Prayers for a Poet
by Fetching Mad Scientist



**********
Buffy shook the rain from her umbrella and closed it as she entered the church. She thought that being inside might chase away the chill of the night air, but she was wrong. The chill she felt had nothing to do with the temperature outside. The chill came from inside her. The pleasing numbness found a home in her heart ever since that day. The numbness let her go on, let her continue to be the Slayer. The chill was her friend. She needed it. Has needed it for almost a year. She needed something to fill the hole inside her. The hole she didn't even know existed until he was gone.

She walked silently to the candles near the front of the church, smiled to herself as she lit one. What would he think of this ritual? What would he say if he knew that she did this every night for a year? Well, almost a year. There were brief periods when she'd tried to move on, but a slamming fist to the gut always closely followed them. There would always be something that would remind her of Spike.

The first punch to the gut came when Andrew brought the schizophrenic Slayer back from Los Angeles. She kept babbling about William the Bloody not touching her anymore. Just hearing any mention of Spike made it hard for Buffy to deal with her. When she was ranting like that, Buffy couldn't even be in the same room with her because when she tried, she would have to leave the room quickly because she would start crying.

She asked Andrew if she had been like that when he found her. He just got this funny look on his face, all pinched, like he had been sucking on lemons. She would have pressed the issue until Andrew squealed like a little girl, but Giles convinced her that Dana's outbursts meant nothing. That she had an injured mind, and anything she said should be evaluated in light of that fact.

Maybe Giles was right, but that didn't make hearing her say Spike's name, out loud, hurt any less. Knowing that Dana was crazy didn't mean that she was any less guilty for having left him to burn in the Hellmouth.

She knew she should have saved him; she should have gotten him out of there. But, she didn't. And, she would live with the guilt of that decision for the rest of her life.

As she watched the white wisp of smoke curl heavenward, she thought of where Spike's soul had gone after the battle in Sunnydale. She hoped that he had made it to heaven. She hoped he was happy and at peace wherever he was. He deserved that much, at least.

As she waited here, at this time and in this place, for him to come, she thought about the strange events that brought them together once more.
************

It all started about two months ago, in Rome. Buffy was on a date, well, he wasn't really a date so much as a distraction from thinking about him, when the feeling hit. The feeling she hadn't felt since...she couldn't remember when. It was so strong that the hairs stood up on the nape of her neck. She had been doing so well too. Dawn even said so. There were long stretches of hours where she didn't cry at all. Didn't think of him. But just as she thought it was safe to breathe, the fist would slam down again, and send her careening into a tailspin.

She tried to ignore the fist now. Tried to lose herself to the electronic beat of the music, but the feeling only got stronger. It was getting closer now, and she felt as if, if she turned around, she would see him. But she knew that couldn't be true. He was dead. He'd died like the hero she knew he could be, buried at the bottom of the Hellmouth, for her. He died for all of them.

She tried to ignore it, but she couldn't. The pull of it was so strong that she left her date, standing, looking flabbergasted, right in the middle of the nightclub, and ran out into the street. But, by the time she got to the street in front of the club, the feeling was gone. She was alone again. She felt so desolate that she began to cry. She didn't even say goodbye to her date, just walked back to her apartment, weeping like her heart had been ripped out of her chest.

Buffy thought that her apartment would be the one place she'd be safe. The one place she could pull the covers up over her head and not have to think about him. But she was wrong.

She hadn't even reached her door before the scent overwhelmed her, almost made her double over. The mixture of leather, cigarettes, earth and spice that had been uniquely Spike's, was so thick she could barely breathe. Opening the door, it felt, to her, as if he'd been in her apartment. Like he'd been there, waiting for her to come home from her date so he could give her the third degree. She smiled at the thought of him lounging on her couch, shooting her an inquisitive eyebrow, and asking, in a knowing tone, "Really, Love, don't you think you deserve better?" Then, she saw, in her mind's eye, him roll his bright azure eyes at her and say, " Even the Whelp would be a step up from that! Or Hell, even Peaches! Come on, Pet."

The hope that somehow she was right sprang up so full that she began to fling open doors and throw back curtains. She was so certain that he was there that she even looked under the bed. She looked in every nook and cranny she could think of. But he was nowhere to be found.

