Chapter 4


“He isn’t killing people?” Willow looked poleaxed.

“That’s what he says. And he didn’t care whether I believed him or not. ‘Oh, I’m full after a pint and killing humans is no fun at all,’” Buffy paraphrased with exasperation, copying Spike’s careless shrug. “Like it’s nothing important. He was amused when it threw me.”

“It throws me too. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense! But I believe him. Why should he lie? Vamps have no compunctions about killing.”

“Not killing is what they would be embarrassed about.” Willow shook her head in bewilderment. “I’ve never heard of a vamp not draining. Except for Angel of course and we know his reason.”

“Yeah. All that guilt now that he’s got a soul, plus the wanting redemption. Angel’s so serious about it, he won’t even drink bagged human blood, just animal.” Buffy handed Willow a coke, then sat down on her couch to sip at her own. “This demon-Spike hasn’t got a soul and doesn’t give a damn about redemption.”

“Well, why would he? He’s already been redeemed. William’s shanshued.”

“Yeah, but he’s not William. He’s the demon. Why is he around?”

Except to drive her crazy, she thought bitterly. ‘You need some monster in your man,’ Spike had said once and she had rejected that violently. But he had been right, hadn’t he? That monster was what she wanted. She bit her lip, finally facing that.

“Something happened in that amulet,” she said. “Spike said he felt torn apart. By the amulet? The PTB? What? But more importantly, why?”

“I need to do more research,” Willow nodded.

“Can you make it priority, Will? I know Giles wants the base set up, but you’ve got most of it done already and, with all the implications, this really seems crucial.”

“Especially if he starts killing SITs,” muttered Willow and Buffy winced.

“If he starts doing that, I’ll dust him.”

Willow looked at her intently to see if she meant it, then nodded abruptly. “All righty then.”

There was a agitated tattoo of knocks on the door. Buffy and Willow exchanged startled glances, then Buffy got up to answer it.

“Giles!” she exclaimed when Giles almost fell in the door. “What are you doing here?”

Giles recovered his balance, set his suitcase down and pushed his glasses back into place with one forefinger.

“Xander called with a...strange story.” He looked from Buffy to Willow. “I came right over. I had to find out...Is it true?”

“If you mean do we have a William who’s human, yes, it’s true,” said Buffy wryly.

“Good Lord!” Giles fell into an armchair. “I need a drink.”

“I’ve got some Scotch.”

Buffy pulled out the bottle of Scotch she had bought just in case Giles turned up in Rome. Willow helpfully brought over a glass while she was opening it.

“Should we tell him about the demon?” she murmured quietly in Buffy’s ear.

Buffy shook her head violently. “God, no! He’ll have a stroke. Then he and Xander will get out the crossbows. Not yet, Will, please. Not until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Okay.”

Giles had taken off his glasses and was polishing them. Buffy handed him his drink, then lifted the suitcase he had dropped.

“Are you staying for a while, Giles? Shall I put this in the guest room?”

Giles dismissed that as unimportant with a distracted wave of his hand. “I’ll stay at the College. There should be room there. You say it’s really William?”

“It seems like it.” Buffy set the case down out of the way in the hall closet.

“He seems like the person he would have been if he had been born in this day and age,” explained Willow. “I don’t know how much further we can go to prove that. We’ve asked him questions, but how do we check the answers? All of it has to be taken at face value. I mean, identity tests usually depend on things like fingerprints and DNA and stuff. We’ve got nothing to compare William’s to.”

“I have to meet him! You’re sure he’s human?”

“I did a scan. He’s human. I’m absolutely sure of that.”

“Does he have a soul?” Giles leaned forward urgently in his chair.

“He has a soul. I used...” Willow dug around in the little pouch attached to her belt. “Yeah, I’ve still got it. Here.” She withdrew the Augustian denarius from the pouch and passed it to Giles. “I used the ‘Revelations’ spell from the Modus book. I placed it on that denarius and gave it to him. It flared green.”

“The way it should if he did have a soul.”

“Right. Give me a moment here.” She muttered something rapidly under her breath. “Okay, it’s activated now. Te patefac.”

In Giles’ hand, the coin flared green for a second, then went back to bronze.

“Looks like you’ve got a soul, Giles,” said Buffy dryly.

“I accept that it works,” muttered Giles, staring at the coin. “But then Spike had a soul before he died. The question is how did he resurrect? And turn human!”

