Tara and Willow were in the kitchen when Giles returned with the shopping. Since he had no idea where anything was kept, he was grateful for their help putting everything away. However, the exercise was almost painfully awkward. He and Willow had only barely managed to be civil since their conversation about the resurrection spell yesterday, and he suspected it would not be … helpful … if he were to acknowledge his conversation with Tara. So they moved around each other in near-silence, communicating in monosyllables when necessary.
 
Giles found himself paying particular attention to Tara. She seemed … muted, somehow. Softer, quieter, and even more self-effacing than usual. Two days ago, he didn’t think he would have noticed a difference. But he’d seen a fierceness in her when they’d spoken yesterday, a subtle strength, when it came to safeguarding Willow’s happiness. And that seemed to have disappeared.
 
Her eyes tracked Willow’s every movement, like a child watching its mother in an unfamiliar environment. She was hiding physically, too, her hair hanging over her face instead of lying behind her ears.
 
She wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore.
 
It worried him.
 
As Willow brushed past him to put away a box of pasta, he could almost feel ice in the air. How had it come to this? He could barely recognise the girl he’d met five years ago in the woman before him.
 
When Willow went upstairs to put away the bag of bathroom things, Giles turned immediately to Tara.
 
“Have you spoken to Willow about moving out?”
 
Tara gave a guilty start. “Not yet,” she said, twisting her fingers together.
 
“When we discussed it yesterday, you thought it couldn’t wait….”
 
“I was going to – after B-Buffy went to b-bed,” Tara said. “B-b-but … I didn’t.” Her face crinkled in confusion. “I don’t remember why, now.”
 
Giles frowned. “What do you remember about last night?” he asked, slightly more sharply than he’d intended.
 
Tara blushed. “Um, well, Willow told me about patrol, and then we … um….” She trailed off, blushing harder, a slightly dreamy look on her face.
 
“Right,” Giles said, his frown deepening.
 
Willow sauntered back into the room. “That everything?”
 
Tara nodded, smiling.
 
No, beaming.
 
Tara had been so sure that Willow would hurt someone if she stayed much longer in the house.
 
But now she didn’t remember why she’d decided to wait to say something?
 
Something was off. Not natural.
 
And Giles had a horrible feeling Willow had something to do with it.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Spike was sitting in the kitchen, sipping on a mug of … something … when Buffy finally came downstairs a little after four. He was looking better, she thought.
 
“I didn’t think anyone was in here,” she said, eyes a bit too wide.
 
“Can leave, if you want,” he said, expression carefully neutral.
 
“N-no,” she said. “It’s okay.”
 
He tilted his head to one side, watching her keep perfectly still in the doorway while her heartbeat thrummed like a hummingbird’s. “You eaten today?”
 
She shook her head no.
 
“Sit,” he said, getting up and going over to the fridge. He was still wincing every time he bent.
 
Not quite knowing why, Buffy went to sit on his vacated stool.
 
She was surprised to find it cold.
 
Vampire. Of course it’s cold, she chided herself. She glanced into his abandoned mug.
 
Tea. He was drinking tea.
 
Huh.
 
While Spike started chopping up vegetables at the counter, Buffy noticed an envelope with her name on it lying against the fruit bowl.
 
The script was precise cursive – old lady writing.
 
It was filled with hundred dollar bills. She didn’t think she’d ever even touched one before.
 
He’d obviously heard her opening the envelope, because without turning around, he said, “Back rent. Plus some extra for a new telly.”
 
She dropped the envelope back on the table like it was burning her fingers. “Did someone die for this money?”
 
“No.” He sounded resigned, more than hurt.
 
“Why should I believe you?”
 
“No need to. Ask Anya. She does my bookkeepin’.”
 
Huh. “Maybe I will then.”
 
“You do that,” he said.
 
She picked up the envelope again and started thumbing through the bills. Four thousand dollars. A flicker of covetousness ran through her, and for a split second, she thought about what a four thousand dollar shopping spree would be like.
 
But that thought disappeared almost as quickly as it had come – the money would all need to go on survival.
 