She cried herself to sleep that night. Just as she did every night, trying to forget the achingly familiar smell that hung in the air.
*******

Then, on the anniversary of Spike's death, she woke up screaming, and covered with sweat, the visions of that horrible nightmare still playing in her head.

She'd seen him, at the end of some rain-soaked alley; holding a sword high, ready to fight a swarm of demons. She could feel the fear in his soul. A fear he tried to squelch under some well-used swagger, but it was there. Somehow, she felt it, the fear that he would never see her again.

Then she saw what looked to be a giant dragon, like the ones in the movies, breathe a steam of fire out of its mouth. The fire engulfed Spike quicker than dry leaves. She screamed as she watched the man she loved, go up like so much kindling.

She had been too frightened to go back to sleep. Closing her eyes again when she saw the first rays of sunlight hit her windowpane.
***********

Now she was here, in L.A., in a church, at midnight. And why? Because of a cryptic message Angel left on her phone answering machine two weeks ago:

"Buffy, it's me, Angel. I need you to come to L.A. as soon as you can, please? There's...something you should know." His voice sounded tired and strained, "I may need you to help me track down Drusilla. I'd come to you, but things are a bit...unstable right now, and I need to keep a close watch. Meet me at Saint Benedict's church, at midnight. I've been there every night, Buffy. So it won't matter what night you come, or if you come, I'll be there. Buffy, I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you. But, Buffy, this could mean life or death. Hurry, please. There may not be much time left."

That message sent chills up her spine. And now she was here, lighting candles for a hero. Waiting for an old lover, who she now thought of as an enemy.

Buffy was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't sense Angel until he was right beside her. She watched, through disbelieving eyes, as he lit a candle and then turned, solemnly, to sit in the nearest pew.

She sat down next to him, "What is this about? I've been to the Wolfram and Hart building. There isn't much left of it."

Angel lowered his head, "I know. I took them all into the fight, with the Senior Partners, and The Circle of Black Thorn. I didn't expect to..."

"The Circle of Black Thorn?" Buffy gasped, barely able to keep her voice down, "They're akin to the First Evil. There's no way you can beat them back, at least not for good, there're always more coming."

"I know that now," Angel sighed, "I didn't expect to make it out. I wouldn't have if he hadn't stepped in front of me at the last second," Buffy could see tears starting to stream down Angel's face, "Buffy, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. But I made him feel so small. I made him think that you didn't care. I never told him about how you used to call me, crying, wishing that you'd said it sooner."

"Angel, what are you talking about? You're scaring me."

"Buffy," Angel sobbed, "it's Spike. He's dying. There's nothing more I can do for him. It may already be too late."

********



In the space of time it took Angel to say the words, Buffy's brain was bombarded with images of him.

The reluctant hero she saw when she teamed up with him to fight Angelus. The fierce killer he was in the seconds before her Mom had hit him in the head with the fire axe. The unbridled joy that shone in his eyes when they were under the influence of Willow's spell. The strange mix of lust and sadness that glowed in his gold eyes, somehow telling her, "Come on, Slayer. Don't make it this easy. I know you're a fighter. Don't let it happen this way. Not like this, Slayer, you're too young to die," during the slow-motion bite on Halloween night. The frightened, haunted, horrified look, when she kicked him away from her, and against the bathroom wall. And there was an undying love, fathoms deep, in his eyes, when he sent her away from the Hellmouth. She saw it all, in the space of an eye blink, in his eyes. She saw so much that it made her dizzy. Somehow she managed to stay on her feet, and find her voice, "What did you say?"

Angel saw Buffy's face turn ashen white, and he moved to catch her before her knees buckled under her, and she sank to the floor. Holding her securely in his grasp, he navigated her back to her seat in the pew. Through an emotion thick voice, he asked her, "You all right?" When he received nothing but a vacant stare, as an answer, he shook her, perhaps a bit too roughly, "Buffy, can you hear me," he asked, careful to keep his voice low so he did not alarm the few worshipers that were scattered throughout the sanctuary, "Slayer, are you in there? Can you hear me?"

