Why couldn't people leave her alone?

Buffy wanted to start a new life here and needed space, just a little personal privacy, while she found her feet. Was that so hard to understand?

All right, granted, they were calling Xander and not her, but Buffy was dead certain that if she were to plug in her laptop, turn her cell back on, she'd be swamped with texts and voicemails and emails, every last one of them pestering her about something. Where are you, Buffy. What are you doing, Buffy. Why haven't you called, Buffy. Pay attention to us, Buffy.

Our needs are more important than yours, Buffy.

And what was Xander doing, fielding so many calls? Had he been running interference for her, or checking in behind her back?

Buffy didn't know, and she really, really didn't need the added stress right now. Worrying over Spike was bad enough; all this added tension from those stupid phone messages was giving her a headache. She hadn't left the garage all day and her legs were sore from sitting in the little camp chair Xander had set up for her. Thing wasn't meant to be sat in all day… or maybe it wasn't meant to be sat in by someone who was as worked up as she was.

She peeked back in to check on Spike. Good – he was still asleep from the last feeding. She had time to get a shower, try and relax for a minute. See if that would help her head.

And then Xander would be home, and it would be time to have a little chat.

---

Hunger woke Spike from a nightmare where he found himself trying to explain something to both Illyria and Figg, something he couldn't remember on waking. It had seemed important in his dream, something they both needed to hear, but now… he swallowed convulsively, mouth flooding with saliva at the faint scent of blood in plastic.

He opened his eyes, and to his surprise could mostly make out his surroundings. A little blurry around the edges, but his eyes were nearly back to normal again, it seemed.

He was lying on a camp cot, a blanket draped across him, his hands sticking out from under it on either side. Ordinary leather belts were wrapped around each wrist, black on one side and brown on the other, strapping his arms to the cot frame. He tugged, tentatively at first, then harder. There was just enough give that, if he took his time, he should eventually be able to work his way free; if nothing else he should be able to wiggle the belt around until he could reach the buckle, and get loose that way.

Looking around, he saw faint light leaking out from behind tarps covering the windows, and a lamp somewhere behind his head cast long shadows over an empty concrete floor. Oil stains and tire marks there… and yeah, the large overhead-type door was pretty difficult to miss.

Someone's garage, then.

Spike swallowed again, fighting to keep his head instead of giving in to his hunger. He couldn't remember feeling this famished since the first weeks after being chipped by the Initiative… no. It was worse than that – it was the hunger of a newly-fledged vampire, still sloppy with his kills and craving blood almost constantly. He'd been lucky to have Dru, and even Angelus and Darla, to assist him through that first stage of his new existence.

Who did he have now? Someone had certainly been feeding him. Someone had released him, mostly, from the binding spell Figg had placed. But where were they now, and what did they want with him?

Spike inhaled, searching for scents in the air. Either that sense was dulled as well, or the motor oil and sawdust were masking the odor of whoever had come and gone recently. There were notes, something familiar in the air, but he couldn't place it.

Remembered feather-light touches across his cheek and brow. Remembered thinking that Buffy had come for him, after all.

But would she keep him in a place like this? Did she live here? Shouldn't he be able to smell her in the air, on his skin?

Gritting his teeth, Spike twisted his wrists and pulled. The backs of his hands officially hated this plan; he could see the skin there, loose and peeling. Bloody hell, it looked like he was wearing gloves. How had that been done?

Craning his neck, Spike could see a red cooler sitting not a foot away from him, likely full of blood. His mouth flooded, and he swallowed again. If he got free, he might be able to reach that. Take his fill.

Wincing, he began to struggle in earnest.

---

Xander was home, keys jangling as he walked in the front door. "Hey, Buff," he said. Yawned. "How'd it go with you guys today?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes, leaned against the kitchen's bar-slash-entryway. "Oh, you know," she replied, "some good, some bad. Kinda trying to decide which is which, though."

