This is the use of memory:
For liberation -- not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past. -- T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

"This isn't about us."

"You and Nina?"

"Me and you. This is a dangerous mission that's only gonna get worse if we don't put aside our differences."

"Partners, then?"

"Just like old times. You want a drink?"

"God, yes."

They ended up sitting in silence for another twenty minutes after Andrew left, neither wanting to be the first to admit defeat and leave. Absolutely nothing in the room was familiar to him except the scent -- none of the clothes or books, none of the smaller personal touches -- but it was enough to make Spike twitchy. He recognized nothing there, but at the same time there was something achingly familiar about the room. Buffy, he thought. After so long, there he was, in her space, and he couldn't stand it. Just as he was about to storm out of the building, Angel heaved a sigh, stood and left without looking back. Gratified that he was the last one to leave, Spike took one last look around and followed. He found Angel standing on the corner, sniffing the air and squinting up at the stars.

He nudged Angel's shoulder to get his attention. "Right. We off, then?"

"Soon enough," Angel muttered. But he merely stood there, solid and immovable as one of the countless statues that dotted the city. Spike thought to remind him that the night wasn't getting any younger, but decided against it. It would serve the old bastard right if he moped and brooded himself into an early date with the sunrise. Just as Spike was ready to take off without him, Angel finally spoke again. "What do you say to that drink? I mean, a real drink this time."

Spike decided that at that point he would have taken a drink if The Immortal himself had offered it to him. "Yeah, alright."

"Good. I know a place."

And they were off. Angel did indeed know a place -- he always managed to know a place, no matter where in the world they were. This time it was some hole in the wall populated mostly by local vampires, a small basement room with crooked walls buried beneath a larger structure that Angel told him was the demon equivalent of a bed and breakfast. No stylish crowds, no bright lights, no loud dance music, just a smallish group engaged in some vigorous soaking in various types of alcohol. It was perfect. The two of them hunched over a small table and settled in for some serious drinking, avoiding eye contact.

Two hours and three bottles of whiskey later, it was the most beautiful bar Spike had ever seen. Unfortunately, Angel, who had clearly been trying for some kind of world record in silent brooding, chose that moment to break his silence in order to get the room to join him in some pathetically sappy love song, and after a few choice words from the bartender they were tossed from the establishment.

Clutching their half-finished bottles, they stumbled upstairs and secured a room to sober up in and weather out the approaching day. Angel collapsed into a chair and Spike sprawled on the bed to try to get the room to stop spinning. He was half-asleep when Angel spoke.

"Sorry about that. Getting us kicked out, I mean."

Spike rose up on his elbows and squinted blearily across the room. "Well, what do you know. It talks. And here I've been thinking that I've been drinking with a piece of marble all evening. You know, when you set out to sulk you really do a world-class job of it."

Angel winced at the volume. "Maybe I just wanted to avoid your yapping. God, do you always have to talk so damn much?"

"Hey! I let you alone down there for a good couple of hours. It's not my fault you're the most antisocial creature I've ever met. Your only job down there was to drink in silence, and you couldn't even manage that. You have got to be the most miserable drunk I've ever been with."

Angel leveled a glare at him. "And you're still talking. I can see why you ended up with Harmony. Only the two of you would be able to stand each other's voices."

"Okay, that's it." He tried to stand up and quickly gave up, collapsing back down on the bed with a thud. Luckily Angel decided to join him on the bed, saving him the effort of focusing across the span of the room. They lay side by side, staring up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling until Spike remembered why he had been trying to get up in the first place. "I don't want to hear about Harmony, okay? Not like you haven't made a lot of bad choices in the sex department yourself. What was that little thing between you and Eve last year?"

Angel snorted. "That one was a spell. And anyway, it's not quite as many mistakes as you've made, I bet."

"Well, yeah. I'm sure it's hard to make bad relationship choices when you're spending decades acting like a monk who's too miserable to get a happy. How's that working out for you, anyway?"

He wasn't quite able to escape the clumsy blow, and it landed across his shoulders before he could roll completely away. Luckily Angel was as drunk as he was and both of their reflexes were off. When they settled back down again, Angel stared up at the ceiling for a few moments before speaking.

