Chapter 1: Anger, No Redemption

Author's Notes: Buffy will seem oddly out of character in the beginning chapters, but as the story progresses all will be revealed. Dedicated to Mary Ann: my friend, my beta, my muse.


Buffy Summers was angry and when Buffy Summers was angry the world at large had to pay.

She leaned against the horn of her rental car, startling a procession of school children that was staring up at the massive form of Wolfram and Hart. "Move!" she yelled out the open window.

The children scattered and she gunned the engine of the sporty little Mustang, forcing it to squeal in protest as she rounded the first turn of the parking deck. It took her several seconds of swearing, beeping the horn at various people who dared walk in her way, and muttering to herself before she finally found a parking spot and when she did, she cut the engine, yanked out the keys and exited the car with a determined tilt to her chin.

She paused briefly before she shut the door to shed the outer shirt she wore, leaving her considerably cooler in a tight tank top and leather pants. She didn't know what she had been thinking when she dressed for this encounter. How could she have forgotten how hot it could be in California in May?

Without preamble, she made her way to the trunk and opened it. The demon who was lodged inside the small compartment looked almost human, except for the spattering of green scales on his forehead and neck. The parts that looked human, however, were beaten to a pulp and his blood, a putrid shade of violent green, spattered his clothing and most of the trunk.

"I'm dying!" he growled at her, making a feeble attempt to bite her by gnashing his jaws. A loud popping sound caused him to howl in pain. “I’m dying! And my jaw is broken!”

"Then stop flapping it." Buffy snapped back at him, roughly grabbing his collar and waist band to heft him from the small car.

"Angel is going to be so pissed at you." The demon stumbled for several seconds before he found his footing. "You know, most of my balance comes from my hands!" He held up his hands, which were bound tightly. "It’s not like I’m able to run. Untie me and maybe Angel won’t give you the what-for over this."

"Uhm." Buffy pretended to consider it, then shook her head. "How about no with a nice side of you wish thrown in for good measure?" Shoving him roughly in the back, she added, "Let's get this done."

It was a long walk and Buffy was incredibly irritated by the time they arrived at the elevators. She received several curious looks from the people she passed, but the expression on her face clearly indicated that she was not in the mood to field any questions.

"Which floor?" she asked when the elevator doors shut behind them.

"The top."

“Figures.”

Buffy pressed the button and crossed her arms. They were still crossed when the doors opened again, revealing the bustling work environment of Wolfram and Hart. She spotted him immediately. He was in deep conversation with Wesley, but before she could say a word, Harmony appeared at the mouth of the elevator, staring at her with her mouth agape.

"Oh my god! Buffy, you look ... well, actually you look kinda ... "

Buffy held up a hand, her eyes still on Angel. He had turned toward them when Harmony shrieked her name. Gripping the battered demon by the arm, she pulled him along beside her, dodging Harmony and ignoring the people who had suddenly grown very quiet. Pausing a few feet away from Angel, she shoved the demon hard, sending him flying straight into the vampire. Angel had to drop the papers he was holding to catch him and even then, they both stumbled against the wall because of the force Buffy had used.

Calmly, she said, "The next time you want to send a spy my way, why don't you pick one who doesn't sing like a bird after three minutes of me whipping his ass."

Angel quickly righted himself and Mort, the demon, studying his injuries. "If it only took three minutes then why does he look like this?" he asked, just as calmly. But his jaw was tight and when he looked at her again, his eyes were narrowed.

Buffy shrugged. "Three minutes to sing. The rest was just for shits and giggles."

"Is that so?" Angel asked, but didn't wait for her to reply. Putting a hand on Mort's shoulder, Angel turned to Wesley. "Take him to the infirmary."

"That bitch is crazy, man," Mort said with a groan. "Crazy! Tied me up, broke my jaw, kicked me when I was down. And then she took a shot at my mother’s origins. It was a complete mind fuck. Complete. I’ll never get enough therapy. She’s insane!"

When the demon was well on his way, Angel bent to retrieve his papers and then looked at Buffy again. Her arms were crossed over her chest again and there was a fire in her eyes that he had never seen before. "You want to come into my office?"

"Oh, yes, Principal! I'd love to!"

With a nod of his head, he indicated that she should follow him. She did so, not bothering to acknowledge the whispers around her.

