Xander's Apartment

Xander sat, slumped in front of the TV, beer in hand. But, he wasn't paying attention to what was on the screen in front of him. His mind wandered from painful thought to painful thought. Leaving Anya at the altar. Seeing her again. Her getting it on with Spike. And, worst of all, revelation that Buffy and Spike were sleeping together. How could Buffy have let a soulless beast like Spike even get close enough to touch her? What the hell had she been thinking to let him get on her, or under her, or whatever? Must stop right now, not even gonna go there. He was sick to his stomach at the mere thought of it.

He had hated the relationship Buffy had had with Angel. Just knowing that Angel was a vampire was more than enough reason for him to disapprove of that. But, at least Angel was good. He had a soul and he truly did love and care about Buffy. But, this, with Spike, it was mind-boggling. The Buffy he knew would never have let this happen. But, since they had brought her back to life and ripped her out of Heaven she had been different. He had tried to deny it, purely by ignoring it, but now he realized that by doing that, he had ignored her profound hurt.

The deep pain and regret that Buffy had suffered from being torn out of Heaven had driven her into the arms of Spike. He, Willow, Tara and Anya were responsible for that. So, now, he reasoned, it was his obligation to be accountable for helping her get back on track.

With those thoughts in mind, he reached for his address book that rested next to the couch where he now sat all too often, throwing back beer after beer, as he had been for the last few weeks since leaving Anya at the altar on that fateful day.

He flipped to the page he needed and grabbed the phone. He dialled.

It rang for a couple of times and then he heard that familiar annoying voice, "Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless. Angel speaking."

"Angel, it's me, Xander," he said, monotonously, and us unfeeling as possible. He hated the fact that he was about to ask him a favour. But, sometimes other things mattered more than the trivial personal issues.

"What's wrong? Is Buffy… is she hurt?" Angel pressed, trying to suppress his obvious anxiety. If Xander was calling him something was definitely very wrong back in Sunnydale.

"No, she's not hurt. But she could be soon. I need your help, Angel. This isn't easy for me to do, so I'm just gonna get right to it…" Xander began.

Over the next few minutes, Xander filled Angel in on how Buffy had been acting since they had brought her back from her deathbed. He told Angel that she had been in Heaven and not one of the zillion Hell dimensions that they had all assumed. And, finally he told him about her relationship with Spike. Before he'd finished explaining the last part Angel had interrupted him, telling him he would leave for Sunnydale immediately. He had then abruptly hung up the phone. It was then that Xander had realized that Angel knew Spike better than any of the Scooby Gang. If he was that concerned about Spike being with Buffy, then clearly, Buffy was in far more danger than even Xander had foreseen.

#

Buffy's Bedroom

A Few Hours Later

Willow sat opposite Buffy on her bed. They had been talking for the last hour about everything that they had been ignoring for months since Willow had brought her back.

"Buffy, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you like you needed me," Willow half-whispered, with her head down.

"Will, its okay. There's nothing anyone could have done. It's something I had to work out in my own head," Buffy told Willow, patting her on the shoulder.

Willow looked up, "But, I could have, you know…. done something, Buffy."

Buffy didn't answer. She just gazed at Willow sadly.

"You should have told me about Spike. I could have helped you."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just….I couldn't admit it to myself. I was ashamed, Will," Buffy struggled to say as tears streamed down her face.

"Buffy, don't cry. I understand."

Willow reached over and embraced her. Buffy rested her head on her shoulder and Willow held onto her tightly as she cried. Even a Slayer had to let it out sometimes. After a while, Buffy pulled away and started to dry her tears with the sleeve of her sweater.

"First thing tomorrow, I'll take Spike off the welcome vampire list. There's no telling what he might try to do now that you rejected him, Buffy."

"You're right. That thing with Anya was just the beginning," Buffy realized, out loud.

Buffy shook herself out of her melancholy, knowing that there was work to be done. She got off the bed and quickly checked her face in the mirror. She looked okay. There wasn't too much blotchiness from her tears. She swiftly turned to Willow, "Will, we better get to work. I want the Trio gone, as of today. I've had it with them," Buffy said, the Slayer in her talking.

#

Spike's Crypt

Spike paced his crypt restlessly. He gripped a beer bottle firmly in his hand. How had he reached this point in his undead life? How had things gotten so bad? He couldn't feed. He was in love with a vampire slayer. He was torn between being a vampire and being a man. He couldn't be bad. He couldn't be a monster. And, he couldn't be one of the good guys. He didn't have a soul. Buffy was right when she'd screamed those words at him. Where the hell did he fit in? What was his purpose, because if he couldn't be free to express his true vampiric nature, what the bloody hell was he supposed to be? More to the point, what was he supposed to do?

His head was filled with emotions that, without a soul, he wasn't capable of understanding. Yet, he knew he had them, but he wasn't capable of doing anything with them. It was excruciatingly frustrating. No one could even hope to understand. Many a time he cursed himself for returning to Sunnydale to search for the Gem of Amarra. If he'd only stayed away he wouldn't have a damn chip in his head. Everything would have been fine. Simple. Like it had been. That was the beauty of vampirism; the undead life was wonderfully simplistic.

Yet, things were as they were right now and it couldn't be escaped. He had to do something to turn this around. This Slayer was in his head, infiltrating his very being. Thoughts of her consumed him. His desire for her burned his flesh. He craved her like he craved fresh human blood pumping through veins. And, as a soulless vampire, one thing he did know was that if he wanted something, he would take it.

Buffy had turned him away and he had merely accepted it. He'd looked elsewhere and found comfort in the arms of Xander's ex, Anya. That hadn't ended well at all. But, the question had become, since when had a vampire needed to turn to a human for comfort? It was ludicrous. How dare he let himself accept Buffy's rejection? Time to remedy that.

