Spike spent the next several days holed up in his apartment, drinking steadily in an futile attempt to forget about the mess he had made between himself and Buffy.

Spike, I'm proud of you. You're a good man. I love you.

No, you don't.

He could barely stand to think about what had happened. The sense memories of the sex itself, the feel of her body and the smell of her skin, were completely overpowered by the image of Buffy sitting there afterwards, clutching a pillow to her chest with tears in her eyes. Her look of hurt and disappointment was burned into his brain, and it made him want to tear his hair out.

He had thought he had it all figured out. He'd come to terms with being in the world and apart from Buffy. He'd managed to convince himself that, although he would always love her, he was starting to lose the burning passion that had eventually driven him to get a soul. Hell, he'd done the noble thing and stayed away from her entirely, rather than force the issue based on words said out of gratitude, respect and friendship. And love? No, not love, or at least not the kind he'd always had for her.

Being trapped for months in an incorporeal state, away from Buffy for the first time in a long while, had given him the impetus to reexamine their time together. Every detail -- his pathetic initial overtures, her depression and self-hatred, their use and abuse of each other, and finally the tentative respect and reliance they'd achieved right before the end -- had been laid out for clear examination. It was as if his new soul was a lightbulb, throwing all of his memories into stark relief and enhancing the annoying habit of self-analysis he seemed to have picked up along the way. He had prided himself that he had the whole Buffy-Spike thing figured out. He had clearly been dead wrong.

He still couldn't figure out why he'd managed to fuck things up so spectacularly. It was everything he'd dreamed about, right? Having the girl and having the words. Except she didn't really mean it, did she? And even if she did, you've managed to ruin everything. She's probably gone back to Rome.

He couldn't bring himself to believe that she might actually have been telling him the truth. He knew she cared about him -- she was there in L.A., wasn't she? -- but that was all there was to it. It was platonic love, companionship love, even (he shuddered at the thought) Scooby love. Right. Because platonic friends say "I love you," in the middle of sex all the time. He groaned. That bloody bitch. What the hell did she expect from him anyway, just throwing it at him like that?

He tried the thought on for size, just to see if it fit. Buffy loves Spike. It felt unnatural. He realized he had been waiting all this time for the other shoe to drop. He had been expecting her to finish the sentence the way he'd imagined it countless times: I love you, so let's be friends. I love you, but I have my own life. I love you, but it would never work. I love you, but I can't forget everything you've done to me.

His brain was in a complete muddle, so he tried for something simpler. Spike loves Buffy. Except that that somehow felt strange as well. As far as he was concerned, he'd never stopped loving her, not really, so why did it all feel so odd? He cringed, remembering Buffy's words.

Maybe it's about what you feel. Or don't feel anymore, in this case.

At the time, he'd been appalled that she would think that he didn't still love her, because that was simply one of the constants of the universe. Doubting it felt like heresy. But he had spent so much time agonizing over what Buffy felt that he hadn't thought much about what his own feelings were, and the doubts were beginning to gnaw at him. Perhaps he was more in love with the memory of being in love with her. He didn't think so, but he couldn't make heads or tails out of any of this any more.

Enough of this. He was clearly overthinking things, which had never been his strong suit at the best of times. Maybe it was time he did what he was best at and simply went with his gut.

Unfortunately, his gut was demanding less whining and more beer, and he eyed the empties stacked on the table with disgust. He had a sudden memory of drinking at the Bronze, trying to impress Buffy with a pair of khaki pants and some rather pathetic attempts at flirting. He smiled grimly, remembering his abortive attempt at a date with the Slayer. Oh, she'd seen right through him, and her fury at his audacity had been tempered only by her disgust with him. She'd been absolutely convinced that he was incapable of feeling real love. Actually, she hadn't been entirely wrong -- not that he couldn't feel love, but he recognized now that what he had been feeling at the time was closer to lust and obsession than actual love. However, that was beside the point.