"Your...thing, with Buffy. Would you count that as one of your mistakes?"

Spike turned his head to look at him, but Angel merely stared straight ahead, his face even more unreadable than usual.

"My thing. Can't even dignify it by calling it a relationship, can you? Look, I already told you. I know she didn't really love me. I know we weren't going to end up happily together like some bloody fairy tale. So would it kill you to even acknowledge that we might have had more between us than just sex?" His eyes were stinging with the threat of tears, and he hurriedly blinked them back before taking another swig of whiskey. Not the best choice, he knew -- drinking brought out his maudlin side -- but he needed a distraction. "And no, to answer your question, it wasn't a mistake. Probably the only right thing I ever did."

"Yeah. It got you your soul."

"And that just kills you, doesn't it, after all this time? Yeah, I got my soul. My choice, my decision, but it hasn't exactly been a load of laughs. I mean, do you even care why I did it? After what I..." he choked off before he went any further. No need to get into the details of what went wrong between him and Buffy, although he wondered how much Angel knew or suspected. He sighed. "So, yeah. My soul, present and accounted for. Let's all celebrate." He raised the bottle to the ceiling in salute before lifting his head for another swallow.

"I can't believe I'm telling you this, but she was proud of you."

Spike rolled onto his side and squinted at him. "Buffy, you mean?"

"Yeah." Angel turned to face him. "And if you ever ask me about this again I'll deny it, but…she was proud of you. Of your soul, of what you did. She said you saved the world. I saw her briefly when she came to L.A. after Sunnydale was destroyed."

"Well, I did save the world. Like I've been telling you all night." Although he forced an air of nonchalance, Angel's admission had left him staggered, with a warm glow in his stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol he'd consumed.

Angel rolled his eyes. "Because being gracious is just too much to expect from you, isn't it? I should have known better." He sighed and collapsed onto his back again. "You want to know the truth? Seeing her here, on her own, being a woman as well as the Slayer...it feels like an ending. Not the end of the story, but the end of a chapter. Not to give that little weasel Andrew too much credit, but he's right. Who knows? Maybe she's still baking. Maybe she's done baking already and has decided...but the point is, I need to be living my own life. What we had together...we'll never have that again. Maybe we'll only have memories. Maybe we'll have something even better eventually, but we could never go back to the way we were six years ago. And to tell the truth, I don't even want to."

Spike stared at him for a minute. "Well. When you do decide to talk, you're certainly Mr. True Confessions, aren't you?" His voice softened. "But yeah, I know what you mean. Moving on. It sounds well and good, but talking about it's a bloody sight easier than doing it, you know? And I can't say it hurts any, knowing that she's not with you either." He gave a short laugh. "Pretty funny, after all this time. Here we are, full circle, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous...Immortals. Or something."

"Yeah. Or something."

They lay in silence for another few minutes, and just as Spike was getting ready to drop off to sleep again he found himself nose to nose with Angel. "What are you doing?" he slurred blearily, right before Angel dropped a brutal kiss on his mouth.

"Coming full circle. You have a problem with that?" Angel's eyes were dark and impenetrable, and Spike stared at him for a second before answering. His tongue was numb from the alcohol, and he could taste the whiskey on Angel's breath. The kiss was as familiar as a kiss could be when compared to hundred-year-old memories.

"I must be more drunk than I thought, because not as such, no."

And that was all the talking to be done that night.

 

Morning, or close enough to it. The threat of sunlight was in the air. A hangover the likes of which he hadn't seen in a long time was pounding his brain into mush. A hard, heavy body was pressed up against him, lying sprawled half on top of his back. What in the bloody hell...?

He cracked an eye open and found himself face to face with the top of Angel's head. Oh, terrific. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the pale grey light at the uncovered window made his head ache and reminded him that someone should get up to cover it. His head and stomach protested mightily at the mere suggestion of standing up, so he settled for an elbow to Angel's stomach. The vampire in question merely grunted and grabbed him around the waist, burrowing his nose into his neck. Great.

"Get up, you great oaf. Shut the curtains before we both fry."

Angel finally pulled away and squinted at him. "Spike? What are you...what did we...oh my God. We didn't, did we?"

Spike groaned. "Looks like it, doesn't it? And I'm no happier about this than you are, but if you don't go close the window I'll stake us both, starting with you."

