Spike decided that it was a good thing he hadn't been counting on the plane ride home being particularly comfortable. True to form, Buffy picked the seat with the best view and left him and Angel to sort out what was left. He wasn't sure he was ready to spend hours next to Buffy, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Angel plant his big ass next to her and monopolize her time. Unsure of where to go so that he'd be close but not too close, he threw himself into one of the chairs in the rear of the plane. From there he'd be able to simultaneously keep an eye on matters and continue his sulk, which made it the perfect spot. Angel settled down near the front, as if determined to stay as far away from both of them as possible. It was Buffy who finally broke the silence once they were in the air.

"We're going to be hitting some sunlight eventually. Do these windows come with shades? Or do you guys have some blankets or something?"

"Necrotempered glass," Angel grunted.

"Necro-who?"

"Some kind of magic," Spike interjected from the back. "Just like his office. Keeps all the little bloodsuckers safe as houses. One of the nice perks of making a deal with the devil, isn't it?"

Angel glared at him but said nothing, and Buffy raised her eyebrows before turning back to the window to watch the lights of the city disappear beneath them. After several more attempts at light conversation that were answered by grunts from Angel and silence from Spike, she gave up and focused on the darkness outside. Spike surreptitiously watched the back of her head. He wanted to beg her for a straight answer as to why she was there, but at the same time he was afraid that whatever she had to say would not be what he wanted to hear. Instead of giving in to his need to question her he merely listened to her breathing. After the plane had ascended enough that the countryside below them was completely invisible, Buffy unbuckled her belt and headed for the restroom in the rear, catching Spike's eye on the way. He wasn't sure what to think. Did she want him to follow? Did she want to talk to him in private? Hell, did he even want to talk to her at the moment? It seemed that the passage of time and the presence of a soul had diminished his ability to read her, as well as given him the nasty habit of overthinking his actions. He hated that development. At this rate he'd soon be putting on weight and running an evil law firm in no time.

While he was trying to make up his mind what to do, the bathroom door closed behind Buffy. As if he had been waiting for just this opportunity, Angel wheeled around and glared at Spike.

"A deal with the devil? What in the hell is your problem?" he hissed.

Spike settled back into a slouch and shrugged. "No problem at all. Just making sure we're all on the same page. Wouldn't want to give anyone the impression you're still playing as a Knight Templar. You've moved up in the world! You should be proud of what you've accomplished, so give yourself a little credit." He smirked at Angel and settled back with his arms folded behind his head, waiting for the fireworks. Unfortunately, Angel wasn't biting.

"Spike, shut up," he said in a weary voice. "You don't know what you're talking about, so why don't you leave it alone for once?" Spike saw him steal a glance at the door that had closed behind Buffy, and the proprietary nature of the look infuriated him.

"Fine. You go about your business, but don't think I'm going to let you drag Buffy into your mess."

Angel snorted. "What, so you're her protector now? Why don't you just let her make her own decisions? She doesn't need you."

It stung, even coming from Angel, but he managed to cover it up with a pout. "Back to fighting, are we? And after we managed to get so...close. I'm hurt, really."

"I thought we weren't going to ever mention that," Angel said in a furious whisper, after another glance at the closed restroom door.

"Oh, so that's the way you want it? Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine!" Spike snarled, determined to get the last word. They sat in heavy silence for a minute. He thought about dropping it there, but he couldn't resist one last dig.

"So, how about you toss me one of those little bottles?"

"No!"
 

Buffy ended up napping for a few hours and awoke when they were over the Atlantic. She groaned when she found out that the human-compatible food supply was limited to non-perishable snacks and sodas. Angel gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry. If I'd had some warning that you were coming I would have arranged something." He checked the time and grabbed the phone while Buffy picked through piles of packaged peanuts in mild disgust. "I want to check on how Gunn's doing with the Capo's head."

"Oh right, the head." Spike had managed to forget all about it. He was feeling wired and jittery, and the remaining hours he would be trapped on the plane stretched endlessly before him. He knew the best choice for all concerned would be to keep his mouth shut and do his best to ignore the other two until they were on the ground. He had never been very good at choosing the safe option. "Hey, you should check up on the girlfriend while you're at it. What's dog girl's name, Nina? She in for 'treatment' this week?"

