Chapter Four: Unreal Heroes

“Stupid bint,” Spike mumbled while he crouched down and worked the tool into the lock on the apartment door. For years, Buffy was all about doing the right thing and looking down on him because he was evil. He broke the law and took what didn't belong to him with no care for the people he hurt, she always said. He gets his soddin' soul and now she insists that he steal a car? From her best friend!

The lock clicked and he slipped inside, being careful to close the door soundlessly. The flat was the same. A string of orange lights on the wall cast an eerie glow on the untidy room. Pizza boxes and soda cans littered the tables and the odor of dirty socks permeated the air. Spike sauntered to the kitchen, grabbed the keys off the hook and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

A door creaked open behind him and he froze.

“Anya, is that you?” Xander whispered in a shaky voice.

Light flooded the room and Spike flattened himself against the wall. Xander held a steel baseball bat out in front of him. Spike suddenly felt the need to get the hell out of there.

“Spike!” Xander came at him swinging the bat. He was a mad man in a pair of paisley silk boxers with his dark hair going every which way. “I'll kill you!”

Xander swung the bat down, aimed at Spike's head. Ducking, Spike reached up and grabbed it before it could reach its mark. Xander's eyes went wide as he pulled on the bat. The vampire tightened his grip while twisting until the weapon flew out of Xander's hand. It went flying into the wall with a resonating ping. Xander held up his hands and looked around wild-eyed. “You can't hurt me. The chip, remember?”

Spike took a breath and his shoulders dropped. He spoke grudgingly. “I remember. Look, I don't want to hurt you. I just need to borrow your car for a couple of hours.” He pulled the keys out of his jacket and shook them before dropping them back in.

“Hey! Give those back.” Xander held out his hand.

“No.”

Xander ran and grabbed the bat. His eyes narrowed at the vampire as he
moved towards him. “You!” he shouted. “You did this to her didn't you?”

“What are you going on about?” Spike took a step back before he realized what he was doing. He wasn't going to cower from Xander. Glaring at the man, he straightened and held his ground.

“Buffy! She's missing and most likely dead, and all of a sudden you show up again?” Xander screeched in a high-pitched voice. “It wasn't enough for you to try to rape her? You had to come back and kill her, too?” He swung the bat.

Spike grabbed it and effortlessly yanked it away. He scowled at the half-naked man and held the bat up. Warily keeping his eyes on him, Xander stepped back until he touched the wall with Spike following in front of him, the bat gripped in one hand. Spike slammed his other hand into Xander's bare chest, causing his head to smack against the wall. Xander grunted in pain and Spike grimaced, waiting for the chip in his head to go off in response.

Nothing. An evil grin lit up his face and he lowered his deep voice another octave. “I think you've been around long enough to know that you need more than a steel bat to do me in.”

Why didn't the chip go off? He lessened the pressure on his chest and threw the bat down while Xander stared at him dumbfounded. He eyed Harris, trying to decide what to do next. If this was a one-time thing, it was best to find out now. He hauled his hand back and with a sweeping motion, he brought it back across Xander's cheek with a resounding slap.

“Ow!” The satisfaction he felt as his head continued to be pain free was intoxicating. He smiled and this time he slapped him lightly. “Hey! Stop that.” Xander slapped back with both hands, eyes closed. He suddenly stopped and flattened himself against the wall. His body shook as he slid to the side, but Spike mirrored his steps. “Oh god that's it! You got the chip out and now you've come back to kill us all. You got to her first!” Xander took a deep breath and let out an ear-piercing scream.

Spike slammed his arm across Xander's throat and used his other hand to cover his mouth. Why did Harris always have to think the worst? “Yeah, I've got my stones back. You'd better tread lightly from now on boy.” He vamped out and gave Xander a ghastly smile before switching to a glare. “I didn't kill Buffy.” He lifted his hand off Xander's mouth when he stopped struggling.

Amber eyes met brown ones before changing to a sorrowful, stormy blue. “I know she's dead, but I didn't kill her.” Xander closed his eyes and Spike could feel the sob come up and escape through his lips before he heard the sound. He released his neck and took a step back. He didn't want to feel anything for Xander, nothing good anyway. Nevertheless, empathy, pity and sympathy were rolling off him and he shook his head to fight it.

A tear held at the corner of Xander's eye before rolling slowly down his check. “Have you...did you s...see her body?”

“Yes,” Spike said in a short, clipped tone. “I can't discuss this with you right now. I'm taking your car, but I'll have it back to you sometime before sun up tomorrow.” He hesitantly reached out and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, but Xander shrugged him off and sat down on the couch. “Go see Giles. Tell him you saw me.”

“Where are you going?” Xander asked in a deflated tone.

Spike stopped with the door open. The poor guy sat slumped on the couch, in shock. Spike ran his hand through his hair trying to think of what he should and shouldn't say to Buffy's devastated friend. “Like I said, I'll have your car back before sun up tomorrow."

Xander watched the door shut, hung his head and let himself go. With no one around to see, he cried in earnest and let the grief wash over him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike pulled into the gas station where she sat at the curb, waiting with a big can of black paint. She stared at him under the bright light while he filled the tank. It was a good thing Xander kept his cash in the glove compartment. He was almost out of his own dosh. Buffy continue to look at him with those hungry eyes, but he couldn't think of what brought on the look. To his mind, there was nothing exciting about filling up a car with gas.

Silence always unnerved him, so he spoke to break it. “Would you clear the car out, pet? Bloody papers and such all over the seats. Your friend is a slob.” Buffy did as he asked, dumping most of the car's contents in the trashcan.