The fact that she had denied what he was feeling had been the worst cut of all.

Spike sat bolt upright, shocked into sudden sobriety by a startling realization. You did the same thing to her. For all of your fine intentions and noble self-denial, you did the same fucking thing to her. Once the thought had entered his head, it wouldn't leave him alone. He started pacing in consternation, unable to believe how stupid he'd been. Good show, Spike. Maybe you should try listening to what she's saying rather than what you expect to hear. God, I'm an idiot

It was time to get off his ass and fix things, time to track Buffy down and attempt to straighten everything out. Even if she'd gone back to Rome, even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to try. He wan't going to figure out any more by moping in here. It was time for action -- not that he knew exactly what he was going to do, but that had never stopped him before. Spike grabbed his coat, threw open the door and walked right into Angel's fist.

The impact sent him sprawling back into the apartment, and Angel followed him through the door to grab him by his collar and give him a rough shake.

"What in the hell did you do to her, you son of a bitch?"

Spike shoved him away, rubbing his fingers under his nose and licking the blood off. "Are you talking about Buffy?" he asked carefully.

Angel snorted. "No, I'm suddenly concerned about the delicate feelings of Harmony. What the fuck are you playing at?"

Forcing an air of bravado to cover up the sudden rush of shame, Spike got to his feet and straightened his shirt. "Look, whatever's happening between Buffy and me is none of your business. So why don't you bugger off and go back to playing CEO?"

"It is my business," Angel snarled. "I know her. I can tell when something's going on with her, and she was fine until she started hanging out with you."

"Oh yeah? Why don't you just let her make her own decisions? She doesn't need you," he echoed spitefully, watching Angel's face tighten. He knew he was pushing his luck, but the thought of some honest violence was exhilarating after all of his recent moping. As usual, Angel managed to disappoint him.

"You are such a selfish bastard, you know that?" He turned away and began to pace the length of the apartment. "I don't have time for this. Everything's falling apart, and I don't have time to clean up your messes on top of everything else. You like to play at being the hero, but when it comes right down to it? You can't see beyond yourself at all."

Spike knew that Angel wasn't specifically talking about Buffy, but the comment hit a little too close to home. Despite himself, his voice softened. "Is she okay? Is Buffy okay?"

Angel merely crossed his arms and gave him an inscrutable stare before heading over to the table and grabbing one of the remaining bottles of beer. He leaned against the counter and took a few sips, ignoring Spike's question entirely.

"I know what you're thinking, but this isn't about some competition between you and me. It isn't about who gets the girl." He fixed his eyes on Spike. "I care about what happens to her, and from what I've seen she's unhappy, and it looks like you're the cause. You'd have the same reaction if you were in my shoes."

After a moment, Spike sighed. "Yeah, I guess so." His head shot up. "And I didn't hurt her...I mean, nothing physical. That is, I didn't do anything to her she didn't want..."

Angel winced. "I don't want to hear the details, alright?" He snorted. "And believe me, I don't think you hurt her physically. She could kick your ass without breaking a sweat."

"Hey! Well, yeah. Look, I know I've done some stupid things in the past, and apparently I haven't stopped doing them. I fucked up, and I hurt her. And now I want to fix it. I'm not sure if I can, but I've gotta try." He clenched his jaw in preparation of Angel's response, but Angel merely looked at him and sighed.

"Do what you have to do, but do it soon."

Spike squinted at him. "I kind of figured there would be more fireworks. You'd try to beat me up, I'd kick your ass again, something like that."

Angel stood. "There's more going on here than you know, Spike. So do me a favor, alright? Figure out what you want. Figure out what side you're on. If you're planning to run back to Rome with Buffy, get out of here. Live for yourself. Have the time of your life. But if you want to fight the fight here? Well, I can always use an extra pair of hands." He turned and left, and Spike gaped at his retreating back.

"So...are you saying you want me around?"