Buffy's head had shot up at the magic word. "Girlfriend?" She turned toward Spike. "He has a girlfriend?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded nonchalantly. He didn't need to look at Angel to know that he was seething. "Cute thing, too. Well, except for being a werewolf several nights a month. Blonde, petite...you know," he said in mock surprise, "I think he might well have a type, your Angel."

Buffy looked Spike up and down drily. "Uh huh. Case in point."

"Yeah....wait, what? No! I mean, that is, I didn't mean...." He was stammering, damn it. Served him right for opening his mouth in the first place. Buffy had turned to give Angel a lethal glare. He looked a bit sheepish.

"It's not...she's not my girlfriend. I mean, okay, she kind of is, but it's not like...."

Buffy cut him off. "Okay, when we get back we're so going to have a little talk about you interfering in my love life, because clearly you don't have a lot of room to complain. I can't believe the two of you. What are you, twelve? You're allowed to date, but not me?"

"Buffy..."

"No. I don't want to talk about this now, not when I'm tempted to toss you out of this plane without a parachute." She wheeled around and caught Spike mid-smirk. "And you're no better than he is, so don't even start!" She glowered at both of them in turn and nodded in satisfaction when they remained silent. "Good. Because this is not the place, and...ooh, you have honey-roasted!" She grabbed at the bag and settled back in her chair, munching happily. Spike caught Angel's eye and gave him a look of exasperation, their differences forgotten in the face of the Mystery that is Woman.

 

It was official, Spike decided. The flight would never end. Wolfram & Hart had cursed the plane, and they were doomed to spend eternity caught in some hideous Sisyphean hell dimension that consisted of an endless cycle of strained silences and occasional questioning glances from Buffy at both Angel and himself. It made him want to scream. He'd been sitting for hours, and if he didn't get the chance to engage in some random violence soon he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Luckily, they finally landed in L.A. without further incident, Spike ignoring the pilot's request to sit down and fasten his seat belt.

As the plane pulled to a stop, Buffy looked askance at the Wolfram & Hart town-car waiting for them. Angel gestured outside. "We can put you up while you're visiting. There's plenty of space. Or I can drop you wherever you want to go." He waited for Buffy's nod and ducked out the door after a glance at Spike.

Spike made to follow him, but Buffy grabbed his sleeve. "You know, I was hoping we could talk. Maybe improve on our last conversation a bit. It's part of the reason why I'm here." She seemed suddenly shy, almost nervous, and he couldn't figure out why. For the first time he wondered if he was currently as opaque to her as she was to him. He couldn't stop himself from untwisting her fingers from his sleeve and instead holding her hand tightly in his own.

"Buffy, I said some things...hell, I've been saying some things for a long time now. And I'm not quite sure what I mean when I say them anymore. I'm sorry for what happened back there. Believe me, it's not exactly how I planned on meeting you again."

She nodded. "You know, I had this plan where I was going to give you your space. But the way I see it, you've had your own space for a long time now. I'm still not entirely sure why you never let me know you were back, but I know you had your reasons and I want to find out what they were. It's like...I know you, but I don't know you. Last year you changed, and with everything that was happening I never got the chance to really get to know the new you. And it's like you were the same, just...more so. Or something. After Angel and Angelus, I was expecting...." She shook her head and laughed slightly. "I don't really know what I was expecting, but, as usual, you managed to surprise me. And so I'd kind of like to get that chance to finish getting to know you."

Once again, she had managed to stun him into silence. He had seen this focus and determination from her before, but rarely directed at him. One of the last times he'd seen it was when he was chained in her basement, listening to her in disbelief while she told him she believed in him. He had thought that, after their last encounter, she would be well glad to be rid of him. He realized he hadn't given her nearly enough credit.

Afraid to say the wrong thing, he merely murmured, "I'd like that too, Buffy."

She smiled and pulled him to the door of the aircraft. He followed her outside, not even realizing that he still held her hand tightly clasped in his.

 

Buffy dropped his hand before they reached the car, and Spike wondered if she was worried about what Angel thought. He tried to catch her eye as they climbed into the vehicle, but she avoided his gaze by focusing on the lights of the city around them. He wanted to know if she regretted her earlier openness with him, but there was no way to question her with Angel sitting right there.

