Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, it belongs to Joss Almighty.

A/N: I know there have been more scenes written after her funeral than apocalypses (and my computer thinks that's the way to spell the plural of apocalypse) in the series, but I had to do it. I just love seeing Spike and Angel together. Their relationship is so interesting, at least in my mind. They hate each other now, and that was before they both liked Buffy, but they were together for so long… and I don't mean that in a slashy way. Not my style. Still, this is part of my attempt to puzzle that relationship out.

One last thing: if Angel seems slightly OOC, I'm sorry. I kept hearing Mal from Firefly as I was writing him, for some reason.  I almost had him saying the word "notion" at one point. I think I fixed the worst of it, though.  So, enough of me – on with the story.

Spike didn't quite dare approach her.  Instead, he hid behind a line of bushes, watching, ready to flee if she spotted him.  The longer he watched, the more certain he become she had no clue as to her surroundings. 

He relaxed marginally, and settled down to wait.  If Buffy left, he would visit the grave.  If something came, he would kill it.  Nothing was going to disturb Joyce while he was here.  If nothing happened, he would sit, keeping his own vigil, just as the Slayer did, an unknowing ten meters away. 

A figure moved behind Buffy, a piece of the darkness detaching itself from the night and floating over.  Spike tensed and started to get up, then recognized the form and froze.  He sat, unmoving, as Angel wrapped his arms around her intimately.

"I came as soon as I could," he murmured, voice unintentionally carrying to Spike's ears.  He stared as Buffy put her hands on his, leaning back into his embrace wearily.

"I'm glad you came."

That was his place, now! Or it should be! Angel left, two years ago.  If he wasn't going to stick around to try and make things work, he didn't deserve to come back and be treated like he was still her trusted lover and friend, instead of the demon who'd tried to murder her and all of her friends, not to mention everything else in the world.  Spike felt the jealous anger surge up in him, but the expression still on his face was shock when Angel lifted his head and caught sight of Spike's white face from behind the bushes. 

His face tightened, but he gave no other impression that he'd seen the younger vampire.  He led Buffy over to a nearby oak, and she settled comfortably into his side. 

Spike watched, like a driver who must slow down to view the carnage after a horrible automobile accident.  He was mesmerized.  He watched them talk for hours, catching only snatches of conversation, wondering at what he heard.  He hadn't known she felt so much about so many things.  He'd wanted to know, but she wouldn't talk to him…

He caught his own name once, and perked up his ears.  He was surprised, and pleased, to see her smile wryly as she said his name, then hurt when that expression changed to one of disgust when she recounted the tale of his capture and chaining of her.  Did she have to keep bringing that up?  It had been a mistake, didn't any of them see that?  He knew that now, they could just… let it go.  She shook her head soon after, and they moved on to another topic.  Spike was disappointed.  He wanted to hear what Angel would have said about him, and what Buffy would have replied.  But the older vampire merely glanced up briefly toward his bush, and agreed, and they switched back to Glory. 

It wasn't until she kissed him that Spike turned away, face contorted with the effort of keeping his tears in.  It was just too much in one night.  Joyce's funeral, the poof back, Buffy kissing him… he couldn't take any more. 

It was nearing dawn when the grass crunched underfoot, and Angel stepped around the bush line.  Spike didn't look up, face wet and drawn.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

"What do you care?" Spike spat out.  "No need to worry 'bout the Slayer, now she's back in your bloody arms."

"Buffy can take care of herself.  My involvement is not the issue."

Spike snorted.  "Well who d'you think she's gonna turn to, now soldier boy's gone?"

"Spike, I'm here because she needs a friend, not a lover.  You'd do well to understand that."

"What d'you think I've been trying to do!?" he exploded, breath catching in a sob.  "I've tried to be there for her, help her, I even played nice with her friends!  It's not my fault!  If the bint would just –"

"If you call her that again, I will snap your neck," he asserted calmly.

"See? I said that to a demon who was insulting her, two weeks ago! These things are supposed to get around –"

"Spike."  Years of subjection to the older vampire made him stop, mid-sentence.  "I don't know what you've fooled yourself into thinking your relationship with the Slayer is, but let me enlighten you: She will kill you, if she ever decides you are in the least harmful.  She is not your crush, girlfriend, lover, or even friend.  She is your enemy.  If you go near her again, I will kill you for her.  Understood?"  There was something of Angelus in the way those cold, dark eyes bored into his, and Spike was angry to feel himself giving way.

He sat on the ground, sulking, swiping tears away angrily, and didn't reply.

"William?" he asked softly.  Spike shivered.  That was the scary tone of voice.  Combined with his given name, it meant danger, pain, and very soon, if he didn't answer.  He'd learned that from over a hundred years with Angelus.  Among other things. 

"I tried," he attempted to explain.  "I didn't want to love her.  I wanted to kill her.  I tried to, to make the feelings stop.  If I could leave, I would.  I tried… just couldn't."

Angel watched him for a long moment.  "You're weak, William," he said at last before walking away. 

Spike stared at the ground for another few minutes.  "I know," he whispered, before pushing himself up and heading back to his crypt.  He entered just before the sun peeked over the horizon.