Angel dragged himself off the bed and yanked the curtains shut, and Spike caught a glimpse of bruises and bite marks all over his naked back and ass. He could feel a similar scattering of marks on his own body, as well as an all-over deep body ache that let him know he'd been used hard and given as good as he'd gotten in return. Ignoring his churning stomach, he staggered to his feet and scrambled for his jeans while Angel collapsed back on the bed with a moan.

"I can't believe we did that. I am never, ever drinking that much again." His head suddenly shot up. "Spike, I swear, if you tell anyone..."

Spike snorted from across the room where he was pulling his boots on. "Yeah, not the first time I've heard that one. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. This wasn't exactly the most shining moment of my existence either. Last night was...last night. Just a little, you know, drunken nostalgia. Male bonding. An isolated incident, never happen again."

"Please tell me you didn't just say 'male bonding', because I might have to find the energy to kill you. And I'm right there with you on the isolated incident bit. Because as far as I'm concerned, this never happened."

"Right. Never happened. Never gonna happen again."

"Nope. And...where are you going, anyway?"

"Out. I've seen what you're like with a hangover. You think I'm going to stick around for the show? I'll meet you at the plane."

With that, Spike staggered down the stairs into the dirty back alley behind the building. He managed to get his arms into the new leather coat and made his way to the end of the narrow lane before his body decided that he wasn't quite as up to the task as his brain had originally thought. He stumbled to the nearest doorway and managed to get to his knees before he passed out.
 

He awoke with his right hand on fire. With an undignified yelp he shied away from the shaft of sunlight that had done the damage, cursing aloud the entire time. A quick glance around showed him that, out of all of the alleyways in the entire city, he had managed to hit on one of the few without a source of running water. In desperation he rolled his new coat around his hand and smothered the flames, realizing too late that it left him with a brand new hole in the leather. Fabulous. He might as well have hung on to his old one.

At least an hour had passed since he had collapsed there, judging by the shadows, and he could hear the stir and bustle of the city outside his tiny alley. Fortunately, no one seemed interested in investigating the Vampire Flambé. Unfortunately, not quite enough time had passed for him to have completely sobered up, and as soon as the flames were gone he cradled his burned hand against his chest and slid down a wall of the alley, well away from the early morning sunlight. Staying vertical was simply too much work, so he let himself collapse over onto his side, smashing the side of his face against the rough stones. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and the thought reminded him so much of Angel that he smirked, until he remembered how and why he'd ended up in this mess in the first place.

Stupid Angel. Stupid Rome. Stupid Immortal.

He should have known better by now not to drink when he was having woman problems. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up on fire, after all, although the sex with Angel thing was a bit of a change. Not exactly a first time for that one either, but not something he'd engaged in in over a hundred years. He should count himself lucky. The last time he'd been that badly drunk, he'd decided that the best possible course of action was to go out and get a soul.

Stupid Buffy.

It was all her fault, of course. He didn't know how, precisely, but he'd figure that one out once his head cleared up. In the meantime, he'd nurse his unreasonable grudge, thank you very much. And he'd get the hell out of this damned city as soon as it was safe to move. He could never understand why Angel had such a fondness for the place -- the sheer density of consecrated sites and corner churches made his hair stand on end. The only good thing to say for it was this cramped alley, which, now that the sun had risen enough, protected him quite nicely. He decided that as soon as he could stand he was heading into the sewers. In the meantime, he dozed on the dirty pavement, fingering the SPQR on the heavy manhole cover and waiting for his legs to start obeying his brain.

Senatus Populusque Romanus. Were there vampires in ancient Rome? Must have been. Senatus Vampirusque Romanus. Except that I don't think any vampires would have been interested in any damn senate, except as a food source. And I suppose His Benevolence, The Immortal was wandering around as well. Just like him, the poncey bastard. Ille Immortalis. Ille Aeternus. Shut up, brain. God, my head hurts.

