full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
 
Chapter 17
 
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By the time Buffy finally emerged from her bedroom, clean and dressed, it was dusk.
 
As she went down the stairs, she could hear Spike, Tara and Dawn in the kitchen, talking about … milkshakes? Buffy sat down on the bottom step and listened for a while, not ready to join them.
 
Spike heard her come down, heard her stop. He wished he could make it easier for her somehow.
 
“Got some errands I need to run, but I’ll be back later.” Spike ran his hand over Dawn’s head.
 
“Before I go to sleep?”
 
“Yeah.” Spike turned to Tara. “There’s fixin’s for tacos, if you don’ mind makin’ dinner tonight?”
 
“Sure,” Tara said, nodding.
 
Buffy listened to them talking. It was so normal. Dinner. Eating. It exhausted her just thinking about it.
 
She heard Spike leaving through the back door.
 
Dawn came out into the hallway. “Buffy?” she called, then jumped when she realised Buffy was sitting at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing there?”
 
“Just … sitting,” Buffy said.
 
“Oh.” They looked at each other. “Um, wanna help with dinner? It’s tacos.”
 
“Sure,” Buffy said, fixing her best fake smile, and forcing herself to stand. It will get easier with time. And I know this because it can’t possibly get harder.
 
 
 
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“But Spike, the money.”
 
“But Anya, the dusty death!”
 
“You’re very strong,” Anya purred, running her eyes up and down Spike’s arms. “And such a good fighter. I’m sure there’s no real danger to you.” She batted her eyelids.
 
“Think you’ve got something in your eye, pet.”
 
Anya threw her hands up in the air. “Well if flattery won’t work, what will?”
 
“Anya! For fuck’s sake, I said no!”
 
“You never used to worry about things like danger. Didn’t you tell me you scoffed at danger?”
 
“I bloody well hope not. Idiotic thing to say.”
 
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going soft on me, vampire?”
 
“You gonna call me yellow-bellied next? Maybe dare me to do it?”
 
“That always seems to work in Xander’s favourite movies.”
 
“Anya! This is not a bloody film!”
 
“I know that! But my cut would be six thousand dollars. I’m … I’m saving for something special right now. I want that money!”
 
“I am not a helper of the soddin’ helpless. If that gormless git sold his soul, it’s his own bloody lookout!”
 
“But he’s a very rich gormless git! Whatever that means. And all you have to do is break into a casino, find the contract, and leave. Easy!”
 
“I’m a smash’n’grab type, Anya. This is a job for a soddin’ cat burglar. Or an army! I won’ do it. Besides, what am I supposed to do about any human security?”
 
Unless that’s not such a problem anymore … still, there’s a time an’ a place to find that out an’ this isn’t bloody it.
 
Anya harrumphed. “Fine. But I think I should get twenty-five per cent until you’ve made up the six thousand you’ve lost me.”
 
Spike laughed. “Fat chance. Goodbye, Anya. I’m off to pick up a new telly.”
 
 
 
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Dinner had been awkward. Buffy had barely eaten, and she’d spoken even less. Her tendency to just stare off into the distance was … disturbing. And the more Buffy retreated, the harder Dawn kept trying to tempt her back. Her repeated failures broke Tara’s heart, and Dawn was near tears by the end of the meal.
 
Willow was distracted and oblivious – alternating between frantic efforts to bolster Dawn’s attempts at conversation and getting lost in her own thoughts. She seemed excited about something, but Tara couldn’t imagine what that could possibly be.
 
As they were clearing the table, the doorbell rang.
 
Dawn ran to answer it.
 
“Dawn.”
 
She slammed the door in Angel’s face. Angel sighed. Maybe it was a mistake, coming here. We should have just met in between again. Dawn just seemed to hate him more every time he saw her. He wrapped the guilt around himself like a familiar old coat.
 
“Buffy!” Dawn called.
 
Willow, Tara and Buffy came running into the hallway.
 
“What’s wrong?” asked Buffy.
 
