TITLE:  Telling
AUTHOR:  L.A. Ward
URL: http://hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html
SPOILERS:  The Gift. It's set somewhere near the beginning 
of Season 6.  No real spoilers for the show.  Buffy's back but 
beats me how.  (This will be part of the series.  Buckle up
kiddies, it's going to be a long night in L.A.).
SUMMARY:  Buffy's back and someone has to tell Angel 
SHIP:  S/B-UST
DISTRIBUTION:  Sure take it.  Wouldn't mind knowing where
you take it though.
DISCLAIMER:  Not mine.  Never mine.  They belong to Joss
but I'm playing with them.

************************************************

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
'Guess now who holds thee?'--'Death,' I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,--' Not Death, but Love.'

                 I - Sonnets from the Portuguese
                 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

*************************************************

                    WAITING

*************************************************
There was a scuff on the toe of her shoe. Buffy wondered 
where she had gotten a scuff on the toe of her shoe. Then 
she wondered why she was staring at her shoe.  

When she glanced at the two people watching her,  Buffy 
remembered why she was staring at her shoes.  She was a 
freak--a big, whopping, undead freak.  Well maybe not so big 
and not whopping at the moment, but she was definitely 
undead. . .although not in the way she usually used the word.   
No, Buffy was undead in the 'been there, done that, but not 
dead any more, non-vampire' way.  The impossible sort of 
way...which brought her back to the whole 'freak' thing.  

She had been dead for four months. Four. Count them  
And now she wasn't. If that didn't have the letters 
F-R-E-A-K written all over it, then nothing ever would.

Seconds ticked by, becoming minutes; then lots of 
minutes smooshed together as Buffy remained painfully 
aware of the man and woman watching her.  Hello!  Had 
no one taught them it was rude to stare at the freak?

Finally the woman with the sweet Southern accent asked, 
"Would you like a Coke while you wait?" 

Buffy shook her head. "No. Thanks for the offer though."

The man asked, "How about blood?"

"What?"

"Red stuff.  O positive.  AB negative."

"I know what blood is. Why are you offering it to me?" 
Because I'm a freak, Buffy thought.  I'm a freak and it 
shows.  I should go downtown and find a shop where they 
can tattoo it on my forehead.

The woman with the improbable name of Fred nervously
explained,  "Gunn's just being polite. Everyone's got different 
tastes and you might like a Coke or...or..."

"Pig's blood with Weetabix?"   Buffy wasn't at all surprised
when Gunn made a face.

He groaned. "That's just nasty."

"Having seen the combo, gotta agree with you, but 
you're the one offering it as a main course."

"Hell no, I'm not." Gunn's Nikes squeaked as he
started across the marble floor. "I'm trying to find out 
if you're a vampire."

"Why would you think I'm a vampire?"

Gunn--who was quite handsome in a tall, dark skinned, 
dark eyed, nicely muscled sort of way--crossed the
Hyperion Hotel's lobby to sit in a leather upholstered 
chair.  He looked almost as sulky as Angel usually did.  
No wonder they were friends.

Buffy approached him.  "Am I giving off vampy vibes or 
something?  I know I don't look like a vamp--at least not 
your normal game faced vamp, but..." She touched her face.  
"Am I pale?"  Some not very pleasant voice in her head 
snapped, Oh yeah, Buffy, being dead for four months was 
great for your complexion.

Gunn shrugged.  "Seen enough vamps to know they don't
all look alike."  His gaze settled on Buffy. "But you've 
got the look of an Angel vamp."

"Huh?"  

"Blonde and petite, pretty little face that just might be 
deadly.  Just Angel's type. Plus you showed up saying 
you're an old friend."  Gunn turned his head toward
Fred. "Cordy warn you that when someone from Angel's 
past shows up they're usually trying to kill us?"  

Fred shook her head. "I don't remember her mentioning 
that."

"Well they are."  He glared at Buffy.  "And I'm really 
not in the mood to be killed."

"I'm not trying to kill you." 

"That's what they all say. Then something happens and 
cute little blondie turns into bitch bent on destruction.  
First Darla--"

"Darla's dead."

"Then Harm--and if I didn't mention it before, the 
name is a perfect fit."

"Harmony has been here?"

Gunn frowned and...oh yeah, he looked intimidating 
when he frowned. "You know her?" 

"More than I would like," Buffy was quick to block the 
mental image of the last time she had seen Harmony.  
She really didn't want to trip down that memory lane.

Gunn scratched his head.  "What is it with Angel and 
blonde psychobitches?  I know we're in LA  but, does it 
*always* have to be a blonde? And I won't even touch the 
vampire thing since he is one.  I'm just saying it would be 
easier on his friends if he'd stick to the living."

"Right. Stick to dating the living. That's what I keep 
telling myself. It's a bloody mantra."  Buffy slapped 
her hand over her mouth.  

What the hell? Where had that come from?  A Spikism.
Why had she uttered a Spikism?  This was bad. This
was very bad. Whole heaping gobs of bad.  

Buffy started again. "First off, I'm not a psychobitch,
at least not until you piss me off which--hey, I'm half 
way there. Second of all, Harmony is a Spike ex, not 
an Angel ex. And third of all, Darla is dead."

Gunn snorted. "Oh yeah, in a 'not very' vampire way."

"No, in a permanent dusty way. Has been for years." 

"Not the last time I checked."

Buffy blinked.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean not too long ago Darla and her crazy girlfriend 
Dru went on a lawyer luncheon catered by Angel.  Then 
little Harm thought we were her ticket into a mass 
murdering cult.  Now, if it's all the same to you, can 
we skip the 'let's play nice' phase and go straight to 
the killing?  It'll save time."

"No one is killing anyone tonight."

Gunn rubbed his eyelids as if they pained him. "Don't 
say you're another vampire we're not supposed to kill 
because I'm sick of those--"

"Here." Buffy held out her arm.  "Check.  Pulse and 
everything." She waited as he checked, and Buffy didn't
blame Gunn for checking. In the last couple of days 
she'd  checked her own pulse a couple hundred times.