The use of her title snapped her mind back to the present. What was that? Did he just call me, Slayer? It threw her off balance, just slightly. Her world tilted suddenly. She looked into his face. No, that's the wrong face, she thought. Those are the wrong eyes. They're brown. Aren't the supposed to be blue? His eyes were the prettiest blue. She felt like shouting until the rafters shook, 'You don't get to call me that! He's the only one who ever called me that. How dare you look at me with that sad face and those puppy dog eyes, and think you can call me that! You're wrong. Just wrong, wrong, wrong!'

Buffy shook her head, trying to clear it. Her voice came out as a whisper, "Did you say something?"

Angel kept his head down, not wanting to see the shock and pain in her eyes. Or, maybe he didn't want her to see the shame he felt, he wasn't sure which. He took an unnecessary breath, "I know this must be a shock, after all this time..."

"Time," she hissed through clenched teeth, "Is that what you think is the big shocker here," if she hadn't been in a church, she would have let loose with full tilt Buffy in seek-and-destroy mode. As it was though, she would have to settle for a less Slayer-like reaction, "That's what's wrong with this scenario? How long it took you to get back to me about the fact that Spike, apparently, survived the Hellmouth? A shock? That's all you think this is? A shock is something you get after you walk across a carpet and touch a doorknob," her voice was straining under the effort it took not to frighten the people around them, who, she noticed, had started to make annoyed glances at them, "This? This is a fifty megaton blast!"

"He wanted to go to you, Buffy. He did. But, I convinced him that it would be better if he didn't, that he was more needed here." He finally looked up to see her eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Her chin quivered, trying to keep the grief from spilling out. I will not let Angel see me cry, she thought. "Better? Needed?" she asked, her voice like that of a small, lost child, "Better for who, Angel? You? Were you afraid that, oh, I don't know, maybe I'd actually be happy with him? That for once, I might get a chance to be happy?" She lost the battle with her tears, as twin silver rivulets fell down her face, and she whispered, letting Angel hear the quiet storm that raged inside her heart at his betrayal, "I needed him," Buffy looked him square in the face so there would be no misunderstandings, and said, coldly, " I need him more now than I ever needed you."

Angel winced at the acid her tongue could spill. But then, he expected nothing less, and deserved all of the vitriol she could dish out. "Buffy," he sighed, "I deserve every curse you could think of for keeping him from you. I know that. But, if you want to see him, it has to be now," he bit his lip, "Buffy, he's hurt. And, he's weak. I don't think he can hold on much longer. We have to get back to him."

Buffy's voice was small, "He's hurt? And, you left him alone? Angel," she looked at him with large, pleading eyes, "what if he..."

"Buffy, he's not alone," he said.
********

There was so much pain he was overwhelmed by it, almost numb to it. He was sure that, if he just screamed, then things would be better, except he didn't have the energy to scream. He didn't have the energy to do much of anything, really. He expended all the energy he had just to be conscious. And, he wasn't even sure he was that. There wasn't much he knew right now, but he did know pain. Pain was good. Pain meant that he was still here, and if he was still here, maybe she was too. He could live with that, or not. Right now, spin the bloody wheel and see which comes up.

Illyria paced the dark, twisting confines of the sepulcher under Saint Benedict's. After her pet had been wounded in the battle, this place seemed the most logical one in which to take refuge. It was well secluded and, as most of the demons they had fought a fortnight ago, were of small minds, and superstitious, few would dare follow them into a holy place. Still, a warrior must always be on guard for an enemy attack. So, she patrolled, to be certain that her pet was not assassinated by his foes before his shell had the time it needed to heal itself.

As she entered the small burial chamber in which he rested, Illyria was distressed at the sight of the vampire.

The fire from the winged beast had charred the vampire's skin. The vestments that he chose to wear as his armor, had become embedded in the wounds. But the damage the flying beast inflicted was not, by any means the worst. Before she had had a chance to shield him, or to even warn him of the danger, Illyria saw the vampire slice into a Dufarn'k with great relish. Thereby exposing him to its blood.

Illyria was aware of that species of demon. The acid content in its blood could consume anything it touched. Before she had been able to protect him, the vampire was covered in a great amount of its blood before it expired. As a result, much of the left side of his face and throat had been eaten away, exposing the bone underneath, and leaving him unable to speak.