He smelled her before he saw her. As he lay there, curled up on himself with drink and self-pity, he caught the scent that had been haunting him ever since he'd set foot in her flat. He squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the pavement and caught sight of a pair of legs entering his alley. Strappy sandals and pink nail polish, with that one scar on her left ankle he would have known anywhere, and he couldn't hide the disgusted moan. Of course. Of course she'd have to find him when he was like this, filthy and hung over and shagged raw by Angel. If it wasn't so pathetic he would have laughed. His only hope was that she would manage to miss him somehow. Of course, that would require more luck than he currently possessed.

"Spike? Are you there? Oh my God, Spike, are you okay?"

And there she was, kneeling in front of him, her hand hovering over his head as if afraid to touch him. He wanted to grab her and kiss her. He wanted to disappear completely. He wanted to say something incredibly smooth and self-assured, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a croak.

"Oh...bloody hell."

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He didn't know exactly how their reunion was supposed to go, but he was damned sure it wasn't supposed to involve him lying in a Roman alley with a scorched hand and a bad hangover. He had expected...what, exactly? In his best dreams he had pictured tears and kisses, and in his worst nightmares he had imagined a look of disgust and disappointment on her face before she turned away from him.

Reality, as he knew, was always somewhere in the middle. He blinked up at her and saw that the tears were there, but so was the look of disappointment. Bugger.

Her hand finally made contact with his head. He closed his eyes for a moment from the sheer joy of connection, right before she tightened her fingers in his hair and yanked his head sharply up.

"Ow! Hey!"

She let him go with a snort of disgust. "You'll live." She settled back on her heels and glared at him, winding her arms tightly around her torso. She was shaking slightly, and he couldn't tell if it was from anger, shock or relief.

"Buffy," he breathed, and then realized that, since reality seemed to be deviating rather badly from his fantasies, he had no idea of what to say next. "Yeah, uh, hi," he finished weakly, and shut his eyes in disgust. Naturally, it was exactly the wrong thing to say to her.

"Hi? That's what you have to say? God." She pushed off from the dirty ground and stalked away. He had a moment of panic that she was walking away from him entirely, but she turned around and began pacing back and forth. He tried to watch her face, but her quick pace left him dizzy. Instead, he zoned out and listened to her breathing while he waited for her to marshal her thoughts. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the best idea to interrupt her, so he winced and silently pulled himself semi-upright to slouch against the wall. He wished she would touch him again, even to hit him. He was starting to get the surreal feeling that she was some incorporeal phantom. It wouldn't be the first time.

As if she had heard his thoughts she wheeled around and planted herself in front of him. Her mouth was pursed and her eyebrows raised, and she wore that pinched expression he'd come to recognize from when she was Take-Charge Buffy.

"Just so you know? Right now? I can't stand you. Just so we're clear on that." He nodded mutely. "Good." She grabbed his unburned hand and yanked him roughly to his feet, letting him go as soon as he was standing more or less upright. "If I'm going to talk to you, you need to get cleaned up. Come on."

"Yeah, about that....Don't suppose you happen to have a nice, sun-proof car waiting just around the corner?"

"Not so much. Besides, have you seen how they drive around here? We're taking the sewers. Which means you owe me for my shoes on top of everything else."

 

In the end, they spent less than half the trip below ground. Spike followed Buffy back through the doorway into the building he had stumbled out of, and then out through the front entrance into another shaded alley. After a few minutes of weaving in and out of seemingly empty buildings, Spike managed to catch her eye and raised an eyebrow in question. She shrugged.

"The demon quarter's been pretty quiet since I've been in town, but I still check it out on patrol. I guess they're not interested in having a Slayer bother them, so apart from the stupider ones everyone's been more or less well behaved. It's mostly the tourists who cause the trouble." She fixed him with a glare.

"Ah. So, I guess Andrew managed to spill the news after all, did he?"

She wheeled around on him. "Okay, so even Andrew knew you were around? What, were you just planning on never letting me know?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean...it's complicated, all right?" He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, wincing from the still unhealed burns. He saw Buffy's face soften momentarily at that, and she grabbed his hand and studied it for a moment before unceremoniously tossing it aside.

"Complicated? What's so complicated about picking up a phone? Or, ooh! One of those nice, old-fashioned pens? It's not like Angel didn't know where I was."