Gunn let go of her hand.  "Okay, so you're among 
the living."

"So I'm told." Buffy sank onto the sofa.  "Look, it's 
like I told you, I'm here to see Angel. Nothing more."

"And I told you he isn't here."

"He'll be back though."  Fred's smile was soft and shy. 
"He should be back real soon. And...um... I'm sure he'll 
be happy to see an old friend."

Even Gunn's features lightened. "Especially if you aren't 
trying to kill us."

Buffy forced herself to return their smiles. "Right. 
No killing. Promise."  Her smile faded because that's what 
false smiles did. They faded. They disappeared. They 
ceased to matter and became distant, hazy memories...sort 
of like long lost friends.

Why am I here? Buffy asked herself.  Why am I sitting 
here talking to strangers when I could be home with Dawn?  
She wanted to be home with Dawn. She *should* be home 
with Dawn.  Instead here she sat in L.A. 

Why?  

Oh yeah, because Angel deserved to be told in person 
that she was back from the dead. It wasn't like she could 
simply call and say, "Hey, Angel, good news. I'm not 
dead.  What's going on with you?" No, Buffy needed 
to see him. 

Buffy sighed and leaned her head against the sofa.  The 
problem was she *wasn't* seeing Angel. She was sitting in 
a hotel lobby talking to people she had never before met; 
and these people, these strangers, were Angel's friends. She 
was supposed to make polite small talk. She was supposed 
reassure Fred and Gunn she had no interest in killing them.
She *wasn't* supposed to be tapping her foot and glaring 
at them impatiently...that part just came naturally.

Okay, so Fred and Gunn were Angel's friends.  Why had she
never heard of them? After all Angel's life and her life...

Buffy sighed.  Angel's life and here life were completely 
separate things even before she died.

Bad thought.  Bad, bad thought. Throw it away and never 
think it again. Besides, not knowing Angel's friends 
didn't mean she *couldn't* know Angel's friends.  All it 
would take was a little effort.  A little time and patience.  

Quick.  Make friends.  Be approachable.  Act interested.  

"How long have you known Angel?" she asked.

Gunn shrugged. "Going on two years."

That long? 

Buffy looked over at Fred who answered more vaguely, "Oh, 
um...it's sort of hard to say. I mean, time is relative, and with 
the differences in the way time flows in this dimension versus 
the way it flows in other dimensions." Fred paused. "Well, a 
few days in Pylea might be weeks here--"

Buffy's eyebrows rose. "You're from another dimension?" 

"Yes." Fred nervously played with her hair. "That is, 
no. Actually, I'm from this dimension, but for a while 
I lived in another one."  She took a deep breath and 
announced,  "Three months."

"You lived in another dimension for three months?"

"No, I lived in another dimension for five years. I've 
known Angel for three months."

Okay, headache now, Buffy thought.  A Willow supersize
Tylenol bottle headache. 

Maybe she *should* have called before showing up on 
Angel's doorstep. After all, that was the reason telephones 
had been invented...to, you know, tell people things--not that 
she and Angel had used it very much since they had parted 
ways.

Buffy straightened her spine and tried very hard to 
shake off her feelings of. . .well she wasn't quite sure
what she felt, but she tried to shake it off anyway. 
Besides, the fact she and Angel weren't giving AT&T, MCI, 
or Sprint much business didn't mean a thing. Not a damn 
thing.  Some things, some relationships simply had to be 
handled face to face. 

So here she was, face to Angel's absence while Fred and
Gunn sat staring at her.

Buffy hated it.  She hated making small talk.  She hated
waiting.  She hating feeling weird and out of place.  She felt 
weird enough without any help from incredibly awkward 
situations.

Just once it would be nice if awkward moments could be 
avoided. Come to think of it, avoiding awkward moments 
should go on her 'to do' list.  Near the top.  More than once. 
It was just that no matter how hard Buffy tried, sooner or 
later--wham!--she ran straight into one. . .and she had 
definitely gone splat this time.

Nope, this was not shaping into the joyous reunion
Buffy would have planned if she could have.  In her head
Angel would have been waiting for her and he would have
been so happy to see her--not Angelus happy, but happy 
enough to make the trip to L.A. worthwhile. Instead he
was out doing whatever it is he did.  

It would be horribly unfair to blame Angel for that. He'd 
had no way of knowing she would show up. Angel thought 
she was dead!

Okay, so it wouldn't have followed the script of a romantic 
movie, Buffy could have called and given Angel some warning. 
It would have been easier than sitting here waiting for him to 
show up.  Then again, if there was an easy way and a hard 
way to do something, Buffy took the hard one.  It was a curse.  

Buffy looked longingly at the coffee table and wondered 
whether banging her head against it would be any more
painful than the silence or the conversation that
had preceded it.

"Is Cordy around?" she asked, and the look of impatience 
crossing Gunn's face reminded Buffy she'd asked the 
question a dozen times in the last half hour.  "What about 
Wesley?"

"They're out."   Gunn actually looked like he might be
grinding his teeth. 

Okay, I know I'm being annoying, but...but what? 

These people weren't her friends. They weren't even her 
acquaintances. They had no reason to tolerate her moods 
or be understanding about her disorientation. They didn't 
know she had been dead for four months. Gunn and Fred 
were Angel's friends, not hers. . .and again Buffy wondered
how that could be. How could the people closest to Angel
be people whose names she had never even heard?  For that 
matter Buffy hadn't known Angel owned a hotel. And she 
certainly hadn't known Darla was back from the dead.  
Buffy would have remembered *that.*

Buffy tilted her head slightly to one side. "How did Darla 
come back?"  

"Resurrection spell." Gunn sounded bored, like the 
answer was obvious or mundane or something.  