"Hardly," Angel tossed over his shoulder as he reached the door. "But I figure any help is better than none at this point."

With that, he was gone. Spike spent a moment pondering the reason behind Angel's cryptic request, but he put it aside for the time being. It was time to go find Buffy.
 

On his way over to the Wolfram & Hart building, Spike began to have a few doubts about his plan to confront Buffy directly. By the time he reached the main office suite, he was almost ready to turn around and head back out, maybe find something to kill to calm his nerves, before attempting any kind of rational Buffy-related discussion. Illyria, when he bumped into her, seemed to be in a similar mood.

After days of sitting around and -- well, not brooding, definitely not that -- he found he had almost missed Illyria. There was something so soothing about falling back into the habit of needling her. It appeared that her interactions with Wesley as Fred left her at a loss, and he could certainly sympathize with that. She seemed in need of some action, and to tell the truth, he could do with a bit of bit of violence himself, just to clear his mind before dealing with more serious matters. Just as he was about to suggest a round of sparring, he caught sight of Angel and Wesley near one of the offices. Not quite ready to face Captain Cryptic again, at least not until after he'd seen Buffy, Spike was just about to duck into one of the empty conference rooms when he overheard the words "Boretz demon". Perfect.

He wandered over just as Wesley was describing the girl who had been killed. Angel shot a quick look at Spike and raised his eyebrows briefly, as if surprised to see him there, before shrugging and turning away.

"Well, there's not much we can do about it now, huh? This girl is just one more statistic." He merely looked bored, but Spike saw his eyes dart over to where Hamilton was ushering a couple of important looking suits into Angel's office suite, including at least one vampire. Interesting, that. After spending so much time with Buffy, it seemed that he'd missed some things during the past few weeks.

Wesley was looking increasingly dismayed. "The statistic's name was Stacey Bluth," he said, handing a paper to Angel.

Angel glanced at it quickly. "Well, you know, we can't save everybody, and we can't sweat the small stuff," he breezed, tossing the paper back.

"Angel?"

Buffy was standing at the end of the hallway, a look of disappointment in her eyes. Angel's spine tightened almost imperceptibly, and Spike nearly felt sorry for the bastard. There wasn't much worse in the world than being on the receiving end of one of Buffy's disapproving looks. She hadn't looked at Spike yet, but he could almost feel the waves of disgust coming off her, and he figured some of it was probably directed at him. Still, it was nice to have someone else bearing the brunt of Buffy's wrath these days, and he'd let Angel get his fair share for once.

"Buffy," Angel replied in an almost apologetic tone before hardening his voice. "What, are you still here? I'm kind of busy."

"Excuse me? Busy? You've been busy for over a week now. What the hell is up with you?" Her voice was creeping into a higher pitch, and Angel threw a quick glance at his closed office door.

"Important meeting, if you don't mind," he bit out, and started to walk away.

"Angel." Her voice softened, and she laid a hand on his arm to keep him from leaving. "What's happened to you? I can't believe you're talking this way."

Angel blew out a long breath and rolled his head back in annoyance before pulling away from her. "What can I say, Buff? I grew up. Time to live in the real world."

"Angel," Wesley began in a low voice, but he was cut off.

"Wes, I've got a United States senator waiting for me, so just find out whatever you can about this Boretz thing and we'll talk later, okay?"

"Listen, you need some Boretz killing done, I'll have a go," Spike interjected. "Me and the blue meanie can take care of it."

"Fine, whatever." And with that, Angel disappeared into his office and slammed the door behind him. Wesley stared after him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes, thank you, Spike," he said distantly. "Call me if you find anything. I'll be in my office learning what I can." He started to turn away, but Buffy charged up and grabbed the paper from his hands. She studied it for a moment before waving it in his face.

"So, what, people are getting killed three nights in a row and I'm just now finding out about this? You're wasting time sending out memos when people are dying? What in the hell kind of operation are you running here?"