She did not wish to disturb the little peace that unconsciousness brought the vampire. Oblivion was a mercy he required now, of that, she was certain. But, the part of her that had been Winifred Burkle, knew he required something else in order to continue. That was not something Illyria was accustomed to bestowing. But, she reached for the small speck of her being that still remembered how to give this thing. Hope.

She modulated her vocal range so that she could access the shell's voice, "Spike," she imitated the Texas drawl, "You gotta hang on, all right? I know you can hear me. Don't try to talk. You've been hurt, Spike. Real bad. Angel sent for Buffy. She's on her way. I'm sure of it! Just hold on a little longer."
********

Ah, finally a familiar voice. Fred? What are you doing here? Hurt? I'm hurt? Must be real bad if Blue called you out, huh? Don't worry those pretty specs of yours, Fred. I couldn't talk now, even if I wanted to. Too tired. Buffy? She's coming? She's here? Yes, she's here. I can smell her. She's here! Oh, God, I wish I could move! Buffy! I'm here, Love. Can you hear me? Please say that you can hear me. I can hear you. Buffy, please, I need you. Please say something, Love. Oh, I wish I could move, but I'm so bloody tired.

There was a sob that echoed through the walls of the tomb, "Spike? Oh, God," she held Angel's arm in a vice grip, afraid that, if she let go she would faint, "Angel? Is that Spike?"

Yes, it's me. Love. Can you hear me? Buffy, I know it must look bad, but I'm here. Buffy? Answer me, please? Buffy!!

*******

Buffy threw Angel off of her arm and rushed to where Spike lay, suddenly not caring about the shock of his appearance. She looked franticly for some spot, some place that wasn't injured, so that she could touch him and tell herself that he was real. She just needed to touch him before she did what she knew needed to be done. And, she would do it, even if Spike didn't like it. And she knew he wouldn't.

She found the spot she needed. His left index finger was perfect. She was sure there were more areas that were undamaged, but didn't want to risk hurting him any more than she had to. "Hey," she whispered, sliding her fingertip along the soft skin of his hand. Surprising, she thought, with all the fighting he's done, you'd think his skin would be rougher than it is. I remember that as being his first in a long line of surprises. She tried to smile, knowing that he would sense it if she were upset, "You clean up real nice," she choked, "I'd hate to see what you looked like before I got here."

Yeah, well you should have seen the other guy, Pet.

"You should have called me. You know me, I love a good apocalypse," she smiled at the thought of fighting alongside him again, "I would have brought reinforcements. Maybe a rocket launcher or two?"

Right. Forgot about Big Blue. Who's idea was that, anyway?

"Xander's, actually. I just pulled the trigger."

Harris?! He actually had two thoughts in his head long enough to come up with a plan?

"Spike, stop it," she teased.

Watching Buffy talk to herself as if Spike was answering her unnerved Angel. Maybe the shock of seeing Spike like this had driven her a little mad. "Buffy, maybe you should sit down. You look a little tired. Maybe, once you get some rest..."

Tell him to bugger off, Pet. I'd do it myself, only I'm a little hoarse.

"Okay," she said as she turned to Angel, never letting go of Spike's hand, "Go away, Angel," she smirked, "Only he said it with a little more...enthusiasm ."

Enthusiasm? I told him to Bugger. Off.

Buffy smiled and shook her head, "Go away. Again. Louder this time."

Angel couldn't take it anymore, "Buffy, who are you talking to?"

She would have laughed, if the question hadn't been so downright stupid. She answered, her eyes never leaving Spike's hand, her back turned toward Angel, "Well duh. Who else in this room is worth talking to?"

Careful, Slayer, the pin you just put in that over inflated ego could cause a vacuum that could just blow us all back to Sunnydale. And, no offense, but I am NOT going through that again.

"No one is asking you to, Spike. Once was more than enough."

Twice.

"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. I'm going to make sure there isn't a third time."

Ditto.

"Wait, you've actually seen 'Ghost'?"

Didn't have to see it, Pet. I lived it. Well, you know, for a while I was a ghost.