“As near as we can figure out so far, he was caught in the amulet and something happened in there. We don’t know what. Willow’s trying to find out. You can help with the research, Giles, now that you’re here.”

“Yes, of course I will. Yes.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “But...why?”

“Maybe that death in the Hellmouth redeemed him, Giles,” said Willow. “He saved all of us, saved the world from the First Evil. Maybe someone thought he earned it.”

“And rewarded Spike with the Shanshu.” There was a strange look on Giles’ face and Buffy wondered whether he was thinking of the way he had conspired with Robin Wood to kill Spike before the battle. “Incredible. I have to meet this William. I have to know...”

Buffy glanced at the time. “He should be back from work soon. He lectures at St. Mark’s which is connected in some way to the AUR.”

“Lectures...”

Willow was grinning a little. “He’s kind of an Oxford don type now, Giles. You’re gonna love it.”

“Good Lord.” Giles sounded more ready to take affront than to love it.

Buffy opened the front door a couple of inches and left it ajar. “We should hear him coming up the stairs. Willow is probably the best one to fill you in on what’s been happening.”

Excitedly, Willow did and also brought him up to date on the renovations at the College while Buffy kept an ear tuned to footsteps coming up the stairs. After a couple of false alarms, William finally did turn up about twenty minutes later. He was wearing tweeds again, but this time with a cable-knit sweater-vest instead of the previous waistcoat over the button-down shirt and tie. To her surprise, he was smoking.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she remarked and he turned quickly, then stepped away from the stairs when he saw who was speaking to him.

“I’m trying to quit. Did you...want me for something?”

“I just wanted to know if you’d like to come in for a drink.”

He smiled. “I’d love to.”

He stubbed the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, glanced around, then dropped the stub into his pocket for lack of an ashtray. That was a very William thing to do, Buffy thought; Spike would have just carelessly flipped it away. She stepped back to let him come in, but he stopped short outside the door when he saw Giles jerking to his feet and staring at him.

“You’ve got company,” he said diffidently. “I wouldn’t like to intrude.”

“It’s only Giles,” said Willow, waving him in from the couch. “He’s a friend of ours.”

“I guess you could call him our boss,” said Buffy lightly. “He runs our, um, head office in England while I take care of the Rome one. Come on in, William.”

“They tell me you’re with St. Mark’s,” said Giles as they shook hands. Buffy saw him glance down involuntarily in surprise at the warmth of William’s hand, then he hurriedly covered that by a nod at the briefcase William was carrying. “Papers to mark?”

William nodded ruefully. “A pile of them. They’ll probably take all night and I’m not looking forward to getting down to it.”

“So come and shmooze for a while before you start,” said Buffy, taking his case from him and setting it in the hall closet beside Giles’ suitcase. “What would you like to drink? Willow and I are having cokes and Giles is having a Scotch. But perhaps you would prefer tea.”

“Scotch, please, if you don’t mind,” said William and smiled a little at Buffy’s surprised glance. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s a very good Glenfiddich,” said Giles. He was fumbling something out of his coat pocket as he sat back down in his armchair. Looking over his shoulder, Buffy saw that it was a small steel mirror.

“Then definitely Scotch, thank you,” said William, sitting down on the couch and in the process missing the way Giles slanted the mirror towards him and peered at his reflection. Which was indisputably there.

Giles looked up and saw Buffy watching him, amused, over the drink she was pouring. He flushed a little, but refused to back off.

“I hear Willow showed you her find,” he said and tossed the Augustian denarius at William who caught it automatically. “Te patefac,” muttered Giles under his breath.

The coin flared green.

“Did you see...?” said William, startled, staring at it.

“Oh, sorry!” said Giles hurriedly. “I must have flashed light into your eyes. How clumsy of me!”

He held up the mirror. William relaxed and laughed.

“For a moment I thought it was the coin. But of course it wouldn’t be.”

“Have some snacks,” said Buffy, hastily setting out a dish of salted nuts on the coffee table, her face turned so that he wouldn’t see her scowl at Giles.

“Well, I had to know,” mumbled Giles under his breath, flushing.

“For Pete’s sake, be careful,” Buffy muttered back. “He’s tabula rasa right now. Let’s not mess that up.”

“Hey, try these,” Willow was saying to distract William’s attention, shaking a different type of nut into the dish.

