Disclaimer: I'm not sure where this is going, or even if it's going. Reviews appreciated, etc. I don't own any of these characters.

Notes: Currently Writing in Progress

Wishful Thinking
by Ginmar
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Prologue

After she got home, Buffy found she just couldn't move. She kept seeing the look on his face, feeling the twist in her chest as she told him. It kept unreeling itself in her mind. She knew she wouldn't be able to erase that look from her memory; it would stay there, a reproach to add to all her others, till she'd fixed it. "I can't love you." Now she knew why her Dad had always said, "This is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt you." Once, centuries ago, she'd kept going with the hope of Spike's humiliation; now, she flinched at the thought of having administered it. When had that happened? Some subtle sea change had occurred in her, and she wanted to pinpoint it, so she could have a perimeter. When had she started to flinch at his pain? When he'd first told her he loved her? When he almost died at Glory's hands, and still didn't tell? She looked around at the same old living room, and struggled to make a mental list of all the things that had happened here, to fix in her mind some framework of events, but it didn't work because too much had gone on here, too many things had defied reason. It wasn't a house where she could reminisce about happy graduations, or simple days. Her mother had died here; Giles had slept here, she and Spike had sat at opposite sides of the table with her mother in between, glaring, while they forged an alliance. Years later, they had forged a different alliance on that couch, one of desire and emotion, a conspiracy against loneliness. No. Nothing normal there. No comfort.

She thought of their house in LA, and knew that that was the last true refuge she'd had, really, till Spike, and she suddenly wanted to see it so badly she ached. There, at least, she had been an innocent girl, completely unaware of future and fate, unless it involved feverish yearnings about Christian Slater and Jon Bon Jovi. How long had it been?

She was twenty-one; it had been six years. She'd killed and killed and killed, slaying God only knows how many vampires, demons, and various creatures. Even a god. Her existence had been shaped by killing, and she had fled that reality into Spike's bed. That had worked only as long as she could keep herself from looking at what she'd been doing to him. She'd looked at her feelings through someone else's eyes, and what she had seen had been Parker. She was rattled all the way around. Who'd have thought it would be Riley to administer the wake up call?

That was the worst part. She had finally seen herself, and it made her feel dirty. She'd worried about what her friends would think of her for sleeping with him; now nothing they had done together could bother her half so much as what others would think of her for using him like that, for taking his love, and not giving anything back.

There was a soft knock on the door, but Bufy didn't even bother getting up. She knew who it was. After a moment, Tara stepped inside. She looked at Buffy slouching on the sofa and shook her head sympathetically. "Buffy---what's wrong?"

Buffy collected herself. "Riley walked in on Spike and me."

"Oh. Oh." She sat down on the couch next to Buffy."Were you…?"

"No." Buffy said quietly. "We were asleep. And Spike was…Well. That doesn't matter." She said. It somehow didn't seem right to criticize him when he hadn't been doing anything that was against his morals, and she had. She didn't have a lot of wiggle room there. "I just…" She gulped. "I---I---saw what I was doing to him all of a sudden. Just like that. It was like I could see both of us, and---and---He sure looked a lot better than me."

"Oh, Buffy…" Tara wrapped her arm around Buffy's shoulder. "You're going through a lot…"

"That's not the point. I might be going through a lot, but I'm pulling him with me…He loves me, and this is what I've been doing to him, and I'm supposed to be good, I'm supposed to be…." She hunched over her lap, shoulders slumping in defeat. "He loves me." She whispered. "I went back and I told him, I told him, I couldn't keep doing that to him, that I couldn't love him…"

"Oh, Buffy…"

"I have to do something." She whispered. "I have to fix it."

"Buffy…" Tara simply couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm not bad, am I? Even though I act bad?"

"Buffy," Tara said carefully. "Even good people sometimes do bad things. You didn't intend to hurt him, did you?"

"No," Buffy whispered. "But I didn't try not to hurt him. I didn't even think about him. And now he's all I can think about, because what I was doing to him…"

"Buffy…" Tara said helplessly. On the one hand, Buffy was tearing her up inside about using Spike; but on the other hand she herself had seen Spike's face. She'd seen what Glory had done to him, and had noticed how abruptly Buffy had brought him into things. Because he was useful, she had thought. But maybe more than that, and a lot sooner than Buffy herself thought. This had started a long time ago.

Buffy hugged her arms around herself, and frantically ran through scenarios in her head. Apologize again. What good would that do? She suddenly saw the crypt, as it had been when she left him, and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She had done that to him; he literally had no place left.

A memory came back to her, of her stomping into his crypt yet again, to find him perched cross-legged on the tomb, a newspaper in his hands. One look at her face, and he'd tossed the magazine aside. "What is it? What---"

"Glory found us. Can you get us a vehicle, can you…?" Knowing, she thought, that he would steal a vehicle, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind what she was asking him to do, but just not admitting it. Always, always, silencing that little voice.

And he'd gotten a vehicle and taken them away. But it wasn't her fault the vehicle had been stolen. Not at all. She was blameless; all she'd done was make the request; it had nothing to do with her if he chose the usual Spike method to fulfill it. Nope. Not her problem at all.

I'm so scared. I'm so scared. Don't leave me. Bodies slamming up against plaster, through plaster, frantic kisses….She closed her eyes and closed off the memory. Quick review time: Angel, giving her a cross and a claddagh ring; Parker, giving her a complex; and Riley giving something with one hand while he took something else away with the other. And then Spike; no presents there, unless you counted saving her life, her sister's, her friends', and enduring torture on top of it. Beyond telling her he loved her, plus some embroidery upon the basic phrase, no torrents of words from Spike, no pickup lines, no pretense.

"Buffy…" Tara looked down at her hands. "How do you think he'll take it?"

"Well…." Buffy said, staring off into the distance. "He could turn evil and try to destroy the world, except oh, that was Angel, and oh, yeah, Spike was the one trying to save the world. Of course at the time he did think of the world as being like a big buffet, but still, vampire, right? No chip then. Or, if he was Riley, he could always hire some vamp ho to suck him off and then blame it all on me. Not to mention bitch at me because I'm the Slayer and Mom's dying kinda killed all the desire to shag." She sniffled loudly. "I should've felt this bad ages ago, you know? I can't believe…"

"Buffy, your Mom died, and then you."

"Doesn't count." Buffy insisted stubbornly. There's nothing wrong with me, remember? You said so yourself. Nothing. Would it have been better if I'd been robbing banks? You wouldn't make excuses for me then, because there wouldn't be."

"Buffy…" Tara quietly gathered her strength. "You got pulled back from heaven, Buffy. And you had to go right back to work. Your mom's dead, your sister's a delinquent, and your boyfriend took off blaming you because he went to vamp hos. Hey, I know. Stop me when I get to the fun part."

"That's why it doesn't work for me, Tara. All that happened, and it's all true. But I had the choice not to hurt someone else, or hurt them, and I picked the second one. It stopped being okay, the minute we…" The minute I kissed him, knowing how he felt. She took a deep breath. "How am I supposed to know if it was just the circumstances, or him? People under stress do strange things. But what if it was him, just him?" She stopped and looked over at Tara. "Oh. My. God."

*~*~*~*~*~*

She got as far as the edge of the cemetery before her nerves quailed. Demons? No problem. Vampires? Child's play. Save the world? How many times?

Apologize to guy who happens to be vampire, whom you impulsively shagged numerous times, knowing full well he loved you---Oh, God. Funnily enough, now that she'd actually admitted it, she could think about the sex. Thinking about it made her feel a little light-headed, a little shaky, and a few other things she wasn't used to acknowledging.

Rather than entering the cemetery, she hesitated at the boundary, then idly began walking along it. She was halfway around when she came to the funeral home---huge, castle-like house, because funeral directors in Sunnydale made more money than rock stars----when she noticed the dumpster discreetly located at the rear. The lid had been flipped open, and she went to investigate.

What she saw made her bite her lip. It was full of bits and pieces, almost all of them burnt or partially melted. It made her sick to her stomach. Once again, she tried to summon the anger she'd felt at Spike during their relationship, but it just wouldn't come. You knew what he was.

Taking a deep breath for resolve, she jumped lightly over the fence and headed in the direction of his crypt. She was hoping he wasn't going to be there. That would be nice. For me, she thought. Not for him.