Angel waited for her to enter the room completely, then he slammed the door, very hard, behind her. "What the hell was that about?"

Buffy whirled on her heel and marched up to him. "What the hell were you doing in Italy?”

"What are you doing with the Immortal?"

"Since when is that your business?"

"Since when is it not?"

"Who do you think you are?"
“Who do you think you are, Buffy? And what gives you the right to beat the hell out of people who aren’t hurting you?”
“Since when is that thing a person?”

There was a light tap on the door and Harmony stuck her head in. "If you two just keep shouting questions you won’t get answers."

"Get out!" Buffy and Angel both roared.

Harmony shut the door quickly and Angel turned back to Buffy. "What has happened to you?"

"You did!" Buffy shot back. "You happened to me! And you keep happening! Angel, why would you have people, no ... things watching me?"

"To make sure you're okay!" he said.

Buffy pointed at his desk. "There's a phone! Pick it up, dial the numbers. I'll tell you if I'm okay!"

"Look," Angel began, holding up his hands as if in defeat.

"No, you look." Buffy cut him off. "I'm not a little kid who needs a Watcher and even if I did, you're not exactly the person I'd want. I mean," she indicated the room at large, "you're not exactly on this side of good are you?"

"From the looks of things neither are you!" He indicated her clothing, pointing at the tattoo on her arm. "You look like you're playing dress up in a body that doesn't fit you anymore!"

"Look who's talking, Mr. I'm So Swanky In My Armani."

"You don't even sound like the same girl."

"That's because I'm not a girl. Contrary to what physical impediments you have, I am growing and evolving."

"Really? I kinda thought you were regressing into a rebellious teenager," he said. "What with all the make-up, the late night clubbing, and the fact that you've turned your back on your friends."

Buffy's eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh, I get it. Giles told you that I'm a bad, bad girl so you decided to use your extensively stupid resources to get a good look for yourself. Let me guess, you heard the version where I was overcome with jealousy at them deciding that Faith was the new It Girl and I rushed off the Italy in anger. Or possibly it was-"

"It was Giles telling me months ago that he was worried about you. That you and Dawn had separated yourself from the others. That you were shirking your duties and pulling further and further away until finally you announced that you'd gotten a job offer in Italy."

"Yes, I did."

"Funny, my sources can't seem to locate that job, Buffy."

"Well, your sources aren't that great, to be honest. Your spy? He openly lurked."

"How does the Immortal fit in?"

"Not that you deserve to know the answer to that, but he's my boss. I met him in London and he offered me a job."

"In Italy?"

"All signs point to 'duh'."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Buffy's fury resurfaced and she felt the blood rush to her head. "You don't get to ask me that!"

"God damnit, Buffy!" Angel yelled. "Just a few months ago I was in Sunnydale helping you and things were fine between us so what the hell is this about?"

"You knew that necklace would kill Spike!" Buffy accused, wondering where that had come from. "You knew I'd give it to him and you knew it would kill him!"

Angel's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What!?"

"You heard me!"

"Buffy," Angel began, then stopped and ran a hand through his hair. "Think what you want."

"You hated him. You hated him for being a part of my life."

"No, I hate him because he's Spike."

"And you certainly took care of him, didn't you?"

It took Angel a second to realize that she still had no clue that Spike was back. He was alive and well and probably somewhere eavesdropping. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down."

"Then stand there, but hear me out."

Buffy sighed and nodded her head. "Fine."

Angel searched for the right words, but stumbled every time he thought he'd found the best way to let her know about Spike. He was about to lay it all out when the door opened and the vampire in question walked in, eyes cast down at a clipboard in his hands. "Did you see Mort? Someone beat the shi-"

Spike froze when he looked up and saw her standing there. Her skin was bronze, her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, brushing her narrow waist. The pants that clung to her like a second skin were riding low on her hips and the cut of her tank top showed a tantalising amount of skin. The sensation that he was flying hit him at once and the clipboard tumbled from his fingertips. "Buffy -"

Time stood still in that moment. Buffy's mouth was suddenly too wet, then too dry. Her ears began to ring, her skin burned, and her heart felt like it had sunk into her stomach. Spike took a step forward and Buffy took a step back, like a rehearsed dance that had no partner.

Angel watched the myriad emotion play over Buffy's face and shook his head at Spike. Clearing his throat to get her attention, Angel said, "I was trying to tell you..."

