it. I wasn’t completely sure it was a spike so I asked and the guy behind the counter (think Johnny Rotten meets Johnny Depp) assured me that it was. So I bought it and the chain. Then I found a heart charm and put that on the chain, too. I’ll wear it forever. I don’t have to explain the symbolism, I’m sure.

You have my heart.

I’m with the gang, even though my entire body is itching to get out of here and go find something to slay, somewhere to run as fast as I can, someplace that’s dark enough to sleep. I’d even settle for your crypt after we wrecked it at this point. I don’t understand why I feel so removed and disjointed, but I do. It’s like I have to force myself to smile and it’s not worth it.

Vi, one of the Slayers, asked me to go out for drinks tonight so I’m going to go. I’ve realized that it’s easier to deal with your ghost when I can’t pick a single memory in my head.

Merry Christmas, Spike. Wherever you are.
Love,
Buffy


April 9, 2005

Dear Spike,

Giles asked me to come to London for his birthday and I made a million excuses not to go. I think I’m still stinging from the whole getting fired thing they did to me. Getting kicked out of your own house so that your nemesis can take your job, your bedroom, and your life isn’t fun. I think I would have died if you hadn’t found me.

Sometimes when things are really rough ... I think about that speech you gave me that night. It was beautiful and it gave me so much strength. I wish I could bottle that moment and pour it over me when it’s hard to breathe.

I may be going to Australia in a few days. There are reports trickling in from some field Slayers that a demon mob is setting up camp near Queensland. Maybe I can see the zoo. Crikey!

There’s also a new Slayer there that I’ll have to go and find. I think you’d enjoy being a part of it. I wish you could be there with me. I guess in all the best ways you are because no matter what’s happening ... I think about how you’d handle it and what you’d think of it. I should get a WWSD bracelet. Hah. You’d do the most perverted thing ... that’s what you’d do.

I miss you.
I love you.

Buffy


April 17 2004

The Australia Zoo was incredible. I got attacked by a cockatoo and rescued by a really attractive guy who followed me around asking for my number. Nothing happened because my target, a Slayer named Kensington, was about to beat the hell out of a heckler so I decided to intervene. Nothing quite so bad as a Slayer who doesn’t know her own strength. And nothing would have happened anyway because he isn’t you. It depressed me to realize that I will never, ever want to be with anyone else.

Kensington and I talked and bonded over mutual frizziness of hair before I dropped the Slayer bomb on her. She wasn’t very surprised. None of them ever are. It’s like we *feel* our calling inside so it’s not that much of a shock.

She’s coming back to Europe with me. She has no family and she’s really sweet. Almost too sweet. That could be bad for her. If I’ve learned anything at all it’s that we, as Slayers, have to embrace the hardness that killing creates in order to keep doing it. We have to close up and push people away so that we can get into that zone. It’s hard, but I’ve mastered it. So can they.

I ran into Clem! Yes, Clem! Your old friend. Our old friend. He’s also coming to Italy and wants to be a Watcher. Kensington tried to stake him. Fundamentals are sometimes too basic for the brain of a Slayer. Yeah, right.

I guess I need to work on a better way of explaining the whole gray area of demonology where some are actually good.

I dreamed about you last night. You were in a cafe in Los Angeles of all places trying to write me a letter. It was incredibly real and I didn’t want to wake up. I miss you so much that I can’t stand it sometimes.

Tonight I’m going to have a few too many drinks and see if you’re gone by the time the liquor is. It’s been hard having you in my head so much lately.

Always,
Buffy



Spike,

I feel like I’ve fallen into something that I can’t control. It’s like being in quick sand and clawing for the surface, but everyone knows it pulls you under faster. That’s how my life is. I’m constantly clawing and suffocating at the same time. And sometimes I want to stop reaching or trying or gasping for air because I know that the sun will go down and the Slayer part of me will come to life aching to kill. And there’s nothing out there for me anymore.

All the other Slayers have the market cornered and I’m just ... not necessary.

I think I drink too much. I think I run from people too much. I think I expect too much and give too little.