She was almost out of the trees near his crypt when the door opened, and Spike, his arms full of blackened and burnt shapes, came out and headed in her direction. She stepped out of the shadows, and he saw her. Stopped still in his tracks, the cigarette dropping from his lips onto his hand. With a curse, he dropped the armload of stuff and rubbed the red mark on his hand. He kept his head down so long, supposedly looking at the mark, that she realized he didn't want to look at her. Her face burned.

"Want me to….?" She really didn't know how to finish that. Want me to kiss it and make it all better?

"Look, Buff," he said finally, gently, as she hadn't spoken. "Not tonight, okay? I'm about done in."

"That's kind of why I came." She said quietly. "To see if I could help."

"Help with what?" He coked his head at her, puzzled, then drew back, hurt. "I'm not leaving, Slayer, no matter what happens! I'm staying."

"I'm not asking you to," Buffy said quietly. "I'm just here to help. You. Do. Something."

"Such as?"

"Maybe clean?"

"What is this?"

Buffy stepped past him, into the tomb, to look around. Something else she needed to do, so she could more accurately blame herself. The crypt looked terrible; nothing in it appeared to unscorched, and when she descended halfway down the ladder, it was even worse. Everything there was black; the rugs burnt like tissue paper, and burnt books scattered everywhere. Abashed, she turned around and went back upstairs.

"What's your plan?"

Spike blinked at her, startled. "Why are you here?"

So help her God, she couldn't say it. Two simple little words. I'm sorry. "I wanted to help. Clean. Up."

"Why? Feeling guilty?"

She looked down, bracing herself, then whispered. "Yes."

Spike looked at her, hard, then laughed. He couldn't help himself. From mortal enemy to whipping boy to shag bunny to pity project. What a trajectory. Everything but love. Well, he had his limits. "No thanks, pet. No pity, please."

"I don't -what?" She flushed. "I don't feel sorry for you or anything." She had the grace to squirm, just a bit. "But I do feel bad about your crypt."

"Oh, do you? Gonna help me clean up the mess?"

"Yes."

This really startled him; he had to look at her to confirm it. She did feel bad. "Tell you what, pet, raincheck, okay? Not in the mood right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm just not ready for the let's be friends stage. Matter of fact," he said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure it wouldn't be a bad idea for us to just go back to hating each other."

"I don't hate you."

"You sure?" He asked hopefully. "Maybe I could go to law school or something."

"Why do you want me to hate you?"

"Because at least it would be something." He looked away. "Something real. I knew you didn't love me, but I hoped, I thought, after all the things we did… Stupid. But at least I know how to be hated; I know the rules there."

"I can't." Buffy said truthfully. Not after everything. "I don't think I could hate you again. Ever."

"Covers a lot of territory, luv."

"Can't do it." She insisted. "And don't try and make me." Wait. Wait. Too soon to be the friendly ex-whats, she thought. Too soon to even try that; it seemed flippant to dismiss his feelings so soon, even dishonorable. "I'm sorry, Spike. I just can't. Because I'd have to hate myself then, too, and I've done enough of that for the rest of my life, however long that's going to be. But I don't think I can hate you. Now." She looked around. "Where should we start?"

"Got any bricks?" He asked wryly. "Because it's like the world's largest omelet back there. Need a hell of a big spatula back there."

"Ew." Buffy said. She looked away, then, uncomfortable, then grew still more nervous as the silence drew on and filled with the memories of kisses and embraces and more. Spike, running his hands through her hair as she undulated on top of him, sweaty and abandoned. Curling up together, fitting perfectly, as long as there were no words to make her think. Not looking at him now, not daring, she stared off to one side, and blurted out the thing on her mind: "What were you doing, Spike? What were you going to do with them?"

"Huh? Oh. Oh." He lit another cigarette and perched on a broken pillar. "Holding them for a friend, that's all." For a lot of money. So you wouldn't have to work in that awful place for a while.

"You didn't know what they were?"

He snorted disgustedly at his own carelessness, shaking his head. "When I think of all the stupid things I did that I didn't get caught, and now there's this…"

"Spike?"

"What, pet?"

She was looking away again, and he could practically feel the blood beating in her face. Her face must be as red as an apple by now. "Would it feel better---Would it make you feel better if you hit me?"

Flummoxed twice in one conversation, he just had to laugh. He tried to remember the self he'd been five years earlier, and shook his head at the distance between that Spike and this one. "Can't do it, luv."

"Only if I don't let you." She said quietly. "I think I'd let you."

"Why, pet?"

"Because I hit you. I shouldn't have."

"Don't want revenge, pet." I want you.

"I would." Buffy said softly. "I'd want revenge." She didn't finish the thought. Because you couldn't do that to someone you loved. If he hit her, she could convince herself that he didn't love her anymore.

"Well, okay, then." Spike said thoughtfully. "Want to make it up to me?"

"Yes." No qualifiers there, he noted. She trusted him.

"Sure."

She glanced down at her lap. He got up and scanned the crypt, searching for something.

Aha! He seized it with a triumphant cry.

It was a shovel. She looked from it to him, and back again.

"For starters," Spike said quietly. "You get to clean up the omelet."

Beginning of Summer

"Ah." Giles took the mug from her with a sigh of appreciation. This changed to consternation as he glanced inside, then sniffed it. "Chocolate?"

Buffy gave him a wry look. "Sorry. No alcohol in the house."

"I'm supposed to approve?"

She raised her eyebrow as she sat down next to him. "Aren't you supposed to be the Surrogate Parental Figure?"

Giles wrinkled his nose and sipped gingerly. He grimaced as if smelling something bad, then set the cup aside with regret. Buffy watched him do it and made sure he saw her watching him. "Ah." He said by way of explanation. "Not much of a one for, ah, hot chocolate, I'm afraid." He pulled out a silver flask.

"Giles!" Buffy leaned away as if afraid of something contagious. "You're a wino!"

Giles took a swig, gave her a very English raised eyebrow, and took another. "Americans." He set the flash aside, and stretched an arm around her shoulder, and smiled as she snuggled closer. "I didn't miss that."

"Miss what?" Buffy laid her head on his shoulder, but it felt like she was laying all her burdens on him for just a second. She breathed free of it all for a moment, then regretfully straightened up, shouldering everything all over again. Giles tightened his arm and pulled her back against him, hugging her in an almost embarrassed way, like a repressed Little League Coach.

"Well, there's such a strain in Americans of being so---so----repressed in their opinions. There's nothing wrong with alcohol."

"Except for when you have problems with it, like me." Buffy said acidly.

"Oh, Buffy, please." He reached up to his face, and realized too late that he didn't have his glasses on. The world tilted on its axis for a moment before he reached inside his coat pocket, pulled them out, and wiped them off. Balance was restored. "You've… had….what? Two episodes?"

"Both bad." Buffy hastened to point out. She twisted her hands uncomfortably, sensing an oncoming lecture, but unsure as to what she could have done wrong. She actually hadn't done anything, in fact, had avoided doing something, and could reasonably expect rare praise for it, but here was Giles, confusing her again. "Hey! No fair!" She smacked him on the arm. "Ever since I became the Slayer, you've been the disapproving figure-"

"That was in regard to some of those skirts you insisted on wearing."

"How come turnabout's fair play doesn't apply to tweed abuse, then?" She demanded. "And besides, there was lots more stuff, too."

"Buffy, you were sixteen. I had to disapprove."

"Well…."

"But you're an adult now. You need more perspective. I must say, I'm rather disturbed. I really had no idea…"

"Giles?"

"Yes, sorry." He put his glasses on and assumed Full Lecture Mode. It was so familiar, so Giles, that Buffy threaded her arm around his waist and squeezed. After a moment, during which he gave her a sober look that made her glance away, he adjusted his glasses on his nose with great seriousness and sighed. "It's just that what happened during both those episodes?"

"Well, I went Four Million Years BC and had very bad hair and posture."

"Buffy…"

"Well, I did." She glanced at him. "And then I went drinking with Spike."

"Ah." Giles shifted "Well…"

"Relax, Giles, that's not, well, that's not how that happened."

"What happened?"

"Me and Spike."

Giles stared at her. "You …and Spike."

"I told you that already."

"I thought you were joking."

They stared at each other, Buffy feeling something slowly shrink inside. "Well." She muttered. "I wasn't."

"Oh, dear."

"It's over."

"Good Lord."

"Would you stop?!"

"Well, Buffy…"He wiped his lenses ferociously. Buffy wondered how on earth he managed to do that so frequently without rubbing a hole in them, then figured he probably had a whole collection of glasses, just in case he wore them out. "I dare say, I had no idea you were serious."