"How long?" Buffy whispered, her voice so low that both vampires leaned forward to hear. "How long!?" she half shouted when they didn't reply right away.

Angel began to speak, but Spike cut him off. "Months. I've been back for months." He smiled and started toward her again. "God, Buffy-"

But Buffy side-stepped. Her eyes met Angel's briefly, long enough for him to register the hurt there, and then she ran out the door.

Once again, the people in the foyer of Wolfram and Hart stopped what they were doing to observe Buffy. She rushed toward the elevator, but it closed before she made it. Spike shouted her name behind her and she turned, looking for any escape. Any route to avoid the pain that had rushed up to grab her by the throat.

She saw the stairwell and ran to the door, yanking it open. Her brain was screaming words at her. Betrayal. Lies. Defeat. Hurt. Pain. Agony. Why did he stay away from her? Why?

She could hear someone above her in the stairwell. She couldn't face him. Not yet. Not when the knife was still sticking into her heart, piercing her to the core. No, she had to escape. Had to get out. Away.

It felt like forever before the door appeared that indicated the parking deck. By then the betrayal had given way to bold, uninhibited anger. She drew in deep, agonizing breaths that caused her lungs to protest. She would not cry. Buffy had spent a lot of time mastering the concealment of the emotions that always burned beneath the surface. She would not let either of them see that she was anything other than furious.
Her eyes burned, reminding her that she was, after all, lying to herself about her composure. She longed to break down, to give in to the tears that were so close to brimming over. “No!” she angrily admonished herself. “The serum stops these emotions. It stops it. I won’t feel a thing. I won’t!”
She dug through her pockets as she caught her breath, and promptly dropped the keys which fell just out of reach under the car. She swore loudly, dropping on all fours to retrieve them.

That is where Spike found her when he burst through the door behind her. And a second later, that's where Angel found her as well, when he rushed from the elevator.

They said her name in unison, but she acknowledged neither. Both vampires stood their ground, watching her. After several seconds of dallying, pretending that she didn’t have her keys firmly in hand, she got to her feet.
“I’m not doing this,” she said quietly.
“Buffy, I didn’t know-” Angel spoke first. “I didn’t know that the necklace would hurt him and I had no clue that you weren’t aware that he was back.”
She couldn’t turn to look their way. She couldn’t look at Spike’s cheekbones, at his familiar duster, at the way he would likely be tilting his head as he studied her. “I- I have to go.”
“You just got here,” Spike told her, the tone of his voice so familar to her.
“You didn’t.” Buffy stared at the ground in front of her. “You didn’t just get here, did you? Months? Is that what you said?”
“I did.” He nodded, even though she had yet to make eye contact. “But I can explain every last bit of it, Slayer.”
Her skin positively vibrated when he called her that. At once she was taken back to their time in Sunnydale. Back when things were complicated, but comfortable. Always comfortable. The bickering, the sex, the name calling, and the put downs. All of it was indelibly inked into her heart and she wore it on her sleeve for anyone who dared look close enough.
“Buffy?” Angel glanced at Spike, who looked as lost for words as he did.
Finally, Spike ignored the part of his brain that told him to keep his distance. He went to her with confidence, ignored the sound of protest that escaped her throat, and wrapped her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, luv," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Buffy fought the tears, refused to show an ounce of emotion. Refused to show her weakness. "Why didn't you come and find me? Why didn't you call?"

Spike met Angel's gaze and tightened his grip. "I started to." Closing his eyes, he bent his head low, inhaling the familiar, fresh scent of her hair. "God, I've missed you."

"Spike-" His name escaped in a whisper and she wrapped her arms around him.

Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the spot where Angel had been.

The spot was empty.

***

"So, that's it?" Buffy asked. She turned to look at him, where he sat in the passenger seat of her rental car. They were still in the parking garage, sitting inches apart, but feeling like the Grand Canyon rested between them.

"That's it." Spike nodded. He had told her everything. How he came back, how he had been a ghost, how he had longed to find her. Everything. Most of all, how he had missed her.

Buffy swallowed hard. "Okay."

Spike covered her hand with his. "I thought it was best to let you get on with your life."

Buffy stared at their joined hands for several seconds before she tugged hers away. "I'm so tired of vampires deciding what's best for me."

"Fair enough," he replied. An awkward silence enveloped the car. Finally, he said, "What now?"

