Thanks as ever to Slackerace for the beta.

Chapter Nine
You're walking a different direction
From most people I've met
You're giving me signs of affection
I don't usually get
~ If We Try, Don McLean

"That's not how you remember it, is it?" Buffy asked, punctuating the question with a mouthful of orange gloop from her instant meal.

"Didn't notice any soldiers. Demons mostly and the humans weren't... army types."

"Huh. Two different Spikes, and they both get chipped at the same time by different groups? That's a bit hard to swallow, even for the hellmouth."

Her voice was laden with scepticism and Spike felt the need to defend himself. "I'm not lying!"

"I didn't mean to say you were. Just... something's fishy in the state of Denmark."

Spike smiled, he couldn't help it. There was just something endearingly unthreatening about this girl and right this second he couldn't believe he'd ever wished to hurt her. Couldn't believe that she was the same hard faced woman who's sneered at him in the shower and in his head he was already making excuses for her. How would he react, after all, to one of his attackers when he was in a position to exact revenge? It was a fairly simple answer, if he was Buffy, he'd be long since dust. Which made a few snide remarks in a sea of patience seem on the overly calm side of reasonable, when you balanced it all up. It was the facts that had shaken him so, he tried to tell himself now, her malevolent expression added on by his imagination.

"What? I can't quote stuff?"

"You can paraphrase stuff," he agreed diplomatically. "Slayer-"

"Buffy," interrupted same firmly. "Or is it not polite to call a girl by their first name till you've been formally reintroduced?" Buffy. He rolled the word around in his head and it felt strange, couldn't remember any occasion he'd said it out loud. Maybe to Dru, in a 'the new Slayer's called Buffy, can you believe it?' way.

"You're allowed to mock my name if you really have to," she added. "Everyone else does."

"No, it's a... it's an original name. Just not used to saying it, is all."

"You said once it brought a touch of classic elegance. I'm pretty sure you were being sarcastic."

"That what I used to call you then? This other me?"

Quite inexplicably the Slayer... Buffy... blushed. Faintly at first then rapidly rising to scarlet as she realised he'd noticed. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"Was one for nicknames," he agreed, having no idea where her sudden embarrassment was coming from and feeling the need to cover. "So, Buffy, did I live here?"

"Here in Sunnydale? Yes. Here in this house? No. With some more no, plus a side order of no."

Rushed into speaking by her awkward silence, the vampire hadn't quite asked the question he'd wanted to. Spike tried again, choosing the words oh so carefully. "But what was I doing here... I mean, I don't understand..." It was no good, too many things he couldn't mention, not enough facts even to start asking the questions. He trailed off. Hoped the Slayer would be able to fill in the blanks, or at least tell him enough about this reality to hang a question on.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then the phone rang. Spike got the impression from the eager way the Slayer jumped up to answer it that he wasn't the only one not sorry to be interrupted.

"Hello?"

"Hey Buffy, I've had that brainwave. Do you have anything that belongs to Spike? I mean your Spike, that he left behind?" Though the girl on the end of the line was coming through too tinny for him to recognise, he could hear the words clearly and the Slayer's greeting of 'Willow' filled in the gaps.

"If belonging to can mean stolen from the fresh corpse of a Slayer, then yes." The current Slayer glanced at him as she spoke and Spike got the reference easily enough, for some reason, and impossibly, she had his duster.

"Please tell me you don't mean your corpse?" asked Willow through the earpiece. "Oh. Ewww, is that the coat? Did he... Okay, off topic. That should count. I was thinking you should do a location spell, I've never done one for a vampire before but I think I can adapt one, I'll get right on it."

"How will that help? I know where he is, I can see him right here in my living room with my magical eyeballs."

"But the spell will find the original Spike. If it shows he's right there in your house then they must be one and the same, if it comes out he's off the local map then we're dealing with something else."

Oh. Spike got it. That would be a firm answer of one kind. The vampire was suddenly not very sure he wanted to know.

"Okay. And you want me to do it?"

"Well you have the focus there, I mean the duster. You could Fed-Ex it to me, but I think it's going to be a simple spell. I'll do all the research, it'll just be a few ingredients and a little chant."

"Okay. I suppose Anya can help with the ingredients if I get stuck. Is Giles not back yet?"