“Is it a demon?” asked Tara.
 
Willow tried very hard not to smile in anticipation.
 
“Angel,” Dawn’s voice dripped with venom “is outside.” Her eyes smouldered and her jaw was ticking.
 
“It wasn’t very nice to slam the door in his face, Dawnie,” Willow said, gently.
 
Dawn turned to Willow. “He doesn’t deserve nice.”
 
Buffy flinched.
 
Dawn just stared at her. “How can you just keep … forgiving him? All he ever does is make things worse.”
 
“Dawn….”
 
“Forget it. Whatever. I don’t care. When he leaves and you start crying, it’ll be your own damn fault.” Dawn turned and stomped upstairs. Once inside her room, she opened her window, and prepared to listen and watch as much as she could.
 
Buffy turned to Willow and Tara. “I’m gonna just….”
 
“Of course, Buffy. We’ll be here if you need us,” Willow said.
 
Buffy opened the door, shutting it behind her and leaning against it.
 
Angel drank her in with his eyes. “Buffy.” His voice was hoarse. It felt so weird even saying her name. He’d made his peace with her death – something he’d never expected to survive – and it still felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t sure how he felt, now, seeing her again. There were too many powerful emotions competing.
 
She looks awful. Did I look that bad when I first came back?
 
“Angel,” Buffy breathed. She was bombarded with flashes of memory: stolen kisses in dark corners, a claddagh ring…. She reached out to him, tentatively, and he grasped onto her wrists, pulling her tightly against him. The familiar physical intimacy covered his confused feelings.
 
“How did you know I was … back?” she murmured into his chest.
 
“Willow called. I drove straight here.” Angel pulled back to look down into her eyes, his hands resting on her shoulders, thumbs brushing against her collarbone. “It’s … I can’t believe you’re….”
 
“Just call me miracle-girl.” She turned her lips upwards in a ghost of a smile. She remembered him holding her as they danced.
 
So thin. I can feel every bone. “Buffy, if you're in – if you're in pain. Or if you need anything…. If I can help you....”
 
“You can't.” She evaded his gaze, burrowing her face in his chest and tightened her arms around his waist. Being surrounded by his bulk was familiar, soothing. Safe.
 
“Look, I … I know what you’re going through,” he said quietly. “So if you ever need to … talk … anything. I’m here for you.”
 
More than anyone, you have no idea what I’m going through. Just as she had almost decided to tell him, another memory pushed through. Waking up alone in his bed … Angelus.
 
Jenny. Oh god, Jenny!
 
It all came screaming back, with the weight and impact of a freight train. Giles. Giles and Jenny. Not just an old girlfriend….
 
She bit back a sob. All my fault.
 
Angel, convinced her sudden stiffening was due to some memory of hell, tightened his grip around her.
 
Buffy felt suffocated. Her Slayer senses were screaming at her that she should be killing the vampire. She wrenched herself out of his arms, and slid down against the door to crouch on the ground. She held her hands up protectively.
 
“Get back!” she almost shouted.
 
“I … I’m sorry,” he said, a spasm of pain crossed his face, and he backed off, leaning against the post. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”
 
“You killed Jenny,” she blurted out.
 
Angel frowned in confusion. “Buffy … we … I thought….” He had no idea what was going on, or how to react. Her heart was racing, and he could smell fear.
 
Buffy curled her arms around her knees and buried her face. Her knuckles were white from tension. She could see his face outside the window, laughing, while she cried. I couldn’t kill him so Jenny died.
 
“What’s wrong?”
 
“Everything’s just peachy,” she said softly.
 
“Really not getting that impression right now.” Angel crouched down next to her, worried.
 
Buffy tightened herself into an even smaller ball, flinching away from him.
 
“Buffy….”
 
“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but right now, my instincts are all telling me you’re still him … still Angelus.” Visions of him taunting her, threatening her friends, kept playing through her head. Dawn. God, what he did to Dawn…. When she looked at his face – concerned, full of love – Angelus’ cold smirk kept flashing over it.
 