This revelation was enough to make her tear her gaze away from his hand, if she looked anywhere else she knew she would start to cry, and narrow her eyes at Angel, "Really," her voice took on a low menacing tone, "No one told me."

Sensing that, somehow, just by being in the room, he'd gotten himself into trouble, Angel spoke up, "I...I..." he gave up, waving his hands in the air, he shouted, "Who are you talking to?"

Now it was Buffy's turn to be confused, "You mean, you don't hear him?" she asked, dreading the answer, because if Angel couldn't hear Spike, then that could only mean one of three things: Either she was crazy, or that demon aspect thing was back, but that was hard to believe, since aside from the occasional Italian vampire, she hadn't fought any demons lately. Or, somehow, Spike and she were connected. Buffy hoped the answer was one of the last two. She didn't want to be crazy, no matter how nice it was to hear Spike's voice again.

"No," Angel answered, simply.

"Oh."

No big change there, Love. He never listened to me before. Why in the bloody Hell would he start now? Listen, don't have a wiggins. We'll figure this out. In the meantime, I've got you all to myself. I kind of like it. Do wish I could touch you though.

Now Buffy had to laugh, "Wiggins? Spike, I love you, but, you've been around me too long. You're starting to pick up my idioms."

Please, Love, say it again.

"What, wiggins?"

No. The other.

"Idioms?" Buffy asked sweetly, knowing what he needed to hear. But, also knowing that if she didn't give him a hard time, make him feel comfortable, then no amount of Slayer blood would help him heal.

No. The other, other.

"I love you, Spike," she held her breath, praying that he wouldn't say it. Not again, please. I don't think I could take it. When the noise in her head was curiously silent, she asked, "Spike?"

The voice in her head was awestruck. Yeah, Love I'm still with you. Just...never thought I'd hear you say that. It's just a little...wow.

"Why are you surprised? I've said it before."

Confusion. No, you haven't, Love. That's something I think I'd remember you telling me.

Maybe he didn't remember. Maybe the reason he hadn't come back for her was because he didn't remember that she'd told him in the Hellmouth. The thought made her want to grab him and hold him tight and never, ever let him go again. She would have too, if he hadn't been so badly burned.

The joy she felt in her heart over not being rejected made her heart so full that it had to burst. Somehow, some way, it had to burst. Buffy broke out into heart-rending sobs.

Oops, crying now was not the thing to do. Almost immediately she felt the concern slam into her head.

Love, what's wrong?! You're crying. And, don't tell me you're not. I can hear it, and, I can smell it. You don't need an audience for this, Love. I wish to bloody Hell I could tell Angelus to get out of here!

"Angel," she sniffed, "why don't you and Miss Blue Bonnet go, I don't know, somewhere?"

"But , Buffy..."

"Oh, Angel, do whatever you want! Just... do it somewhere that's else, right now."

"What if he..."

"What's he gonna do? Is he gonna get up off the bier and ravish me?"

There's an idea!

Angel saw the Mona Lisa smile that crossed Buffy's face, decided he'd better not ask, especially if she wasn't crazy, and Spike was talking to her, took Illyria by the elbow, for which he got a scowl, and left them alone.

"Good. Now that we're alone, we can get down to business..."

Now there's a plan I can get behind.

"...Spike what's the last thing you remember... about that day on the Hellmouth?"

You mean after Angel's little bauble started doing its thing?

"Uh huh"

Nothing, except for the pain. And waking up in Angel's office, all specter-like. Why?

"You don't remember telling me that I didn't love you?"

No. Buffy, I would never say a thing like that to you!

"You did."

Buffy, if I said that, I didn't mean it. I don't remember saying that, Love, I'm sorry. Truly sorry.

"That's okay. All's forgiven," Now came the hard part. She fiddled with the small knife in her pocket. The Slayers and the Boy Scouts, always prepared. Buffy needed a distraction if this was going to work. Glancing first at Spike, to be sure he was all right, she walked over to the empty stone bier and tore the top off, tossing it against the chamber wall. Hoping the noise would distract him long enough, she sliced her palm open, hissing at the sting she felt as the blade penetrated her skin.

Buffy! What was that? I smell blood. Are you hurt?