I don’t like myself anymore and I have no clue how to do anything to change it. I can almost hear you telling me that I’ve got to snap out of it, because why the bloody hell should I feel so down and out? I got a ‘get out of jail free’ card and I’m not responsible for the world. But that’s the problem, Spike. I have nothing to be accountable for anymore. I’m only responsible for *me* and I’m more than I can handle. I don’t like the thoughts I have or the hollow ache that sticks with me every single day of my life.

I want you here. You know, when I was in Australia I talked to some Shamans about bringing you back. I even tried to find a guy like Rack who could magick you back into existence. But I don’t know where to look or how to find the right people. Most of the books are gone and I can’t ask anyone.

You know what it feels like? It feels like running in a maze and knowing that the way out is just around another corner, but everything is a dead end. I mean, Willow brought *me* back, but she hasn’t offered to bring *you* back. It’s stingy if you ask me.

I also think that -



~*~

Spike’s concentration was broken by loud rapping on his door. He softly closed the journal, holding it against his chest for several seconds before putting it on the table and crossing the room. It had to be Buffy. He decided in that instant that he would hold her and never let her go again. Her words, her feelings ... it was real. It had to be real.

“Spike, I know you’re in there,” Angel said from the hallway.

“Oh, bollocks!” Spike growled, yanking the door open. “Have I not suffered enough torment tonight?”

Angel brushed past him and shut the door. “Not yet, but the sun isn’t up so we have a while.”

“What? Did you grow some balls? No, that would never happen, not enough magick in the world.”

“Save it. We need to talk.”

“Again, I mention torment.”

“I’m serious. Buffy was hurt tonight.”

“Yeah, I was there.”

“No, you weren’t. She’s mangled to a pulp because she got jumped by some demons and her head was too full of you to fight them.”

Spike’s expression changed and he stared at Angel, trying to read the other man’s face. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. And she was drunk. She’s an awful drunk.”

“Ahhh, put your in your place, did she?”

“Sit down and shut up for a minute.” Angel sat down in one of the leather chairs and regarded him.

Spike threw his hands in the air and flopped onto the sofa. “What? Is this the speech where you tell me that I’m not worthy? Or the one where you tell me that you’d die to see her happy as long as it’s not with me?”

“It’s the one where I tell you that I underestimated what she feels for you. She loves you.”

“Okay, the spell that was supposed to give you balls? It messed with your head, mate.”

“Joke all you want. You didn’t see her.”

“She was *drunk*. She probably -”

“Do you love her?” Angel leaned forward, studying the other vampire with a serious expression.

“You know I do.” Spike nodded. “No epic poems will be written about it, but it’s real.”

When Angel sighed, he caught the scent of Buffy in the room and glanced down at the journal that lay on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

Spike grabbed it before Angel could. “She wrote me letters.”

“Did you read them?”

“Not all of them. There must be hundreds. But she wrote me everything that was in her heart.”

It was Angel’s turn to nod. He stared at other man, hating and respecting him in equal parts. Hatred because Spike would have all that Angel had ever wanted and respect because the bastard had earned it. Standing, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “If you love her you should do the right thing.”

Spike started to reply, but Angel held up his hand. “I don’t have what it takes to say it more than once. You won, Spike. And I’m going to tell you what someone should have told me when I packed my bags and left Sunnydale ... loving her *is* enough. It’s stronger than all the reasons you shouldn’t and her life is way too short for you to waste it on stupid mistakes. Be with her while you can and make enough memories to last both of us. I’d rather watch you make her happy while she’s here than listen to a million years worth of you crying in your liquor because you ruined it.”

“Damn.” Spike stared at him, wide eyed. “There may be epic poetry written about *that*.”

“As long as you aren’t the author.” Angel smiled. And it took everything he had left inside to do so.

*~*~*~*~


Part Seven:



Xander watched Buffy as she massaged her forehead. The Slayer spoke softly to Dawn, who had hovered around her sister constantly since they had arrived at the funeral home. The black sweater Buffy wore made her skin colourless and emphasised the dark circles under her eyes.

“She’s gonna snap soon,” Willow said, sitting next to Xander. “You didn’t see her last night. It was scary.”

“Sometimes sleeping like the dead is a good thing,” he replied, accepting the bottle of water she held out to him. He took a deep drink and sighed. “I don’t know how much more she can handle.”

“We were wrong to split up. We should have stuck together. Buffy’s alone most of the time now and she shouldn’t be.”

“What can we do? What does she need?”