"I was." She said softly.

They looked off into the back yard in silence. My life, Buffy thought. My fucking life. I could have gotten away with it, and nobody would have known.

"Did he hurt you?" Giles asked quietly.

She bowed her head. What an interesting question. She flinched at the memory of Tara, of herself, a conversation. Now Tara was gone, and who knew where Spike had gone to? What exactly had happened there? There was something else knocking at the edge of her brain, something she had resolutely refused to let in, something she couldn't bear to look at. "We kind of hurt each other."

"Are you…?"

God, why now? She thought. I could have used this months ago, but it's over, it's buried, and he's gone. Why make me remember? "I'm fine, Giles, I'm fine."

"Did he..?"

"Huh?" She looked at him.

"Was it…?" He cleared his throat and looked away. "I understand, Buffy, if it's a painful subject."

Why would it be painful now? She thought. Why wouldn't it be painful? She could feel some part of her personality, lurking, waiting to embroider the words she'd thrown at Spike in the bathroom, increase them, make them concrete, but she refused to allow it. Ask me again why I can't trust you. She sighed, feeling a slow flush creep up her face. Ask me again why you can't trust me. Being around Giles made her feel sixteen again, when black was black, and white was white. Where Slayers did not seduce vampires, and vampires did not fall in love.

"No, Giles, it's okay. I suppose there's the freak factor to consider." Then she flinched at her own words. Which freak? Me? Spike? Him for loving me, or me for calling him that?

"It's just that, Buffy…He could have…"

"He could have." She said flatly. "He didn't."

"Well…"

"Giles." She snapped, then sighed. With some difficulty, she collected her thoughts, feeling Giles' disapproval. She'd expected some disapproval, but he was tight-lipped. No, not that. He thinks I'm some floozy who boffed the first attractive guy I found, like it was nothing. I'm not. He loved me! "He loved me."

Giles snorted. "That's what he said."

Buffy glared at him. "I didn't just go to bed with him casually, you know, Giles. I knew he loved me. That's the only way it was safe enough."

"Buffy, you could have called me."

"And said what?" She took a deep breath. "My friends yanked me out of heaven, and they want me to thank them for yanking me away from the first peace I've had in how long? No killing, Giles, no dead things, no death, just peace! I couldn't even get used to it, I had to slay right away. What could I say to you? I couldn't handle Dawn, I could barely handle myself. And I had to. And Spike…" Oh, God. Spike.

"You felt it when I was inside you." She had to look away so Giles wouldn't see her eyes. The worst thing was, Spike had been right. The things she'd thought when they had sex, the way he made her feel, the things she'd said to him….He'd stopped telling her he loved her after awhile, seeing her face close down, but he'd kept kissing her, using kisses instead of words. Kisses made more of air and kindness than bodies and sensation, till she'd had to get up and run away, so he wouldn't see her cry. Nobody could see her cry.

Especially not Spike.

"So you went to Spike? Buffy, I just don't understand."

She took a trembling breath. "He loved me, Giles, and…"She looked down, at hands that suddenly blurred. "Nobody else seemed to. They might have said they did, but I believed him."

They sat in silence for a long while, Buffy gradually relaxing against his side till she was almost comfortable.

"You're right, you know." Giles said quietly. "I think he does love you."

"Thank you."

"And…I'll be more than happy to listen, Buffy, at any time. It's obvious I should have made that more clear."

"No…"

"Yes." Ah, yes, Buffy thought, he's cleaning his glasses again.

She sniffled and he gave her another one of those amusing middle-aged English bachelor hugs. "I will call you." She promised.

"You won't have to." He said dryly. "I don't intend to leave for a great while. The situation with Willow…"

"Okay, Giles, I love the idea of having you here, but you're here, and Willow's in England. And you left me when I needed you because you felt it was better for me? Who are you helping again? I'm confused."

"I suppose I deserved that."

"No, I really meant it, I was serious. It'll be good to have you here." She sniffed quietly. "I will listen to you and take notes and make sure I listen to everything you say. As a matter of fact…" She reached around him for his flask. "You were right, too, it's stupid to be…"

He grabbed the flask out of her hand, eyeing her seriously. She frowned at him, puzzled, because just a minute ago, he'd been telling her…

"Giles?"

"Thank you for illustrating what I was going to say."

"Which was?"

"When you had that, ah, primitive, experience, you went drinking when you were depressed. And the time with Spike?"

She glanced away. Depressed certainly fit the bill there, too. Depressed, bored, frustrated, and well, only his company made her feel better…

"Yeah, sort of." She muttered.

"That's my point. You do things when you're depressed that you should do when you're happy, except when you're happy, you don't let yourself."

"It's scary." She whispered.

"Then we'll go gradually. You're so impatient, Buffy, you always were. Must have everything so immediately. You can't do anything that way, it's got to be a bit at a time."

"So you're really serious about staying?"

"For as long as it takes."

"Unemployment in Old Country not all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Giles gave her a look that only English men seemed to be able to give; a raised-eyebrow, acerbic, "You-people-won-the-Revolution?" that American men couldn't even dream of. "I could change my mind."

"No, don't." Buffy grabbed his arm tightly. Some of the tension seeped away. The subject of Spike had been gotten past, what else was there? "It'll be a sacrifice, but we'll manage somehow."

Proportion

"Really, Buffy, it's not as if…"

"What? I'll wind up in a downward spiral after I develop a taste for the stuff, then sell myself on the streets for a bottle?"

This earned her an exasperated look from Giles, which, she realized, didn't make her feel the way it used to. Funny how that happens. Once, she'd have at least kept up the pretense of obeying him, while resenting it, and feeling rather miffed. Now she soaked up his disapproval, and felt the earth slowly resume a comforting level beneath her feet.

Well, sort of. Actually, what it meant was that the linoleum was leveling beneath her feet, because they were in the kitchen, and metaphor with kitchen appliances was not her forte any more now than it had ever been. Giles, she noticed, did not take her look the same way he'd once have taken it, before the whole death mess. He gave her another one of those English looks, composed of wry disagreement, shreds of patience, and a suppressed spectacle-polishing tendency. She sighed happily, then eyed the flask again with her patented lower-lip out thrust maneuver.

"What are you doing?" She enquired.

He was rummaging in the cupboards. "I know your mother had some…" At Buffy's expression, he shrugged, smiling shyly.

"Don't even think about saying one thing." Buffy ordered.

"Ah, yes."

"I've read Freud."

He raised one eyebrow and she retreated an inch. "Cliff's notes."

He returned to the cupboard, but not before she heard a mutter beneath his breath: "Americans."

"I might be American, but I'm not deaf." Buffy said dryly.

This time, the glance he tossed over his shoulder was fond, and once again, Buffy felt the very air pressure change around her, lessening till her heart didn't seem to be pressed in by the weight of the ocean. "You know I read once…"

Giles laid a hand on his heart like a virgin spinster seeing Elvis for the first time.

"Shut up." Buffy said warningly.

"Ah, yes. Habit." He placed two little crystal shot glasses on the central island. She nodded at the glasses.

"Isn't that what they call addiction? Habit?"

"Oh, God, Buffy…" He took off his glasses and polished them. "There's a proportion to everything."

"Hey, I've seen…" She searched frantically for any movie she might possibly have seen, then realized that in the whole of last year, she had not once gone to a movie in a theatre. And had she even watched one on the television? Had she so much as glimpsed one while rushing out the door? "Stuff."

"Yes, I suppose you have." He unscrewed the top of the flask, and set the flask itself down on the counter. "My grandfather gave me that."

"See? It does run in families." She tried another look on him; the Buffy Summers, 'damn, I'm cute look.' Who was the last person she'd tried that out on? Not Spike, that was for sure. "Ahem." She said for him. "So? I guess grandparents really do spoil the grandkids."

"In the best way." He sat down across from her, looking at his hands. "I shouldn't have left."

"I shouldn't have slept with Spike." She shrugged, then sighed at his wince. "Forget I said that."

"I suppose….I have to ask, don't I?"

"I clawed my way out of my grave, Giles." She said softly. "And there was nobody there but demons invading Sunnydale. It was nighttime, it was dark…it was….there was fire." She stared down at her hands. "They ran away and left me to claw my way out of the grave."

He looked down again. "You said that you were in…?"