"Only a little," she said as she walked back to the bier he was laying on, "Oh, Spike, it's your lucky day! Nice ripe girl, delivered hot and fresh right to you."

You're never going to let a bloke live that down, are you? Buffy, tell me you didn't...

"Yes I did, and no, I won't. Better hurry," she placed her hand as close to the side of his face and neck as she dared, letting the blood trickle down into the wounds, "Or it'll go to waste."

Buffy don't. I won't take it. I won't use you as a meal.

She smiled, knowingly, "Then get up and stop me. Oh, that's right, you can't right now. You can't even argue with me until you have a throat. And, you won't have a throat without my help, so, I guess you're stuck. But, if you won't take my blood, I know there are at least five other Slayers in Los Angeles, County. I'm sure they would love to traipse through a dank, underground crypt to get a chance to gawk at L.A.'s version of vampire flambé. But, I'm sure you wouldn't want that. So, until you can speak up for yourself, you're stuck."

Bossy bint.

"Oh, yeah," she smiled as she watched the muscles begin the long process of healing themselves, "I'd say we're looking at about a month of a 'Slayer rich' diet. That, and some tender loving care, should put you on the mend. At least enough to argue with me, then we'll see what you need from there."

A month? I look that bad?

"To me, you look perfect. But, to anyone else? You're pretty trashed. Glory was a piece of cake, compared to this," the blood flow started to slow, because the gash on her hand was healing up, "Looks like that's all for tonight. I'll bring the Blue Bonnet back in here," she walked toward the chamber archway, "You know, she looked at me like I was going to tear apart her favorite squeak toy?"

She would. She thinks I'm her pet.

Buffy chuckled, "Does she? Well, I'll just have to set her straight. You good for a few minutes, while I get her? After that, I'm going to get some straight talk from Angel."

Yeah, I'm good. I love you.

"I love you too, Spike," she whispered as she left the chamber.

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

Buffy waited until she was outside the chamber to release the breath she'd been holding. Her knees nearly buckled as she groped for the stone behind her to help keep her steady. She was lightheaded, both from the blood loss and the crashing reality that was just now beginning to hit right between the eyes. He was alive! Well, yeah, not technically, but he was here. And, oh, God, she couldn't let him know how bad it really was, because if she did, he'd beg her to stake him on the spot. The skin was so black, and so dry; it looked like it might flake off if she touched him. He looked like a lump of burnt paper. How he was able to stay together, and not scatter to the four winds, she didn't know. She knew that his soul had to be of a warrior's ilk, or he would have given up by now. She was so proud of him she couldn't catch her breath.

And she was angry, angry beyond words, with the vampire, with the second-rate soul, who had the unmitigated gall to make such a warrior feel unwanted, and unnecessary. He was going to pay for that. But first, she had some personal demons to fight. Once they were purged, and her emotions were no longer in control, then she'd take him on.

The Bluebird that had been flittering around the chamber opening, since Angel left, set her chin high, and her gaze hard, and, engaged Buffy, lightning fast, her purpose known to her. Buffy could respect that. Gotta love a girl with a mission, Buffy thought.

"If you have harmed the vampire, if you have injured him further, I will disembowel you. Do you understand, female?"

"Whoa, okay," Buffy squared her shoulders, blue eyes meeting green, neither one giving an inch. They both knew that that was not what was needed here, " First of all, I'm on your side; believe me, so, no disembowelment required here. Second, even though I am slightly more at ease with the people skills, I would have the same reaction if you hurt him any further. I would react the same way you would if any, and I do mean, anybody hurts him," she squinted her eyes at the ice-blue gaze, "Do you understand me?"

Blue eyes blinked, and took a step back, appraising Buffy. She nodded slightly, "I can see why the vampire prizes you so highly."

Buffy sneered, "Good, I'm glad we understand each other. Where's Angel?" she asked, looking around but not finding him.

"The one you call Angelus has left to commence his resting cycle. It is my duty to watch over the vampire during the solar phases."

"Oh, well, that's good. Do you know how to use a phone?"

"I am familiar with the telecommunications system."

"Good," Buffy reached into her pocket and handed her cellular phone to the woman, "I have a pager. Anything goes wrong; if he gets any worse, if he even twinges, hit the 'Home' button. Okay?"