Buffy reached for one, then, warned by the mischievous look on Willow’s face, only licked at it lightly. She winced as even that small taste burned her tongue. It was violently spicy-hot. Giles, who had tossed one unwarily into his mouth, choked over it.

“Willow, that was mean!” she exclaimed, but couldn’t help laughing.

Willow grinned. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Got it from that East Indian place on the corner, did you?” said William, happily crunching away.

“Dear God!” said Giles, staring. “How can you stomach that?”

“Oh, I enjoy strong tastes. Buy from them all the time. My mother thought I was delicate, but I’ve always had a cast-iron tummy. Had to have one with the kind of stodge we used to tuck into at school.”

Giles shuddered. “I remember.”

“Especially on a dare.” He tilted his head, smiling, when Giles winced. “That hit a nerve, did it? Care to share the story?”

“All that needs to be said is that I do not have a cast iron stomach.” Giles hurriedly changed the subject. “Willow mentioned that you’re a Balliol man.”

William grinned, but accepted the change of tack and answered all his questions with good humor and no suspicion. Giles knew Oxford and England far better than Willow did and his probing was way more penetrating and detailed. But if he was hoping to catch William out on something, he was disappointed.

“Someone did a good job on his background,” he muttered to Buffy and Willow on the pretext of refreshing his drink.

“We think it’s his own updated,” Buffy murmured back. “It sounds completely believable, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, quite. Sound man,” said Giles approvingly and Buffy and Willow glanced at each other, amused. It wasn’t surprising at all that Giles felt at ease with William.

There was another knock on the door and Buffy went to answer it. Most likely Xander, she thought. But it wasn’t.

“Angel! What are you doing here?”

“Xander called.” He stared past her at William sitting talking to Giles and Willow. “My God, it’s true! He’s shanshued!”

“Keep your voice down.” Buffy stepped hastily into the corridor, Angel taking a quick pace back to give her room. “He doesn’t know.”

“How can he not know?”

“They’ve given him a fresh start. His memory’s wiped. All he knows is that he’s William Knight and the backstory that goes with that.”

Angel frowned. “Knight? That wasn’t his name.”

“Oh? What was his name?”

“I can’t remember. It’s been over a hundred years and vamps don’t use last names. But I used to know it and it wasn’t Knight. I’m sure of that.”

“Interesting. I guess they didn’t want any connections at all to his real past.”

Angel was glowering at William. She had left the front door open when she stepped into the hallway and he had a clear view.

“He’s human. I can sense it. Why? Why him?”

Buffy gave him a wry look. “When you’re the one who wanted it?”

“Well, yes.” Angel looked a little embarrassed, but defiant. She could feel the anger smouldering behind his grim face. “Spike never wanted it. He didn’t give a damn about all the deaths, about making reparation. He didn’t care about redeeming himself. Redemption meant nothing to him!”

“No, it didn’t. But maybe he earned it anyway.” She looked through the doorway at William’s innocent, oblivious face. “I don’t know how these things work, Angel, but...Look, every life you save is on the credit side of the ledger, right? As they should be. But why are you doing it? For those lives or for the credit? For that reward at the end.”

Angel looked hurt. “Buffy...”

“I’m not trying to lessen your achievements, really I’m not. It’s just that Spike didn’t do it for the reward. He fully expected to die and go to Hell. He sacrificed himself for me. And literally saved billions of lives while doing it. With no thought or hope of reward.”

Angel was silenced.

“Unconditional love,” said Buffy under her breath. Spike’s love had always been unconditional and she had never seen that.

Angel was staring at her. “What was that you said about Spike when I brought you that amulet? That he was in your heart. What did you mean by that?”

Now he asked that. When it was too late. Maybe if he had asked it then, it would have made her think about it, what she had meant, what she had really been feeling.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.”

“Is he?” Angel looked past her at the white-haired figure in tweeds.

“That’s not Spike. That’s William. Come and meet him.”

She led the way into the flat. Angel came automatically after her, then was brought up short at that invisible barrier that would allow no vamp to enter a person’s home uninvited.

“Oh, sorry! Come in, Angel.” She gave a rueful smile to Willow and Giles who both had startled expressions on their faces. “Look who’s here. William, this is a friend of ours from the States. His name’s Angel.”

“A pleasure,” said William, rising politely to his feet. But he didn’t look pleased. He looked wary, most likely because of the scowl with which Angel was regarding him.