"Yes." She whispered. She reached out a hand for the flask. Maybe Giles was right, maybe there was something to be said for…And Giles intercepted her, sliding the flask away.

"Buffy," he said gently. "Not like this."

"How then?"

"I'd suggest…" He covered the hand that had reached out for the flask with his own. "Cry it out, Buffy. That's what you need. Then, it's a restorative. But now it will make you more depressed, and that's not what I'm here for."

"What are you here for?"

"For whatever you need."

Her throat closed, and the world blurred. He watched as she concentrated in staring at the counter, her chin trembling without artifice. Spike, he thought. All my fault. If I hadn't left…

"Stop that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ha! I saw that, Mr. Stiff Upper Lip and Think of England."

He blinked at her. "Buffy!"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You know, I have watched PBS now and then."

He poured out a shot, and tossed it back. She sighed at him, partly triumphant, partly disappointed. "What about not when you're depressed?"

"I'm not depressed. I'm…Buffy, I'm so sorry. All that's happened, all the things you did."

"Why do I get the feeling you're referring to Spike?"

"It's interesting that you keep mentioning him."

"I have to explain, don't I? You keep looking at me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Buffy, in all seriousness, I don't."

"Well, then, what are you going to say?"

"Buffy, you're an adult. There is very little I can advise you on."

"When did that stop you? Besides, aren't you supposed to disapprove of it? Isn't that your job?"

"No, it's not." He said severely. "My job is to protect you, and I failed."

"No, you didn't."

"Well, had I stayed, would…?"

"Spike and I?" How odd to say that out loud. Would it have happened if Giles had been around? The chip failing, the disconnection, the isolation---would Giles have made it better? She looked at him, and still couldn't imagine telling him about the chip malfunctioning. He would have instantly staked Spike and…." I don't know." She said.

He squeezed her hand again. "Yes, you do, Buffy." She glanced up at him, startled. "If I'm going to be here for very long, you have to stop doing that."

"Uh…doing what?"

"What you just did. I think you do know, but you don't want to say it to me, make it real. It's very difficult, isn't it?"

She stared at him for a long time. "Yes." She said finally. Her hands took up her attention, then; she blinked at them. "I do think something would have happened, but there were things pushing us together."

"And those things would be called….Xander? Willow?"

"Yes." She whispered. "I just…I want Mom, Giles. I miss her so bad. I'm not grown up enough for this."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

She took a deep breath. "I don't mean I can't talk to you, you know that, right? But there's stuff I…I want to talk to a woman about. And Willow's gone." She finished mournfully. "I never had a chance to say goodbye, Giles. I wanted to. I wanted to be there. I wanted to build up to it, get used to it, but then…she was gone."

He got up and sat down next to her, hugging her close. She sniffed a bit, determined not to blubber, but it was a struggle.

"Buffy," Giles said quietly. "I understand you don't like to, but I meant what I said earlier. Let it out. Cry if you have to."

"And make everybody feel bad?" Buffy scoffed.

"I think," Giles said tightly. "That when people make one feel bad, it's perfectly acceptable to consider whether or not they should feel bad."

"They're my friends."

"Where were they, then?" He demanded. Somehow, his precise accent made it sound worse. "Maybe you wouldn't have wound up with Spike…"

"It wasn't..totally….like that, Giles." Buffy said.

"Still…You didn't talk about it with them, did you? And why not?"

"They hate him."

"At the moment," Giles said, "I'm rather on the opposite side."

She leaned back, staring at him, absorbing the shock. "Giles?"

"Yes, Buffy?"

"You're scaring me."

"I'd like to scare them instead." He caught her dubious look and raised his chin at her. This gesture, the opposite of the fussy spectacle-polishing habit, had once stricken terror in the hearts of teenage girls' parents all across England, and indicated he was about to do something not to be put on his resume. "As a matter of fact…" He started to get up and she grabbed her arm.

"Not now, Giles, really, please? Tomorrow, we'll kick ass."

"Literally, I think." He said severely. It sounded like he was correcting Xander on his grammar, and for one second, she was back in the library.

"Ha. You don't fool me." She nodded at the flask, sitting proudly alone in expanse of the kitchen island like some ornamental centerpiece. "You're just getting cold feet at the thought of turning me into a drunk."

"Buffy." Once again, he gave her a wry look, and she looked around and expected to see comforting library books all around her, a cocoon not against vampires and beasties, but impermanent deaths and oblivious friends. With that, he poured out a bit in the second shot glass and handed it to her, but stopped her when she lifted it to her lips. "Stop."

"Okay."

"Smell it."

"I beg your…. huh?"

"There's an aroma to good Scotch."

"Ugh. Also, Eeewwww." You and Spike, she thought. She sniffed at the glass tentatively. "Cough syrup."

Another Giles look, another comforting frisson of familiarity. "Well, it does."

"That's good Scotch, I'll have you know."

"I'll take your word for it."

"No, don't do that. I want you to close your eyes, and consider what it is you're…experiencing."

She rolled her eyes at him, but took a breath and did it. With her eyes closed, the medicinal scent modified into sharpness, clarity, and soft tones of scents she couldn't immediately identify. Ah. Smoke, she thought. Smoke and spice. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Now take a sip, but don't swallow it. Hold it in your mouth. And close your eyes again."

Obediantly, she did so. Rolling it around on her tongue, she listened to his voice, and tried not to grimace. "Did you know there are very different taste buds scattered throughout your mouth?"

"Ewww?"

"No, that's true." She could hear the thoughtful tone in his voice. "It's just that I forget where they are, precisely. I know, for example-----" Only Giles talks like a footnote, she thought-----"that they're sweet and salt, and, oh, dear, I've forgotten the rest. Now open your eyes." She did so, and gave him a perky look. "Still think it's medicinal?"

"Uh..high class cough syrup," She amended. This time, he rolled his eyes at her, and she beamed at him, feeling as if her world had undergone another little adjustment toward normality. "Giles?" She said suddenly.

"What?"

"Why do people always think it's good for them to leave?"

He stared at her, then slowly raised his hand to his forehead to brush his hair aside. He didn't remove his glasses, didn't polish them, didn't dither. He looked away for a moment, then up at her again. "Buffy…" He took a deep breath, then picked up her shot glass and downed everything she hadn't. "It's not whether they leave that's important. It's whether they come back."

So much for the old Slayer senses. She had been glancing stealthily, she thought, at Dawn, checking for any chin-trembling, any suspicious blinking, when finally Dawn turned and looked directly at her and snapped, "Stop that! You're bugging me."

She glanced at Giles, and then away, curiously relieved. Dawn in a bad mood was normal, and this was good. Or maybe bad. What was normal for a teenage girl who didn't technically exist; whose sister was a vampire slayer, and who had as friends demons and vampires? Was there a self-help book for that? Maybe the more important question was how did anyone react to two funerals in one year? And this of course had followed Joyce's the previous year. Who knew how to deal with all that? In Buffy's case, the deaths that had hit her hardest had been her own.

Giles turned into the driveway and turned off the engine. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know about you, Buffy, Dawn, but I'm really not in the mood to cook."

"Me either." Dawn said quietly. She's talking, Buffy thought. More than I expected. "Could we just get something takeout? I don't want to go to a restaurant." She looked from Giles to Buffy, and shrank somewhat. "Unless you guys do."

"Oh, no," Buffy said. "I just want to eat in my jammies."

"Perhaps we could compromise on that," Giles said dryly. "I'd prefer not…"

"Yes, Giles, we know." Buffy said. "You just don't want to settle one of the big questions of my youth: Do Watchers wear pyjamas with little W's all over them?"

This got her both a look from Giles and a smile from Dawn, so that had to be the best moment of the day. "C'mon, Dawn," She said, climbing out of the car.

Dawn smiled again. "You-you rhymed!"

"I have all sorts of talents," Buffy said expansively. "Including making sure Giles gets the maximum amount of cholesterol possible."

"Yes, I know." She saw he was wearing one of his pained looks. Where once his irritation had, well, irritated her, now it comforted her, because it was so normal. "Let's all harden our arteries, shall we?" He imitated her California accent, and she had to smile again. With that, he pulled away, and she had to face the house.

When Willow had been sent off, Buffy had reclaimed her mother's room. It struck her that she should have done this from the beginning, asserted her rightful place in her own house, but after Tara's death, it somehow seemed necessary. Dawn hadn't wanted to switch rooms, so she had moved Joyce's bed into her old room, and there Giles slept, looking up at the ceiling. She wondered if it kept him awake as often as it had her. She wondered if he thought of her mother. She wondered what memories arose out of the dark as he slept under blankets that still, no matter how often washed, had the faintest scent of Joyce's perfume.