Six months ago he would have done everything in his power to leave this city without a backward glance, but as they pulled into the garage of the Wolfram & Hart building, he couldn't help feeling a sense of relief, as if he had been away for a long time and finally come home. The thought bothered him. Since when did he consider this place home? He had fantasized about Buffy suddenly appearing in L.A., but her actual presence beside him was disturbingly surreal. He couldn't help wishing for a moment that she had remained in Rome, but he banished the traitorous thought as quickly as it had appeared. He should be happy that she was there, that she clearly wanted to be around him, but he felt more confused than anything else. As he slouched behind Angel and blinked at the fluorescent lights, he tried to recapture the feeling of holding her hand in his. He had a hard time believing it had actually happened. By the time they reached the elevator, he had managed to sink back into a moody funk.

At least an hour remained until sunrise, but already the office was buzzing with various legal types running back and forth, very few of them human. From his days as a ghost, Spike knew that the building was never deserted and that business never stopped for the night. He wasn't surprised to see Gunn there to greet them, although at least Harmony was nowhere to be seen this early in the day. Thank God for small favors.

"Angel, you're back. The Capo's all set to begin the ritual, so everything's okay on that end." He raised his eyebrows and handed Angel a folded piece of paper. "The Immortal sent his regards along with the head."

Angel took the note with a sour look and crumpled it into his pocket without reading it. "Great. I'm just glad the damn thing is finally out of our hands. The next time you come to me with threats of demon family wars, you're taking care of it yourself." He turned and gestured to Buffy, who was inspecting the lobby with interest. "Buffy Summers, Charles Gunn."

Gunn extended his hand after a questioning look at Angel. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. The original Slayer, huh?"

Buffy took his hand. "Yup. Accept no substitutes. I've heard about you too."

Gunn gestured at the office. "You here for business, or is this a personal visit?"

"A little of both, actually. I ran into the guys in Rome, thought I'd do a little catching up."

"Oh yeah?" Gunn folded his arms and gave Spike and Angel a quick glance, clearly noting the scrapes and bruises that still lingered after their encounters with The Immortal's henchmen and with each other. "Have they been fighting again? Because that never ends well." He gave Spike a second look and smiled. "Well, this is different. Pretty soon you'll graduate to actual colors."

Spike looked down at himself, noticing for the first time that he still wore the white t-shirt he'd obtained from Buffy. "Yeah, don't count on it. Temporary measures in an emergency, nothing more."

Angel gave an impatient sigh. "Look, I've got to take care of some stuff. Gunn, would you mind making sure that Buffy's got a place to stay while she's here? And where's Wes?"

As if on cue, Spike saw Wesley appear out of one of the nearby offices, closely shadowed by Illyria. It didn't surprise him that he was there at that hour -- he didn't think Wesley actually left the building any more -- but he was shocked by his appearance. It looked like he hadn't slept in days, and if possible, he was even more haggard looking than before they had left. He felt Buffy stiffen beside him, but Wesley didn't appear to recognize her as he walked up to Angel.

"Angel, you're back."

"So they keep telling me." Angel lowered his voice. "What's happened?"

Wesley straightened up a bit. "Nothing I couldn't handle. Just some visitors. I'll tell you about it later." He turned and noticed Buffy for the first time, and his face betrayed mild surprise.

"Buffy? I thought you were assisting the Council in Rome?"

"I was. Now I'm here." Her reply was automatic, and Spike noticed that she kept glancing at Illyria, who was inspecting her with the intense fascination she usually reserved for houseplants and petri dishes. "And I guess this must be Illyria?"

Illyria walked closer and stared at Buffy for a moment. "This one smells of power." She turned away dismissively. "Your power is as nothing compared to the might I once held. I have seen your type of warrior before. You reek of humanity and are as fragile as the dust. You do not concern me." She glanced over at Wesley, who was watching the exchange with interest. "I do not wish to be here. You will accompany me." She strode away in the direction of the elevators to the science labs, and after an apologetic glance, Wesley trailed after her.

"And...yeah. That would be Illyria." Angel shrugged tiredly at Buffy. "You should be grateful. She's usually less sociable than that to strangers. Look, if you don't mind I'll talk to you a little later." He gestured at Gunn. "You mind taking care of her?"

"No problem." Gunn pointed towards the stairs as Angel disappeared into his office and shut the doors behind him. "This is the quickest way. We'll take the elevators up there and find a place where you can rest and get cleaned up."