"Oh.  One of those."  Buffy tried to sound as blasé 
about it.  She really did, except to her own ears she
sounded like a big, bad liar.  Coming back from the 
dead *was* a big deal, a very big deal. She knew these 
things. She'd done it . .but apparently so had Darla--a
few times.

Well, maybe I'm not such a freak after all, Buffy 
consoled herself. If Gunn could be sanguine about 
resurrection spells, maybe she could too.

She waited. 

Nope.  Wasn't working.  Buffy remained more than slightly
wigged.

So what now?  

At the moment battling a horde of vampires sounded easier 
than sitting in the Hyperion's lobby making small talk.  It 
would have been easier than gazing into Angel's face as 
he stood in the doorway looking more pale than usual, 
looking like he had seen a ghost, looking  *worse* than if 
he had seen a ghost. . .looking like he was looking at her now. 

Buffy rose to her feet and Angel whispered her name. Just 
her name and nothing more, just "Buffy. . .?"

Buffy couldn't speak so she gave a watery smile. She
wanted to say, "Yeah, it's me. Here in the not quite so 
dead flesh."  But she couldn't make the words come out.  

Suddenly Angel's face hardened and Buffy wondered why.  

"Are you a vampire?" he asked.

Buffy glanced around in confusion. "Why does everyone 
keep asking that?" 

"You were dead and now you're not.  That usually means 
vampire."

Buffy was dumbstruck.  How could Angel--*Angel*--ask 
what she was? How could he not sense it when--

Stop.  Don't go there,  Buffy warned herself.  Do *not* 
go there.  Not even close.

"She's not a vamp," Gunn reassured.  "Checked her 
credentials.  Living, breathing, pulse pounding--" He
stopped mid-sentence and looked at her with an expression
of shock.  "Did he say your name was Buffy?"

"Yes."

"You were dead," Gunn accused. 

"So I've been told."

"And now you're not." 

"Looks like."

"How?"

Buffy gave a weak smile.  "Resurrection spell."

Gunn seemed to weigh the comment for a moment then 
smiled. "Well thank God. Now homeboy there can give 
it a rest."  

Buffy glanced at Angel. He still hadn't moved. He 
looked so disbelieving, so scared of accepting the 
miracle standing in front of him.

"I'm here," Buffy whispered.  

Well, duh! she thought.  Of course she was here. It 
wasn't like she was someplace else.  Couldn't she have 
thought of something more eloquent-ish? 

Angel didn't seem to mind.  He crossed the room with 
blurry speed and wrapped Buffy in his arms. Nice arms.  
Strong arms. Familiar arms. 

It felt good.  

Angel buried his face in Buffy's hair, breathing in her
scent as his arms tightened around her, enveloping 
her, pulling her into the solid wall of his chest, 
holding her so tightly that Buffy couldn't breathe. 
Oh well. At that moment Buffy really didn't care 
about breathing.  She just wanted to be held.  It 
felt good to be held.  It was overwhelming.

*This* was of the good, Buffy thought rubbing her
cheek against Angel's silk shirt.  Angel, she thought.  
Angel, I'm here.  I'm here and I'm alive and...and...

And what?  What now? an evil little voice asked.

Go away, voice.  Go far away.  Now I hug him. Now I
remember why I'm so happy to be here and not dead 
and in Sunnydale. 

Well no.  Actually, she wasn't happy to not be in 
Sunnydale.  Sunnydale was home...not that LA was bad. 
It just wasn't home.  LA was a nice, and home was...nice.  
It was just that LA was LA and home was...well...*home.*

Buffy! A different, somewhat strident inner voice screamed.  
Focus!  This is Angel.  Angel's arms are around you. Hug 
him. Feel him. Love him. Sheesh! How hard is that to 
remember?

Angel kissed her forehead as Buffy sank into his embrace.  
She lost herself in him. It was what she had come here 
to do. To hold Angel and tell him...tell him...uh...hmmm. 
Other than the 'not dead' part, what was she supposed to 
tell him?

Buffy didn't know. 

Well thank God, Angel wasn't the questioning type.  Not 
like other, not so pleasant vampires Buffy could name but 
wouldn't.  No, she wouldn't!  Not now that she was in 
Angel's arms. Not when this was where she was supposed 
to be.  Where she *wanted* to be.  And, yes damnit, she 
was happy that Angel seemed quite content to simply hold 
her.

It was nice.  Buffy liked--no loved--the way Angel held 
her as seconds passed. Minutes passed. Many minutes, and 
somewhere along the way the sense of relief passed and 
ran headlong into awkward silence followed by the painful
realization that they had stood there so long that there 
was no graceful way to separate.  The moment had passed.

Now what?  The evil little voice asked again.

Angel was the first to pull away.  

Wasn't he always?

He pulled back and framed her face with his hands. For 
a moment Buffy thought Angel would kiss her.  It was always 
good when he kissed her.  It made her ache with unfulfilled 
longing--which was a good thing, right? It was unquenched 
desire.  Unfulfilled need.  It was the kind of thing that 
filled a person up and somehow still left them wanting. 
Begging. . .

Angel didn't kiss her. He stepped back. 

And now for the questions Buffy thought. Lots of questions.
The who, what, when, where, and why of Journalism 101...not
that Buffy had taken Journalism 101, not that she was sure
they taught a Journalism 101. Hey, she had just come back
from the dead.  It wasn't as easy as it looked!

Angel didn't ask questions.  He just looked at her, watched 
her with his dark, unfathomable eyes as he brushed a tear 
from her cheek.

And that's a good, Buffy told herself. It's unspoken 
communication.  It's silent understanding.  It shows 
we're so connected that we don't need words even if, 
you know, words would be kind of nice to break up the 
teeth grindingly awkward silence.

It was just silence had *not* been the general reaction 
to Buffy resurrection. Willow had burst into tears.  Not 
nice pretty tears like in the movies but loud, choking, 
red nosed tears; and Xander had been much the same just 
before they both rushed her for a tag team hug.  Willow 
and Xander arms were definitely of the good.  