For the first time in days, the abstract expression cleared from Wes's face as he sharpened his gaze at her. "This isn't your place, Buffy. I'm doing what I can in the best way possible. I'd thank you to remember that we're all on the same side here."

She raised her eyebrows at that and folded her arms across her chest. "Are we? Because your boss sure doesn't seem to think so. I thought you guys were big on the whole 'helping the hopeless' thing. Or does that not work in the corporate world?"

"Buffy," Wesley began in a low voice. "Things here are...complicated."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Oh, you so did not just say that. I swear, if I ever hear that phrase again..." She trailed off and stalked away, only to return a few steps later. "Look. I may not be the only one anymore, but I'm still the Slayer. You should have let me help. Or are you going to try to keep me out of this, like everyone else around here seems to be doing?"

"I am no longer your Watcher," Wesley answered in a low tone. "If you feel the need, I'm sure Spike could use some assistance with hunting this creature."

"Hey!" Spike was used to being ignored, but this had gone too far. At this rate, the bossy little bitch would decide to take control of this expedition herself. "Perfectly capable of taking care of this on my own, thank you very much."

Buffy threw him a quick glare, and he almost felt his balls shrivel from the coldness. "Yeah. Because you're doing such a good job handling everything on your own. Or, let me guess. You've spent the last several days drinking and sulking."

His temper flared up. Oh, that was it. He had come here with the express purpose of making things right between them. He hadn't been exactly sure what to do about it, but he was sure some abject groveling would have been involved. Now? Well, she could take her prissy little attitude right back upstairs for the time being, because he'd be damned if he'd stand for that.

"Fine," he bit out. "You can tag along."

"Fine!" she answered in return. "I'm going to change my shoes. Wait up for me, or I'll kick your ass." She jogged off towards the stairs, and Spike rolled his eyes at her back. She still drove him absolutely mad, no question about it. Not for the first time, he wondered what particular quirk of personality attracted him to the really batshit ones. And speaking of....

He turned to Illyria. "Guess we're off, then. Wanna go find something to hit?"

 

Buffy reappeared in ten minutes, wearing a pair of boots that did not appear to be noticeably different from the ones she had changed out of, and carrying a large dagger. She caught Spike looking at it and shrugged.

"I found it on the wall of some room. I figured no one was using it, so more for me."

"Do you even know what a Boretz demon looks like, or how to go about killing it?"

She raised her eyebrows. "The way I see it, there are very few things that won't respond to a good beheading," she stated calmly before heading off to follow Illyria.

It was odd. They were back to patrolling as if nothing had happened between them. If it wasn't for the lingering tightness around Buffy's mouth and the presence of Illyria striding ahead of them, he could almost believe that the awful events of the other night had never taken place. They traveled in silence until they reached the abandoned amusement park. Illyria disappeared into the maze of decrepit equipment, and Spike was about to follow her when Buffy grabbed his arm, hauled back and hit him in the nose.

"Ow! Bloody...fuck!" For the second time that day, he grabbed at his face in agony, wiping the blood away. She had obviously gone insane. It was probably a side effect of hanging around Wolfram & Hart for too long. "What in the hell was that for, you crazy bitch?" He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, remembering too late that he actually had done something to deserve it.

Buffy crossed her arms and shrugged. "You know, I did the talking thing. I did the listening thing. I tried for mature, but you're obviously not ready for that. I thought I'd go with what I know works."

She had him there. He winced and prodded his nose. "Yeah, well maybe you can lay off the face next time." He figured this was a good a time as any to try to repair the damage he'd caused. "Buffy..." he began before trailing off in dismay at the murderous look in her eyes.

She snorted. "Let me guess. You had a whole speech worked out, and now you can't remember a word of it, and you're so so sorry and it'll never ever happen again."