By the time they made their way to the floor with the guest suites, Spike had become edgy and irritable. Buffy still wouldn't look at him, and even managed to stand on the opposite side of the elevator from him. It was time to take matters into his own hands. He turned to Gunn. "Look, I know where we're going. I'll get her settled in."

Gunn shrugged and stifled a yawn. "Suits me. I've got an early meeting I need to get ready for anyway." He nodded to Buffy. "Again, nice to finally meet you. Sorry to run, but I'll catch up with you later." He accepted Buffy's answering nod and pressed the button to descend as they exited the elevator. Once they were alone in the hallway Spike turned to Buffy, but she was already inspecting the doorways around them.

"So which one is mine? My internal clock has gone insane on me, which I think means it's time for a rest." Spike reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away and started pacing back and forth. The gesture reminded him of those bad times after he had regained his soul when she could barely stand to touch him, and the memory was like a knife in the gut. So, that was the way she wanted to play it. Fine, he could do that. He was used to it, after all.

"Pick whichever you like, these ones are all empty. I'm sure someone will bring your bag up soon." He kept his voice even, determined not to let her see how much her rejection hurt him. She took a moment to poke around several of the rooms before settling on one.

"This one looks okay. I think I'll grab some real food and maybe get some sleep now." She hesitated at the door and looked back at him, her face pinched and tired, and Spike couldn't help the hope that welled up in his heart that she might want him to stay. He stepped forward.

"Buffy," he began softly, but before he could get anything else out she interrupted him.

"Later, Spike." And with that, he was looking at the outside of her closed door.

The flash of anger was familiar, but he knew better than to confront her at that moment. He stared at her door for another moment, and then with a muttered, "Fuck this," he stalked away.

 

Too frustrated to stay at Wolfram & Hart he made his way to his basement apartment to wait out the daylight. After a few hours of restless dozing he lit a cigarette and paced, kicking at the furniture. He knew it was a mistake, her coming here. Better that she had stayed in Rome. Better that I had stayed in L.A. in the first place. What the fuck was I thinking, racing out there like an idiot? He needed to go out and get drunk, and then find something especially vile to kill. As soon as it was dark enough he was heading out. With any luck he could avoid both Buffy and Angel for the next couple of days until he had his head clear again. It was the best plan he had.

He had always come up with really shitty plans.

As soon as the sun set he grabbed his coat and threw the door open, coming up short when he found Buffy standing there, her hand-raised in mid-knock. Once upon a time he would have sensed her heartbeat and breathing as soon as she'd entered the building, but he had been so caught up in his own misery he hadn't even noticed her arrival. The realization that, once again, he didn't know her as well as he thought he did depressed him.

"Spike. Gunn told me where your place was. Can I come in?"

It was only then that he realized he was still standing stupidly in the doorway, and he moved aside to let her pass. She wandered around the small apartment, poking at the video games, before turning to him with a forced smile.

"It looks...really nice!" she offered gamely.

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, it's no comfy crypt, but it's a place to live. Want anything to drink?" She shook her head, so he gestured at the sofa and went to grab a beer for himself, straddling one of the kitchen chairs. "So. What do you want?"

She crossed her arms and fixed him with a determined stare, as if daring him to keep up his attempt at apathy. "Well, I thought maybe we'd try that talking thing again."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Oh, you did, did you? Well, maybe I was all ready before." His voice was getting tight, and he took a swallow of beer to cover it up. Damn it. Why did she have to come here just as he was recovering his equilibrium?

She dropped her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow you off like that. I just...it was really weird, being there. And I was tired." She softened her voice. "I thought you understood, after what I said on the plane...."

He stiffened his back, determined not to give an inch. "Well, maybe I'm really tired right now. Did you think of that?"

She looked at the coat he'd tossed on the table when she'd caught him on his way out the door, and raised her eyebrows at him. Fuck. Busted. He stared back at her while the silence thickened around them, and finally she stood up decisively.

"Look, I don't know about you, but I could really use some action. Want to go kill something?" She gave him a challenging look and he exhaled in relief.

"God, yes," he said fervently, and grabbing his coat he followed her out, closing the door behind him.

