A/N: Oh, how happy you make me! Thank you so much!!! Loving all the feedback, truly! And I'm posting two chapters since this one is pretty short. Hope you'll enjoy!

A.M.L - Annie.



Means to an End



“Taste good?” Giles wondered and she looked up, swallowing the last bite of her eggs and putting the fork down on the plate as he grabbed it off the table.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, smiling at him and he returned it before heading into the kitchen.

“So how do you feel? You wanna rest for a while?” Willow inquired.

“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” Buffy replied, sinking back on the couch.

“Maybe you should try?”

“Did you get that pen and paper?”

Willow ignored commenting on the snubbing of her question and simply nodded, picking the items up and sitting down next to her friend.

“Where do we start?” Buffy asked.

“We need a location, so just tell me where you guys went.”

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. “We were in London about a hundred years ago.”

“Probably not what we’re looking for,” Willow remarked and Buffy smiled.

“We were at the Bronze, behind the Bronze, behind my house, on the street outside my house, inside my house, in Spike’s crypt... That’s it, I think.”

“You think, or you know?”

“No, that’s it.”

“We were in your room, too,” Spike pointed out helpfully and she turned her head to him with an impatient expression.

“That’s right, we were. Remind me what good that did you, again?”

He seemed to zip his mouth shut at that and she felt quite contented, looking back at Willow.

“The Bronze, your house, Spike’s crypt,” Willow summarized and Buffy nodded. “Okay, got it in blue and white. Now, let’s look at some pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Demons.”

“Oh, joy.”

“Come on. If you know what he might be supposed to look like, maybe you’ll be able to force him to reveal himself.”

“Force him to grow a face? Intriguing. And oh, so gross.”

“Necessary,” Willow corrected.

“Yes, because otherwise I won’t be able to recognize his trying to kill me.”

Willow merely moved from the couch to the table behind it. Buffy followed, muttering incoherently about stupid duties and useless tasks.

She watched as Willow began turning the pages of a book, which was ethereally thick, and then her gaze drifted to Spike’s frame where he sat talking to Giles. What was it about that vampire? Something just got on her nerves no matter what he was doing. Like the way he was sitting. And why did he always wear that mangy coat? And why was his hair so blonde? Apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo about all things eighties being too vintage to touch. Well, that meant his head was untouchable. Hah! Actually, his head was an antique, wasn’t it?

Sometimes I forget, his voice sounded in her mind, how young you are.

She huffed.

“Buffy,” Willow said, but there was no reaction.

The Slayer was imagining the vamp without the leather, putting him in something blue, and in a flash she remembered how he had looked in his crypt for their little tête-à-tête. And with that came the image of him naked, grinding into her, and she drew a breath as Willow’s third “Buffy” finally got through.

“Present,” the Slayer smiled.

“Yeah,” Willow replied with a slightly wondering frown. “Here,” she added, pushing the book in front of her friend.

“Whoa, ugly,” Buffy said. “And you want me to make him look like that?”

Willow smiled.

“Just go through the pictures!” she said, giving Buffy a push in the side. “Spike!” she added.

“What-what are you doing?” Buffy asked, voice low.

“He should go through them with you,” Willow answered matter-of-factly, waving to Spike to come join them.

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s supposed to fight this thing, too,” Willow answered, another questioning look appearing in her eyes and Buffy smiled, shrugging.

“Right. Or he could do it over there. Giles is good with the showing you how to turn the page and taking notes, he writes so nicely, and straight. He’s a straight writer.”

“That I am,” Spike said, stopping at her side. “Tried to be gay once, didn’t work out. I like my expressionless glare too much to jump about for joy. Or what were you discussing?”

She gave him a humorless smile before removing her gaze from him and redirecting it on the page before her.

“Sit down and look at the pictures,” Willow instructed as she rose from her chair.

“Then I get a cookie?” he wondered.

“No cookies. But you might not get your head chopped off inside Buffy’s... head,” the Wicca answered.

“Can I get that in writing?” he asked, taking the seat with his eyes still on the Slayer.

Willow walked into the kitchen.

“Buffy...” Spike began, but she interrupted him.

“Look, let’s just get this over with, okay?”

He hesitated; then nodded.

“Okay,” he agreed.

¤

She washed her hands, looking at her face in the bathroom mirror. She wanted this day to be done. Drying her hands on a towel she then headed for the door, but it opened as she unlocked it and her eyes turned grave as Spike slid in through it.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t.”

“Look, what you saw...”

“What I saw was pieces of someone who’s broken into my home, who’s read my diary, who’s spied on me, and truth is I don’t know what to make of it, but once I figure it out, the total sum won’t be anything favoring you.”

He stared at her. He wasn’t surprised, but he was far from convinced.

“And what I feel...”

“Doesn’t matter!” she said heatedly. “What you’re feeling doesn’t matter to me. You don’t matter enough to me for it to matter!”

But as she said that a surge of the pain she had caused him ran through her stomach and she looked at him, feeling pity and a subtly alarming softness.

“I’m... sorry,” she mumbled. “But that’s just how I feel.”

“Then I’m sorry, too,” he said as she walked past him and opened the door. “’Cause I don’t believe anything’s that simple.”

¤

“You ready?” Willow asked.

Buffy looked up from the book she had in her lap. There had been no real luck finding a valid id for No Face, but it didn’t unsettle her nearly as much as the prominent undertaking.

“Ready,” she lied, putting the book aside as Spike sat down next to her, leaning back.

Willow had a seat on the table before them, the countdown beginning.

I have nothing to hide, Buffy thought firmly as her eyes began to glaze over, the mirror Willow once again was holding painting soft patterns of light on her skin. I have nothing to hide.