Willow watched as Dawn left the main room and Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was chilled to the bone. “She needs us to keep supporting her. No matter what.”

“Sorry. I can’t jump on the ‘Pickle Your Liver’ bandwagon. Dawn told me this morning that Buffy drinks all the time.” Xander finished off the bottle of water and put the lid back on. “Do you think we should do an intervention type thing?”

“You do remember the last one, right? The one where you almost lost your life?” Willow nudged him with her elbow. “Remember how she got up in your face?”

“I also remember the laundry I had to do that night.” Xander grinned. “How sad is it that I can reflect on that as a good time now?”

“High school was a good time. Why did we grow up again?”

Xander watched as Giles approached Buffy, giving her a cup of coffee. “You think he knows how to handle it?”

“He’s Giles. If not he can wing it.”

They watched as he sat next to Buffy.

*~*~*

“Thanks,” Buffy said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee and grimacing at the fresh wave of nausea that washed over her. “Although my stomach is less grateful.”

“You skipped breakfast and lunch. We can go for dinner whenever you’re ready.” Giles smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Horrible. Miserable.” She put the coffee on the table next to her. “Lots of other things that I can’t think of because my head isn’t working. What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“It feels like it should be midnight. It’s been a long day. Notice the entire lack of my father showing up.”

“We need to talk.”

Buffy glanced at him, then at her friends who were making a great show of trying to not stare at her. “I know that I have a ton of damage control, Giles. This isn’t the time or the place.”

“I think it is.” Giles leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Do you have a problem with alcohol?”

“No. I happen to like alcohol. I can’t help it if it doesn’t like me.”

“This isn’t a joke. You scared me last night. And from what I could glean from Dawn, it’s become a bit of a habit with you.”

“I’m not an alcoholic if that’s where you’re going with this.” Buffy felt trapped by his glare so she looked away. “And Dawn talks too much.”

“She loves you. She cares about what happens to you. We all do.”

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling the love for months.”

Giles caught her arm as she started to rise and pulled her back into her seat. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not doing this here.” She snatched her arm loose and started to rise again, but Giles blocked her. “Please don’t.”

“Sit down.” He saw the way her chin lifted defiantly, but he held his ground. “I’m not asking.”

Buffy glanced past him, saw the way that Willow, Xander, and now Dawn, were watching her with a mixture of shock and distaste. She flopped back into her seat and crossed her arms. She would hear him out, somehow get through what was left the day, and then get as far away from them as she could before the dust had time to settle at the graveyard tomorrow.

Giles pulled his chair around so that he could face her properly and studied her. “You’re angry. Why?”

“I don’t like being treated like a child.”

“I treat you as your behaviour warrants. And I’m not talking about right now. You’ve been angry for some time. Where is it coming from?”

“Every pore,” she replied.

“Would you care to elaborate?”

She could tell that he wasn’t going to give up so she silently counted to ten. Maybe it was time to bare her soul to all of them and let them do with it what they would. Or maybe it was having her mother lying a few feet away that loosened her tongue. Either way, the words began before she knew how to stop them.

“I’ve always done the right thing. Well, basically the right thing. I accepted my calling. I slayed the bad guys. I did my time on the Hellmouth. I bled, I suffered, I cried, I hurt. I lost. I lost everything again and again. Dad, Mom, Angel, Riley, Spike. Even you. You left, too. And I kept right on fighting. Hell, I died twice for the greater good. And now I’m nothing more than a gopher who runs around collecting younger and better Slayers. I go out and find girls who are doing the only thing *I* know how to do and they’re doing it so well that I don’t have a job anymore. I don’t even have a purpose.

“And it’s hard, Giles. I mean, I used to slay every single night. Or there was research to do. There was *something* to keep me distracted. I’ve basically stopped being the Slayer. My mind knows it, but my body doesn’t. My heart doesn’t. I was created to fight things. I’ve gone from being on ten all the time to being on one. I drink because *that* is what I have to keep me distracted now. It makes the Slayer part of me be quiet long enough for me to have a little peace.”