Anya, who perhaps had seen everything in her thousand plus
years of existence, and had only smiled, nodded and said, 
"It's very nice to have you back.  Do you like yellow? I'm 
thinking of having my bridesmaids wear yellow. Blondes 
usually don't like to wear yellow, but bridesmaids aren't 
supposed to like their dresses so that would be okay. You
will be my bridesmaid, right? Have you seen my ring?" Anya 
had held out her hand. There had been a diamond ring on it.  

Xander blushed and stammered and mumbled--all things he 
would later deny. It was goofy and cute, and Buffy could 
tell that despite his embarrassment Xander was quite happy.  
Anya, of course, was ecstatic. She had a mountain of 
magazines, clippings and two copies of Martha Stewart's 
advice on weddings. Anya had then promptly dragged Xander 
to the mall saying they were scheduled to register for 
gifts.  

It was only after Xander and Anya had left the magic shop
that Buffy had been told about Giles leaving the country.
He was a Watcher and without Buffy there was no Slayer to
watch.  Willow had also admitted to thinking that after
Buffy's death living in Sunnydale had hurt Giles.  It had 
made him feel worse about everything so returning to 
London had been good for him. The last time Willow had 
spoken to him Giles had sounded...better.

After Buffy had called her Watcher, she was fairly 
certain Giles had sounded better still. Oh, he had 
questions.  He wasn't happy about Willow playing with 
such powerful magics. He had warned  of the terrible, 
awful things that could but--thank God--hadn't happened 
with her resurrection. He had babbled. . .but in a good 
way, in a happy way. And when Buffy had asked him about 
London he had talked about the politics within the 
Watchers Council, about a haunted house he had been 
hired to de-spook, about stopping a blood sacrifice ritual at 
the founding of the new Hellfire Club at Cambrige...or had it 
been Oxford? Buffy had never been able to tell the two apart, 
but it really didn't matter.  Giles had sounded happy, energized, 
and busy. Very busy. It was a good thing.

Dawn had simply tackled her. She'd given a loud, 
ear piercing teenaged girl shriek and tackled Buffy 
like she was a member of N'Sync or something. "Ohmygod! 
Ohmygod! Buffy!  Buffy, I missed you."  Tight sqeeeze.  
Bruised rib squeeze. Wonderful squeeze.  Buffy had brushed 
her hand across Dawn's hair, feeling the silky texture 
and something inside Buffy had clenched.  It just 
clenched and hurt and ached in an awesome, happy 
sort of way.  

Words had tumbled out of Dawn and out of herself.  Words 
and more words. Hours of them. Happiness had ensued and 
all was good with the world.

Really.  It was good, but it's a proven fact that 
teenagers have short attention spans.  At least 
Buffy thought it had been proven.  Honestly, she thought 
she had once seen a report about it on CNN, or maybe it 
was FOX.  She wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. It was 
just that twenty-four hours after her miraculous return 
from the dead Dawn had begun behaving as though Buffy had 
*never* been dead.  Life went back to normal... or what 
passed for normal for an almost orphaned Slayer and 
Mystical Glowy Key thing.  Dawn had lit up, laughed, 
talked, and made a bee-line for the phone to call her 
best friend and schedule a trip to the mall to shop for 
school clothes. . .which was great.  It was reassuring.  
Everything just slipped back into place as if nothing 
had ever been out of place in the first place.

Ugh!  

Who was she kidding?  It had been anti-climactic,
and it had made Buffy feel out of sync with everyone
around her.  *Their* world was right again.  With 
Buffy's return they had been given a free trip to 
Happyville where after a few moments for readjustment
they were off to continue with their lives.  

For Buffy it wasn't that easy.

Hello!  Something had happened here.  Something she
couldn't quite process. She had just returned from the 
dead for God's sake!  Didn't that mean anything?  

Buffy had brooded about that as Dawn made plans to 
spend the night with her friend. Gee, her sister returns 
from the dead.  They have this great, tearful, stay up 
all night reunion, and the next day Dawn was arranging 
sleepovers leaving Buffy alone with nothing to do 
but think. She hated thinking.

It was somewhere around that point that Buffy had become
aware of the fact she had touched bases with all Scoobies 
but one. . .only he wasn't a Scooby. Not really. Not even 
close actually. He was a one time mortal enemy who for
some reason no longer was--an enemy that is. But that 
didn't make him a Scooby. . .just something. Buffy 
couldn't define what that something might be, but it 
was real and it existed and where the hell was he? 

Spike had been conspicuous in his absence, mainly because 
his absence was so damn rare.  Spike always had a way 
of, you know, being around. Constantly.  He was the 
ultimate 'thing that would not leave'...so why hadn't 
he been around making a nuisance of himself? 

It wasn't like his name hadn't been mentioned.  It had.
Willow had said. . .something.  Buffy couldn't pinpoint 
what.  Will's words had been quiet and muffled and sort 
of vague.  Dawn had mentioned his name several times, 
always adding how thrilled he would be. But Buffy hadn't 
seen him.  She hadn't spoken to him.  She had been 
avoiding the very thought of him.  

Left sitting alone on a Friday night, a person's mind 
could wander to unexpected places, and Buffy's had 
wandered to a certain annoying vampire named Spike.

When Buffy had found Spike, he had looked like hell. 
Hell on earth that is. He had been covered in blue goo.
Icky, stinky blue goo because he had just ripped the 
head off a demon and...well, head ripping in general 
tended to be messy business.  Spike had then kicked 
the headless corpse.

"I think you won," she had drawled.

"Hyeah, but you never know. Some demons are hard to ki--"  
Spike had stopped mid sentence.  He had turned.  A light 
had entered his eyes and--

*******************************************************

                      QUESTIONING

*******************************************************


"So how did this happen?"  Gunn's question snapped Buffy 
back to the present, the Hyperion hotel/L.A. present. He 
scratched his ear. "I mean, I get the whole resurrection 
spell thing..."  He paused. "Actually, I don't get the 
wwhole resurrection spell thing.  Care to explain?"