“Isn’t this nice?” said Willow a little wildly, catching not only that, but the stony look on Giles’ face as well. Angel had not been one of Giles’ favorite people ever since Angelus had killed Jenny Calendar. And now he was CEO of Wolfram and Hart which Giles considered Evil Incorporated. “All friends together.”

“Quite,” said Giles with no expression at all.

William glanced at him while shaking hands with Angel. His gaze flicked to Buffy, then returned to assess Angel thoughtfully.

Then he frowned. “I didn’t think it was that cold outside,” he said, looking down at Angel’s hand.

“He’s got low blood pressure,” said Buffy hurriedly. “Something to drink, Angel? Scotch?”

“Thanks.”

“Sit, both of you,” she said over her shoulder as she reached for another glass. “No need to be formal.”

The two men sat down on opposite ends of the couch, studying each other covertly. There was a tension in the atmosphere that hadn’t been there before. Angel might give the Easter Island stone faces a run for their money, but his eyes were cold and his resentment clear. Spike had beaten him by being the one to shanshu and Angel couldn’t completely hide his bitterness.

Buffy brought him his drink, then would have moved away. But Angel drew her down to sit on the couch between him and William, his arm around her shoulders encouraging her to lean against his side. It was a possessive move and designed to make that plain to William. He was staking a claim. She saw the flicker of William’s eyes noting it.

She disengaged herself and shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch equidistant from both of them.

“So,” said William. “What do you do, uh, Angel? Do you represent the American side of their business?”

“Business?”

“No, Angel’s not connected to us at all,” Willow said hastily. “He heads up this law firm in L.A.”

“Oh, you’re a lawyer.”

“No, I just...run things.”

“I see.” William’s brows had lifted. Well, it did sound strange.

“Xander mentioned that you’re a lecturer,” Angel said stiffly.

“That’s right.”

“Latin and Greek studies. Don’t know much about that myself.”

“No, of course not,” said William dryly.

“And a poet, Xander said.”

Buffy knew Angel was trying to find out how much like Spike William was, but William took it as a deliberate slur suggesting that he was bookish while Angel was a man of action. And who knew, maybe Angel meant it that way. There were a lot of undercurrents going on. Buffy glanced at Willow and Giles who were both looking edgy.

The three of them had been at ease with William, once they’d gotten over the shock of how much he looked like Spike. They had accepted that he was a different person and the evening had been pleasant so far, all four of them enjoying each other’s company. But things had changed once Angel arrived. He couldn’t stop seeing William as Spike. Or maybe what he was seeing was that vulnerable young man that Dru had brought home like some stray dog a hundred and twenty years ago and whom Angelus had harassed and tried to dominate for so long.

Perhaps it was unconscious, but Angel was trying to do the same thing again, trying to be the dominant one while stressing the fact that he was on familiar terms with them, that he had history with them and with Xander, was part of the inner circle, was family where William was the outsider. William, as intelligent and sensitive as Spike had always been, caught on fast. His eyes narrowed and, where he had met Giles’ careful probing with friendliness and open answers, he suddenly became curt and resistive.

“So you don’t have tenure yet,” Angel remarked. “But you’re young, aren’t you? There’s plenty of time.”

William might be diffident and self-effacing, but he knew when he was being condescended to.

“I’m in no hurry. I might remain in Rome, I might not. I haven’t decided yet.” He looked Angel over expressionlessly. “CEO for a law firm? What are the qualifications for that?”

Angel didn’t have any qualifications for the post; he’d been handed it as a gift by Wolfram and Hart for reasons unknown and possibly shady. Giles snickered under his breath.

“‘A hit, a palpable hit’,” he muttered to Willow and to Buffy who had left the couch on the pretext of refilling her glass. “Angel’s not going to like that.”

Angel didn’t. “I do the job,” he said stiffly.

“Of course,” said William with the kind of politeness that said he didn’t believe it one bit.

Giles wheezed. “A touch of the old Adam there. Who’d have thought it of William? Or is that a tinge of authentic Spike coming through?”

Buffy flicked the back of her fingers at his arm. “Careful. Keep your voice down. He’ll hear.”

But Angel and William were too occupied with their poorly camouflaged hostility to notice. Angel kept probing, but William had gone into passive-resistance mode and blocked every effort with a bland courtesy that contrived to suggest that Angel was a boor for persisting. ‘Vulgarian,’ said the flick of his glance.