Spike poured oil into a pan and added the vegetables. After swirling them around for a few seconds, he left them to cook and started grating the cheese.
 
Cheese. Cheese is … good.
 
“You could go shoppin’ tomorrow,” he said diffidently, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Pick out a telly.”
 
“You think shopping will help?” she asked scornfully, more angry with herself for wanting it than with him for suggesting it.
 
“Never known you to turn down retail therapy,” he bit back.
 
“This is … bills money. Has to be.” She stroked through the money again.
 
“Most of it, yeah. But you deserve a treat. There’s enough for that.”
 
I deserve…. The words sounded wrong in her head. What she deserved was rest. For it to be over. Not this. Nothing here was what she deserved.
 
Spike started cracking eggs into a bowl. It seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen.
 
He turned to face her while he whisked them, one hip resting against the counter.
 
She felt pinned in place by the intensity of his gaze, spread open, like he could see right through to the depths of her.
 
“Anticipation helps,” he said quietly. “If you can find somethin’ – anythin’ – to look forward to, it’ll help.”
 
“Like cheese,” she said.
 
His lips quirked into a smile. “Or a new pair of shoes?”
 
Her face darkened, the moment broken. “Stop managing me! I’m not crazy.”
 
He turned away from her again, silently continuing the preparation of her omelette.
 
He thought she would leave, then. Retreat to her room, away from the burden of being noticed.
 
But she didn’t.
 
He wished he wasn’t so sure it was apathy that made her stay.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Giles left for the Magic Box almost immediately after his conversation with Tara.
 
He remembered there being a book on memory spells somewhere in the restricted section, and he wanted to take a look at it.
 
It wasn’t there.
 
He thought it just possible he’d taken it back to Bath. But he didn’t think so.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Spike brushed lightly against Buffy’s shoulder when he went to collect her empty plate.
 
“Don’t touch me!” she said, shrugging off his arm and shunting her stool away.
 
“Christ!” Spike said, nearly dropping the plate. “The day you decide what you want….”
 
“You’re a thing. An evil disgusting thing.” Her voice was without inflection, like she was repeating a litany.
 
“You don’t really believe that anymore.” Do you?
 
“It doesn’t matter whether I believe it. It’s true.”
 
She was radiating tension, and he could hear real anguish in her voice. Ah, he thought. We’re retreating again. “I’ve changed,” he said gently. “You know I have.”
 
She snorted. “The last time you told me you’d changed, you knocked me out with a cattle prod and I woke up chained to the wall.” Evil vampire. Evil soulless vampire. Bad. See how bad he is.
 
Spike grimaced. “Realise I shouldn’t’ve done that. Now.”
 
“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. Can you regret without a soul?
 
Spike sighed. “Look, this really isn’t an excuse, yeah? But … Dru would’ve thought that was romantic – did think, in fact.”
 
Buffy gaped at him. “I have no response to that statement.”
 
“Look – balls! I dunno how to explain this…. Dru’s the only woman I’ve ever been with—”
 
Buffy coughed “Harmony!” into her fist.
 
Spike’s gentleness evaporated. “Oh for fuck’s sake! I may have been near Harmony from time to time, but I was never with her. And let’s say no more about it or I’ll start reminiscing about Mr I’ll-be-sure-an’-give-you-a-call-sometime.”
 
Buffy stiffened, her hackles rising. “You know what really stinks?” she said. “Fungus demons.”
 
Spike glared.
 
“And you know what really makes me totally wanna vom from the slime?” She smiled sweetly. “Chaos demons.”
 
He let out a frustrated roar. “You can be a real bitch, you know that?”
 
He was about to stalk off back to the basement, when he realised she was fighting again.
 
Her previously dead eyes were sparkling with fire.
 
So he slipped into a stool on the opposite side of the breakfast bar.
 
Didn’t matter if she flayed him, he couldn’t walk away now. His Slayer was back.
 
“Least Dru never had to pay to play away,” he said.
 
He was rewarded with spots of colour appearing in her too-pale cheeks.
 