Angel let out a breath he couldn’t remember taking in. “I’m so sorry. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.” Couldn’t this hurt less at some point? “I would do anything to take those months back.”
 
She laughed, but it was dangerously close to crying. “Would you stay?”
 
“Buffy … we’ve talked about this. So many times. We agreed it was for the best.”
 
“I know.” She scrubbed at her face with her hands. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”
 
He reached out to touch her again, and she flinched away. They stared at their feet for a while, both thinking that what they mostly seemed to share was pain and guilt.
 
Cordelia’s face appeared, suddenly, in Angel’s mind’s eye. Smiling. Laughing – at him and with him. Have I ever laughed with Buffy?
 
Buffy thought about how safe she’d felt in Angel’s arms just moments ago. “When you came back after mom’s funeral, I really thought you would stay.”
 
“You told me to go,” he said quickly. God, that sounded petty.
 
Buffy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t think you’d agree with me.”
 
Yup. Petty. “I … I love you, Buffy.” It sounded trite, even to him. Like an excuse.
 
“I loved you so much Angel, that I let people die. I loved you so much that there wasn’t room inside me to love anyone else.” Tears were running down her face. I can’t keep doing this.
 
“Buffy….” She said loved.
 
It all felt so safe and familiar, the heartbreak, the doomed love that would last forever from afar. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge how empty it was becoming. Wanting the comfort of the physical spark that still seemed to exist, Angel inched closer and Buffy slowly uncurled her body. Their hands crept towards each other over the floor until Angel’s clasped around Buffy’s. They stared at their hands for a moment, feeling the tension build.
 
Suddenly Buffy jolted back like she’d been scalded, shoving his hand away, looking at him with abject horror. “Cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip!” she gasped out.
 
Angel went rigid, shocked. “You weren’t supposed to remember … that day never happened.”
 
“Oh my god, you … we could’ve…. You bastard!”
 
All the pent-up aggression from a long day of sitting indoors bubbled up, and Buffy finally gave into the instincts that had been screaming for her to attack ever since she’d sensed Angel’s presence. She leapt to her feet and kicked out at his head.
 
Angel threw himself back in time to catch it on the nose instead of the temple, but he still went backwards over the stairs, landing awkwardly and painfully on the ground. His nose was broken and bleeding.
 
“I couldn’t protect you as a human!” he said, gingerly getting to his feet.
 
I died!” she shouted. “Where was your precious protection when I was up on that tower?” Buffy jumped down the steps and threw her whole body into another punch to his face.
 
Angel felt his cheekbone shatter.
 
“Ow! Buffy, I don’t want to hurt you.”
 
“Too late!” she grunted, flying at him again, punching and kicking for all she was worth.
 
Angel didn’t remember her being this strong the last time they’d fought. At a loss, and genuinely beginning to worry for his own survival, he hit back.
 
She wasn’t expecting it, and his punch dislocated her left shoulder. Screaming in pain, her eyes went completely cold. The Slayer took over, her injury forgotten. Sure, she couldn’t lift her arm above her waist, but….
 
Angel only just dodged her punch to his balls, but she was now in close enough that he could use his size and reach to his advantage, picking her up and controlling her arms with a grappling move. With her injured shoulder, she just couldn’t get the leverage to break her upper body free.
 
She grunted in frustration and wrapped her legs around him to beat at his kidneys with her heels.
 
“Enough already! I get the point, Buffy!” This is ridiculous.
 
Still locked into survival mode, she just re-angled to try and take out his knees. Her heels plunging into the backs of both knees was too much, and Angel lost his balance. As he fell, he took in a deep breath, and suddenly he could smell something … familiar....
 
“Are you sleeping with Spike?” Angel asked, horrified.
 
In shock, he relaxed his grip, and she wriggled out. She spun a kick into his solar plexus. Angel, still too dazed at what he’d smelled on her skin, just took the hit. But when Buffy came in for a follow-up, he swerved out of the way and grabbed her ankle, using her momentum to fling her against a porch pillar.
 