"I think I need to go to my hotel and take a hot shower. And sleep." Her grip on the wheel was so tight that her knuckles were turning white. She must have missed a dose of the serum. She must have. Why did the pit of her heart have such an irritating ache in it when she had made sure she was immune to all pain?

"Are you alright?" Spike put his finger under her chin and turned her to face him. "Are you staying in town a while?"

"I'm fine. This ... this will take some getting used to." Buffy turned the key in the ignition and the car purred to life. The air conditioning was a welcome relief and she breathed deeply, the cool air calming her slightly.

"You didn't answer me," Spike said. "Are you staying in town for a while?"

"I'm supposed to be seeing my dad while I'm here. So, I don't know. I may hang around a few days and meet up with him."

"Will I see you again before you fly back to Italy?"

She met his eyes and held them. "I hope so."

"Where are you staying?"

Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. “I’d rather not say.” Noting the look on his face, she quickly added, “I need to process this. Spike, surely you understand how this feels. I mean, you’ve been there with me, right?”
“Right,” Spike replied, remembering the night he had walked into her house to see her descending the stairs alive and well, when she had been dead for over a hundred days. “But I didn’t want to run away from you.”
“I’m not running,” Buffy said. “I’m driving a few blocks away, but I’ll call you and we can get together again. That’s the best I can do.”

That was enough for Spike. He gave her a small smile, then let himself out of the car. He watched as she drove away, shaking his head. It hadn't gone the way he had dreamed a million times. He had anticipated that she would rush into his arms, the world would melt away and the two of them would find themselves lost in one another.

No, it hadn't worked out properly at all.

****

Buffy drove straight to her hotel, a highly recommended establishment, and was peeling off the hot, thick, leather pants before the door had shut completely behind her. As her skin luxuriated in the crisp, cool air, she saw the flashing light on the phone, indicating a message.

She pressed the proper buttons and listened intently, expecting to hear her father's voice. Instead, it was Angel, telling her how sorry he was about everything that happened and asking her to come to his place that evening to talk and have dinner.

She slammed the phone back onto the cradle before the message finished. How the hell had he found her that quickly? Was there no safe haven to get away from the prying eyes he forced on her?
Yanking open her bag, she removed a small case that held several vials of liquid, each of them a glowing pink. She inserted the hypodermic into one of the bottles, drew out a small portion, and pinched a mound of skin on her thigh. The bliss was immediate and she leaned back against the pillows of the bed to let it wash through her.
And finally, the pain was dull, just a whisper in a soul full of disregard.

The shower that she stood under a while later was almost unbearably hot, yet she allowed the jets to pound her skin until she was convinced that the baggage of the day had been swept down the drain.

Afterwards, she had room service bring up a bottle of Cognac and sat on the balcony towelling her hair dry. Having been in Europe for so long, she had almost forgotten the small nuances of California. The eternal sunshine, the smell of the ocean on every breeze, the gulls, the yellow sunset, the sound of rushing waves in the distant.

So much came pouring back to her as she leaned against the railing of the balcony and closed her eyes. Angel and Acathla. Angel dying. Spike taking a beating from Glory to protect Dawn. Spike dying.

And somehow both had come back. Back from the dead, back from the abyss and both had chosen to stay out of her life completely. It stung. It stung more than she would have liked, but she had to acknowledge it, nonetheless.

She was stunned to find the bottle of cognac half empty when she went for more. With a hiccup, she put the stopper firmly back in place and perched on the edge of her bed. She was mentally exhausted, but physically, her body was aching for release. She wanted a fight. She wanted demons to snap beneath her thin fingers. She wanted blood.

An hour later she had deftly maneuvered through Grant Park, and lifted a grate on the edge of a thicket of trees. The sewers of California, she thought. Home to many of my fondest memories. Not.

She absently brushed her palms on her jeans as she dropped off the ladder that had granted her access to the tunnels beneath Los Angeles.

There was nothing in Europe that could compare to the disgusting aroma of these tunnels. And nothing that fit quite so nicely around her as the nostalgia of once again sloshing through familiar ground.

She smiled when she recalled the times that Willow and Xander had accompanied her on patrol in the sewers of Sunnydale. Xander's endearing commentary, Willow's fascinating facts. She remembered her first few weeks of school in Sunnydale when Jesse had been taken into the sewers and how Angel had warned her against going in.