“So beautiful,” he said reverently, no longer able to hold back his joy at seeing her face animated by something other than pain. “Takes my breath away.”
 
Buffy pulled back, completely thrown by his change of direction.
 
“You know, you were a lot easier to understand when you were all creep-tastic stalker-guy.”
 
He scowled at her. “Not my soddin’ fault I never learned how to woo.”
 
“Woo? Did you seriously just say ‘woo’?”
 
“What’s wrong with wooing?”
 
“This from the guy who stole my clothes for a shrine? Who thought it would be a great date to go on a pointless stake-out with a flask of bourbon and then take out a nest of vampires who couldn’t escape a wet paper bag?”
 
“I’d never been on a date before!” he said. “And I really thought they’d be more fun to kill,” he added grumpily.
 
Buffy stopped, shocked. Then she laughed.
 
She actually laughed.
 
It didn’t matter that it was meant as an insult.
 
She laughed.
 
“You’re pathetic,” she said – with far less venom than Spike had expected.
 
Spike grinned at her.
 
“Didn’ need to date Dru,” he said. “She chose me, and I worshipped her five minutes after I met her.”
 
“You were dead five minutes after you met her!”
 
Spike scowled. “I’m tryin’ to apologise here!”
 
“You’re doing a really bad job!”
 
“Well I’m sorry! I was a git last year and I’d do anythin’ to take it back!”
 
They both stopped, then, a little shocked.
 
“Is a git like an asshole?” Buffy asked, finally.
 
“Yeah,” he said, nodding.
 
“Did you actually think I’d … I’d be like Drusilla? That I’d like any of that stuff?”
 
Spike twisted his lips. “C’mon, Slayer. If that nest had posed half a challenge you’d’ve loved every minute of it.”
 
Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Bourbon’s still gross.”
 
She was coming back to life.
 
He only just held himself back from grabbing her by the shoulders and dancing her around the room.
 
“I was … all over the place, back then. Tryin’ to change my nature. For you, I might add. Took a while for my instincts to catch up. If I’d stopped to think for five minutes, I don’t think I would’ve done it. Any of it.” He looked into her eyes, piercing and deep and uncomfortable.
 
“What, Drusilla made you do it?” she said.
 
He gave her what she’d long ago named The Look: the one that had practically lived on his face while he’d been tied up in Giles’ apartment. The one that said you are just too bloody stupid to live.
 
“I’m saying I had to unlearn what Dru taught me. All her lessons involved pain in some way. Often hers. Oftener someone else’s. ‘S the way Angelus made her.” He laughed like it hurt. “Always involved my pain, though. I cut out so many pieces of myself for her….”
 
Buffy looked sick.
 
“Not literally, pet.” Spike paused. “Well, not all the time.”
 
“Really not helping.”
 
“She needed things most’d view as torture. Didn’t matter how much I wanted to give her … somethin’ softer. Gentler. Didn’ want it. Got her a necklace once. Great big fuck-off ruby in a beautiful settin’ – just her style.” Spike held out his hands to indicate the size of the stone. He dropped his hands. “Angelus brought her a human heart, still warm. Guess which one Dru preferred?”
 
Buffy leaned back, hugging her arms around herself. “Remind me what all this ancient history has to do with anything?”
 
“That was Valentine’s Day, 1998.” He scowled. "Hardly ancient history.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Think’ve still got the soddin’ thing lying around someplace.”
 
Buffy blanched. “The heart?”
 
Spike glared. “The necklace! For fuck’s sake….”
 
“So, what, it’s all good now?” she asked scathingly. “‘Cause you’ve changed to be all about holding hands and long walks on the beach?”
 
“I was always all about keepin’ my lady happy. I just … I forgot … for a while, how to make it more about the flowers than the hearts.”
 
Buffy shuddered. “That’s disgusting,” she snapped.
 
His face went serious. “It was whatever Dru wanted. Whether she was aware of it or not, I always gave her whatever she needed. Kept her happy. Kept her safe.”
 
Buffy shifted uncomfortably.
 