 

They wandered the darkened streets and alleyways in a fairly comfortable silence. The familiar motions of accompanying Buffy on patrol calmed Spike's nerves. It was only after an hour had passed that he realized that, to all intents and purposes, it was really Buffy accompanying him on his patrol. It was an intriguing thought. The night was fairly quiet, and while roaming around they fell into light conversation. Buffy told him about what she'd been up to in Rome, carefully avoiding anything of a romantic nature, and in return he related Angel's adventure as a puppet. The fact that the story made the big lug look like an idiot was of course only a bonus. When she finally stopped giggling they stopped and rested on some crates in an alley behind a nightclub, Buffy kicking her booted heels against the wood in a series of soft thumps while Spike sat beside her.

"So, Wesley," she began. "Wow. He looked, uh...."

"Bad?" He supplied.

"Horrible," she agreed enthusiastically. "I mean, I almost didn't recognize him. You should have seen him when he was back in Sunnydale. He was tweed guy. He was a mini-Giles. In fact, he could out-Giles Giles."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I can imagine. He's been through a lot recently, though, what with Fred and..." he almost found himself mentioning what he'd overheard about some recently resurrected memories, but he held his tongue. That was Angel's story to tell.

Buffy shivered. "That was weird. She...it...gave me the creeps. Were they...did he love her?"

Spike nodded without looking up, and started when he felt Buffy's warm hand on his shoulder.

"Did you love her?"

Was that hesitation in her voice? He couldn't tell. After a moment he nodded again. "Yeah. Not like I..." loved you, he almost said. Loved? Or was it love? He wasn't ready to answer that, so he hurried ahead. "Not romantically, or anything like that. She was kind to me, when I first appeared. She tried to help me, she listened to me, and she had no reason to. She was a good person. And in the end, we all failed her."

Buffy tightened her fingers briefly before releasing him. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm sure you did everything you could. It wasn't your fault. Sometimes people die and we can't do anything about it. You didn't fail her."

The subject was starting to hit a little too close to home, so he stood up to pace and light up a cigarette. "Well, you've seen what we got in return," he said lightly. "Her Blue Highness, the ex-god-king. Tough old bird, that one, but not too big on the manners. She's managed to keep Angel on his toes."

"Yeah." She suddenly sounded even more hesitant. "So, what's Angel up to these days? You mentioned a deal with the devil." Her voice was deceptively light and casual, as if she was asking about the weather. She had always been a horrible actress. He felt his stomach drop.

"Is that what you're here for, then?" He couldn't keep the note of bitterness out of his voice. "Just come to pump me for information about the ex, is that it? Well, you can forget it. If that's all you're after you can trot on back to Rome." He half expected her to stomp out of the alley, but she merely rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, please. You know that's not all I'm here for. Since you seem to be conveniently forgetting, I'm here for you too." She settled back. "It's just...Giles has been curious about what's been going on here, especially after Andrew's report. Can you blame me for wanting to know?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Well, I'm not about to go ratting him out now, am I? You want to know, you can talk to him yourself."

She squinted up at him. "Since when do you two get along? I thought you didn't like each other."

He snorted and resumed his pacing. "No love lost there, believe me. But we've come to an understanding. It's not that I particularly like him, but I do know him, as much as I sometimes wish I didn't. He's..."

"Family," she finished for him.

"Yeah, family," he agreed after a moment's thought, and then frowned at the look of wonder she was giving him. "What?"

"I don't know. Like I said, it's like I know you and I don't know you." She shook her head and laughed. "I guess I'm still stuck on the whole soul thing, after all this time. I just kind of went with it at the time, but I guess if I had really thought about it, I would have pictured Spike and Bizzaro Spike, or something."

"Like Angel and Angelus?" He snorted. "I'm not him, Slayer. I don't know where you got the idea he was supposed to be the only mold for Vampire With Soul. And I don't know why you go on about him like they're two separate people. As far as you're concerned, soul equals good and no soul equals bad, and ne'er the twain shall meet. It's not quite that simple."

"What, are you trying to tell me you were a good guy without one?" she challenged him.

"Hell, no," he scoffed. "And I'm not trying to say that I'm one now. But having seen it from both sides, I'll wager it's not as clear-cut as you've been taught. There's more of the devil in your Angel than you'd like to think about, although he did a pretty good job of hiding it from you." He shook his head. "It's that Council's influence, I bet. Always black and white rather than shades of grey."