"No. He called to say he might be staying the night in London and he'd call again when he knew - there’s been serious council stuff going on, some watchers have disappeared and a potential Slayer was found dead this morning. Stabbed. I told him you called and he said he'd get back to you but he... Did you say Spike was there? Can he hear me?"

Buffy glanced at the vampire, who nodded. "Yes and yes."

"Then I won't say what Giles said about him. I'll phone back with this spell, okay?"

********

Buffy was guiltily grateful when the phone rang. She wanted to figure it out, she really did, but she felt like she was trying to get her head round the impossible and it was high time to hand this problem back to bigger brains. Besides, Non-Spike was giving her a headache. He answered every question put to him but the mask that had slipped last night was firmly in place this morning and a meek Spike was just wrong, all kinds of unnatural. And far from relaxing he seemed to have gotten weirder. Buffy could only guess at his reasons for wanting to keep his little box of nasty toys; if anything he appeared jumpier and more uncomfortable than the night before. And it had got to her turn to be answering questions and that was never good. Saved by the bell.

It wasn't Giles calling - and that was both a relief and a disappointment - but an excitable Willow in full research mode. The witch outlined her idea for Buffy, and presumably Spike, who had been listening intently in the background.

"You get all that?" she asked him when Willow was off the line and he nodded. Buffy well remembered that he'd been trying to form a question but having escaped that conversation once she wasn't keen to jump back in. Helping Spike might be a noble and selfless plan when it just involved traipsing across state to rescue him, having to then talk to him and about her Spike was going a shade too far. And by now Buffy was hopelessly confused about which Spike she was talking to. They were different enough to make it easier for Buffy to consider them separate entities, but that didn't make it fact and things were rarely what they seemed on the hellmouth. New Spike, problem to be solved. Old Spike, something never to be thought about. Buffy liked it that way, she'd made a hobby out of not thinking about Spike this last summer, and how to get through that minefield of an explanation was a headache all to itself.

For starters, the sheer bizarreness of the last two or three years made for a complicated narrative. Buffy wasn't about to mention the former Buffy-obsession of a certain chipped vampire because... well she didn't want to. And seeing as that seemed to be the motivating force behind Spike's every action for the last eighteen months at least, it was a tricky issue to skirt. Especially as repeating any of his bad behaviour in the time before that was out too. This Spike seemed determined to stay scared of her despite repeated reassurances and Buffy didn't want to make him any worse. Maybe it was a conversation they'd be better off having on the move, and though it was still half an hour till dusk the Slayer could hide in the bathroom until then. Things were always clearer when she was staking vamps.

"I need to patrol," she announced abruptly, getting in before he mastered the formation of complete sentences and phrased a whole question. "You know, when it gets dark, so I'm going to get ready." And because her Spike would have been sure to point out the avoidance of that move she felt compelled to add: "You can come. I can fill you in on the last three years."

Just another obedient nod, which made Buffy wish she'd made that sound more a request than a royal command. "Have more blood, if you like. Watch TV, whatever."

It wasn't until she was changed and the shadows long enough to tempt out the first vampires that Buffy remembered the problem of shoes.

"I couldn't get you any boots," she explained to Spike as she walked down the stairs. "I didn't know the size and I wouldn't have had enough money anyway."

Okay, maybe that explanation would work better from the beginning. Spike had turned to look at her and seemed to be waiting for the point.

"There are no shoes that fit you," she tried. "For patrolling. You'll have to stay here and maybe Anya-"

"Black socks," interrupted the vampire quickly. "Won't show in the dark."

"But what about your feet?"

Spike shrugged. "Be alright. I'd like to come anyway if I may?"

"Up to you." Buffy picked a couple of stakes from her chest and the vampire followed, weaponless and a cheap scrap of polyester away from barefoot. Something had always bothered Buffy about Spike's feet. The boots had been fine, a big stomping part of the big bad image but naked his feet had always drawn as much of Buffy's attention as any part of him. He could stand in jeans and t-shirt but those ivory white digits had always reminded Buffy he was naked underneath. And her Spike had known it, known how she'd react when he wriggled his toes into places toes weren't supposed to go and he'd known, too, how the arousal and wrongness were too intertwined to be separated.

Lucky she'd remembered the socks and wouldn't be drawn to that particular memory as he padded silently behind her down the path. As if today wasn't unsettling enough.

"You don't have to keep doing that," he said suddenly as they turned out the gate and on to the pavement.