He gave Buffy a long look, finally deciding that now was as good a time as any to talk about his suspicions. “You oughtta know better’n anyone how well I took care of her.”
 
“Why? Because you offered to kill her for me once?”
 
It was risky, pushing this, but … he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get a second chance with her sitting down and actually willing to listen. “Because you used it against me. More than once.”
 
Buffy frowned, puzzled. “Ford’s feed-the-vampire cult, sure. And … Acathla?”
 
“Protecting Dawn,” he said, voice tight, totally focussed on her reaction.
 
Buffy’s heart caught in her throat. “No,” she breathed, her eyes telling him everything he needed to know.
 
He nodded, slowly. “I knew when you kissed me, what you were doin’.”
 
Buffy drew back like she’d been hit. “But – why did you-?”
 
He laughed, like breaking glass. “Because I love you.”
 
“That’s not an answer.” She was staring at him now like she’d never seen him before.
 
He gave her The Look again. “It’s the only answer.”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Giles let himself in through the front door. He could hear voices in the kitchen, but not the words. Spike and … could be Buffy or Dawn.
 
He’d never thought about how similar their voices were until then.
 
He considered making his presence known, but Tara’s car was gone from its usual parking place, and he wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance to find out whether Willow had the missing book of memory spells.
 
He crept upstairs and knocked on their bedroom door – just in case – and went in when there was no answer.
 
Barely a minute later, Giles was sitting down on the edge of the bed, Mutatio et Creatio Memoriae clutched against his chest.
 
It wasn’t the only book from the restricted section that he found there.
 
Giles felt sick. He’d known for years that Willow was unusually powerful – re-ensouling Angelus should have taken at least three experienced practitioners, not a single novice. And he had always meant to introduce her to one of his contacts for proper training … but although it had always been important, it had never been urgent.
 
It was urgent now.
 
Is this my fault? If I had stayed….
 
If I had stayed, Buffy would still be dead.
 
No matter the cost, he couldn’t bring himself to wish that.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Why did you fall in love with me?” Buffy asked petulantly.
 
The curiosity was new. She had accepted the truth of his love the night she’d rescued him from Glory. But she’d never had the time or energy to wonder why before.
 
“I mean, first you were obsessed with killing me, and then you were obsessed with annoying me, and then you were obsessed with … well, you know. What changed?” She paused. “And I swear I’ll break your nose if you give me that ‘feelings develop in the workplace’ crap again. Burns or no burns.”
 
Spike smiled proudly. My beautiful strong girl.
 
“What? Did you just go to bed one night hating me and then, boom! You woke up the next morning in love?”
 
He looked sheepish. “Pretty much.”
 
Buffy snorted. “That sounds like something Dawnie would—”
 
She stopped, terrified.
 
“I meant,” Buffy said hoarsely. “It’s teenage girl crush behaviour.”
 
He reached over and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. She shivered, but didn’t push him away.
 
“Always loved watching you fight,” he said softly.
 
Buffy nodded. That made sense. She … liked … watching him fight, too.
 
“You come alive in a way that’s … it’s like you’re not really breathin’ until you’re moving. You dance. It’s … joyous. Can’t help but want to cut in.” He smiled, seemingly lost in a memory. He turned dark eyes on her. “Like a moth to a flame.”
 
Buffy felt the beginnings of lust stirring up again. The way he looked at her sometimes, like she’d catch fire and burn out just from the heat in his eyes. She pulled back into her chair and folded her arms around herself, trying to raise a barrier against how he made her feel.
 
“Always knew we’d dance well together,” he said. “An’ I reckon you knew it too.”
 
She blushed.
 
He grinned.
 
“It was a revelation, when I got chipped and you took me in.” He tilted his head, a smile twitching across his lips. “Did you never realise how terrified I was?”
 
He laughed at her shocked expression.
 
“Bluster was the only thing keepin’ me from breakin’ down entirely.” He gave her a sidelong glance, and it made him look younger somehow.
 
Buffy suddenly wondered how he’d looked as a child.
 