Buffy wished she could. "It's complicated. Will did it."

Angel's brows drew down over his eyes in a concentrated
frown.  "Willow brought you back?"

Buffy nodded as Gunn pressed, "If the redhead can do 
that...Look, death doesn't come with a rewind button.
It can't be that easy.  If it was, no one would die."

"It wasn't that easy."  Buffy sighed and looked away.  
"I don't have answers. I don't understand it. I wish I 
did,  but I don't."

"So you're saying we should ask the witch."

"I don't think even Willow understands what happened.  
She said it was like the time she re-souled Angel. Something 
else took over. Something that wasn't her." Buffy shrugged. 
"Willow tried to explain but she once tried to explain Chem II, 
and I didn't understand that either. What I did understand was 
the only reason the spell worked was because I didn't die in 
a mortal way."

Angel interrupted. "I thought you fell from a tower."

"I did, but it wasn't the fall that killed me."

Angel's face was unreadable, still and fixed. "Then 
how did you die?"

Buffy's brows rose. "Don't you know?"

Angel didn't answer so Gunn answered instead. "Your
friend, Willow, she just said it was a fight. An apocalypse."

"That's all she said?"

"She was pretty upset. And after that so was--" Gunn 
glanced at Angel. "It didn't seem like the time for long 
winded explanations. Usually dead means dead.  
Doesn't matter how."

"How?" Angel asked, and still his face was like 
carved stone.

Buffy searched for a way to explain. "It was an apocalypse. 
A  hellgod named Glory wanted to open the gates of 
hell. . ." 

Because, you know, that's what hellgods did with gates
to hell. Familiar story, actually.  We did this a few 
years ago.  You remember don't you, Angel?

Shut up, evil voice, Buffy commanded. Just shut up.
It wasn't the same thing.

No, Glory just wanted to go home. Angelus specifically
wanted to take the whole world with him.

I *said* shut up!  I could live without turning into
schizophrenic Buffy, you know.

"How?" Angel asked again.

What did she look like?  Exposition woman? Speech
making was *so* not her job. Buffy left speeches to Giles 
or Spike or even Anya who could pop out with some really 
strange ones because she had a vast and varied knowledge 
of all things demony. But Buffy? Explaining things was 
not listed under the Slayer job description. Beating 
things up? That she could do.

Besides explaining the Glory mess meant explaining
things like The Key and Dawn and memories that weren't
real.  No wonder Willow had avoided going into specifics.
No wonder that even before she had died, Buffy hadn't
explained things to Angel. . .even on the night when he 
had sat with her beside her mother's grave.

Dawn and Angel were two things that didn't go together,
mainly because Angelus had terrorized Dawn during his
not quite sane and very evil phase. Oh, Buffy knew none 
of the "Angelus kidnapped Dawn" thing actually happened. 
Angelus hadn't *really* slipped into her home and 
dragged her little sister to the mansion on the edge of 
town. Angel hadn't really left Dawn 'playing dolls' 
with Drusilla, which anyone who knew Drusilla knew 
must have been a horrifying experience. Those memories 
were Monk manufactured just like the one saying Spike 
had produced an unharmed but mightily pissed off Dawn 
as evidence of his desire for a truce with the Slayer. 

"See, Slayer, lil' Sis all in one neat non-bloody 
package. Now, no staking, right?"

Sometimes Buffy wondered about the way events had
actually unfolded--you know, without the whole 'Dawn 
being inserted' part, but somehow Buffy thought the 
Monks had kept fairly close to actual events.  

Giles had once offered the theory that the Monks hadn't 
made any memories at all, that they--meaning herself, 
the Scoobs, and even Dawn--had made their own memories. 
The monks had simply cast a spell around Dawn so that 
anyone presented with her had to reconcile Dawn's 
existence.  Real memories shifted to accommodate Dawn
...or something like that. Buffy was often a bit vague 
when it came to magic, but Giles had made his point. 
Whatever the differences between truth and fiction, the 
thoughts, feelings, and motivations had remained roughly 
the same.

In any event, Dawn was not Angel's biggest fan.  She
probably placed fourth in the  'who cannot tolerate Angel'
contest, somewhere behind Spike, Xander, and Giles (though 
not necessarily in that order).  Maybe fifth if Riley counted.

Anyway, explaining Glory, the Key, the monumentally 
unsuccessful big 'fraidy runaway, her brain freeze, and 
the last terrible night was just too much. Buffy couldn't 
do it so she talked about her swan dive into the portal 
and a life force drain.   

Stripping the Glory saga of its detail (and any mentions
of Spike because Buffy was *so* not up to explaining that) 
made it a very short action feature. Big fight. Big loss.  
Dead. Crying and self recriminations to follow. Only now 
the crying was over and here she stood all not dead. 

Angel still didn't look happy.  

No, that wasn't quite fair.  He had looked glad that
she was there, it was just there was something else
shadowed his face. It was dark and sad and kind of 
broody.

Angel swallowed and said in a choked, raspy voice, 
"I'm sorry."

Huh?  Then Buffy said it out loud.  "Huh?"  She felt fuzzy 
headed and confused.  "What do you have to be sorry 
about? I'm here."

Angel shook his head.  "But I wasn't there. I wasn't there 
and you needed me."

"What? No. I mean--"  What did she mean?  Suddenly 
Buffy thought she had to find the words, the *right*
words. "There's nothing you could have done. No
way you could have changed things."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. It ended the way it had to.  I was the only 
one who could have closed the portal.  It had to be me."  
Or Dawn, but that would require the whole 'Key' explanation
again, and Buffy had deliberately skipped it the first time. 
At Angel's questioning glance Buffy added lamely, "There
was a prophecy. . .sort of."

Angel still looked pained even as he turned away. Why did 
he turn away?

"Maybe I could have changed things." His voice was low and 
deep. "Maybe I was supposed to be there."  Angel glanced at
Buffy over his shoulder. "I could have done things the others 
couldn't.  Xander, Willow, Giles--they aren't fighters."