“I must be going,” he said at last and smiled politely at Buffy. “All those papers to mark.”

“That’s a pity.” She followed him to the door and slid open the hall closet door for him to retrieve his briefcase. “I thought you might stay longer. I hoped you were enjoying our company.”

‘Not this company,’ said his glance at Angel.

“You’ve been very kind. But I mustn’t impose on you any longer.”

“I liked having you here.”

“Did you? That’s nice.” But the wry look in his eyes said that he knew that he had been cut out. He had a rival—if not Angel, still someone else—and he sensed that and was resigned to it. “Yes. Well. I suppose we’ll see each other around.”

“William...”

He smiled faintly, gave her an oddly formal bow of the head and left.

“What was all that dancing about for?” snapped Angel as the door closed behind him. “He’s acting as if he’s got something to hide.”

“Maybe he didn’t like being grilled,” said Giles dryly and Angel glowered at him.

“I wasn’t...”

“You were being bloody hamhanded and he took exception to it. Can’t really blame him. I would have too.”

“How to win friends and influence enemies. Not. I have to agree with Giles,” Buffy sighed. “You made it plain you didn’t think much of him.”

“Well, I never did think much of William,” muttered Angel. “He was always such a useless wimp.”

“That wimp grew into Spike.”

Angel glared. “This one won’t.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Giles. “I’m a little puzzled by the changes I’m detecting.”

Angel looked up, surprised. “What changes?”

“Well, he’s not exactly the fluffy poet I expected,” said Willow. “I thought he’d have been a real geek. But this one seems to know what he’s doing, at least in his job.”

“Well, they couldn’t make him a wealthy Victorian gentleman of leisure, with nothing to do but drift through society and write his godawful poems,” said Angel irritably. “People like that no longer exist in the modern age.”

“That’s my whole point,” said Giles. “What other changes have been made? Willow, we need to do some research.”

Willow nodded. “Both of us.”

“I’ve got Wes looking into it too,” said Angel. “Wolfram and Hart has access to material that you don’t.”

“The thing is,” said Willow, “there might not be any information anywhere. This could be just a one-off by the PTB, a reward for Spike with nothing like it happening before or happening again.”

“There’s got to be something,” muttered Giles with his perfect faith in the ability of research to solve anything. “There’s that Mutatis Mutandis book or...”

He and Willow and Angel discussed it for some time while Buffy sat frowning down at her hands, thinking that there was some element that they were all missing.

“I’ll be hanging around until we know what’s going on,” Angel was saying. “Wolfram and Hart’s Rome office will find a place for me to stay.”

“You can stay at the College if you like,” suggested Giles. “I’d prefer that Wolfram and Hart not be party to this, even so far as finding you lodging. Does anyone other than you and Wes know why you’re here?”

“No. Xander called and I just came. Wes will keep me advised if anything happens that needs my attention. I’ve rented a car. Can I give you and Willow a ride back to the College?”

“I came on my Vespa,” said Willow who had developed a fondness for Rome’s ubiquitous motorscooters. “But I’ll tag along on your tail. Coming down to see us off, Buff?”

“No, I, um, have something to do.”

Buffy had caught a glimpse of motion on the balcony. Out there in the darkness a shadow moved, moonlight glinting on platinum hair. She prayed Giles and Angel wouldn’t notice it. She waved the three of them off with relief, kicked the door shut with her heel and was flinging open the door to the balcony a second later.

“What are you doing here? Go away!”

“Matey with everyone else but me, are you? I could use some of that booze you’ve been handing out so freely.”

“Are you crazy? Don’t you know they’ll be hunting you down with crossbows if they see you?”

“Like I care.” His eyes were narrowed and glittering dangerously. “Who is he?”

“What?”

“That was a vamp you had in there, Slayer. Or didn’t you know that? What are you doing being so chummy with a vamp?”

“Angel’s different.”

“Angel. That’s a girl’s name. He a poofter?”

“No, he’s not! His name’s Angelus. Go away, Spike. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Don’t care what you want. I’m in the mood for some conversation.”

“Spike...”

“That redhaired bint, she’s from your College. Seen her around. But the two blokes are new. Who’s the toff with the glasses and the receding hairline? Your Da?”

“That’s Giles. He’s my Watcher and closer to me than my real Dad. He’s only going to be in Rome for a while and if you hurt him, Spike, I swear I’ll dust you!”