"Do what? Not make you patrol bare foot?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Well if you're not going to stick up for yourself I have to try and think of these things."

"No you don't," he said quietly. "Don't have to be nice to me."

Buffy gave him an exasperated look. "I'll bear that in mind the next time you get kidnapped by slave traders. Or would you like me to send you back?"

He shivered at the suggestion and shook his head, but still had to add: "Should. Didn't mean to help her."

Not really sure what they were talking about now, Buffy waited for more. His damn turn to carry the conversation anyway.

"You don't owe me anything, not really. She just... rushed me in to it. If she hadn't said anything I'd've thrown her in with the rest. You're being nice for no reason."

The body language of New!Spike was generally so submissive he was hard to read, harder still when he was talking to his feet, that ridiculously floppy fringe obscuring his eyes. Best she could tell from his voice, he thought this a weighty confession indeed.

"It'll wear off soon enough," Buffy answered lightly. "Sooner, if you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"That's not... I didn't mean... Just, you don't owe me, that's what I was saying. Don't have to help me."

"Maybe not." The score between them was probably unquantifiable by now, a mutual debt. "Maybe it doesn't matter. I'm starting to get the impression you'd actually prefer it if I was mean to you."

He glanced up at her then, flashed that barely-there smile. "Just feels wrong. You wantin' me dust an' all."

"Did I say that?"

Another of those infernal nods that told her nothing. Buffy cast her mind back but couldn't remember the specific occasion. "Well I didn't mean it."

"'S okay, got every reason."

"Even so, I didn't really wish Spike dead. I wouldn't have said that if... he, you, would have known I didn't really mean it. You always knew. Not that you had any particular insight just, well you always refused to believe I meant it whether I did or not."

Buffy ran this back in her head and decided the whole sentence made no sense. They needed to name the different incarnations of Spike for ease of reference.

"If I'd known you were there I would have come to get you. Come to get Spike. It wasn't just for helping Dawn, not just that time. I would have moaned about it and made like I didn't want to but I would have come anyway."

"Why?"

If it had come from her Spike the question would have been an attack. Another go at trying to corner the Slayer into admitting she was in love with him. This Spike seemed genuinely bemused.

"I told you already, as much as I know. Because... we were almost friends. Allies. Something else. And that counts for something, even if we... we'd fallen out since. And you did save Dawn, another time that you don't remember and... I just would've okay? You can relax, I'm not going to suddenly change my mind and stake you."

"You're a good person. Don't think I'm not grateful."

"You've already mentioned the grateful," said Buffy awkwardly. "And I'm not, you know. Not really. Trying to be."

The vampire didn't say anything. A technique that had gotten more conversation out of Buffy in a day than the original Spike had managed in a year.

"You would have come for me, I think, Spike would have, and you had plenty of reasons to want me dead too. Maybe it works out fair in the end."

"Well thank you."

"You can stop saying that any time now."

"Sorry."

Buffy glared.

"Well I am," he added defiantly. Something about his misplaced courage made the Slayer laugh.

"That was nearly backchat. There's evil in you yet."

It was hard to tell behind that mousy curtain but she thought he shared her grin.

They walked on in silence for some time, crossing one small cemetery that was still free of evil this early in the evening. Around the end of the park and into the next graveyard, again, no fledges to provide a distraction. And because Spike wasn't her Spike and didn't push for conversation, badger her for answers, eventually Buffy had to bite the bullet of her own accord.

"I said I'd explain the last three years, didn't I? I don't really know where to start."

"It's okay. Get why you don't want to talk about it. Not to me."

Nope. Definitely not her Spike. It was an easy out and Buffy was tempted to take it. "You do? My craven cowardice is that obvious?"

The vampire frowned, shook his head. "I didn't... Don't matter, does it? Not my business."

"Cool! Did I mention how good the whole new and improved Spike thing is?"

It was a throwaway line that made him wince. A twitch that the Slayer misinterpreted, thinking of what must have gone in to the improving. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

Again he shook his head, denying the need to apologise.

"Really. It's not true. It's just... well you're right, I don't want to rehash the last three years with you, they've not been very good ones for me. For you either. I was putting it all behind me, you know? And old Spike was one for the persistent questions. Let's find something to kill, that'll clear my head a little."

But there was nothing out to be killed, unless Buffy decided to stretch the usual rules and stake unruly teenagers. On to the third cemetery and the grandest yet, with the biggest Mausoleums and a sweeping gravel driveway. The crunch of flint under her shoes reminded Buffy of less well clad feet.