She was staring at him with a small frown on her face. "You know what? I think you may be right." He gaped at her, and she rolled her eyes. "What? I can admit it. I've been thinking about it a lot over the past couple of years. It's not like you suddenly turned from a frog into a prince. It's more like you...grew up." At his questioning look she hastened to add, "And I didn't mean for that to sound condescending. I was just thinking of Faith when I first knew her years ago, all with the 'want, take, have' and the easy morals. Or lack thereof," she finished with a laugh. "And now things are different. With her, and with you."

The remark surprised him. "I don't think it's the same thing."

"No, not really, but...I'm trying for this analogy thing. Which I've never been really good at, by the way. It's like you both got older, or more mature, or something. Well, yeah, older in her case, but not yours. And I don't really know that I'd go with 'mature' either, given that you're both still pains in my ass at times, but....I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"No, I get it," he said, and sighed. "Having a soul...well, it's harder this way. Everything is more complicated. Choices aren't as simple, and there are more voices in my head to listen to and sort out. I guess it is kind of like growing up. Goodbye black and white, hello grey." He smirked. "First growing up I've had to do in over a hundred and twenty years, and I can't say the process has been easy. 'When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me,'" he quoted softly, and smiled at her.

She gave him a soft smile in return. "Remember when you had the chip removed? I told Giles you could be a good man. And I was right."

"Is that so?" he murmured, once again astonished at her openness. It was exactly what he'd always wanted from her, and after the past couple of years it was more than he'd ever hoped to see. Her eyes were luminous under the streetlights, and under the intensity of her gaze he could almost feel his heart beating again. The moment was shattered when a scream broke out from nearby. With a quick look at each other they headed for the main road, Spike in front and Buffy following.

They followed the noise of a struggle to a nearby alleyway to find two vampires just about to start feeding on a whimpering woman. Leaving Buffy to handle one of vampires, Spike took the other. The Slayer definitely hadn't lost her technique while she'd been away, and he couldn't stop his eyes from lingering on her ass as she spun and kicked. A blow to the back of his neck tossed him to the ground and reminded him not to neglect his own battle. He managed to dust his vampire after another couple of minutes and found that Buffy had finished before him and was checking the weeping woman for injuries. Apart from some shallow scratches she seemed to be fine, and he was about to suggest a celebratory beer with Buffy when he took a closer look at the woman and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her toward the entrance of the alley. As she stumbled away, still hiccuping with sobs, he called after her, "Yeah, that's right! What did I tell you about walking around like that? Exactly how stupid are you anyway? Next time there might not be a next time, so watch yourself already!" He shook his head in disgust and turned around to find Buffy gaping at him.

"What?" he asked testily. "Do you know that's the second time I've rescued that one? Doesn't have the sense God gave a box of rocks, the daft cow. Would serve her right if I let her get eaten next time."

Buffy was still making fish eyes at him. "Okay, you know that thing I said about you growing up? Forget I said it." She strode past him to the end of the alley, turning to quirk a smile at him. "You coming? Those can't be the only vamps making trouble in L.A. tonight."

He grinned and followed her into the night.

Spike didn't see much of Angel for the next week; he appeared to be closeted in his office, occasionally in conversation with Hamilton, of all people. Once in a while he caught glimpses an increasingly ghost-like Wesley wandering the halls, often shadowed closely by Illyria, but he rarely stopped to talk to either of them. Gunn seemed to be growing increasingly restless and moody. On several occasions he seemed on the verge of confiding in Spike, but stopped himself before he voiced whatever suspicions he had. Angel's small group of followers was beginning to disintegrate, pulling away from each other and becoming immersed in their own worlds. Spike was curious, but he couldn't say that he minded too much. The distraction of the others, in particular Angel's current preoccupation, allowed him to spend an increasing amount of time with Buffy.

Buffy too seemed aware of the air of secrecy and suspicion surrounding the entire office. She didn't ask any more direct questions of what Angel was up to, but Spike could see her quietly observing everything that was happening around her. He wondered if she had tried spending more time with Angel, or if she was somehow in secret contact with the Council, reporting on what was happening at Wolfram & Hart, but he didn't ask her intentions. He was too worried about straining the air of comfortable familiarity that had sprung up between them.