"Where will you be located," she asked dispassionately.

"Sunnydale," she called out, leaving Illyria behind, "I'll be back at sunset."
**********

During the four -hour drive from Los Angeles to what used to be Sunnydale, Buffy did some thinking. Some thinking she should have done years ago.

She thought about her friends, the ones that called themselves, collectively, "Scoobies." First, there was Xander, who, after telling a bunch of girls, who didn't even know her, what a great leader she was; told them they might get hurt, but with Buffy in the lead, they'd get out alive. At first, Buffy thought that Xander really had faith in her, but it turned out she was wrong. He didn't believe in her. And how did she know this? Because, after a battle, in which lives were lost, and he'd lost an eye, but come out alive, he was one of the first to try and throw her out of her own house! And, after the battle with the First, the battle in which they'd both lost loved ones, the battle that should have brought them together as comrades in arms? That battle, instead, drove them apart. Buffy hadn't seen Xander in a over a year.


Willow, she was no different. Willow had such a need to be in control of things, that once "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was finally done, dead and in the ground, at peace, she couldn't just leave her there. Willow had to mess things up. Had to make the world the way she wanted it. And, what did she do when Buffy needed money to help run the house? Did she offer to get a job, maybe help out a little, when it came to finances, like Spike had? No. But Buffy was expected to take care of everyone. Now, the people she had called her "friends," weren't even around to help her deal with this crisis.

She felt the need to scream and cry, so, she turned the rental car's radio to some obnoxious punk rock station, turned the volume up, as loud as it would go, and screamed her lungs out.
**********

Buffy looked at the giant hole in the desert that had once been her home. All of her life was down there. Her house was down there. Her school was down there. Her Mom was down there. She was down there, once. Spike was down there, too. But, now he wasn't.

As she stood at the edge of the crater, the toe of her shoe pushing loose gravel over the edge and down into the pit, she looked up at the sky, in all its beautiful blueness, and asked, "Why couldn't you, for once, just once, let him win? What does he have to do to earn your respect? He's tried so hard. He's changed so much," she let her tears fall into the soft sand that made up the wall of the crater, "Don't misunderstand me, please, I am so glad that he's still here. You have no idea how much. It's just...can I ask you one question? What answer did you give Spike when he asked you these questions...about me?"
*************

When the sun went down, she was ready. She had asked Angel to meet her, in Griffith Park, because she wanted to get some answers from him, and she wasn't going to get them using hushed tones in a church. So, Illyria agreed to keep watch over her "pet" for the next few hours, while she and Angel had a little conversation.

"Angel," she greeted coolly, "we need to talk."

"I know, Buffy," he said.

"Why don't you have a seat," she said, indicating the bench she had just vacated. When Angel took the seat she offered and then looked at her, expecting her to sit down again, she said, "I think I'll stand, if you don't mind."

Angel let out a heaving sigh, "Okay. Buffy, what do you want to know?"

Buffy started pacing in front of the park bench, "Well, for starters, you say you went to battle with the Senior Partners and the Circle of Black Thorn?"

Angel nodded, "That's right."

Buffy bit her lip in concentration, "Angel," she said, "those are some pretty heavy hitters. How come half of Los Angeles isn't rubble right now? How come it just looks like there was only a minor earthquake? A few buildings down, but no casualties, no bodies, not even demon ones? Yet, you say there were thousands of them, in an alley thirty feet wide; there was even a fire-breathing dragon, for Christ's sake! That much I know is true, because I saw it. Hell, even if I didn't dream about it, if I wanted proof, all I would need to do is look at Spike to know that it happened. You say you killed it? Where did it go? Did it just go, 'Poof'?"

Angel hung his head, "Yes."

"Oh," Buffy was pacing like a panther. She now knew what Spike felt like when he was gearing up for a good rant, "I see. And, the thousands of others, against, how many was it again, four of you, they just disappeared, too?"

Angel started to protest, "But you faced those kinds of odds too. And, you won."

"Yes, I won. With the help of a witch, twenty Slayers, and that frigging sunshine grenade of an amulet that I made Spike wear, because you, who gave the damned thing to me, left town! Oh, and my friends helped too."