“I followed my gut, wagered I’d be safe with you. And you … you should’ve staked me. So many times you should’ve staked me. But you forced your friends to take me in and you accepted my swagger – accepted I had a right to it – when I knew I had nothing. I was nothing.”
 
“But we … we chained you up. We insulted you. I think we even gagged you a couple times.”
 
Spike said nothing for a few seconds. “But you never tried to break me. You have any idea what went on in that mansion while I was in a wheelchair?”
 
Buffy shifted around uncomfortably. “We weren’t exactly all coffee-date-having back then.”
 
Spike stared at her for a long time, sifting through memories, trying to decide how much to tell her.
 
Buffy didn’t want to know. She’d listen, if he told her, but she’d had enough of his horror stories last night.
 
To her surprise, he seemed to somehow know that, because he said, “Let’s just say it was … worse.”
 
He saw Buffy relax and knew he’d read her right. She didn't need more of his past in her nightmares. “After I got chipped, I was angry and depressed and I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was forced to sit still and think for the first time in, fuck, probably decades!”
 
“Still not sure you can do it now,” Buffy grumbled.
 
“Oi, you. You’re the one wanted to hear this.”
 
Buffy mimed zipping her mouth shut.
 
“There’s always been heat between us,” he said.
 
Buffy drew breath as if to speak. He touched one finger to her lips.
 
“We’re having an unusually truthful conversation here, pet. Let’s not spoil it with lies.”
 
Buffy let the breath out as Spike slowly traced his finger along her bottom lip.
 
She suppressed the urge to grab onto it with her teeth, and suck it into her mouth.
 
He drew away from her, and captured one of her hands in his, rubbing it with his thumb in slow, lulling strokes.
 
“You have any idea how beautiful you are when you’re angry?”
 
Buffy’s eyes widened.
 
“So powerful. All glittering eyes and heaving chest. Almost as good as watching you fight.”
 
Buffy glared at him, trying to pull away.
 
“Ah-ah,” he said, holding tight to her hand with both of his. “I’m tellin’ you why I love you.”
 
“You’re insane. You know that, right?”
 
He smiled. She’d stopped trying to take her hand back.
 
“Coming up with ways to brass you off kept me goin’ through what I still reckon was the worst time of my life. Was the only thing I had to look forward to.”
 
“The worst time of your life? Seriously?”
 
“I fight. ‘S what I do, who I am. When I thought I couldn’t? What else had I got to live for? Was a bit better when I knew I could kill demons. But …” A visible shiver went through him. “All of soddin’ demon-kind was out to get me, so I could only go to all human joints if I wanted to come out conscious with all my teeth. But if I did that, dealin’ with all the accidental bumps and shoves gave me a two-day migraine. It limited my social interaction some. I don’t … function … well when I’m alone.”
 
“Why were all the demons out to get you?” Buffy asked, puzzled.
 
“Most demons hate vamps anyway – half-breeds – but I was out killing ‘em every night. Made me a traitor. Was hot gossip for a long time, so of course everyone an’ his brother wanted to be the one to dust me. Finally killed or hurt enough of ‘em they stopped coming. ‘M a better fighter for it, but … let’s just say my quiet drinks are quieter now than ever they used to be.”
 
“So … falling in love with me was like Stockholm syndrome?”
 
He glared at her. “When you were my soddin’ jailor, I wanted to eat you, not shag you.” He paused, considering. “Well, both, if I’m honest. But the eatin’ was definitely the most important bit.”
 
Buffy snatched her hand away from his, glaring.
 
“You are gorgeous when you glare,” he said reverently, winking.
 
“Be serious,” she said. “You can’t have just woken up one morning loving me.”
 
“Thought you believed in love at first sight.” His voice hardened. “Wasn’t that the theme tune to the Buffy and Angel Show?”
 
He expected her to get even angrier, then – he’d mostly only said it to get a rise out of her.
 
Her quiet resignation was … discomfiting.
 
“I’m not sure that was ever real love.”
 
Spike’s mouth actually dropped open.
 
“Nice guppy face,” she said drily.
 
Spike’s mouth snapped shut.
 