"Well, yeah. I mean, no! I mean, I am sorry. Didn't exactly have a speech planned, though. I just...I wanted to fix this so badly. I didn't really have it worked out yet how I was going to do that. Figured I'd wing it."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and that always works out so well."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I seem to remember a time or two when me being spontaneous worked out in your favor." He ventured a small leer in her direction, and her shoulders relaxed slightly as she began to pace. He eyed her warily, unsure whether or not she would try to punch him again, and after a moment she rounded on him.

"You're a moron."

"Yup," he agreed readily.

"You're grossly immature, and you have major issues."

"Absolutely."

"And you're completely, utterly clueless."

"That I am, pet."

She sighed. "Just so we're on the same page."

He stepped closer to her, wincing when she pulled away from the hand he extended. "Buffy," he said in a softened voice. "I know you don't want to hear it, and I can't say I blame you, but I am sorry. I'd do anything to take back what happened. I hurt you, and it's killing me."

She stiffened her spine, but he could see that her eyes were bright. "I'm angry, Spike, not hurt." He looked at her for a moment in disbelief, and she sighed in defeat. "Okay, I'm hurt. It's just...when I pictured it, us together again, that's really, really not how I thought it would go." She wandered around the perimeter of the vacant lot, kicking at discarded equipment. When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. "That's not how I thought you would react when I said...you know. So I want you to tell me if I'm making a mistake here."

"What? Buffy, no! This is not...it's not you, it's me." He winced. God, he didn't think he could be more inane if he tried.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't do a lot for a girl's ego when you bail out in the middle of the good stuff." She gave a short laugh, but it was brittle, and she refused to look at him. He couldn't stand it any more. Bracing himself for a possible blow, he stepped in and grabbed her by the shoulders. She stiffened but didn't pull away, and he allowed himself to run his thumbs over her collarbones while he breathed her in.

"You're right. I'm a moron, and I wasn't ready."

She finally looked up at him. "You could have said something, you know. I mean, you seemed to want it just as much as me. Pardon me if I can't interpret your weird mixed signals."

He sighed and glanced at the wreckage around them. "Okay. You want it straight? How about a good fight? What do you say we find a nice abandoned building around here. Get back to our origins. Let you get your rocks off, so to speak." He leered at her again, and was heartened to see her mouth quirk into a smile before she pushed him away.

"We're so not dealing with this right now. You're not off the hook, but at this second we have demony things to kill, and..." She trailed off and sniffed the air. "God, do you smell that? Something that bad has to be supernatural."

He inhaled deeply and nodded in agreement. "Yup, there's a Boretz somewhere around. Looks like we're in the right place." He called out after her as she started to walk away. "Buffy? I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you stayed. I thought you might have gone back to Rome."

She contemplated him for a moment, her face entirely unreadable. "I probably should have. And a year ago, I definitely would have. But for whatever it's worth, I'm here now." She spun around and headed in the direction Illyria had gone. "Besides," she tossed over her shoulder, "I want to know what's going on around here."

As Spike followed her, he saw her almost crash into Illyria, who had reappeared from behind a stack of crates. Buffy gaped at her.

"Were you listening in on us?"

Illyria spared her an insulted glance before continuing her study of the surrounding area. "I have no desire to contemplate the intercourse of inferior creatures."

"Well...good, then," Buffy said uncertainly. "Time to look for this Boretz thingy, I guess."

Illyria dismissed this and looked at Spike. "Angel does not think the casualties of this creature are important enough to avenge. It does not serve his interest."

The pungent scent of the Boretz was distracting him. It seemed to be coming from all around him, and it made tracking difficult. He squinted at Illyria, only half paying attention. The bird had the ability to ramble like no one he'd ever met. She seemed to have Dru's ability to speak for hours without saying anything. "What's that, then? What are you on about?"

"I've seen this before with many rulers. Your leader has been corrupted."