He was starting to get impatient. So far, this little European jaunt had resulted in the loss of his coat, his romantic illusions and his pride. He couldn't even bring himself to think about the badness that was the sex with Angel. "Well, let's see. Being non-corporeal was a bit of a complication. So was losing my hands. And maybe I've been a little busy. Did you think of that? Or have you been too busy with the new boyfriend?"

He cringed as he said it, but he was just too damned exhausted to censor his words. This entire affair was already in shambles; better to just cut his losses, find his way to the Wolfram & Hart jet and lick his wounds in private. His defenses were just too low at the moment, and he felt sick and close to tears. He was half way to turning around and bolting out of there when he realized that Buffy was staring at him with her mouth open.

"Okay, I have no idea what you're talking about. Non-corporeal what? Huh? And the boyfriend thing? So not going there right now." Her voice softened a bit. "Look, if we're going to fight about this can we find some place more comfortable to do it in? And you could really use a shower. And...hey, is that a new coat?"

It was official. He had left surreal several exits behind and entered the realm of the truly bizarre. He needed time to catch his mental bearings. After a brief pause he merely nodded dumbly at her and followed her down a set of ladders that led, finally, into the city's labyrinthine sewer system. Luckily Buffy seemed sure about where they were, because he had completely lost his sense of direction. They walked in silence, Buffy giving the occasional grunt of disgust at the messier parts, until he decided to ask a question that had been bothering him.

"So if Andrew didn't tell you, how did you know I was here?"

She sighed impatiently. "Well, let me see. You and Angel start a fight at a club that I'm at, you get involved in some kind of street brawl involving explosives, you get thrown out of a demon bar for obnoxious behavior, and I'm not supposed to know you're here? Let's face it, the two of you aren't exactly subtle."

He couldn't help smirking in agreement, but when she turned to him her eyes were once again bright with unshed tears. "I kind of figured Angel would do something like this sooner or later, after I caught one of his guys trailing me. But I had no idea you were around until last night, none, not until I suddenly found out that two of my exes, one of whom is supposed to be dead, were wandering around the city." She sniffed. "I wasn't sure it was really you, you know, not until I found Angel this morning. Because I kind of figured that, after everything that had happened, the Spike I knew would have at least had the decency to let me know that he wasn't really most sincerely dead after all."

He couldn't stand it. "Buffy..." he started, but she cut him off.

"I told you, we'll talk later. Not now."

After that they continued without speaking, and sooner than he expected they were exiting into the basement beneath Buffy's building. At the entrance to her flat she turned to him.

"Come in, Spike."

He followed her inside without mentioning that he'd already been there twelve hours before. She disappeared into one of the back rooms, reappearing a few moments later with a towel and a plain white t-shirt, which she handed to him. He raised his eyebrows at the second article.

"It's clean, and it's better than what you've got on right now. You can have the shower, it's right through there. Oh, and Dawn and Andrew will both be out until later tonight."

He didn't want to think about how he'd ended up there, or where Angel was at the moment, or who this borrowed shirt belonged to. His brain was still struggling to play catch-up. Deciding that lots of hot water was really the best solution at the moment, he headed for the shower, dreading the conversation to come.

When he emerged, feeling cleaner and slightly more able to face the world, he found that Buffy had changed and sacked out on one of the couches. Before falling asleep she had moved it so that it was blocking the front door, as if afraid that he might walk out and disappear if she gave him half the chance.

It was the first occasion he'd had to really look her since she'd found him, and he took the opportunity to study her appearance. She looked wonderful, healthy and tan, positively glowing. She had gained some weight and lost that tired, starved look she had seemed to perpetually wear for the last few months he had been around her. Her hair was longer and blonder, and she reminded him so much of the young woman he'd become obsessed with back in Sunnydale.

She looked absolutely amazing, and he was indeed half tempted to find some way to steal out of the flat and leave her in peace. She was doing just fine without him, and it didn't seem like his sudden reappearance in her life would do anything except make her stressed and miserable, and he couldn't stand for that. But there was the fact that, for whatever reason, she clearly wanted him there, even if it was to yell at him some more. It was either face Buffy or go back and find Angel. It wasn't much of a contest. Grabbing an extra throw from one of the chairs he settled onto the floor, following her example by falling sound asleep.

Spike awoke to the smell of warm blood, and opened his eyes to find Buffy standing over him with a mug in her hands. She handed it to him.