She unlocked the door and stepped quietly inside, tossing the keys on the table, not looking at the couch. Dawn touched her arm.

"We could all sleep downstairs tonight, you know." She said hopefully. "Like a slumber party."

"Maybe." Buffy said. The truth was, she didn't want to disappoint Dawn by refusing outright, but she wanted to be alone. Today, she desperately wanted to close a door between herself and other people, just to remember, and it didn't look like it was possible. "There's always the possibility of Giles 'jamas."

Dawn was hanging up her coat and her voice was muffled. "Now that's scary."

"What?"

"I'm not sure." Dawn said thoughtfully. She flopped down on the couch in a way that made the springs sproing painfully. Maybe, with luck, if she did it often enough, the couch would break, and Buffy could douse it with gasoline and set fire to it in the backyard. Maybe that would get rid of the memory of her mother..

"What?"

"Well, you know, Giles and the whole pyjama thing. And saying 'jama'?" She said skeptically. "Now I just picture him in those surfer shorts things."

Buffy did her part to wreck the couch by flopping down beside Dawn. "Giles in jams and a Hawaiian shirt."

That did it for her subconscious, which abruptly presented her with a mental image of Spike, soon after being chipped, wearing shorts and an old shirt of Xander's. "Great," she muttered. Dawn looked at her curiously. "I'm going to go change. You too?"

"Yeah, good idea." Dawn gestured down at her nice, unusually serious outfit. "Want to get comfortable again."

Don't we all? Buffy thought.

In her room, in her new room, she flopped down on the bed and stretched. Hours and hours in the car, the itchy serious dress, the pantyhose…and then the funeral. Ah yes, the funeral. Tara's family, glaring with red eyes across the grave, as some inbred-looking minister from some off-brand religion mumbled on and on about sin and redemption. She heard the word 'lesbian' several times behind her, but didn't bother to glare. Tara deserved better. She noticed the smarmy cousin was wearing dark glasses, and as she walked past her after the service, a sideways glance confirmed her suspicions; both of the girl's eyes had been blacked. Is that why they're mad? She wondered. It's only okay if one of them does it to one of them? Keeping it in the family?

Her mind, which lately seemed to do nothing but betray her, then presented her with Spike. For days now, her rebellious brain had been confronting her with Spike at the most inopportune moments, and in the most unpleasant ways. So in the car after the service, she had found herself in the alley beside the police station, seeing Spike's face as it changed under her fists, becoming something worse than Glory had made it. He trusted me.

Spike's face over her, so different from the face she was used to, twisted, empty, almost unrecognizable.

"I can't trust you."

And then realizing, too late, that she had trusted him.

Worse yet were the dreams. Never of the bathroom; not once did her brain conjure up that particular horror. No, her brain was more insidious. When she slept, she found herself with him yet again, naked and defenseless, back when the person needing the defending had been him. The dreams were so vivid that once, as she reluctantly swam back from the depths of sleep, she had a mild orgasm that jolted her awake.

The dreams were why she'd started sleeping on the couch where her mother had died, hoping that that would end them. No such luck. Instead, she'd found her treacherous subconscious replaying the odd moments with Joyce and Spike, relishing the odd innocence of those days.

It hurt more than anything to close her eyes and find herself beneath him, able to indulge in things she hadn't dared linger over before. The way his stomach muscles rippled as he thrust inside her; the way her head fit into his shoulder as he came; the way he stared into her eyes afterward, stroking her hair with one finger. He always looked her in the eye, and she always tried to look away. The feel of his skin, the arch of his back, the way they both stiffened as he thrust inside her for the first time. His arms beneath her fingers, the muscles there moving like quicksilver as he moved over her, under her, in her….She groaned aloud. Oh, God, the things she'd said to him, the things she'd whispered, overwhelmed at it all, the things he must have wanted to believe. But it had been so important to retreat, to save herself.

He was evil. She'd believed that. It was dangerous…

To who?

There'd been a night where nothing had gone wrong, where she'd had a nice day before coming to him. Usually she'd only gone to him when something had gone wrong, but that time…she had been in a good mood, and her feet had turned in toward him. She'd come to his crypt and they'd actually kept their clothes on for a while, nestled together on his bed, chatting in whispers that turned to murmurs, and then to thoughtful silence. She'd never noticed the sound of kisses before, the sound of lips meeting and parting, mouths ravenous and hungry. It had been so vivid, so much more so than normal. And then…

She'd once had nightmares about Angel making love to her, vamping out at orgasm the way he'd done when he'd kissed her for the first time. What had scared her that particular day was not Spike vamping out at an uncontrollable moment, but …

It had started slow, as their voices faded away, and he stroked her hair with one gentle finger. Sex, she'd thought, as his face got that soft look. Just sex. But something about him had made her want to put her arms around him and cover him entirely, shield him from something she couldn't name. She couldn't even define the feeling, hadn't known where it came from. Like everything to do with Spike, it had confused her terribly, even while she was urgently shoving his clothes away. It had been so hard to look in his eyes, because he never looked away from her, studying her like an artifact as if he had to preserve her face somehow. It was so….different. She'd always thought that making love had to be roses, candles, and stuff like that. According to Harlequin, there would then be lots of tender, gentle foreplay, to be followed by lots of nice friction and orgasm. Not like this. No roses, not what she'd call romance, except the way he kissed her. He had only to touch her to arouse her, and she was the one who'd hurry to get him inside her, to push away obstructions so she could see him, feel him. Sex, or, rather, making love, in her experience had been a nice thing, but this…This…This was furious and hard. When they had sex, well, it was sex. Plain and simple. That was all. She wouldn't go far as to call it just fucking, but she had no words to sum it up, the way he made her feel, except maybe confused.

Usually it had been urgent and breathless, as arousal rolled through her veins and made her heart gallop. Usually, there'd have been ripping aside of clothes, and then, there was always a moment where she had to stop and look at him, at how beautiful he was. Riley had always insisted on covering himself with a sheet before and after, but Spike thought nothing of walking around naked casually, probably because he knew what it did to her.

That time was slow, something resembling her schoolgirl perception, and she'd thought, oh. And then… Oh, no. Slow and soft, long, lingering kisses that made her weak and strong at the same time, opening her legs for his fingers and then his tongue, shivering, eager. She'd clutched at him with shaking hands, not even able to breathe, looking down her own body and seeing him between her legs, her hands fisted tightly in his hair. After she came, and pulled him up her body to her mouth, she could taste herself on him, and it had been scarily arousing. She had reached between them, finding his cock, watching herself do it, pulling him toward her, watching as he positioned himself and thrust inside her for the first time, freezing as if in pain.

Not making love, just sex. It could only be sex when it had made her lock her legs around him and claw at his back, made her watch the way he thrust inside her, made her move with him until they were one thing, and cry out in time to his movements. It had only been sex, except for the way he had looked at her, except for the way he had kissed her, and held her with desperate hands, clutching her tightly, his forehead pressing against hers. It had only been sex, except for the way he kissed her when she came, lingering at her lips, then sliding inside her as far as he could and then further, setting off another aftershock. It had to have been just sex, because it couldn't be a relationship. Relationship sex was nice, not like this. She had been afraid it would burn her up, and the idea that it had been just sex had been perversely comforting. They were just having sex, albeit, make-your-legs-weak-sex, but still sex. That was it, that was all. Therefore, they were not making love, and it was not a relationship.

It had only been sex, except that when he came, when he stiffened and froze over her, he looked like an angel and not a vampire, chest heaving with panting breaths as it began to hit him, and then….

He'd pulled out of her. He pulled out of her, as if afraid to come inside her, something only humans had to worry about, along with pregnancy and other consequences of sex, like love. He came on her stomach, so addled by orgasm that he forgot everything, including the fact that he wasn't a man any longer. The ecstasy on his face had twisted into confusion as his brain cleared. And she'd watched him, pulling him down to kiss her again, frightened of things that scared no one but her.

When they had had sex, he was making love, and she was having sex. He turned into someone else, then, a young man, barely out of boyhood, lacking any finesse at all, and having only passion. He gave her everything he had, and that included a glimpse at the man he might have become, had he lived long enough to grow up.

Dawn lingered outside her door, her shadow falling over Buffy's bed, before knocking. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Nice PJ's."