"Howzat?" Toeing his shoes off in the entryway. He seemed totally casual – too casual? She wasn't sure.

"Well, on the one side, Spike is getting strong enough that he pulled the tape loose on one side of the cot," she said. "Which reminds me, the butcher shop should be delivering some blood any time now. What with the eating every couple of hours and all, we were running out, but he's a lot less skinny, which is definitely of the good. Oh, and because of the not-so-skinny, the tape on his other arm was starting to look too tight, so I grabbed a couple of belts out of your closet to use instead. I hope that's okay."

Xander dropped the mail on the countertop. Tossed a grin her way. "As long as you didn't find the pink fuzzy handcuffs, we're good."

"Okay, ew," said Buff. "And thank you so much for that mental image."

"Anytime," he said, still smiling. "What was the other thing?"

Buffy paused, pursed her lips for a second. "I had a free minute, so I took your phone messages for you."

Xander looked at her, waiting. Shrugged. "Okay, and…?"

She shoved the notepad across the counter at him. "Two sounded work related," she said. "Then there was one from Dawn, one from Willow, and one from Andrew." She folded her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Want to tell me what that's about?"

"Sure," he said, "just let me take a look." Poked the button on his answering machine. Buffy kept silent while he listened to the messages.

Xander shrugged and moved through into the kitchen. "Hmm. Well, Dawn phoned the day you left England and asked me to let her know when you got in safely; I did that already." He started rummaging through the fridge. "But you haven't been in touch, so…" He stood up, a head of lettuce in one hand. "She's probably just worried about you."

"And the others?" Couldn't seem to stop her voice from turning cold. "Care to tell me what everyone is saying behind my back?"

Xander froze, turned to look at her. He seemed honestly confused. "Geez, Buff. Paranoid much?" Okay, and maybe also a little annoyed. "I mean, I've got no idea what Andrew is looking for, for one thing."

"And as for Willow?" she prompted.

"As for Willow," he said, "that's probably just the latest chapter in a conversation we've been having for a while now." He made a face, considering. "Although yeah, you do come up in that conversation kind of a lot."

Buffy shut her eyes and sighed. Of course she did.

"Look," she said, "you know why I left England, right? I'm done with Giles thinking he can manipulate me by keeping secrets from me. But I'm also pretty much over it coming from anybody else, too." She looked away from him for a second. Pushed herself away from the counter and started getting out plates and bowls. "I'm just… really touchy about the idea people might be trying to run my life – again – without me being part of the process. You know?"

Xander nodded. "Of course I do," he said, "and I know that's probably why you haven't been talking to anyone since you got here. I mean, you did tell me you're trying to start over here, right? I kinda figured you wanted to make a few decisions without any interference from the rest of us, for a change."

Buffy smiled. Felt a little foolish for doubting Xander in the first place.

"I can tell you this much," he went on as he turned to the sink, "Dawn really is just worried about you. She has called before, a couple times, but only because she's checking to make sure you're okay. I mean, come on. You usually live with a cell phone permanently attached to your ear, and now instead of hearing from you every half-hour, she's been gettin' nada for the past two weeks."

He started scrubbing at the lettuce and peeling off leaves, setting them into a big bowl on the counter. Buffy started pulling other salad ingredients out of the fridge. "Andrew said he needed your assistance again," she said.

"Eh," shrugged Xander, "he called while he was making travel arrangements for you. I haven't heard from him since then. I told you, I don't know what he could want." He chewed his lip for a minute, turned off the water. "Look, Buffy. We talked once about how the Scoobies had this problem, remember? Where we love each other but we don't trust each other?" He looked at her for a long moment, saying nothing.

Buffy had the decency to feel embarrassed. "So," she said after a second, all fake-perky, "can I still ask about Willow, or does that just make me a hypocrite?"

Xander smiled, but turned it into a sigh. "Let's just say that, for a crazy-powerful witch, she can be really insecure. Also she does a really great impression of your stereotypical Jewish busybody. But that part, at least, isn't completely her fault."