He strode out of his crypt, determined to rectify some unfinished business between him and Buffy. If he wanted her, he'd damn well have her. It was his nature. It was his bloody personal anthem for goodness sake.

#

Shady Hill Cemetery – Later that Night

Buffy strolled, stake in hand, through the moonlit cemetery on her regular nightly patrol.

Willow and the rest of the Scooby Gang were researching over at Xander's for more information on the Trio. Well, to be more accurate, Willow and Tara were still working on those computer disks that Buffy had taken from the Trio's hideout, while Xander and Dawn munched on some chips, and casually watching television, while adding 'helpful' comments every now and then.

As Buffy strolled by a couple of mausoleums, she suddenly stopped cold. She sensed something. She tensed, slowly scanning the perimeter for a minute of two, all the while, listening intently. She knew she wasn't wrong in feeling a strangely familiar presence. But, she couldn't locate it. She continued onwards and then the feeling was suddenly gone. What the hell was that?

Unbeknownst to her, Angel crouched on the rooftop of one of the mausoleums, watching as she made her way cautiously through the cemetery. He had watched her stop and search the cemetery for something, for someone. He knew she could sense him. They could always feel each other nearby, but he was a little surprised that she had not realized it was him she was sensing. Times truly had changed and so had they. Even from where he hid in the shadows he could smell it on her; the scent of Spike.

#

Summers' House

Having taken a shower to wash away all the dirt and sweat of patrolling Buffy wrapped herself snugly in a white cotton towel and headed for the kitchen to make something to eat.

She started to warm up some pizza from the night before in the microwave. She watched the microwave hypnotically as she leant against the kitchen counter. She rubbed her side gently. It ached from a fall she had taken during a fight earlier.

"You're hurt," a familiar voice said, entering through the kitchen door.

Buffy looked up to see Spike standing there, looking concerned.

"Get out," she ordered him.

"No. We need to talk about what happened the other night, love," he said, approaching her.

"There's nothing to talk about, Spike," she told him, as she removed the pizza from the microwave.

"I know you're upset about the Anya thing. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm sorry."

"Spike! I don't care. We're not together. Understand that!" She turned to face him, her eyes cold, "Now get out of my house."

She didn't even bother to watch him go. She was tired of it. She was tired of what had been happening with them for far too long. She just wanted it to end.

She started to walk away but was stopped as he roughly grabbed her by her shoulders.

"I love you, Buffy!" he bellowed.

"No you don't. You can't. You don't even have a soul," she replied, shaking free from his grip.

"You don't get to just walk away from this," he told her as he started to feel her up.

He slammed her hard against the wall of the kitchen. She cried out in pain as he slammed her bruised side into the kitchen counter. He ran his hand under her towel, as he undid his pants with his other hand.

"Spike. No. Stop!" Buffy screamed.

He wouldn't listen. She threw a punch at him, but he saw it coming. He took hold of both of her wrists, holding her down as he kicked her legs apart. She panicked and she found herself begging him to stop. He wouldn't listen to her, even as she writhed in pain beneath him. It just seemed to spur him on more.

Suddenly, he was ripped away from her. He flew across the other side of the kitchen and crashed to the floor.

"Get the hell away from her," a voice bellowed.

Buffy sat up slowly, clutching her towel to her chest to hide her semi-nakedness.

It was then that she saw Angel standing before her. His back was to her as he headed over to where Spike lay, sprawled on the floor.

Angel wasted no time in hauling Spike to his feet. He lifted him up by the collar of his jacket and shook him violently, "You son of a bitch. You don't get to touch her. Ever. Understand?" Angel screamed at him.

"Funny thing is mate, I've been pounding her for months now," Spike informed him, with a smirk.

Angel shot out his fist and Spike's head flew back. He tried to grab his face, but Angel didn't give him the chance. He just kept hitting him relentlessly.

And then Angel withdrew a stake. He raised it, preparing to plunge it into Spike's heart, "I should have done this a long time ago."

"Angel! Don't!" Buffy shouted.

Angel's amazing reflexes allowed Spike to live, because he stopped, mere centimeters before Spike's chest, after hearing Buffy call out to him.

Angel reluctantly let go of him and took a step back from him.

"Angel?" Buffy called to him, softly.

He turned to her quickly, trying not to let Spike out of his sight. His expression softened and his vampiric features quickly morphed back into his human features as he looked upon her. Her eyes were red from crying and tears still welled in her eyes. The towel that she held up to herself was torn in places and barely covered her, revealing a couple of bruises on her thighs where Spike had hurt her. Seeing her in such a pained state, his anger returned. He turned away from her and hurried over to where Spike was. He was on his feet and watched Angel as he approached.

"So, the hero returns, eh? Just in time? I think not, Angelus. The Slayer's with me now."

"Like hell, she is, Spike. When a woman is crying like that, it means stop, you son of a bitch."

"I love her."

"What?" Angel asked, incredulously, taken aback.

"Spike, get out," Buffy ordered him.

Spike unclenched his fist, which he had planned to slam into Angel's solar plexus. He stared at Buffy. It was then that he actually realized what he had done. He had tried to force himself on her. What is happening to me? He didn't understand what he felt anymore. It was too overwhelming. It's this bloody chip! He didn't know what was going on. What was he? A vampire or a man? He bolted through the kitchen door and into the night.

Angel watched Spike go. He turned back to Buffy. He walked towards her and laid his hand gently on her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch. In that moment a part of him died, knowing that Spike had caused her to react that way. He was so thankful that he had stopped Spike before he had succeeded, because, had he not, the scars of that may have run too deep to ever completely heal. He gently pulled her close and held her.