When they were finally on the road, she busied herself with the can of paint. The car smelled awful with the fumes, but the windows needed to be painted from the inside. Spike's door and the windshield could be done before sunup. He felt a twinge of sorrow when he looked for her in the rear view mirror and saw the brush moving in thin air as if by magic. He swallowed and forced the pity down.

Unable to resist, he twisted around briefly to get a look at her and quickly turned back. He'd gotten a wonderful view of her jean-clad arse. Visions of her without the jeans, in that position vividly filled his mind causing him to jar the wheel, which made the car swerve.

“Gah, Spike!” She fumbled with the paint and brush as she attempted to steady herself. “Maybe I should drive.”

Spike snorted. “In your own words: 'A world of no!' Maybe I don't like the guy, but I intend to get Xander's car back to him in one piece.”

“Well. You're off to a good start swerving all over the place.” She climbed back over and smoothed her hair back.

He smiled briefly and focused on the road. Spike thought about the little scuffle he'd had with Xander and his mood darkened. “He thought I'd killed you.”

“Who? Xander?”

“Yeah. He tried to go at me with a baseball bat.” She stared at him with wide eyes. “He's really broken up about you.” He debated about telling her the chip was gone, but thought better of it. Instead, he told her, “You need to go to them as soon as we get back.”

She leaned into the seat and closed her eyes. “I know.”

“They know that you died. Perhaps they'll be glad that you're still here, even in your undead state.”

“It's so hard. I feel as if I let them all down again.”

A car zipped past them on the other side of the road.

She rubbed at her eyes and then glanced at him. “I thought about staking myself, you know.”

Her sorrow mesmerized him.

“You can't do that,” he told her and tore his eyes away. How many times had he thought about just walking into the sunlit day? When Angelus left the first time. When he'd realized that he was in love with her. When she died; but then he'd had a promise to keep. When he'd realized that no matter how much he wanted to change, he couldn't do it on the principle of loving a good woman alone. That no matter how hard he tried, he would and did hurt her with his mere existence. For he was evil - penned in by a tiny piece of plastic in his noggin. But in the end he couldn't do it, couldn't face the sun. “The will to continue to exist is in us and we can't fight that.”

“I know.” She reached over and placed her hand over his. He pulled his hand away as if the sun had burned him.

She put her hand in her lap and covered it with her other one. “I'm sorry. I didn't think.”

He would not pity her; he reminded himself when he saw her forlorn face. “No. Don't be. I'm just not used to you reaching out to touch me.”

“You mean you're not used to my cold touch. We're both room temp now, but I'm not warm like you're used to with me.”

She stared at him, expecting him to respond. His mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to frame the right words. “It's not that, really. I crave your touch, Buffy. I always will. It's just that when you touch me and there's no warmth, the illusion that you're all right and alive shatters.”

“I know that feeling. I used to look at you sometimes and forget that you were a vampire. Even without your soul, the chip made you seem like a man. But then you'd put your hands on me or kiss me with those cool lips, and I'd remember that you weren't real. I could tell myself then that what we did together wasn't real. Now I'm just as unreal as you ever were.” She pleaded with her eyes for forgiveness.

In awe, he glanced at her before focusing on the road again. That was the most she'd said to him in a long time. There was a tightening in his chest and he was on the verge of blurting out how much he still loved her. Instead, he said, “Well, I guess we'll just go be unreal together, won't we?” He reached over, placed his hand over hers, and gave a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Her smile was warm and she turned her hand around to interlock her fingers with his.

He held on tight and smiled back. “Let's go be unreal heroes and save the crazy slayer.”

They drove in companionable silence for some time until Buffy decided they needed some music. He endured the god-awful, poor excuse for music until he felt his brain start to rot. Why couldn't Harris keep some good stuff like the Buzzcocks or The Clash? Even the most patient of vampires would go batty listening to the crap leaking out of the speakers right now. He switched off the radio.

“I have to tell you something,” he said in a rush to keep her from starting a fight. “The chip is no longer working.” He tapped his head.

“How do you know?”

“I accidentally hurt Xander back at his apartment and no fried brain.”

“It could have been a fluke.” She touched his head, and he shivered from the pleasure.

“No, not a fluke. I slapped Xander around to be sure, and -- nothing. No blinding pain. No headaches. I'm guessing my little quest ended up with a twofer. Gain a soul, lose a chip.” He shrugged.

“Well that's it. You don't need the chip, you have a soul.”

“There's lots of humans running around this earth with souls, killing and doing sod all else. A soul alone won't make us good.”

“True.”

“It stings a little,” he said with wonder. “And it's a bloody nuisance when you're trying to break into some one's apartment.” He gave her a pointed look.

The smirk she gave back was pleasantly familiar, but then she got serious. “So how come you're not all broody and weighted down with guilt for all the evil you've done in the past?”

“You should've seen me a week ago.” He ran his hand through his hair and he did his best to conceal its shaking. “Was a mess then, but I made my peace with the past. I was what I was and I can't do a damned thing about the people I hurt, and I sure as hell can't do anything to make up for it.” He looked away in shame. “What did weigh heavily was what I had done to you.”

“I really want to forget that mess and most of that last year. We both made terrible mistakes.” He still wouldn't look at her. “What I want to know is why it only took you a few weeks to get over the guilt, but Angel took a hundred years?”

He looked at her again and something of his old self was there in the gleam in his eye. “Maybe because he's a poofter?” he deadpanned.

She tried for a stern expression for a moment and then laughed, covering her mouth. He raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed again.