"What do you mean?" Juggling veggies and trying not to get paranoid again.

"Well, she hasn't said anything specific," he said, "and I could totally be wrong here, but I get the impression she knew some of what Giles and Andrew knew, this past year."

"Son of a bitch… oh, yuck!" Buffy had clenched her fists without thinking. Now a tomato was dying a horrible gory death in her hand. "Ew. Towel, towel! And I should have known she'd… I can't believe it, except I can, you know? I just – gah." Threw the remains in the garbage. "Why do people who call themselves my friends still have to –"

"Actually, that's the part I think isn't her fault," Xander said quietly.

Buffy wiped sticky tomato guts off her hands. Took a deep breath and blew it out. "I'm listening," she said.

"Okay, well, I don't have all the information, here," said Xander, "but… she's tying herself in knots over something, Buffy. Reading between the lines? I get the feeling she knew at least a little bit about the whole Spike situation. But I think maybe she wasn't sure how much you knew, which meant she wasn't sure how much she could say." He rubbed at his eyepatch. "And you haven't been talking to anyone, yourself… hence, nosy-Nellie – trying to find out, from me, about you."

"If she wanted to find out whether I knew anything about Spike, why wouldn't she be able to just ask me?" Buffy threw her hands in the air.

"Beats me. Maybe she thought you were moving on, and if you didn't know Spike was still around, bringing him up would just mess you up all over again," he said.

"So?" growled Buffy. "I mean, okay, yes, it probably would have messed me up – as witness the whole Giles thing – but still, moving on or not moving on – wouldn't that be my decision to make? Just for a wacky change of pace, couldn't I be allowed to have all the information, where my personal life is concerned?"

Xander took a breath. "Yes, if that's what this is really about. But hey, maybe she doesn't know anything about Spike and is just worried about you, same as Dawn. Maybe she just misses you, what with the traveling and the disappearing into coven stuff and not getting to see you as often as she likes. Or maybe there's an apocalypse coming and she needs me to start boarding up everybody's windows."

Buffy stopped and considered, looking out the kitchen window. "Or – maybe she did know something about Spike," she said slowly, "and Giles is putting pressure on her to keep her mouth shut about it. Maybe she wants to talk to me and isn't sure how much she's allowed to say."

"I don't see how he could stop her," said Xander. "Goddess-level witch, there, right?"

Buffy sighed. "Crap. There goes that theory."

"Anyway," Xander shrugged, "something has her all tied up in knots, and she won't be specific about it whenever she calls, apart from getting all angsty about not talking to you as much as she thinks she should. Honest, Buffster, I got nothing. Me, I'm just reaching for theories and chopping vegetables." He placed a handful of radishes onto the cutting board, waved his knife in the air. "If you want to play conspiracy, though, maybe Giles made her believe there was some reason not to talk to you about the… whatever-it-is."

"That would be just like him, wouldn't it. Son of a bitch," she muttered again.

"Seems plausible, anyway," he said. Shrugged, started chopping radishes. "So yeah," he went on, "she's called a few times in the past month or so. But she's never said anything to me about Spike – I will reiterate this could have nothing to do with him, I'm only throwing it out there because you're kinda attached to the idea. But I'm pretty sure she feels guilty as hell over keeping something from you. If you're right, and if I had to guess… I'd say she's trying to find out how much you already know about the something, how much she can get away with telling you, and whether or not she has to worry about – I dunno – Giles cutting her off from all the nifty spell books or something like that."

He stopped, pointed his knife at her. "Which I'm pretty sure he wouldn't actually do, since he needs her to do a lot of the hunting down Lost Tomes O' Wisdom for the new Council, but if Giles is pressuring her, Willow wouldn't be interested in taking that kind of risk."

Buffy thought about it for a second. "I think I see your point," she said. "And maybe you're right, maybe it is nothing. It still sucks though." A little bitter inside. "For both of us."

"Buffy?"