Giles let out the breath he had been holding. He processed her words, then said, “That’s a good start, but that’s not all, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she searched for the right words. Finally, she said, “I guess I’m still having trouble trying to wrap my head around how you guys could turn on me and make me leave my own house. And I know that you had your reasons, but I haven’t forgotten it and I’ll never understand it. I don’t feel connected to any of you anymore and that’s a big part of why. I mean, I stood by all of you a million times, but you couldn’t, no, wouldn’t, stand by me.”

“That’s not true!” Xander interjected. He shrugged away the looks he received and said, “What? My hearing has improved. On one side at least.” To Buffy, he added, “It wasn’t about standing beside you. We had all been standing shoulder to shoulder with you and got our asses and *eyes* served to us on a silver platter. You were wrong to expect us to pony up and go rushing back into the devil’s lair. It was too soon. We lost too many girls that day and the ones standing needed to process it.”

“While they were processing, I went back alone and got what I needed. I was right. You know I was right,” Buffy shot back. “You’re not a Slayer, Xander, so you don’t understand the fact that a Slayer fights better before she gets a chance to rationalize it, before she *processes* it. Before it gets the chance to strip her defenses and make her doubt her ability to beat it. You have to come out swinging while it’s still raw or you won’t swing long.”

No one said anything for a long time. They all sat lost in their thoughts until Buffy finally spoke again. “I’m not in a place where I can keep putting a fake smile on my face to appease everyone. It’s just better the way it is. You know, seeing each other for holidays or when I bring a new girl in.”

“I don’t agree,” Giles replied. “If anything, I daresay that the lack of communication between all of us has caused the rift to widen and perpetrate-”

“There he goes. Using so many words to say so little,” Xander said. “Can’t you just say ‘this sucks and we want you to come back with us and forget Italy’, G-man?”

“What he said.” Willow pointed at Xander.

“I like Italy.” Buffy shrugged.

“You hate Italy,” Dawn corrected. “You hate pasta. You hate the accents. You hate the customs. The clothes. The apartment. The people. Every time you’re there you talk about how much you’d rather be back in California or off searching for a new girl. You despise it.”

“Fine, blabbermouth. I despise it.”

“Well, it’s no picnic for me, either.” Dawn stood up and paced a few feet, then put her hands on her hips. “You’re always gone and you leave me there with Andrew! Do you know how often he makes me put my hair in Princess Leia braids? He has a light saber, Buffy. One that makes noise!”

They all erupted into laughter at that, even Dawn. For a moment they all felt it, the familiarity and the comfort of one another, the past that nothing could erase. For a moment, they weren’t in a funeral home, they were back in Sunnydale with the threat of something big hanging over their heads, but they were undaunted, full of love, life, and laughter. It felt right and they basked in it as long as they could.

After a while, Giles said, “I think you should come to London, Buffy. What about Spike? I am loathe to extend the offer to him, but I will gladly do so in an effort- ”

The familiar pain that she had struggled with all night long came back, hitting her like a sledgehammer. “He’s not in the picture.”

“But I thought-”

The lump that had been nesting in her since she first started talking began to ache so much that it was hard for her to breathe, so Buffy shook her head. “Don’t. I can’t.”

She jumped to her feet and ran from the room, darting past Angel, Wesley, and Spike who were walking toward the family room with armfuls of flowers. She raced into the bathroom, and locking herself into one of the stalls, she gave into the pain that had been tormenting her since she arrived in California. It was no surprise when she heard the outer door open a few minutes later and footsteps approaching on the polished tiles.

Spike tilted his head to one side, listening to her quiet sobs, then he knocked on the stall she was in.

“Please go away.”

“Open the door, love,” he told her. When she didn’t reply, he easily broke the lock and the door swung open freely. Saying nothing, he pulled her into his arms and held onto her. It was what she needed. Leaning into him, she cried for everything. Her mom. Her life.

Him.

“It hurts,” she told him.

“I know, baby. I know.”

“You always know.” She wrapped her arms around him, letting his familiar scent envelope her. This was the peace that she had been searching for. This was the peace that she tried to find at the bottom of a million empty bottles. It had been hiding with him all along. She wanted to beg him to never let go, even for a second.

She also wanted to beat him until he understood the pain she had experienced at his “death”.

Spike kissed the top of her head. His own emotions were running rampant and he wanted desperately to speak to her about some of the things in her letters, but talk was not what she needed. He massaged circles on back as she cried, whispering to her that it would be okay.