“Wouldn’t bother. He’s like the redhead, a human,” he said contemptuously, then fixed her with an accusing stare. “But that other wanker’s not. He’s a vamp. And you let him into your flat.”

“Angel’s special. He’s on the side of light.”

“Oh, yeah, su-ure,” he drawled and smirked at her. “Well, if you want to believe that, Slayer...”

“I don’t believe so. I know so. He’s got a soul.”

“A vamp with a soul? Doesn’t happen.”

“It happened. He was cursed with one a hundred years ago.”

“You pulling my chain?” He made a disgusted face when she shook her head.. “Now that really is twisted! A soul! Can’t think of anything more wrong.”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t give me that disapproving look. It’s flat against the natural order of things, Slayer, and you know it.”

“Oh, and you like order?”

He grinned involuntarily. “Nah, I like chaos.”

“That I can believe, demon.”

“That’s what I am. But I suppose he’s not, this appropriately named wanker. Can’t be a demon if he’s on the side of the angels. Big whoop.”

“Chaotic enough for you?”

“Oh, yeah. Makes me wanna hurl, but that’s beside the point.” He was watching her intently, a little scornful smile on his lips. “And you say he’s not a poofter either.”

“No.”

“Know that as a fact, do you?”

“Yes!”

“Had you, has he?”

He caught her fist just before it slammed into his jaw.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said and laughed.

“Demon!” she flung at him in fury and ripped her hand free. “Get out of here and leave me alone or I will stake you!”

“Worst thing you can think to call me, innit? A demon. But demons turn you on, don’t they, cutie?”

She glared at him, gritting her teeth.

“I could make you forget him, Slayer.” He wasn’t laughing now. His eyes were intent, intense. And it was Spike’s face looking at her, Spike’s breath on her mouth, Spike’s body brushing hers. “There’s something between us. I can feel it. Heat. So much heat.”

They were matched in strength and she could have pushed him away if she had wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted him. Her nails cut into her palms, trying to keep from just grabbing him. It was just an illusion. He wasn’t Spike. He was the demon. But for just a little while she would be able to delude herself that it was Spike.

“You could just take what you wanted, couldn’t you?” she whispered. She almost wished that he would. “Want, take, have. That’s what demons do, isn’t it? Why don’t you?”

“Fuck you or kill you or both. Yeah, I could. That would be standard operational procedure. But what’s between us, it’s not standard, is it? It’s something else. It’s this thing you’re not telling me about. Want you to come to me, Slayer. Want the assent. That would be the real victory.”

“You arrogant...”

“Is he your type, Slayer? Don’t think much of your taste. He what gets your juices flowing? Don’ know about that though, watching you in there. Didn’t seem that enthused by the looks of it. But you’re enthused with me, aren’t you?”

Her fists clenched. He looked down and laughed.

“Yeah, hit me, Slayer. Give it to me good. You know you want to.” His eyes were alight with laughter and provocation. “Might end up against that wall. Or on the floor. Doing what we both want—either killing each other or fucking each other blind.”

“No,” she whispered.

“You know you want to dance.”

He had said that to her once before, in the alley behind the Bronze years ago. No, Spike had. And what had she said?

“‘Say, it’s true. Say I do want to...’” she breathed and didn’t realize she had spoken the words aloud until she saw his eyes flare.

But this was the demon and the gleeful anticipation in those eyes was light years away from the vulnerability and the terrible hope that had been in Spike’s eyes when she had said those words before. All her anger drained away in a surge of grief. She caught her breath in pain and her fists unclenched and fell lax at her sides.

Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt her so badly if the comparisons hadn’t been so sharp right at the moment. If William hadn’t been here less than half an hour ago—William who was human, but wasn’t Spike. And here was the demon and he had all those vamp abilities that turned her on, all the unique characteristics of speech and attitude that should have been Spike and yet wasn’t.

She had been wrong both ways. The human hadn’t turned her on and she hadn’t wanted him. The demon did turn her on, but though she desired him, he still wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted was that unique combination of violence and tenderness. Not the killer or the poet, but the killer and the poet; that specific, complex, multi-faceted personality that was Spike.

“God, I’ve been a fool!” she whispered.

She turned blindly and ran into her living room, needing to get away from him. It didn’t hurt her to be around William because he so clearly wasn’t Spike. But the demon, so like him and yet still not him, cut her heart to shreds.