The crash brought Buffy back. Dazed, she dragged herself upright. She stared at Angel, not immediately understanding why he was dripping with blood and barely staying upright. And what happened to my shoulder?
 
“Seriously?” he said. “Spike?” He was looking at her like she’d murdered a puppy and drunk its blood on Christmas morning in front of a room full of children.
 
“Huh?” Buffy said.
 
The scent of Spike got stronger. Angel spun around, and saw him standing on the sidewalk, carrying a TV box.
 
“What the fuck is he doin’ here?” Spike demanded, putting down the box.
 
Me? What right have you got to be here!”
 
“I bloody well live here!” Spike yelled.
 
“No,” Angel said, walking towards Spike. “You can’t possibly! Just because she’s having some depraved post-resurrection kinky sex thing with you….”
 
Buffy froze in horror. She remembered her body’s reaction to Spike earlier in the day. This is wrong. This is wrong on every level it is possible for something to be wrong.
 
“Jealous much?” Spike leered, curling his tongue against his teeth suggestively.
 
Buffy cringed. Oh my god. What is wrong with me?
 
“My god, Buffy…. What’s wrong with you?” Angel launched himself at Spike. “I should never have let you live, you bastard.”
 
“Stop!” Buffy yelled. “Both of you, stop.”
 
Spike stopped. Immediately. Angel didn’t.
 
Spike slammed his jaw back into place, his eyes watering from the pain. “Prick,” he growled.
 
Angel growled back.
 
“Angel … go back to LA.”
 
Spike smirked.
 
“Buffy—” Angel started.
 
“After what you did … I’m not…. Just go.”
 
“I’ll always come if you need me,” Angel said, limping towards his car.
 
“You,” Buffy turned to Spike. He ran to her, and gently caressed her wounded shoulder with his fingertips. She shuddered at the jolt to her senses. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. “Why are you even here?” She shoved him away from her.
 
“What’s this about, Love?” he asked. “Did Captain Forehead do this?”
 
Angel growled.
 
“I’m not your ‘luv’.” Buffy said harshly.
 
Spike just stared at her. What the fuck? His stomach was twisting into knots.
 
Angel laughed.
 
“And this will never be your home,” she went on, cutting herself with the sharpness of her voice. Spike shouldn’t live with me. It’s wrong! “You were convenient.” Buffy could feel something breaking in her watching the hurt flow across his face, but she couldn’t stop herself. Angel’s look of revulsion kept replaying in her head.
 
Spike’s whole universe was unravelling. “You ungrateful bitch!” He was trembling with rage and a bone-shattering loss that was worse than anything he’d ever felt before.
 
“Face it, Spike,” Angel said. “You’re beneath her.” He got into his car with a smile on his face. God, he loved watching Spike fail.
 
“Just please leave.” Buffy said, forcing her voice to stay calm despite what felt like a tsunami building up inside her. She turned her back on them, forcing herself to walk up the porch steps, even though she wanted to run. She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. Buffy leaned back against the door, eyes closed. What is wrong with me?
 
When she opened them again, she saw Dawn, halfway down the stairs, staring at her with pure hate. “How could you?” she asked. “He wasn’t here for you! He was here for me!”
 
“Dawnie—”
 
“I don’t care, Buffy!” she yelled. Then, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I don’t care why you’re taking away the only person who really cares about me. But I will never forgive you for it.”
 
They both jumped when the door shuddered with the impact of a TV being hurled against it.
 
No longer able to hold herself up, Buffy slumped down on the floor against the door and started crying.
 
Dawn looked down at her with contempt. “Told you so.”
 
 
 
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Spike nearly broke his phone dialling the Magic Box.
 
“Anya? I’ll take that job.”
 
He held the phone away from his ear as she squealed. “Wonderful! Can you do it tonight?”
 
“All the better. ‘M in the mood for killin’.”
 
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