"Here, I thought you could use this. How's your hand?"

"Better, thanks." And it was, tingly and itchy but mostly healed, along with his hangover. He took the mug from her and began drinking, only mildly curious as to how she had managed to obtain blood for him. He decided that, as far as important questions went, it was far down at the bottom of the list. There were approximately a million things he wanted to ask her, but since he temporarily couldn't think of anything besides How've you been? and Are you glad to see me?, he decided to let her take the lead in their discussion.

Finishing the blood, he looked up to find her sitting cross-legged on the sofa staring at him. She looked away and gave a self-conscious laugh when he caught her.

"You know what? I had this all planned out. There was going to be talking, like adults. No hitting. Maybe some yelling. And now I don't even know where to begin."

The fact that she seemed to be as unsure as he was left him somewhat relieved, and he smiled back before moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

"You know," he began carefully, "between the two of us we could probably write a book: Small Talk for the Recently Reanimated: How to Handle the Formerly Deceased."

She laughed out loud at that, and the sound warmed his heart. It was the carefree laugh he'd barely heard since the awful business with Glory and her mother's death had seemingly drained all of the joy from her life. It was the type of laugh he hadn't heard at all during their torrid affair, and he quickly dropped that thought rather than examine it too closely.

"The only problem is that you're still dead," she said, and then gave him a worried look. "You are, right? Dead? I mean, with the blood-drinking and everything I kind of figured...."

"Yeah, no change in the vampire status. Except that I'm all the way back now, and if you want a good description of hell on Earth, let me tell you about hanging around Angel and not being able to hit anything."

"Okay, is this about that non-corporeal business? Because I want to know what's up with that."

Encouraged by her apparent interest he began relating bits and pieces of what had happened to him from the moment he'd first appeared in Angel's office, completely out of sequence and in whatever order he happened to remember. Buffy listened with a frown of concentration, occasionally stopping him with questions when his narration became too confusing to follow. Her focus was unnerving, and he had a hard time looking at her without remembering the last time she'd looked at him with such fixed intensity: the moment she had held his hand while the Hellmouth collapsed around them. The memory brought him to a sudden silence, and he looked away while he attempted to collect his thoughts. He was completely shocked when he felt her reach over and grab his hand, holding on to it tightly.

"Is it hard being back?" Her voice was soft, and as he couldn't bring himself to look at her he focused on the feel of her warm hand in his. "I remember what it was like, being brought back suddenly like that. You helped me. I don't think I ever told you how much you helped me in those first few weeks, just listening to me, and I want to help you too if I can."

"It's a bit different, pet." His voice was rough and his throat tight, and the only way he could speak was if he kept his focus on the chair across the room. "You were in heaven, being a hero and all. I wasn't. I don't remember anything, just suddenly appearing like no time had passed at all. And it took me a while to learn that I wasn't supposed to be there. It wasn't a reward, or a second chance, just me being a pawn in some game I wasn't interested in playing. The only reason I held on so tight was because the alternative was so much worse. No rest in the great beyond for me, I'm afraid."

"I can't believe that," she said firmly. "You're a hero, Spike."

"You weren't there, alright?" Sitting next to her while she was being so kind was suddenly unbearable, so he pulled away from her and began to pace. "You think that completely washes over everything I did before? I could feel hell pulling me in, and there was no way to stop it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish I had known. But Spike...I know what you think, but I think you're wrong. I don't know how it all works. Sometimes I think being in heaven wasn't a reward at all, more like some kind of cruel joke to make me miserable when I came back. But what I do know is what I've seen you become. And I still believe in you."

He was stunned silent by her confession. She had changed so much in the months since he'd seen her. The burden of being the only chosen champion had been lifted, and her calm self-assurance amazed and humbled him. She was the woman he had fallen in love with, fully and completely, no longer needing to hide behind a general's shell. He was glad he didn't need to breathe, because he didn't think he could have managed it if he'd tried.

She exhaled loudly, breaking the tension. "Okay, enough with the speeches," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I know they're not exactly my best attribute. So, you and Angel, huh? I wish I'd been a fly on the wall for that confrontation. Well, for some of it anyway. Because I could see what you two were up to last night, and I so don't want to know the details. So was that a vampire thing, or are you gay now?" she chirped.