By unspoken consent, Buffy usually ended up stopping by Spike's apartment soon after the sun set. Together the two of them would wander L.A. for several hours each night, sometimes in conversation, but more often than not simply enjoying a companionable silence. These hours were some of the best Spike had known over the past year. Between invigorating fights with random vampires and demons, there was talking -- actual talking, of the kind they had begun to experience in those months before his death. It was both wonderful and disturbingly surreal, and he had the vague feeling that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A week of these nighttime patrols left Spike feeling increasingly restless. Each slaying was another chance to surreptitiously watch Buffy fight, and he was having a hard time dealing with the effects that her presence had on him. She embraced her battles with the joyous zeal that had attracted him to her in the first place, and which he hadn't seen in evidence for several years. She seemed to be doing her best to be emotionally open with him, and on occasion the friendliness would veer slightly into subtle flirting on her part. She was exactly the woman he had always pictured her to be. He should have been elated.

Instead, he was terrified.

The one subject that both of them had managed to completely avoid during their conversations was the matter of what had passed between them immediately before he had died in the Hellmouth. He tried to forget about it. He tried to focus on the fact that Buffy was there with him voluntarily, and seemingly very content, but the more he tried to put it out of his mind the more it plagued him.

I love you.

No you don't, but thanks for saying it.

As long as she had been on the other side of the world, he had been content to settle for what he considered to be the most probable interpretation. She had been proud of him, and knowing that he was about to die, that was the way she had expressed it. It was not meant to convey any kind of promise or romantic intent. It would be cruel to hold her to such loaded words expressed in the heat of the moment. It stung a bit, but as long as he didn't have to actually face her he had been fairly content to cherish those words as a bittersweet memory of everything they had been through together.

As often as he had pictured it, he'd never really counted on seeing her again. He had already started to bury his love for Buffy in the same mental grave that held the memories of Drusilla and his mother. Encountering her had been a profound shock to his system. Buffy seemed to have come to terms with his resurrection more easily than he had dealt with her sudden reappearance in his life. He had the impression that, for once, she was waiting for him to catch up to her. The whole thing was unreal enough to be disturbing. He knew that he was over-thinking the whole thing, but he didn't really know how to make himself stop.

If Buffy had any doubts about his feelings for her, she was hiding them well, for all of the talking they did. Part of him was desperate to ask her what her plans were for the two of them, but he decided that the safest thing would be to keep his mouth shut. He'd always had spectacularly bad luck when it came to pressing the issue, and if he went by his history he'd be sure to ask or say the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. So he contented himself with the pleasure of her company, and when he took her hand on the way back from patrol one night, she merely smiled and squeezed his hand in return.

They made their way back to the Wolfram & Hart building in near silence. Spike couldn't believe that he was walking down the streets of L.A. holding hands with the Slayer like they were a couple of teenagers out on a date. As they walked in the building and headed for the elevator, Spike had a sudden wish that Angel would conveniently pop out of one of the offices and catch them together like that.

They made it up to the guest suites in peace, and Spike bent down to give Buffy a chaste kiss on the cheek. "So, yeah. See you tomorrow, I guess." He turned to leave, but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Spike..."

And then she was kissing him, one small hand curled around the back of his neck, and after one frozen moment he was kissing her right back. His lips and neck were almost painfully oversensitive where she was touching him, and his hands felt numb and clumsy in comparison. After a long minute she pulled away and looked at him. Her eyes were bright and she had two spots of color high on her cheeks. She gave a breathless laugh.

"Wow."

"Uh huh. Wow." Yeah, that was smooth. His hands were starting to shake now. What in the hell was wrong with him? He was better than this.

"So, do you want...?" She was panting a bit, and he couldn't stop staring at her lower lip.

"Yeah, okay." And with that he was inside her suite, pushing her up against the door and resuming the kissing. He couldn't stay in one place for long, nuzzling her cheeks and pressing nipping little kisses down her face and across her neck. He could taste the salt on her skin, and the smell of her dragged up all the sense memories he thought he had firmly buried. Buffy sighed in response, wrapping an arm around his back and holding him tightly against her while she squirmed. After a few minutes she pulled his face up and kissed him firmly on the mouth before walking him backwards away from the door.