"'Cause whatever it is, it's obviously bothering her, and 'cause anything that bothers you guys automatically has to bother me too, whether or not it's really necessary, or even relevant to my life," she said. "And if you're right, then it probably isn't relevant, but she has to involve me anyway."

Xander sighed. "And again with that whole phase we were hoping we'd outgrown…"

"Okay, fine, maybe I'm just being paranoid," said Buffy tiredly. "But Willow could have talked to me before now about whatever is bugging her. She should have. If nothing else I'd have kept it from Giles that I knew anything, if it turned out to be that big a deal." Buffy scowled. She threw radish slices into the salad bowl, took the cucumber away from Xander, and took a turn at the cutting board. Perhaps with a little excessive force. "She should have trusted me."

"Yeah, careful there, pot, your kettle is showing," he replied. "Why is it you haven't been in touch with everyone, again? And, how is she supposed to talk to you when you've been off the grid the whole time you've been here?"

Buffy sighed.

There was a crash from the garage.

---

Spike's cot was overturned on the floor, with him under it, apparently unconscious. He'd gotten one hand free of the restraints, again – it was stretched out toward the cooler where they were keeping his supply of blood. The cooler itself had tipped over, too, and bags of blood were spilled across the floor of the garage. It was pure luck that none of them had burst.

"Oh, God," said Buffy. "Spike? Spike, can you hear me?" She bit her lip, looked at Xander. "I'm not sure you should get too close while he's. You know. Loose."

"I'll be fine, Buff," said Xander. "At least let me get the cooler picked up. You can handle Spike on your own if it makes you feel better."

"Vampire, Xan," she said wearily. "I'm trying to keep you both from getting hurt." She flipped the cot right-side-up, and discovered that, no, in fact Spike had gotten both his hands free from the belts. He lay in a crumpled heap, not quite on his stomach, not quite on his side, one arm stretched out away from him toward the cooler, the other curled up under his chest. His broken bones were all underneath him, damn it, and blood oozed from a scrape on his forehead. "And apparently failing miserably," she added bitterly.

Carefully, she turned Spike over onto his back. "Spike?" He didn't answer her, at first.

Then he frowned, eyes still closed, and moaned softly.

"Spike?" she called again. "Hey, Spike. You gotta wake up, Spike. Talk to me."

He jerked his head away from her with a little grunt. Sleepy, not all there yet. "Nnn," he said. Winced. One hand dragged up toward his head.

"Spike?"

"Figg," he muttered. "Figg? They're dead, Figg… they're all dead, you're meant to be… meant to be too."

Buffy looked up at Xander, eyes wide.

"Illyria," he sighed sleepily. "Illyria – 'Lyria, where are you – where you going… 's just us, 'Lyria, you can't – where are you going… didn't make it… why'd I… didn't, they're all dead… just us… you can't… don't go, you're just… leave me here?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks, listening to him. His voice, even dazed and half-conscious, carried so much pain.

"You – Figg, don't," said Spike. "Won't work, Figg – won't bring 'em back… you can't… all gone… leave me… leave me here… Figg… Angel – Angel's gone… 'Lyria… Buffy?"

She clenched her fists for a second, willed herself to stay calm. "I'm here," she whispered, but he didn't answer. Tore her fingers through her hair, then stood up and began to back away from him. "Buffy?" called Xander softly, but she wasn't listening. Fixated on the vampire muttering on the floor.

"Need to… Buffy – go to her… needs you… Buff – Buffy… needs… Figg? Figg, they're dead… all dead… 'Lyria. Why'd I make it… why'd… get out – get out, let me… let me out…"

She was at the door in two steps, shaking from head to toe. Xander grabbed her arm. "Where – what are you doing, Buffy?"

"I just – I need to – first aid," she gasped, "I need to get the first aid kit. I'll – just give me…"

Spike continued to mumble nonsense on the floor. Buffy jerked her arm free of Xander's grasp…

"Buffy!"

But she was already gone.

---