"Oh, these? I save these for extra special occasions."

"I'm a special occasion?" Dawn sat down tentatively next to her. Buffy craned her head. "I'm honored."

"You're always a special occasion."

"Okay, not that's laying it on a little heavy."

"Sorry, just light headed from lack of hunger."

"Which will be rectified shortly. Which still leaves the pajama question."

"Well, I'm definitely pro-pajama."

"A good thing. So does that mean you'll be demonstrating your support for pajamas by choosing some?"

"Well, there are so many worthy candidates…" Buffy said, then had to give it up. She smiled up at the ceiling. "When in doubt, I go with a classic…" She got up and rummaged in her top drawer, pulling out a pair of plaid flannel pajamas. "What do you think?"

"A good, conservative choice." Dawn said gravely. "Suitable for many occasions."

Buffy looked at her and she looked soberly back. "How are you doing, Dawn?"

Dawn gave a huge, explosive sigh that seemed to inflate her whole body and then deflate it. "Don't know yet." She looked down, then back at Buffy. "You?"

Buffy grimaced wryly. "Don't know yet, either."

Buffy and Anya

The pizza was pepperoni, the pajamas were silk, and the unexpected guest was Anya.

Buffy took them in more or less good grace, after a glance at the pepperoni and an eye roll at Giles' PJs, which he'd carried in from the car. They were so awful that she wondered for a moment if he kept them in the car to scare away car thieves, and she briefly wondered about what sort of spell she'd need to protect her house from tacky sleepwear. Anya was a little harder to deal with; they eyed each other cautiously, Anya's lips compressing tighter and tighter with nervousness, before Dawn poked through the uncomfortable little group and grabbed the pizza for inspection. Giles followed, with a curious look back at Anya and Buffy, still standing in the doorway.

"There's something to be said for an almost-apocalypse, isn't there?" Anya said bravely. "Makes you forget all those stupid little rules about manners."

"Yes, there is that." Buffy said. She let out a big breath and stepped back, ushering her unexpected guest into the house and onto the couch, where they took up opposite ends and pillows, clutching them to their chests like shields. "Totally makes it easier to deal with smaller things."

"Like being left at the altar."

"Seeing your ex again."

"Finding out you have to subcontract your own revenge."

"Seeing the ex-boyfriend's wife."

"Having to deal with costly repairs."

"Figuring out how bad your ex-boyfriend's taste in women was."

That got Anya's attention. "Which ex?" She demanded suspiciously.

Buffy glanced up from staring pensively at the coffee table. "Huh?" Oh, hell. "Riley, okay? I meant Riley and the Wonder Wife."

"Oh, good, because…."

Crap.

"Because that had nothing to do with bad taste." Buffy assured her. "I know."

"Maybe a little revenge, though." Anya said thoughtfully. "I'm glad it pissed Xander off." Buffy glanced at her skeptically, eyebrows raised. "I was," she insisted. She paused. "No, I was. I was…" She tried to take a deep breath but something trembled in the middle of it, and she swallowed hard. "I was glad it made him jealous. After I realized there was no way to turn his intestines into silly string, that is."

"Okay, I'm keeping you away from the public." Buffy said. "But how would you like it if I turned you loose on some local vampires?"

Anya smiled. "I could do with that." She frowned, more forlorn than angry. "I still miss him. I'll be thinking of him when I kill something, but it's not going to make the missing part go away. Even though everybody comes before me."

"That's not true." Buffy said automatically.

"How would you know?" Anya said. "You're one of the…bodies."

"But I'm like a hobby." Buffy said. "You're…his life."

Anya sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. There was something childlike about the gesture that saved it from being vulgar. When she lowered her arm, though, she was back in charge. "So who dumped who?"

"Huh?"

"You and Spike. Who dumped who?"

"Me. I du---I told him I couldn't see him any more."

"Why?"

"Well…" Buffy said, regretting her candor. That was one of the problems with Anya; she was so new to the human business after a thousand years as a demon that she tended to get impatient with the niceties and charge right on through them. "It was me. He was…" The look on wonder on his face that first time, as he'd realized exactly what she was doing, sliding down on top of him…That look would haunt her till she died.

"Why? It's not like he was bad in…Oh. Huh." Anya assessed Buffy's reaction. "That's Xander's look. That's the look he always gives me when I say something like 'orgasm' or nipple' in public." Anya looked disgusted. "Like there's an easy way around those terms. I suppose I could just make things up, like, 'oh, that pointy thing on my breast' or 'that big---"

Buffy cleared her throat and Anya sighed explosively, wriggling down into the cushions of the couch. "I was dating a vampire." Buffy said. "A Slayer and a vampire, dating."

"You weren't dating. You were having sex. We never saw you in public with him."

"No, guess not." Buffy had to agree with that one.

"Was he pissed?"

"What?"

"Well, I'd be pissed, you know. Actually, I was pissed. That's what Xander used to do to me."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know, we'd have sex together, and then he'd try to ignore me. Didn't work, either, did it?" She demanded proudly. "Till now, at least." Her face fell, but then she sniffed ferociously, and squared her shoulders. "But I don't care, either way."

"He's not ignoring you, he's…"

"I don't care, really." Anya repeated, with more firmness. "He can do whatever he wants. It's none of my business."

"How is your business?" Buffy asked, rather too eagerly. Anything to get her off the whole subject of Spike, anything to steer her into less hurtful conversational waters.

"Under construction." Anya muttered. "Wouldn't you know it, too. I bet Xander would have given me a discount. A good one, too. At least until the Spike thing…"

"Uh.."

"He was so hurt, you know." Anya said, while Buffy had to look abruptly. "I'm a thousand years old, I know men. They always say stupid things when they're hurt, no matter how old they are. Five years old? 'I didn't want that red pen.' Fifty years old? It's, 'I don't want that red Ferrari anyway.'

"He said…He didn't want me?"

"No. He said…He said….'she was so raw.' And other things I've forgotten. So why did you dump him again?"

"Because…" Buffy stared up at her, seeing Anya's face, but when she looked down at her hands, all she saw was a blur. I was raw, and no one else saw it. "Because I just couldn't keep doing that to him."

"What, boinking him? I'm sure he minded."

"No, being dishonest." Buffy looked down again, trying to avoid that bright clear gaze. "I didn't love him."

"So?"

"But he loved me."

"That's not your fault."

"No, I shouldn't have…"

"Well, it's over, right? Besides, how do you know you didn't love him? I didn't think I loved Xander, at least I didn't want to think that I did. But it turns out, I did. I just thought it was indigestion." She examined Buffy with a critical eye. "Has your stomach been upset lately?"

*~*~*~*~*~*

Giles' big concession toward not spoiling the ambiance of the slumber party was to loosen his tie, eat his pizza with his hands, and toss back a tumbler of Scotch with every piece of pizza. After the second slice and the second glass, he removed his tie entirely, leaned back on the couch, and rubbed his eyes wearily. Dawn, sitting on the floor and munching on pizza, caught him blinking slowly with weariness and cleared her throat. "Huh. I ate so much I'm going to explode. Pajama time." Buffy and Anya, working their way through the pizza with thoroughness if not enthusiasm, glanced up, then at each other. They all exchanged glances again, and Buffy, as hostess, took the lead. "Well, then, it's pajama time." She tried to stare sternly at Giles but he gave her a weary look that contained so much skepticism that she slunk away, abashed. It was a relief to troop upstairs with the other girls, even if Anya going along, puppy-like, was unexpected. Guess she's staying the night, Buffy thought, but it wasn't as disturbing as it might have been. Bigger fish to fry, bigger disturbing things to worry about. Even in a Slayer's life, having your best friend try to end the world was…not in the handbook. Of course, having friends had never been in the handbook. And then there was Xander going off to England with Willow. Xander, in a foreign country? She couldn't understand why, but it was somehow comforting to have Anya around, even though she kept, well, wondering….

Wondering what he was like with Anya.

Nope, not gonna go there.

Boy, Riley and Spike both got over me reeeeeeaaaaaaaaallllll fast.

Not that fast, she thought, stepping into the bathroom to grab her big old terrycloth bathrobe. Not that fast at all.