"Maybe we should go the other way, all these pointy little stones can't be nice."

"'M fine."

"But the Bronze wouldn't be any better," Buffy continued. "All that broken glass-"

"Stop worrying about my feet!"

She turned to stare at him, surprised to be interrupted and even more by his vehement tone.

"Sorry," Spike mumbled automatically, then seemed to stop and think. "No I'm not."

"Good," said Buffy dryly. "As long as that's settled."

"Well you told me to speak when I had something to say, and I did," said the vampire boldly. "I'd cut my damn feet up myself for the chance to be walking in the fresh air. I don't give a piss about the gravel; and I'd walk over hot coals for you."

This last was said with such familiar adoration that for a split second Buffy was convinced the vampire was pulling some elaborate scam, that he remembered exactly who he was and how he felt about her. Only the way he looked down when she met his gaze was different.

"Don't even think about it," she snapped, not quite sure what she was warning him against. The vampire bowed his head further in apology though he couldn't have known either.

"Sorry," he mumbled again.

"Are you sure this time?"

When he nodded seriously Buffy felt all kinds of bitchy. "Well you shouldn't be," she sighed. "You're as entitled to speak your mind as anyone, I suppose. It's just... weird. All the behaving and the politeness and... weird. You're supposed to say things I don't want to hear, it's like your... that thing with the currants? The one you're good at?"

"Raison d'etre?"

"That's the one. And I tell you to shut up and you take no notice, that's how it works, okay? Every time you take any notice of me you upset a delicate balance."

"Didn't want you to think me rude."

"I already know you're rude, Spike. It's you that's forgotten. And really it would be less disturbing if you took that up again. You shouldn't be grateful to me."

"Then you've got no idea of what you saved me from," said the vampire fiercely. "Of what it means to me to go a night without being beaten or whipped or buggered."

Buffy turned her head away with a grimace, Spike waited until she looked back before continuing. "The hell I shouldn't be grateful. To be fed. To sleep without manacles. To be treated with kindness."

"To watch Jerry Springer?" Buffy interjected, squirming uncomfortably and trying to lighten the mood.

"To watch telly," he agreed, "And know it won't earn me a day on the rack or a trip back to that place. To have hope that tomorrow won't be the same hell as yesterday. From the same person who should be glad... The person who knows damn well what I'd've done with you if you landed helpless in my lap. You shouldn't care about my feet, it's too much, I'm not worth..." He trailed off for a second and even Buffy could guess at the memory that had distracted him, but he pulled it together and finished his little speech with renewed determination. "You might not want a slave but you've got one. I'd do anything for you."

Buffy was aware she had to say something now. Something that wasn't a wisecrack. She couldn't just walk on in silence when it obviously cost him so much to speak. But she'd heard that line before, very nearly, different circumstances and different vampire but still Buffy remembered that damn song and the snowball of badness it had started. Losing the one place she'd felt comfortable since her resurrection had tipped the scales for a few hours between wishing she were dead and actively seeking that death. And had lead directly, to Buffy's mind at least, to the mountain of bad-and-possibly-spell-induced decision making that was that first kiss and a heap of misery for both of them.

Now Buffy was miles away from the suicidal ball of misery she'd been a year ago. She knew within herself she was healthier and happier, able to make decisions about her life in a way that had been impossible when she'd just wanted to be dead. And she certainly didn't need Spike to lean on, to make her feel, there'd be no repeat of the misery they'd dealt each other last year. But still those expressive blue eyes, looking at her with awe and worship if not yet love, well that panicked the Slayer. She didn't want that power over him, didn't want his happiness to depend on her because she couldn't ever give him what he wanted. And in that this Spike was no different to the last, and Buffy didn't have it in her to throw herself into another doomed relationship and she knew that look in his eye could lead to nothing but unhappiness for the vampire and trouble for her. Despite her best intentions both Spike's had a firm grip on her affections, she didn't want to make him miserable. But in one of those lovely catch 22's that plagued Buffy's life she didn't have the heart to stomp on him now and head that misery off at the pass.

He was still looking at her, doubtfully now, glancing under his lashes. Buffy threw back her shoulders some more as she turned to cut across the grass, opened her mouth and prayed the words wouldn't come out a squeak.

"So you like the fresh air, huh?"