"Okay, first of all? Not my leader, thank you very much. And second, what the bloody hell do you mean, corrupted? Not that I don't think the sod could end up being a megalomaniacal bastard. It's just that if he did...I'd know it. I'd feel it."

Illyria looked at him contemptuously. "I speak as I find. History dictates it. A corrupted ruler on such a path sees treachery and betrayal all around him. He cannot suffer intimates and will eventually turn against them."

Spike smirked. "Guess I don't have to worry about that, 'cause Angel and me have never been intimate. Well, except that one time...."

"Spike..." Buffy was studying Illyria with a furrowed brow. "I think there's something to what she's saying. I mean, have you seen him lately? With the not sweating the small stuff? This is not the guy I knew. As much as I hate to say it, I think something's going on here. I don't know if it's the evil law firm, or a spell, or whatever, but Angel's changed. I'm worried."

Spike studied her coolly. "So, looks like you're not just here for me after all. And I'm telling you, you're wrong."

"Why?" Buffy asked in exasperation. "Because you want me to be wrong? I've seen what happens to friends when they become obsessed with power, and it's not pretty. And since when are you Angel's defender anyway?"

"Look, it's not that I love the guy, but I'd know if he was treading on the dark side. You may know him, pet, but my history with him is a bit longer than yours."

Her eyes darkened. "That was Angelus."

"Different name, same guy. Soul or no soul, there are more similarities than differences between the two. I know his tricks, and we have an understanding. Believe me, I'd know."

"Oh yeah? And what if you're wrong? What if she's right, and Angel really has been corrupted?" She gestured at Illyria, who was studying Buffy with her head cocked to one side. "We can do something. We can, I don't know, stage an intervention or something," she finished weakly, and sighed. "I don't know. But we have to help. I should be telling all this to Giles. I think he's been worried about Angel for a while now."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, let's tell the Watcher. We know he just loves the vampires, and he always has our best interests at heart." He hardened his voice. "Stay out of it, Buffy. Bring in Giles, and you'll only make things worse."

Buffy was glaring openly at him now. She looked over to Illyria for support, who raised her eyebrow.

"Mark me," she coolly predicted, "he will murder one of you."

The stalemate was broken when a filthy, bleeding man stumbled out from a niche in a stack of debris. It took a moment for Spike to recognize the guardian of the well. "Actually," Drogyn gasped, "he already has."
 

They ended up bringing Drogyn back to Spike's apartment. Buffy had mostly been silent during the walk back, and after Spike got off the phone with Wesley, he found her sitting on his bed, absently cleaning the dagger she had used to kill the Boretz. After a moment's hesitation, he moved to sit next to her.

"They're on their way."

She nodded but didn't reply, tightening her shoulders and rubbing strenuously at a stubborn spot on the blade. He itched to grab one of her hands, but decided that it was probably wiser to avoid annoying an aggravated Slayer holding a sharp object. After a minute he tried again.

"You know, I think it's clean."

She blew out a loud sigh and turned around to sit cross-legged on the bed, peering past Spike to catch a glimpse of Drogyn sitting on the couch, Illyria watching him like a hawk. "I don't want to have to say it," she stated flatly.

"What, 'I told you so'?" He focused on a crack in the wall rather than look at her. "Don't know for sure what's going on here yet. Can't say that everything's as it seems."

"Yeah, maybe." She lowered her voice, glancing once more into the outer area. "Look, I don't want to be right. Maybe this guy's not telling us the whole story."

Spike could barely speak past the lump in his throat. "Told you, he's a truth teller. If he says it happened, it happened. You can see for yourself that he was attacked."

"Okay, but still...I can't believe that Angel had anything to do with what happened to Fred."

He gave a bitter laugh. "What, so you're the believer now? You wait until there's actual proof to the contrary to start giving the guy the benefit of the doubt? Lovely."