After a while, she relaxed and her hysteria had died down to a few random sniffles. Spike led her out of the stall, snagged a handful of tissues, and handed them to her.

Buffy blotted at her face, then caught her reflection in the mirror. The cut on her lip was deep, causing swelling. And the bruise had moved to cover the entire side of her cheek “That doesn’t even look like me.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Spike turned her toward him and studied the discoloration on her face. It enraged him to think that she had invited the blows instead of deflected them. “Why do you let them do this to you?”

Her eyes widened. “How -”

“Your letters.”

”Oh, god.” Buffy had forgotten exactly how much she had divulged to him in those notes. “I made up-”

“Don’t you dare lie to me! Tell me the truth. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do!”

He blocked her when she made a move for the door, easily pushing her backwards. It rattled her a little. She had forgotten how strong he was. “Spike-”

“I want you to explain it to me.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, she didn’t even try. “When they hurt me it becomes a matter of life or death. And the Slayer in me can finally wake up when that happens. I actually have a purpose.”

“You’re a Slayer all the time, but that’s never been *who* you are. Your purpose here is not just to kill demons, Buffy. Everyone who knows you is a better person because of it. Not because you saved our lives again and again, but because you graced us with yours. So what if you’re not the only Slayer. So what if you’re not slaying every day. You want purpose? Look in the mirror again. There’s your purpose.”

“You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Like hell I don’t! You think I didn’t have to search for my place in all of this? The soldier boys made it impossible for me to be a vampire and you made it impossible for me to forget that I wasn’t a good man. I was left being nothing. I wanted to run from all of it, from Sunnydale, from the chip in my head, from you-”

“Well, at least you got your wish. The chip is gone. Sunnydale is gone. You’re as far away from me as you can get! So good for you! You still have no clue what I’m talking about.”

“I sat up all night reading what you’re talking about! Several times!”

”Then why the hell are you making me explain it if you already know!?”

“Maybe if you hear yourself saying it you’ll understand how stupid it is!” Spike yelled.

Buffy gasped. “I am not stupid!”

“I didn’t call you stupid, but I’ll try to say this nicely. If we were to judge you by your actions, well, you see where I’m going with this.”

“How could I have forgotten how much I hate you?”

“You only hate me when you know I’ve won a round.”

“You haven’t won anything!” she shot back. “And what the hell are you doing here anyway?”

“I brought flowers for your mum. I didn’t get round to the funeral last time.”

“You weren’t invited either time.”

“How could *I* have forgotten how insufferable you are?”

“The same way you forgot how to use a phone, I’d imagine. Oh, or maybe you just explained it. You didn’t call me because I’m insufferable and you realized that you didn’t love me after all. You never did.”

“Don’t go there with me! You know that I love you.”

“Right. If we were to judge you by your *actions*, well, you know where *I’m* going with this.”

Spike opened his mouth to reply, but an elderly woman pushed the door open and crept through, clutching her walker. Buffy rushed to hold the door and the woman smiled at her. “I’ve been outside waiting for the yelling to stop, but I have an old worn out bladder, honey. Hate to interrupt.”

“I’m sorry.” Buffy told her and exited the bathroom while she had the chance.

Spike followed her down the hallway and back into the viewing room. A tall, blond man he didn’t recognize who was hugging Dawn. Buffy drew up short and he saw the way her spine stiffened as she observed them.

”Buffy!” Hank Summers smiled over Dawn’s shoulder, then frowned. “What the hell happened to your face?”

“Nice to see you too, Dad,” Buffy replied.

“Some things never change, do they?” Hank stepped away from Dawn and toward Buffy. “Look at you!”

“She got mugged,” Dawn interjected. “Last night on the beach.”

“But by all means, keep thinking the worst because I’d hate for you to be disappointed by not being disappointed in me,” Buffy added.

Hank stopped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. You know me and jumping to conclusions.”

“It’s the only think you jump for.” She shied away from him, picked up her purse and kissed Dawn on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“You’re leaving? I just got here!” Hank said.

“Add two and two together and all that.” Buffy shot back. Without saying a word to anyone else, she walked out the door.

Spike and Angel both made a move to follow her. Spike paused to glare at him, one eyebrow arched. Angel drew up short and nodded. “Fine. Go.”