How Xander had followed her in and how they'd almost died.

How she did die in the Master's lair and Xander had saved her life.

Xander with his missing eye. Xander blaming her, even now, for Anya. For his loss. For everything.

She thought then of Willow. Willow on the internet, Willow comforting her during the prom fiasco, after Angel had dumped her... in the sewers no less. Willow bringing her back from the dead and then shattering when she found out that Buffy had not been in Hell, but in some dimension of Heaven. And sweet, innocent Willow, standing beside her when most people would have left Sunnydale screaming after seeing what they had seen.

And Willow taking Kennedy's side when Kennedy came up against Buffy in a clash that could have killed them both if Faith had not stepped in. Buffy’s hand moved instinctively to the scar on her side where Kennedy’s knife had plunged through her skin. But Willow didn’t comfort her that day. No, she took Kennedy and headed into the city for three months before she even called to see if Buffy had survived.
Her thoughts moved on to Giles as she sidestepped the body of a dead dog that came bobbing past her in the shallow water. She smiled sadly, recalling the band candy incident with he shared with her mother. The way he had been fired for loving her as a father would. He never denied it. Once or twice after she’d come back from the dead he had told her with great frequency that he loved her very much.

But then he told her that she was, quite honestly, not the best role model for the new Slayers any more. 'They know too much, Buffy, about your mishaps. About Spike, Angel... Perhaps we should allow Faith to guide them for now.'
That wound had yet to heal even though it had happened months ago. But she suppressed it well enough with the serum that the Gypsies had given her. She numbed herself, made herself hard, so that only the barest flicker of emotion would rear its head from time to time, but never enough to break her resolve.

It was a nice distraction when the vampire attacked her out of nowhere. At least it erased the image of Giles from her mind and brought her firmly back into the present.

She relished every move, the tightening of her body, the quickening of her pulse. She loved the sound of contact, of cracking bones, of witless barbs bouncing forward and back. She blocked, punched, kicked, and finally a stake driven neatly through the heart.

Dust.

Blood scented dust.

The smell of home.


Angel rushed forward when the doorbell rang. He paused to straighten his clothes before he opened the door, expecting to see Buffy on the other side. He gave a loud groan when Spike brushed past him, making a great show of billowing his duster as he flopped onto the sofa.
Mumbling quietly, Angel shut the door, then turned and glared at Spike. “What?”

“We’ve made a right mess of things.”

“No, you’ve made a mess of things and as usual I’m going to have to clean it up.” He knocked Spike’s feet off the table and sat down across from him. “Buffy’s coming for dinner. Why don’t you get lost?”

“She’s coming here?” Spike sat up straighter, staring angrily across the coffee table. “Why is she coming here?”

“Because I wanted to apologize to her so I invited her to dinner.”

“Oh, that’s rich!” Spike shot to his feet. “What are you going to do? Get her drunk and play on her weaknesses?”

Angel sighed and shook his head. “I’m not like you.”

“Yes, you are! You’re chock full of bad intentions! You reek of bad intentions!”

“You must have caught a whiff of yourself.”

Spike glanced toward the dining room, noting the fresh flowers and the champagne that stood chilling in a silver bowl. “What’s that then, huh? And why are the lights so dim? And what the hell is that music playing? You want to put the girl to sleep?”

Angel stood, brushing past him and making his way to the kitchen. Donning the oven mitts, he pulled the pan from the oven and sat it on the counter.

“What is that smell?”

“Roast.”

Spike sniffed, then snarled. “Roast what? Possum? Skunk? It stinks.”

Angel frowned and lifted the edge of the foil, gazing inside. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“I think I like this idea. She’ll come here, you’ll turn her stomach, and I’ll -”

“You’ll shut up,” Angel snapped. He was going to say more, but the phone gave a shrill ring and he had to be satisfied by glaring at the blond. “Hello?”

“Angel? Wesley. I think we have a problem.”

“What?”

“Buffy’s slaying.”

“Where?”

“We lost a couple of coverts down in the sewer, but Max eluded her. And Lorne called to say that she was putting the kibosh into that monthly gathering that he goes to down on the beach. According to him, she’s killed most of their book club.”

“Book club?” Angel shook his head. “Is she still there?”

“I think he was going to try to reason with her, but after seeing what she did to Mort I’ve called for backup.”

“I’m on my way.”