She rolled her eyes. "So, which is it then? 'Everything's not as it seems' or 'it definitely happened'. Make up your mind, will you?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" He could hear the pitch of his voice going up, and did his best to bring himself back under control. He honestly didn't know why he was so upset about this. It's not like he'd sit around crying into his beer if Angel fell off the straight and narrow, and he still wasn't convinced that was what had actually happened. "I'm pissed off, is the thing. The way I see it, the bastard's either selling us out, in which case I kick his ass, or he's playing us for fools, in which case I kick his ass. Either way, it's a piss poor show he's running. Give me an honest fight any day without all of this cloak and dagger bullshit."

"So...either way, you get to fight Angel. And you're telling me that doesn't make you happy?"

He looked at her in disbelief and caught a hint of a smile. "You're joking," he said flatly. "This is serious, you know!"

She grinned. "I'm sorry, I know. Very, very serious. What can I say? I think eight years as a Slayer has given me a bit of a kinked sense of humor."

He couldn't resist taking the bait. "Not the only thing kinked about you, Slayer," he murmured, ogling her for good measure. She snorted and gave him a shove, climbing off the bed to dig around for her discarded jacket. She looked up at him from the floor, and he saw a shadow pass across her face.

"What?" he asked.

She blushed. "Just remembering the last time we were in this position. Or reversed, actually. You kneeling on the floor, me up on the bed. You telling me things I didn't want to hear." She looked down and shrugged. "And look how well that turned out."

"Best night of my life," he whispered.

She looked back up at him, and he wondered what she was seeing in his face. Her eyes were large and bright, and she was looking at him almost in wonder. It was as if the two of them were in a bubble. He couldn't hear anything from the other room over the beat of her heart, and he couldn't focus on anything but her eyes.

"Is this what you want, Spike?" Her voice was quiet. "Me, on my knees?"

The dirty response died on his lips before he could say the words, and instead he mutely shook his head and pulled her up to sit next to him again. She didn't pull her hand away, so he held onto it and ran his thumb over her knuckles. He swallowed hard.

"I kinda like us on the same level, actually."

She gave a soft smile and nodded, and to his wonder she leaned in and laid her head on his shoulder. After one frozen moment, he tilted his head so he could rest his cheek against her hair. He couldn't help the slight tremble that resulted from the warm breaths she exhaled against his neck. He wanted to just sit like that for several years, but eventually he couldn't resist murmuring, "Does this mean you're giving me another chance?"

She sighed and pulled away slightly to look him in the face. "Is that what you want?" she asked again. "Another chance?"

The abrupt knock at the front door shattered the moment, and he was suddenly aware that he was holding Buffy on his bed while the man Angel had apparently tried to kill was sitting in the next room. With an apologetic look he rose to his feet, and together they went to let the rest of the group in.

 

Drogyn reexplained what he knew to the entire gathering, causing more confusion than anything else, and in the end the general consensus was that it was time to confront Angel directly. Buffy refused to be left behind. Wesley in particular seemed reluctant to bring her along, but Gunn was adamant that some extra muscle couldn't hurt, and in the end she let them know forcibly that they could either bring her along or she'd follow. Noisily.

When the group finally ushered Angel into his office, Buffy kept to the back, quietly observing. Even though he kept most of his attention on Angel, Spike couldn't resist watching for Buffy's reactions. He had claimed that he knew Angel better than her, but the truth of the matter was that she had had an intimacy with him that Spike didn't like to think about too closely. He just hoped that it would work out in his favor this time, allowing her to pick up something in Angel's bearing the rest of them might have missed.

Spike noticed that Angel seemed content to ignore her after one baleful glance. He was in the middle of waxing poetic about power and business or some such when Gunn finally interrupted him.

"That Angel talking? 'Cause it sounds a lot more like Angelus."

Angel smirked at him. "Oh, if I were Angelus, half of you would already be dead, just for the fun of it."

"Not necessarily." Buffy spoke up for the first time, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest. "Angelus likes to play games. But you're not Angelus, are you?"