"You couldn't have changed things."  And you couldn't
have done anything Spike didn't do, Buffy thought but
didn't say it--not because it wasn't true but because she 
couldn't say it out loud...not to Angel. Buffy stood at a 
loss for words wanting to help Angel, to stop Angel from 
brooding and feeling guilty but not having a clue how to do 
so.

Gunn stood and crossed the room.  "You can't keep 
doing this to yourself," he told Angel sternly.  "She just
told you that you couldn't have changed things."

Angel opened his mouth to speak but Gunn stopped him.
"No.  I've tried saying this before but you weren't listening.  
Now you're gonna listen. You couldn't be two places at once 
any more than I could.  Remember just before our trip to 
demonland one of my old crew died."

Angel looked stricken. "Gunn, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry.  That's not the point.  For a long
time I thought I should have been with the guys when
it all down.  They asked me to go with them but I chose to
go out kicking demon butt with you and English.  Now, I don't 
know how much of a difference I might have made with my old 
crew, but I'd like to think I made a difference for us."

Gunn faced Buffy.  "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but
you didn't ask for Brood Boy's help, now didjya?"

Buffy hated to meet Angel's eyes.  She hated that he
felt guilty, and she hated saying, "No.  I didn't ask."

"And you don't really think he could have made much 
difference in the whole hellbitch battle."

All Buffy could do was shake her head.  No.  Angel 
couldn't have changed what had happened.  *Nothing* 
could have changed what happened.  Death had been 
her gift.

That seemed to be enough for Angel's friend.  "Now see,
we can sit here all night wondering what you might have
done with blondie," Gunn told Angel.  "We'll never know.  
But obviously she really didn't need you to save the 
world because this world is still here.  And now she's 
here.  If you ask me things turned out okay in the end."  

Angel looked frustrated and angry.  "That's not the 
point."

"Isn't it? No offense."  Gunn tilted his head toward Buffy.  
"I'm sure blondie here is a great girl, but I happen to think 
that Cordy and Fred rate pretty high on the great people 
scale. Buffy is standing here without any help from you, 
but Cordy and Fred wouldn't be.  Besides--"  

When Gunn stood face to face with Buffy he towered over
her.  He was one big guy.   He asked, "You  didn't fight 
alone, did you?   You had backup, right?"

Buffy felt Angel's gaze on her. "No, I wasn't alone," 
she admitted, then with more conviction because she 
felt Angel needed to hear it to assuage some of his
unnecessary guilt.  "I wasn't alone, Angel.  It wasn't 
by myself.  I had help. I had. . ."  Buffy took a deep
breath.  "Everyone fought with me.  It was a team effort."

Gunn nodded. "See. She had help.  But if Cordy hadn't 
had us, who would she have had?  That Groosalug guy?"

Angel glowered and scoffed. "That Groosalug guy? Please.
Cordy could do so much better than that.  Besides, he wasn't
all *that* tough.  I beat him didn't I?"  Angel glanced at 
Buffy and cleared his throat. "Uh. . .we don't need  to go 
into any of that right now."

Gunn shrugged.  "Fine with me as long as it's through 
your thick vampire skull that Cordy would have been lost 
in that place if we hadn't gone after her, and Fred, here, 
would have been stuck in slavery or dead.  Buffy may or 
may not have needed you. Cordy and Fred definitely *did.*"

There. It was a simple, straight forward and oh so believable
argument.  Buffy believed it.  It sounded and felt. .. right.  
Things had happened the way they were supposed to have 
happened. "Your friend is right," Buffy concurred softly.

"Damn straight, I'm right. I know I'm right and if you
have any doubt, think about this. Those freaky Powers That 
Be that send Cordy her visions sent you looking for Fred
not to go have some big fight with your ex-girlfriend." Gunn 
paused.  "That didn't come out right."

"I think it came out pretty good," Buffy told him.

Angel's head was bent and he seemed to be thinking.

Buffy approached him.  She touched his arm.  "It's okay, 
Angel.  I'm okay. The world's okay. And because of you, 
Cordy and Fred are okay too."

Fred nodded.  "I'm definitely okay.  I'm home and they still 
have tacos, and I don't have that thing around my neck that 
could make my head explode.  That's all good."

Buffy smiled.  "See. Good stuff."

Angel shook his head. "You're letting me off easy, Buffy.  
Again."

"No, I'm not.  I'm just being realistic and pragmatic
and a few other icky things.  You did what you had
to do.  We all do.  There's no blame here. There's no 
reason for you to feel guilty.  It's a  guilt free zone."  
And I don't need another guilt ridden vampire running 
around, Buffy thought. She had enough problems with Spike 
feeling guilty about what had happened.  On the other 
hand, Buffy was kind of used to Angel feeling guilty 
about stuff. Spike feeling guilty was just way weird. 

Focus, Buffy.  Deal with Angel in the here and now. She 
looked at him hopefully.  "Are we okay yet?  Please, say 
we're okay.  I want that."

Angel gave a small smile.  "If it's what you want."

"Absolutely."

His smile grew and -- wow, it reached all the way to
his eyes. "I'm glad you're back, Buffy." 

Buffy released the breath she hadn't even known she
was holding. "Yeah, me too."

"I'm sure everyone is glad you're back."

Oh, they were.  It wasn't exactly an emotion they hid.  
Big smiles.  Big tears.  Group hugs.  Hey, even Angel 
had produced a smile.  A small one, but it was a smile 
that for once reached his eyes which was very out of
the ordinary. Usually when Buffy looked into Angel's 
eyes she came away wondering, "What is he thinking?"

Angel had never been Mr. Availability where his private
thoughts were concerned.  He was the original mystery 
man, which was wonderfully intriguing except for the 
fact Buffy wasn't Nancy Drew. Buffy fought evil head
on, leaving very little time for mysteries. Plus, she 
wasn't exactly emotional insight woman. Look at the 
whole "clueless about Riley" catastrophe. 