“Don’t you walk out on me, Slayer!” he said furiously behind her. She heard his hands slam angrily against the posts of the door.

“Leave me alone, demon!”

“Buffy!” And the urgency of his tone, his voice saying her name in that breathless, intense way, went straight through her like a knife. It was the way Spike had always said it. It hurt so much to hear it.

“Don’t!”

But when did that ever stop Spike? He caught her before she got halfway across the room, his hands pulling her around to face him. The blaze of the living room’s lamps stressed the intensity of his face, the way all the bones were standing out hard and sharp with strain.

“Slayer, wait!”

“No!” she said violently. “Spike, I can’t! You’re not...”

Then it hit her.

“You’re inside!” she gasped in shock.

“What?” he said blankly.

“You’re inside the house!”

It hadn’t occurred to him either until then. He turned his head to stare in surprise at the open door to the balcony. Then he started to smile.

“Well, hey, you invited me in? Then it’s okay you invited him if you invited me as well.”

“But...I didn’t!”

“Slayer,” he said patiently. “You must have. Because I’m a vamp and I can’t come in unless you say I can come in.”

“But...”

The front door that Buffy had forgotten to lock opened and Willow walked in, then stopped dead in shock.

“Spike?”

Spike flung up his arms. “Another one who knows me! Do I have a rep or something?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Buffy. “You should ask around.”

“OhmiGod, look at him!” Willow was gasping.

Spike grinned at her. “Hey, Red. Seen you ’round the College. You’re Willow, right?”

“Yuh.” Willow gaped at him. “And you’re...and you’re...You really are!”

“Well, I told you, didn’t I?” said Buffy, a little exasperated.

“Yeah, but that’s different from actually seeing it. Do the vamp thingy,” she said to Spike.

“Willow,” sighed Buffy, but Spike laughed and went into gameface obligingly, ridges, fangs, yellow eyes, the whole deal.

“Right. This one’s a vamp,” said Willow.

“This one?” Spike shook off the gameface and frowned at her. “What do you mean, this one? Is there another me hanging around somewhere?”

Willow opened her mouth, then saw Buffy glaring at her. “Uh, not exactly.”

Spike gave her a look. “Gee, can you vague it up a little more?”

“You don’t have to mock our phraseology,” muttered Willow.

“Kinda getting to the end of my rope here. Why don’t you people stop playing games and just tell me flat out what’s going on?”

“Because we don’t know what’s going on,” snapped Buffy.

“But why not tell him about Wi...?” began Willow, then stopped short at Buffy waved a hand wildly to silence her.

“Because vamps—especially him!—have awfully direct ways of solving problems and I really don’t want anyone to get eaten if the evil twin doesn’t like duplicates.”

“Oh! Right!” Willow thought that over. “Yeah, could have some unfortunate results.”

“Am I supposed to not understand that?” muttered Spike.

“Do you?” asked Willow with interest.

“That there’s a doppelgänger around, yeah, but that doesn’t get me very far. Getting bloody sick of mysteries.”

Buffy glowered. “Ya think?” She glanced at Willow. “What are you doing back here anyway? I thought you were going to the College with Giles and Angel.”

“Well, I was, but I saw you were looking kinda funny when we left, so I thought I’d let them go on ahead and I’d come back to find out what was wrong. I really didn’t expect to find you’d invited a vamp into the house.”

Buffy flung up her hands. “And that’s another mystery! I didn’t!”

“You must have.”

“Well, I didn’t and I want you to do that spell that disinvites him.”

“That’s not very friendly,” said Spike reproachfully.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not wake up to find my throat being torn out.”

“Wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure you wouldn’t.”

“No, really. That’s for later.” He grinned suddenly. “Rather do something else first. Might.”

“Don’t want to wake up to that either.” She gave him a twisted smile and he laughed.

“You’d like it, Slayer. Guaranteed.” Then his brows snapped together. “What about that Angel git? You gonna keep me out, but let him in?”

“Uh...”

“Maybe that wanker and I should have a little discussion.”

“No!” She bit her lip. “You’re both going to be disinvited.”

“Fair enough. Pity though,” he muttered. “Didn’t like his face. Might look a lot better when it’s rearranged a little. Or dust.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it would.”

“You leave him alone.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Spike!”

“Oh, all right,” he said sulkily. “As a favor to you.”

“Your word? What am I saying?” she muttered. “Demons don’t keep their word.”

“I do,” he retorted, offended.