There was a king-sized bed in the next room, but they never made it any further than the couch. She pulled him down next to her and grabbed his face again, biting on his lips with a fierce intensity. When she moved away to yank her shirt over her head, Spike was unable to move a hand to help her. His head was buzzing and throbbing, and there was a cold, remote voice in his mind saying, This isn't real. This isn't really happening. And then she was settling back down on his lap, pressing her breasts up against his chest, and although the roar in his head increased the voice was blessedly silenced.

His brain was refusing to cooperate, and he was only able to take her in in brief glimpses. He caught flashes of her navel, her thin shoulders, her breasts which were fuller than he remembered. His hands traced random patterns over her back, and he kissed and sucked at her breasts while she did her best to pull the coat off his shoulders. Eventually he leaned back briefly in order to lose the coat and shirt, moaning as she leaned up to press her torso against him. And then, oh god, she was rocking against him, and he had to grab her hips to stop her before he came in his pants.

He swung her to the side so that they could lay lengthwise across the couch. They struggled with the buttons on their pants, getting in each other's way, before he was able to yank off her boots and jeans and follow with his own. He had to take moment to gape at her as she lay there naked, offering herself to him, and when she grabbed at him impatiently he dropped down to kiss her again.

He knew there was something he should be saying or doing to make this good for her, and was he really the same guy who could spend hours bringing her to one orgasm after another with a smirk on his face? It could have been another lifetime as far as his present body was concerned. His hands were shaking again, and all of his finesse seemed to have dribbled away along with his brain cells. At least Buffy didn't seem disappointed. She merely grabbed his shoulders and began to whine, "Now, now, now..."

Now. He could do now. He maneuvered himself into position, and almost before he had given himself time to prepare, she had grabbed his length and he was pushing himself inside her. And even as he was moaning and thrusting into her, the sense of unreality returned. He had to make this perfect, because she was perfect, and how could it be perfect when he was unable to say a coherent word? It was exactly what he'd always dreamed of, so why couldn't his brain shut up so that he could enjoy the sensations in peace?

After so long without her he was embarrassingly close to the edge, but he did his best to hold himself together a little while longer. And then, just as he was thinking that he might have managed some semblance of control, Buffy leaned up and kissed his neck, murmuring in his ear, "I love you."

He froze.

I love you. No you don't, but thanks for saying it. I love you. No you don't. No you don't. Noyoudon'tnoyoudon'tnoyoudon't.

"No, you don't," he whispered.

She was still writhing against him, and it took her a moment to hear him. "What?"

He swallowed. "No, you don't."

Buffy pushed him slightly away, trying to look at his face, but he was keeping it turned away from her.

"Spike, did you hear me? I said, I lo..."

"No, you don't," he interrupted a little louder. "But thanks for saying..."

She pushed him violently away before he could finish. He fell back against the other side of the couch, his erection gone. Buffy was panting with anger and still vibrating from her potential climax. She sat up and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. And now the unhelpful voice in his head was back. Fix this. You ruined everything. Fix it.

He could think of nothing to say. He could barely stand to look at Buffy, her eyes gone wide and dark and her chin wobbling slightly. He felt like a monster. He was a monster. He stood up and reached for his pants.

Buffy was taking deep, hitching breaths, as though trying not to cry, and the sound was magnified in the otherwise silent room. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she grabbed a pillow from the couch and used it to cover herself.

"You don't believe me," she whispered. "You still don't believe me." Her face had gone pale, and she let out a bitter laugh. "After everything, I can't believe it. Or maybe...maybe it's about what you feel. Or don't feel anymore, in this case."

He couldn't let this continue. "Buffy," he began, but the words dried up in his throat. I love you and I want you and I'll always love you and I don't understand this and I ruined everything and I'm so sorry. Amid the jumble of his thoughts, the voice in his head stood out loud and clear. Fix this. You have to fix this.

And so he did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He grabbed his coat and tore out of the building, leaving Buffy behind.

He ran all the way to his small apartment, barely seeing the street around him. The sound of his own feet against the pavement seemed dull and muffled, and his throat was tight with unshed tears. The voice was back, and it was mocking him. You ruined it, you worthless piece of shit, and now you've lost her. He finally reached his apartment and slammed the door behind him, sliding down it to sit puddled on the floor. It was only then that he allowed the tears to come.
 

Continued in Part Three