“I remembered something on Friday. Something Angel did a couple years ago. He had the chance to be human – Mohra demon blood – and … the Oracles? … someone, anyway, told him he couldn’t – ” her resolve not to get emotional broke with her voice, “protect me if he was human. So he took the day back. He said he did it because he finally realised how much he loved me.” Buffy started clenching and unclenching her hands. “It was … that day was everything I’d ever wanted. A chance to be normal.”
 
Buffy very carefully unclenched her hands, spreading them out on the table and staring at them. Her nails had almost all grown in now, and there were only faint traces left of healing cuts and bruises.
 
“I remember thinking, then, when he told me what he’d done, that maybe he was right, and that it was time for me to give up on a normal life. But he … he took that away. He took away my knowledge, my choice. And I came home desperate to get back that feeling of peace – of normalcy. Because I remembered how good that day felt, even though I didn’t really remember the day itself.”
 
Buffy took in a shuddering breath, and her voice got higher and breathier.
 
“I thought we were it. Soul mates. Forever. But every time he had a choice, he chose to leave. And so he wasn’t here the night I …” A tear streaked down her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice it. “The night I died. So the reason he kept leaving – to protect me – was meaningless. He came back for Mom’s funeral. He knew all about Dawn, about Glory. But he left. Again.”
 
She looked up at Spike, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d started talking about Angel.
 
“I don’t understand how I could give him my heart with both hands, risk anything and everything because I loved him that much, and he never understood that all I ever wanted or needed from him was to be here.” She sounded lost, bereft. She let her fingertips slide forward until they were almost touching Spike’s. “I think, now, that we never really saw each other. He saw his salvation in that girl in LA, who needed a protector. I saw romantic forbidden love, a safe way to rebel against my duty.” Her voice strengthened, deepened with the first hint of anger. “We had one day of reality, and he couldn’t take it.”
 
Spike interlaced his fingers with hers.
 
“And you!” She laughed, brittle and fragile. “I paralyse you. I insult you. When you’re chipped and helpless, I beat you up and threaten to kill you. I tell you you’re beneath me, that you’re incapable of love. And then, when I finally accept you do love me, I don’t acknowledge it or start treating you any better. Oh, no! I just use it to manipulate you. You should hate me.”
 
The tears started coming faster. “Why don’t you hate me?”
 
Spike watched her for a few seconds, his hands tightening around hers. When she tugged one away to wipe at her eyes, he followed, tracing his thumb along her cheek.
 
He was amazed that she let him.
 
He brought her other hand to his face and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Always respected your strength,” he said quietly. “Not your physical strength – though that’s impressive – but the way you never back down from a fight. Doesn’ matter how hurt or tired or hopeless you are. It’s like a bright an’ shinin’ core inside you. An’ it’s all connected with the people around you – it’s for them that you get up off the floor and keep goin’. For love. You’ll make a deal with the devil, give up anything and everythin’ to make them happy, keep them safe. You’ve got your Slayer superpowers, but it’s your love makes you powerful, makes you Heaven’s Chosen One. It burns – radiates from you like a sun. How could anyone not fall in love with that?”
 
She was crying even harder now.
 
“What’s wrong, Love?” He moved around to her side of the table, her hands still in his.
 
The one thing she’d been so sure of since she’d been back was that he loved her. But now? She wasn’t capable of connecting, let alone loving. How would he feel when he realised that?
 
“D-don’t call me that!” she said, trying to pull away from him. “I don’t love you!”
 
“I know,” he said softly, kissing her knuckles again, and stepping in closer to her.
 
“I – I’m not even sure if I like you most of the time.”
 
He smiled, nudging her knees apart so he was standing between them. “Know that too.”
 
“What is wrong with you?” she said, pulling her hands out of his. Somehow, they ended up resting on his chest.
 
“So long as you’re alive?” he said, sliding his arms around her tightly and laying his cheek against her head. “Absolutely nothing.”
 
She let him hold her for a lot longer than he’d expected.
 
But she still ran: straight out into the sunlight, where he couldn’t follow.