“He does, you know,” said Willow.

“Yes, but that was the other...” Buffy stopped short, staring at him.

“What?” he asked, surprised.

“It just hit me. Nah, it can’t be. But you’re sure not acting like a normal demon. No ‘want, take, have.’ No killing. The assent. So many anomalies...I just want to check something out. Here. Catch.”

She scooped up the denarius that William had left lying on the coffee table and tossed it at him.

“Te patefac,” she murmured as he caught it reflexively.

The coin flared green in his hand.

“Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi!” said Willow and fell into an armchair.

“What?” said Spike, really exasperated this time.

“Research!” exclaimed Buffy.

“On it!” Willow waved a feeble hand in acknowledgment. “Giles...?”

“No way! Not yet.”

“Will somebody tell me what the bleeding hell is going on?” snarled Spike.

“Now that’s the question,” muttered Willow. She staggered to her feet and headed dazedly for the door. “Haven’t got that disinvite spell memorized, Buffy, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Unless you want it tonight. I could find the book and come back...”

“No, tomorrow’s fine.” She lifted a brow at Spike. “Or are you planning on invading the place tonight?”

“Nah. No rush.” He smirked at her. “Half the fun’s in the anticipation.”

“So glad to hear it.”

“Are you glad?” His voice had dropped so that Willow, going out the front door and closing it behind her, wouldn’t hear.

She wasn’t. She wanted the choice taken out of her hands so that she didn’t have to think and agonize, wanted a fait accompli and he knew it. If she woke up in the middle of the night and found him on top of her, would she fight it?

“I’d like you to leave now,” she said, holding open the door to the balcony, determinedly resisting that compromising thought.

“All right.” But he didn’t move, kept watching her.

His face had gone still, lips faintly compressed, his eyes very blue. She found her gaze lingering on the planes of his face, the beauty of it that she had always shut out before. That recklessness, that wicked, volatile mockery that had called to mind the lethal, dangerous Spike who had first come to Sunnydale was still there—the demon. But something else was there within the velvety black smoulder of his pupils, a softness that reminded her of the Spike he had turned into towards the end.

Had it been there all along and she hadn’t seen it, shut it out as she had always shut him out? She had never really looked at Spike, the individual who had been her enemy and lover and champion, never in all the long years. And this being was at once known and unknown, an all too familiar stranger. She didn’t even know what she was looking at now.

Cool fingertips slid down the side of her face, a caress. When had he moved? He was suddenly right in front of her. Too close. She should retreat. But the open door of the balcony was cold against her back and there was nowhere for her to go. Besides, she didn’t want to.

His intent gaze was on her mouth. He bent his head slowly, giving her all the time in the world to protest or resist. She couldn’t. She wanted it too much, wanted the taste of his mouth and the feel of his body against hers and those few exquisite moments of being able to pretend it was Spike even though it wasn’t. Her mouth opened to him without a thought; her hands flew up from her sides to clench fiercely across his back.

They kissed and kissed again slowly, sensuously, mouths fused together, unable to break apart. She lost track of time, drowning in sensation, in the taste and feel and touch of him, in the memories, surrendered to those memories, never wanting it to end.

“Slayer,” he said in an odd, suffocated voice. “Slayer.”

She knew what that breathlessness meant. Vamps didn’t need to breathe, but passion had always brought out that reflex in Spike, made him struggle for air as desperately as she. She knew she was affecting him as much as he was affecting her, and that knowledge racked the tension even tighter.

His weight was heavy upon her from chest to knee, pressing her against the door; his body was tautening, hardening, growing more urgent and demanding. She wanted to yield to that demand, her bones turning to water, her whole body going liquid.

“You’re something else, Slayer,” he muttered. “So hot. So bloody hot. You could burn me to ash.”

She had.

She tore her mouth away, gasping for breath.

“No.”

He wasn’t Spike, wasn’t William, wasn’t even really the demon. She didn’t know what he was.

“You mean not yet,” he mocked. “Because we know it’ll happen, don’t we, Slayer?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, yes, it will.” He was laughing at her. But the hands cradling her head, sliding through her hair, were oddly gentle, the lips that brushed hers sweet, coaxing not taking. “Maybe not tonight or even tomorrow night. But it will happen.”

Could she let it? But what if he proved to be nothing but the demon? Could she dust him or stand by and let the others dust him? Endure watching him die again?

It would destroy her.


TBC