He gaped at her and the abrupt change in the tone of the conversation. "What? No! That was...that was being drunk, and making bad decisions, and...and I don't know what you think happened, but you're wrong. Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

She gave him a jaundiced look. "Uh huh. If you say so."

"I'm serious! And I've been with Harmony, haven't I?" He winced, knowing he'd conveniently forgotten to bring that one up, and plowed on ahead, hoping to distract her. "And I wouldn't exactly go throwing stones about the dating situation, pet."

"Harmony, Spike?" Damn it, she'd caught it. "Because, okay, I don't want to tell you who to hang out with, but...Harmony?"

"Hey, it was just the once, alright? Well, just the half, anyway, given that she tried to kill me in the middle of it. You try getting your body back all of a sudden and see what stupid things you do."

She merely rolled her eyes, but her voice was steely. "And you know, you don't have the right to lecture me about who I've been seeing, especially since you couldn't even bring yourself to tell me you were back. I really don't think you can have anything to say about The Immortal when...Harmony? No comparison there."

He snorted. "Yeah, she may not rate high on the old intelligence scale, but at least she's not some pretentious Eurotrash bastard who goes around taking what doesn't belong to him."

She stood up and glared at him. "Okay, that had better not be me you're talking about. I make no apologies for who I choose to date. I never claimed he was the love of my life, and it shouldn't matter to you anyway. Am I not allowed to have a fun, casual relationship? Especially since, again, you couldn't be bothered to come see me, or even say hello."

It looked like she wasn't planning on letting him off the hook with that one. "Look, I did try, alright? Made it down to the docks and everything, once I wasn't tied to that damned building anymore. I just...it was complicated."

"Yeah, you tried that one already." She crossed her arms. "Uncomplicate it."

He sighed and paced for another minute before answering. "Look, I went out a hero. And at that moment everything seemed so clear. I knew, for the first time in my life, who I was, and what I was supposed to do."

"I know," she said softly. "I felt it too."

He looked up at her. "Did you? I thought maybe, when we were...I wasn't sure. And then suddenly I was back and nothing was clear any more. I didn't have a purpose, I didn't have a place, and I wasn't sure about anything. And I needed to find that out for myself."

She sounded hurt. "Okay, self-analysis is always of the good, but does that mean you couldn't even pick up a phone?"

He sighed. "Buffy...being around you, being with you, was...it was the most exhilarating experience of my life. It defined who I was, and it almost tore me apart. I needed this."

"Okay, I get it." He didn't think she did, not from the way she sounded as if she was about to cry, and he rushed to reassure her.

"It's not...Buffy, I've changed, but I haven't changed how I feel about you."

"And how do you feel about me?" She was staring at him with that fierce intensity again. "Because I'm beginning to think you don't really know. I trusted you, Spike. More than anyone else last year, I trusted you. I relied on you. I thought you trusted me too, that you saw who I was. Believe it or not, after everything that happened between us I thought we were actually becoming friends, and that meant more to me than you know."

He was aghast. "I did trust you! I still do! How can you doubt that?"

"I don't know! Maybe because you'd rather cling to some fantasy ending than face reality?"

It was all falling apart. He tried one more time to explain himself. "Buffy, you know. I told you, that night you were kicked out of your house. How I feel about you...it's because of who you are, not because I expected anything from you in return."

She snorted. "So, what, now you're so noble you'll just walk away selflessly? Where have I heard that one before? You know what I think? You don't love me. You've been in love with some image of me. You think you know exactly how I feel and how I would've reacted to seeing you again. And that's just...how dare you? After everything we went through, how dare you throw it back in my face like that? After...after what I said to you at the end?"

He had had enough. "I know you didn't mean it, okay? I was trying to let you off the hook!"

His words fell into a dead silence. She looked up at him, and her face was completely pale except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. Her voice was pinched and tight.

"I was wrong," she spat at him. "You don't know me at all." She gave a bitter laugh. "It's funny. Angel couldn't love me without a soul, and it looks like you can't love me with one."

It was the last straw. After one incredulous look he stormed out of her flat without so much as a backwards glance, slamming the door behind him.

Continued in Part Two