She had to look at herself in the mirror to make sure she was still Buffy on the outside, when her insides felt like they'd vanished. All composed, that was her. She slept with his memory these nights, remembering all the things she'd refused to allow herself to acknowledge before, but her days were haunted by flashes of things seen out of the corner of her eye, sudden whispers at her ear. A bright blonde head of hair on a man might make her whip around on the street, just before she regained enough control to scoff, Ha. A vampire in the day. Yeah, right. But then, five minutes later, she'd find herself catching glimpses of a certain style of movement, the curve of a face... She heard voices now that she'd never bothered to listen to before, her ears catching sound of every tenor voice that came to the cash register. At night she found herself remembering the kisses at her ear, the way his hand curved around her waist, her face, and her shoulder…. Should have paid attention. Now it was possible to look back and recognize those gestures for what they'd been, and realize exactly what her obliviousness meant. If you don't let yourself see what you're doing, it doesn't happen. She'd kissed him before, before all the sex, but that stopped once they slept together, along with the intimacy they'd had. She'd never noticed, never allowed herself to notice, how it changed after the first time they had sex, but she kept finding herself in her dreams beneath the stair at the Bronze, kissing a man who kissed like a boy, eager and anxious and sweet. That was where it started, she thought. And then, looking at herself in the mirror, she saw him again at her feet in the alley, more wounded than she'd ever seen him, and thought, and that was where it ended. This is me, and I did that. Having sex with an evil, soulless thing was not as bad as doing that to someone who loved me. I did that. I really did that.

I just wanted it to stop…

She turned and glanced past her shoulder, half expecting to see him. Another fun trip to the bathroom, she thought. Dawn had become very appreciative about how Buffy had suddenly stopped taking those last days of Pompeii type baths that lasted for hours.

What was the big surprise? Evil soulless thing and all….Except what was her excuse? I came back from the dead. Well, he was dead. Are we even?

His face, afterward.

Her feeling, afterward. It's over. I can say it's over now. Everything I thought you were, you finally turned into. What a relief.

Except it's not over.

It's not as if it's the first time, her subconscious whispered, coming out to play when her defenses were down.

What?

Not as if it's the first time somebody tried, her brain teased. You can't even remember it. You won't remember it.

No. Not a chance. Just…him.

That's what you think.

I'm the Slayer. I get attacked all the time.

Not like this.

"Hey! Bathroom hog!" Dawn pounded on the door. "Open up or I'm coming in. Put down that Tiger Beat."

"Why," Buffy asked, "Is it okay for you to read it but not for me to monitor your reading material?"

"Because it's such a realistic excuse." Dawn said. "I know you like 'N'Sync."

"They're a sign of the next Apocalypse." Buffy washed her hands, and took far too time much doing it, while Dawn crossed her arms and sighed impatiently. Buffy then flicked drops of water at her, and she scrunched up her face in order to obey the guidelines for obnoxious sister interaction, but bounced, because they hadn't had a water fight in ages. Dawn happily stuck out her tongue at her, then grabbed her around the waist to shove around her and grab her toothbrush. All too vividly, the gesture slipped into someone else's, intimate and sudden.

"I'll make you feel it…"

"Buffy?"

"Oh.." Buffy shook herself free. "It's just, well, I'm gaining weight again."

"Looks good." Dawn spit into the sink between vigorous tooth brushings. "Does that mean your lavender camisole is too small and I can have it now?"

"Sure."

She slipped out of the room before Dawn could notice anything, say anything.

Anya was puttering around the other room, evidently bumping over furniture while she changed. Good. Just good. Not now. She sat down weakly on the bed, staring at the bathroom door, expecting it to open and see him there. Afraid to see that face, afraid to see him the way she was accustomed to. Because who knew when he would change?

He hadn't been angry, hadn't been hateful. He'd been desperate. That was the thing that clutched at her. He'd been so, so desperate, so frightened, so…..lost…..and that was what she wondered about. It was an unknown state for him. It was so human. For the time of their relationship, she'd been the vampire, not him. And then everything had gotten switched back. That was what made her thoughts circle around in her brain like water circling a drain, except she couldn't get them past some central dam, some block that she couldn't see. Had that possibility, that action, been lurking within him the whole time, waiting for the right-or wrong- time? Had she really been right all along? How much danger had she been in? What about Dawn?

No, she thought. No, she would never believe that. He'd almost died defending her, not once, but twice.

He wanted to die for me, too.

Different, that was different.

How?

Because you were the one who changed things.

She saw again his face, as she maneuvered, as he realized what she was doing. After the fight, the words, the kiss, there had no place for all her emotions to go….except him. Oh, God, that kiss….There had been no moment where she could stopped it, would have stopped it. Naked, with him, she had felt…almost innocent. Except afterward. She kept coming back to that moment. I shouldn't have done that. He thought it meant love, but for her it was something else.

She was whipped back to the alley, staring down at a face she couldn't allow herself to see. Why hadn't it happened, then, after she'd beaten him so badly? Why hadn't he been so frightened then? Why hadn't he reacted? Why hadn't he reacted that way then? What had done it?

Unless he was used to it.

Unless it was normal.

Unless being beaten by her didn't scare him.

Her leaving? That scared him.

What had she done to him? What had he done to her?

He was a vampire; he wasn't a man, however much he acted like it. But that? Why hadn't he reacted when she'd beaten him? He hadn't even resisted, she realized, before a mental wince pulled her back from the scene. What if he had? What would she had done?

Nausea made the blood in her veins feel thin. Would I have staked him? She thought. No, I wouldn't have. I couldn't have. I'm not that bad a person.

But what did I do afterward? She'd left him in the alley to tend to himself. It would have been braver to just stake him. But she had taken the easy way, not doing anything bad, but not doing anything good, either. Or honorable. Just…

Nothing.

Was that why he hadn't come back after what he'd tried to do?

Was that why she wanted him to?

"Buffy…."

She turned and looked up at Giles in her doorway, Scotch in hand. "There's pizza left, and I've eaten all I possibly can, for this year at least."

"Giles…" She took a deep breath. "Drink some more. We have to talk."

Differences

Dawn peeked around the bathroom door, hesitating. Giles raised his empty glass and nodded back toward the stairs, then tactfully withdrew. Buffy sighed, knowing she had just committed herself to reliving one of the most painful memories of her life, not once, but twice.

"C'mon in." Buffy patted the bed next to her.

That was all she needed; Dawn plopped down agreeably next to her sister and stared at the bathroom door, too. "So…"

"So." Buffy repeated.

"You…you don't have to give me your camisole." Dawn blurted out. "It's okay."

"No, it's okay." Buffy said. "I can't fit into it any more."

"You don't mind?"

"Nope."

"Okay." Dawn looked again at the bathroom door, trying to figure out what it had done to annoy her sister, but it looked blameless to her, and besides, Buffy was now eyeing the carpet. "So…Kind of unexpected, Anya, huh?"

"Yep." Buffy said. She caught the tone of Dawn's voice, and shrugged an arm around her sister's shoulder. "It's okay, Dawnie, I'm just….pizza'd out."

"That's it?" Dawn squeaked.

"Yes, fraid so. No melodrama here." Unless you count those flashbacks, she thought.

"Oh. 'Cause I heard you saying to Giles you wanted to talk. Not good. Never good. Mom and Dad always had lots of those talks, remember?" Conscious, suddenly, of the flow of words gushing from her own mouth, Dawn shut her mouth with a snap, and laid her head with some difficulty on her sister's shoulder. She counted to ten before she spoke again. "Was it about Spike?"

"Yes." Buffy said quietly.

"Was it about….what he tried to almost do?"

Buffy hesitated, but took a breath and answered. "Yes." Abruptly, she turned and looked at her sister, or more correctly, the part in Dawn's hair. "What did Xander tell you?"

"He said…something about 'after Spike almost raped your sister'." Dawn said in a small voice.

Oh, God, Buffy thought. "I don't know what to say, Dawn." Except…that did sound like Xander was responding to something. "What did you say just before he said that?"

"Something about Spike." She mumbled. "Something about how Spike would know what to do or something. You know, and then Xander…."

And then Xander had to get his shot at Spike in. It's not like Dawn needs to know this stuff, she thought. It's not something she should have heard from anybody but me, especially when I'm still trying to deal with it. "Damn." She muttered. "Damn, damn, damn." Dawn's lost Mom and Tara, if it's going to Spike next, it's not Xander's job, dammit. She tried to stamp down the anger, but it wasn't subsiding the way it should "It's not like Xander can criticize," Buffy exclaimed before she'd thought about it. "He-" tried to rape me himself.

And then, stunned, she sat there with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Of course.