Angel muttered, under his breath, "Oh, not that again," louder he said, "I was going to stay. But, you made me leave."

Buffy looked at him as if he'd grown three heads, "Did I hold a stake to your heart?"

He mumbled again, "Kind of did, yeah. What with Spike and all."

"Oh, my God! This is not going to turn into the, 'Spike took my girl, so let's pity Angel' party, is it?"

Angel pouted, and said, petulantly, "You are my girl. Not his."

Buffy stopped pacing, looked Angel in the eyes, and said, "I. Could. Never. Be. Your. Girl!" Buffy shook her head, catching her breath, and tried to regain focus, "What kind of idiot goes into battle when it's four against thousands?"

Angel said nothing.

"If there was this big battle, and for argument's sake, I'll give you that, why would the 'Almighty Great And Powerful Oz' of evil, the Circle of Black Thorn, stop? How come you're not dead, or dust, in your case, like half your little 'army'?"

"Because I'm a member of the Circle," he stated flatly.

Buffy gasped, "You're what?!"

"I'm a member," he gulped.

Buffy's eyes went wide with shock, "Was this before, or after you decided to turn around the L.A. branch of Wolfram and Hart, a law firm that has done business with evil for eons, by yourself!?"

"After."

"Oh. My. God. I can't believe your hubris! I can't believe I ever thought you were a 'Champion of the People', a thought just snapped in Buffy's brain, and she grabbed Angel up off the bench by his shirt collar, held him so that his feet were off the ground, and hissed through clenched teeth, "I just have a few more questions, Angelus. And believe me when I tell you that if I don't get an answer, if I don't get truthful answers, I have a stake, sharp and ready to use, within my reach right now," Angel's eyes went wide with fright, "Shall we see who's faster, a lumbering, numb brained vampire who's been out of the evil-fighting business for far too long, or a Slayer, who for the better part of three years, worked, and trained, and fought alongside a vampire who killed, at last count, two Slayers? How many have you killed, Angelus," he shook his head, mutely, "None? Care to try your luck," he shook his head again, "No? That's smart," Buffy shoved him hard against the bench, "Then answer my questions and I'll play nice. Did you become a member of the Circle before or after Spike became a solid citizen again?"

"A-after."

"Good boy! See how we're getting along? Next question. Did you start the fight with the Circle so you could have Spike out of the way, and the Slayer on your arm?" Even Buffy was surprised at that question. Where did that come from? And why, all of the sudden, did she feel like she had had a little too much to drink, kind of giddy? She waited for an answer, "Well?"

He nodded his head once.

Buffy's jaw twitched, "I want to know, exactly, how many demon poisons you exposed Spike to, along with the cures, if there are any, and I want to know now!"
************

She was still jittery from the confrontation with Angel. She paced the small space of the chamber, trying to come down. Boy, was that a rush! She felt like she hadn't felt since she used to patrol with Spike, and he'd pick a fight, deliberately, just to have fun, "No, you don't get it, Spike. This was different. It was charged," she just couldn't get the words out of her mouth fast enough, "Everything was spinning," in her head, she could hear a soft chuckling, almost a giggle, "Then, suddenly the words were out of my mouth, and it felt so good! Spike, it felt so good to just grab him up and just toss him like a rag doll!"

I bet it was at that, Pet.

Buffy took a heaving sigh, "It was like, for a minute there, it wasn't me talking. I was moving, but it felt like someone was lifting me up, like, on their shoulders, pushing me? It was like the words coming out of my mouth weren't mine. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"

A smirk. Maybe the reason they didn't feel like your words, Love, is because they weren't yours. They were mine.

Buffy gaped at the still form lying on the stone bier, unable to even open an eyelid, "That was you? You did that?"

Yes.

"Why?"

Well, I had to do something, didn't I? It is me lying here, like a lump of flesh, clock ticking and all. Besides, I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I? He wasn't going to give the information up to just you, Love. He needed a little shove. I provided it.

She walked over to him, took his finger in her hand, and said, "I love you, Spike. We'll find Drusilla in time, I know it."

I hope so, Pet. I bloody well hope so.

tbc