Angel eyed her steadily. "Are you saying you wish I was? That would be easier for you to deal with, wouldn't it? You'd love to have a convenient alter-ego to blame everything on." He glanced over at Lorne. "You want to know the truth? The truth is there's only one of us who ever understood how things really work. Lorne."

"Whoa," Lorne protested. "Can I not be the poster child for your nervous breakdown here?"

But Angel was on a roll. "You didn't judge. You didn't spend your life obsessed with good and evil. You do that, you get swallowed, lost in the minutia. Good, bad, Angel, Angelus -- none of it makes a difference. I wish it did, but, you know, an ant with the best intentions or the most diabolical schemes is just exactly an ant. There is one thing in this business, in this apocalypse that we call a world, that matters: power. Power tips the scale, power sets the course, and until I have real power, global power, I have nothing. I accomplish nothing."

"And I've heard that one before too." Spike tensed as Buffy walked up to stand in front of Angel. "You're doing this on purpose, all of this macho power crap. And maybe the rest of them buy it, but I don't."

Angel blinked at her for a moment, and hardened his voice. "Is that right? And why are you here again, Buffy? Come for the runner-up, is that it? And you can't even manage to make it work with him." He snorted with laughter. "Because, frankly, that's kind of pathetic, considering Spike will pretty much fuck anything that moves."

He had had enough. Ignoring Buffy, Spike rushed forward and took a swing at Angel. In his blind rage he missed entirely and went sprawling to the floor as Angel stepped out of his reach.

"Sorry, Buff," Angel declared smoothly. "But like I said, I can't worry about the small stuff."

Spike was tensing himself for another attack when Harmony walked tentatively in.

"Angel, that important phone call from...that guy about that thing, it's on line three."

Angel nodded, turning his back dismissively on Buffy. "We're done here. I have to take this."

Spike opened his mouth to argue when he caught Wesley's slight head shake. He rose fluidly to his feet and followed the rest of them to the office door. Before exiting, Wesley turned around.

"The small stuff that you can't worry about, would that include Fred?" he asked.

Angel's face was entirely unreadable. "I loved Fred."

"That's not an answer," Wesley insisted in a low voice.

"Then I guess you don't get one."

And with that, they were standing outside Angel's closed office door, studying each other in silence. After a minute Wesley spoke again.

"We do have an independent means of confirming some of our suspicions. I'm not saying he's entirely without bias, but at this point we have to take advantage of every resource available to us."

"You talking about our formerly tattooed jailbird?" Gunn asked.

Wesley nodded. "Why don't you and Spike collect him? Lorne and I will meet you in the interrogation room." He walked off Lorne in tow, and after a nod at Spike, Gunn took off for the elevators.

Buffy was staring at Angel's door, standing rigidly upright with her arms wrapped defensively around her torso. Afraid to touch her, Spike tentatively asked, "Buffy?"

She turned to face him. Her face was pale, her mouth set in a hard line and her eyes bright with unshed tears. "He did that on purpose. You know that, right?"

"Well, I don't care if he did!" Spike exploded. "That self-righteous bastard has gone too far."

She walked up to him and spoke in a low voice. "That's not Angelus. You know it, and I know it. He said what he did to hurt me and to piss you off." She looked down. "And I have to say it worked. There must be a reason for it."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, the reason is that he's let all this go to his massive ego. Finally got a head too big for his hat, that one. Which takes some doing, let me tell you."

She threw up her hands in disgust. "God, am I the only one seeing this? Is everyone else blinded by testosterone or something?" She lowered her voice again. "He's trying to make you suspicious of him, and it's working. We have to find out why."

He blinked at her and finally shrugged. "So say you're right. Do we just blindly follow along with his plan, like good little sheep? Not my style, and not yours either. Time to get some answers."

"Right." She followed him as he strode to the elevator. "So, where are we going again?"

Continued in Part Four