She'd forgotten. Or made herself forget. Spells, possessions, stuff like that. Always something else. Xander had been possessed by a hyena or some other creature at the time, and then he'd said he had amnesia afterward. He had tried to bewitch into making her love him again, but he had hated being on the receiving end of Willow's de-lusting spell later on, and she had thought that he had learned his lesson. Of course, she had been proven wrong when she'd discovered he'd been the one to summon the dancing demon---and the deaths that came with that spell. Then again, neither had Willow, she thought. She got chills just thinking about it. My friends. The friends that brought me back.

After Spike almost raped your sister. He used what Spike tried to do to me to make Dawn hate him, too. Gotta take advantage of that Spike-hating opportunity. Shouldn't he hate Spike because of what he tried to do? Shouldn't he? Wasn't that fair? After all, he himself had been under a spell the other time.

Which other time? If she had forgotten that one, what else was there? You always forget what your friends do, she thought sadly, and remember your enemies' actions forever.

Dawn waited for the talking to resume, then finally looked uncomfortably at her sister. "You know, you're supposed to talk now."

"Sorry. Brain fart."

"Oh, okay." Dawn accepted the explanation. "Your brain farts are quiet; mine are so noisy." She bounced on the bed a moment. "Uh…Did Xander have a brain fart when he said that?" She asked in a small voice.

"Kind of." Dawn lit up instantly, her mouth opening wide. "You mean, Spike didn't…" One look at Buffy's face and she quieted down. "No such luck, huh?"

"Dawn…." Buffy reached down and grabbed her hand. "You know…I want to explain that to you."

"Why? He, what, he tried to, to…?" She sniffed.

"It's not like that."

"Was it, like, a mistake?"

Buffy stared at the bathroom door for a long time. "Yeah, it was." She ran her hands through her hair.

"Do you think…" Dawn tucker her legs under herself nervously. "Do you think he could…be like that…with anybody else? I mean, Anya…?"

"That was different, Dawnie." Buffy said quietly. "I broke up with him, and I, uh, I, well…He loved me." She muttered. "And he wanted to believe that I loved him."

"Did you?"

"No." Buffy said firmly.

"But you and he…And then Anya. I saw you. You were all upset. I mean, you got all…all quiet and stuff, the way you do. How can you, you know---" Dawn grimaced. "You guys were, you know, ugh, having sex, right?"

"Yeah." Buffy muttered again.

"Well…" Dawn grumbled. "That's a big deal, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, it is." Buffy said. "But how was I supposed to tell anybody after I came back?"

"You could have told me." Dawn whispered. "I would have loved to know. I would have listened."

"I couldn't." Buffy tried hard not to sniff. "I was supposed to protect you."

"From what?" Dawn's voice broke. "From you? You're my sister, it's supposed to go both ways. You protect me and I protect you."

"You know…"Buffy took a deep and shaky breath. "There's some things you can't protect people from."

"But you have to let them try. No, wait, let me guess. I'm only sixteen, I shouldn't be dealing with stuff like that. You know, Buffy, just because you're the Slayer doesn't mean you have to do everything." She got up and sat down at Buffy's vanity, turning the chair sideways so she could look at her. "I mean, is that what you did with Spike?"

Buffy stared at her. Actually, yes, was the thought that she had, but she couldn't say that. "You know, Dawn, you make it sound like, like, it's understandable…."

"No!" Dawn jumped up and flopped down beside her, hugging her fiercely. "No, not that. No. But, I want to know what's wrong. I was so happy to have you back, I wanted to---well, I'm not exactly sure, but I wanted to…do stuff. Be supportive and stuff. Whatever that means. I'm not exactly sure what that means, really, but I'll go look it up. I want to know. I was so lonely without you, but then you came back, and it's like you still weren't here. I could see you, but you weren't really here."

"That was…" Buffy's voice dropped to a breath. "That was all I could do."

"If I'd have helped you, you could have done more." Dawn hesitated, then reached out and grabbed Buffy's hand. "If…if….things had been better….Do you…think….Do you think it would have been the same?"

"The same?" Buffy looked at her blankly.

"With Spike?"

The question startled her. "What do you mean..?"

"Well, you and him…?"

She tried to think back, back to the beginning of the year, something she tried to avoid doing, because it all seeped together into one big mess. Sometimes she woke up from peaceful dreams of the refuge where she'd been, and it was just as awful as waking up in her coffin. I couldn't tell them, she thought, because that would have made them feel bad. And they knew it, too. She couldn't get over that impression, that they had known, and it had been too much for them to bear. She hadn't had the strength to force the issue, not against all of them. Only Spike was safe. The only person she could tell was him, and in some way she had known that part of it was because he loved her so, and part of it was because the rest of the Scoobies were eyeing them uneasily, unwilling to say something about the time they spent together. To say something would have given the idea a force it couldn't have as a mere suspicion. By the time she'd actually told them about where she'd been, it had been too late. Spike had become her refuge, and what she escaped from with him were her friends. If they had been there from the get-go, what would it have been like?

What would it have been like?

She remembered that first kiss, after the spell, outside the Bronze. Oh, it was sweet. What if she could have admitted to her friends what was developing between them? She couldn't admit anything to them, much less to Spike. What would it have been like if she could have? She wouldn't have had to end that kiss for fear of being found out, she wouldn't have had to hide. The kiss could have gone on and on till it found a natural end, whether the Scoobies observed it or not. No rush when it abruptly ended, no desperation to find that feeling again, that connection. After all, someone who's been pulled out of Heaven should be allowed to kiss whoever she wanted. There would have been a conversation, like all the conversations she had been having since she came back. Because of course, that's what your friends are for, helping you with your worries, not ignoring them. A troublesome kiss that made you feel alive when everything else seemed deadening? No hiding it, just time to deal with it. Maybe they would have argued a little about it, her friends, but the point is, it would have been dealt with. Couldn't do that when you couldn't even admit something was wrong in the first place, could you?

Was he just a substitute for her friends? Was that all? She stopped trusting them and started trusting him instead?

She thought back to his arms around her, the way he kissed her, the way he moved. No, Spike was no substitute. She thought about it. Dating Spike in front of her friends? If she had had time to get used to the idea? Given them time?

She squeezed Dawn's hand. "Things would have been different, Dawnie." She sighed. "I think they would have been lots different."

"Uh…different good or different bad?" Dawn asked cautiously.

No abrupt sex after a fight, she thought. What could it have been like? Had she really been that pissed off at him? Or was it them, the people she couldn't get pissed off at, the people who were supposed to be her friends? I started treating him like a vampire again, after I treated him like a man, she thought. A good man.

"Different better." She said softly. "I did stuff I shouldn't have. And so did he."

"You make it sound like…?"

"Like what?"

"Well, like, I don't know." Dawn shrugged. "This is real complicated for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Xander said he tried to rape you. So, I just, thought, you know…I have this idea what it was like. Like the way he said it, it was like, almost…." She chewed her lip for a moment. "Like, well, he wanted to have sex with you or something. And that was all. I don't know. I can't explain it."

Like he wanted to have sex with you or something.

Oh, God.

I wish that were all he wanted.

Buffy swallowed. "Xander was wrong, Dawn." She looked down at their hands. God, I've messed up every other relationship, please don't let me mess this up. "He wanted me to love him. And he kept thinking that I did, that I just didn't want to admit it."

"Did you?"

"I don't know." She shrugged at Dawn's skeptical look. "It's not like I'm any good at it." She chose her next words carefully. "He loved me, and he thought, well, he thought, that…Oh, God, you know, I thought I could say this, but I just can't."

"Was I right?"

Buffy thought about it. "And Xander was wrong?"

"Yeah?"

"I think so." She closed her eyes, the sound of her voice echoing off the tile ringing in her ears. He was so desperate. So was I. How do you tell a sixteen-year-old stuff that twenty-one-year-olds can't deal with?

You don't.

"Xander shouldn't have told you." Buffy said quietly. "That was none of his business."

"But what if…Should I be afraid of him? Of Spike?"

Buffy thought about it. "No, Dawn." She smoothed Dawn's hair with one finger. "I don't think so." She took a deep breath. "He didn't want to hurt me. He wasn't trying to hurt me." She sighed, but it shook, somewhere in the middle. "But he did anyway. He wasn't trying to….but he did…" She sighed. "If he had, I mean, that would have been different." She sighed again. "I wish I were better at this stuff. I wish I could explain it. I just can't. I…trusted him. Even though he was a vampire, I trusted him.