No, the Buffster was not good at reading people, that 
was why it was easier when people reacted by...you 
know, *reacting.* Take her confrontation with Spike 
a few hours ago. There Spike had stood covered in 
stinky blue goo as she pronounced him winner of the 
demon beheading contest. 

Spike had blinked and light had filled his eyes.  No, 
seriously, it was like someone had turned on a floodlight
inside him.  Don't ask her how it was possible. First,
Buffy was well aware it wasn't physically possible; and, 
second, it wasn't some supernatural light so don't go down 
that path. No, it was more like the energy and emotion 
that always bubbled inside Spike had exploded into life 
and radiated from his eyes--but not in a Xander X-Men 
Cyclops way.

"You're here."  Spike's voice had been soft and incredulous. 
"You're really here.  And it's the real you." How Spike had 
known, Buffy wasn't sure. But he *had* known, and he had 
laughed, a mad, delighted, full throated laugh as he jumped on 
top of a headstone and howled to the night, "Look out kiddies, 
the Slayer is back where she belongs." Gazing at her with 
dancing blue eyes he had murmured, "Fanfuckingtastic."


*******************************************************

                        SEEING

*******************************************************

Buffy had laughed. There was something just a bit absurd 
in the world's most renowned Slayer killer standing on 
a granite headstone yelling his uncontained joy at her 
return.  When Buffy had explained that Willow had 
brought her back, Spike had laughed again.  "Red's one
frighteningly awesome witch when she's wound up, isn't
she?"

"Yeah."

No one would ever call Spike emotionally reticent. 
Buffy never needed to wonder what Spike was feeling. 
Most of the time he announced it, or, if by some miracle 
he wasn't in a chatty mood, what he felt was written 
in his eyes. 

Buffy wondered when she had first noticed that Spike's 
eyes were blue. She didn't know when, just as she didn't 
know why she had ever thought they were dark and 
expressionless in the first place.  Of course Spike was 
a vampire, and Buffy didn't make a habit of gazing
deeply into a vampire's eyes looking for feelings. . .but 
maybe she should have.  

Spike gave away his secrets with his eyes.

It figured that Buffy would discover this useful bit of 
information at this late date. It would have come in 
handy during the days when she and Spike had been 
trying to kill each other. . .only Buffy somehow doubted 
that in the old days she would have been allowed to see
naked emotion laid bare in the shadowy blue depths. He'd
had more defenses then.

"You're back," Spike had repeated and, oh yeah, he
expressed stuff with his eyes. He expressed all over. 
"Do the Scoobs know?  We've *got* to tell Niblet--"

"She knows. They all know."

Spike had paused, his black leather duster settling 
around him as he jumped to the ground.  "Everyone?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Some of the light had died in his eyes. 

It was that expressive thing again. As Spike's inner 
light dimmed, Buffy knew she had hurt him...which was 
weird and nuts and should have been impossible but 
wasn't.  

When in the hell had she begun wondering whether 
Spike's feelings had been hurt? When had she begun 
thinking he *had* feelings?

Um...always, her inner evil voice noted.

Oh, not the part where she had worried about hurting 
his feelings just the part where she had known he
had them. After all, when Spike had shown up asking 
for a truce to 'save the world' there had been a flash 
of something in his eyes that said Dru's actions had 
wounded him.  

That wasn't supposed to be, right? 

Nothing about Buffy had made an impact on Angelus
--other making him hate her more violently--and that 
had been because Angelus was a soulless vamp. He had 
been incapable of feeling, but there had stood Spike, 
equally soulless, showing real pain over Dru's 
infidelity and talking about saving the world. Yes, 
Spike's motivations had been selfish, but even 
selfishness was a human emotion.  It meant caring 
about something. 

Yeah, so? Buffy's strident psyche mocked. She had 
always known Spike felt *something,* she just wasn't 
supposed to care what that something might be.  His 
feelings weren't supposed to matter to Buffy any more
than her feelings were supposed to matter to Spike.

"I couldn't live her bein' in that much pain. I'd let 
Glory kill me first."

Her. Buffy. And Spike had meant it. Buffy knew Spike 
had meant it. He had been willing to die for her.

Okay! Buffy had surrendered to the memory. Spike *did* 
care what she felt, and as she had stood in the cemetery, 
Buffy had found herself squirming at his kicked puppy 
expression even as he valiantly fought to hide it.

"So I'm last to know, eh." Spike had searched his 
pockets for a cigarette. 
  
"Well, not last exactly,"  At Spike's arched brow Buffy
had added, "I haven't called L.A. yet."

He had breathed out a thin cloud of gray smoke. "So 
that's what's wrong."

"Wrong? Did I say anything was wrong?"

"Didn't need to. You're standing here with me instead
of out celebrating with your friends. Can't say wrong
doesn't factor in there somewhere."

Buffy had crossed her arms over her chest. "For your 
information the 'Buffy is Back' bash is scheduled
for tomorrow night."  And oooh!  See the pretty 
lifeline.  It had hung right in front of her. "And 
I'm here to invite you."

It had been worth saying it just to see a look
of shock cross Spike's face.  "It's not nice to fool 
the Big Bad," he had warned.

"Who's fooling?"

Spike had closed his eyes. "Niblet must've forced you. 
I've been her project lately."

"This is a project free offer. Nib...um...Dawn had 
nothing to do with it. I thought this one up all 
by myself." Right there on the spot as a matter 
of fact.

"Mmm-hmm."  

"What?!" 

"Slayer, just go ahead say what's wrong."

Damnit, how could Spike always see through her as if
she was made of glass?  

"Why does anything have to be wrong for me to show 
up--"  Buffy had stopped as it hit. Something had to be 
wrong for her to show up looking for Spike because 
something was *always* wrong when she showed up looking 
for Spike. Dawn was missing, or she needed information, 
or she needed help stealing a RV for the big 'fraidy run 
away. It was always something.

Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed 
it with his heel.  "So what is it, Slayer? Why are you 
here rather than at home?"

"Alone," she had interjected.  "If I was home, I'd
be alone.  Dawn's spending the night at a friend's. 
Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan lecture. And Anya 
has Xander picking out china."

Spike had frowned, and Buffy had been quick to explain, 
"I mean, we had the big hug and tears scene. Everyone 
was happy to see me. Dawn and I stayed up talking 
until sunrise last night. And there *will* be a big 
Buffy is Back bash tomorrow at the Bronze--and you 
*are* invited by the way. It's just that tonight 
everyone had previously arranged plans."

"'Cept me."

"Well, yeah, but that's not the reason I'm here."

Demons always chose the most inconvenient times to
attack, and that had been the moment the Lazuli 
demons had chosen.  

It turned out the headless corpse at Spike's feet 
had buddies--three to be exact.  Demon One had tackled 
Spike. Demon Two had launched himself at Buffy. And 
Demon Three had stood in the middle of the fray looking 
uncertain about who to attack first. Not that it 
mattered because the trio had bitten off far more than 
they could chop, chew, or kill. 

The fight had taken less than four minutes and ended 
with Spike covered in yet more goo, Buffy examining 
the bottom of her shoes hoping that goo stuff could
be easily scraped off, and Demon Three running 
screaming from the graveyard.

Buffy had looked down at her pants in dismay.
"You know, I bet this stuff stains."

"Probably." Spike had shown a complete lack of 
concern for her outfit. "So why are you here?"

"I don't know.  I thought I'd drop by and tell you I 
wasn't dead. For some reason I thought you might 
like to hear it."

"I do like to hear it," he had protested.  "I could
hear it all night, tomorrow night and the next day 
besides. You could repeat it for the next two bloody 
weeks and I wouldn't tire of hearin' it. But if you're 
standing there saying nothing is wrong, you're full 
of it. I can see it on you, Slayer."

"I've got blue goo on me."

"Slayer! What is it?"

Oh, Spike was so damn good at confrontation, at calling 
her out, at not allowing her to live in the land of 
denial.  "I'm not dead!" Buffy had screamed.

Spike had blinked, and she had prepared herself for the 
next quip, the next witticism, the next barb. It didn't 
come.  Instead he had quietly asked, "You're bothered 
by that, aren't you?"

"By the 'not being dead' or the 'dying' part? Because 
I'm having a hard time deciding which one bothers 
me more."

Spike had sighed and sat on a doublewide headstone.
He had patted the place beside him and slowly,
reluctantly Buffy had taken the offered seat.

"So talk," he had instructed.

"I died."

"I noticed."

"No, I mean I *died.*  Not like that time with the 
Master. Not a few minutes and--wham--thank goodness 
someone invented mouth to mouth resuscitation.  I'm 
talking dead, buried, over and done."

"I got that part. Believe me. I was there, pet." Spike 
had tilted his head and watched her. "This bothers 
you. Guess I can see how it might."

"Oh yeah, I'm bothered."

"It's stressful, disorienting."

"As if you would know."

Spike had rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh right, 'cause 
what would I know about dyin' what with being a vampire 
and all."

"Did they bury you?" Buffy had suddenly asked.

"Wha'?"

"You know, six feet under with dirt on top."

"Nah." At her glance he had clarified. "Family crypt."

"And now you live in one. That's...kind of creepy, 
actually."

"I *am* a vampire, pet."

But Buffy hadn't really heard Spike. Oh, she had heard 
him. She just hadn't listened very closely. "You guys 
buried me. She saved the world a lot."

"Hmm, yeah.  Harris did the engraving. Thought it 
was appropriate."

Buffy had stared at the gravestone in front of her
and tried to make out the letters in the darkness 
but couldn't. "I dug myself out of that grave. Just 
like. . ."

After seconds of silence Spike had finished the 
sentence for her.  "Just like the blokes you dust in 
this graveyard night after night." He had cocked his 
head to the side and looked straight at her. "Is that 
what's bothering you? 'Cause if it is let me tell 
you, you aren't a vampire."

"Oh yeah, I just rose from the dead and that happens 
to so many people who aren't vampires."

"Well, we could ask a few zombies." She had punched 
him in the shoulder and he had chuckled.  "Hey, 
watch it! The leather takes enough abuse as it is."

"I'm serious, Spike."

"I know you are, love, and I also know you aren't a 
vampire.  And I'm not just talkin' about the fact that 
the night you died there was only one vampire around who 
could've done the job." Spike had suddenly looked away, 
his posture uncharacteristically stiff. "And I wouldn't 
have done that to you."

"This coming from the creature who threatened to
kill me like a thousand times."

"Turning is different than killing," he had said 
seriously.  "It's worse."

The silence between them had been tense and maybe even 
a bit profound.  It had scared the crap out of her so 
Buffy had shaken herself and quipped, "I don't know
why I even brought it up. I can walk in sunlight.  I 
checked."

"There you go."

Buffy had shifted anxiously.  "But not technically 
being a vampire doesn't mean I'm the same as before."

Spike had looked at Buffy with piercing blue eyes.  
"You're *you.*"  He had pronounced it so distinctly
that Buffy had hard time doubting him.

"Sure about that?" No way would she ever, *ever*
admit how badly she had needed to hear Spike's
answer.

"Dead sure. Do you feel like you?"

Buffy had shrugged.  "Sort of, but what does that
matter?"

"It matters."  Spike had fished another cigarette out 
of his pocket and lit it. 

"When you become a vampire parts of you go missing. You 
know it right off, from the moment you wake up with 
bloodlust screaming in your head. There's no debating 
with it. There's no ignoring it. All the  rational 
thought in the world doesn't make it go away--"  Spike 
had stopped and there was a bright speck of red in the 
darkness as he had taken a drag off his cigarette. When 
Spike had started to speak again, his voice had been 
low and deep and haunted. "You remember what you were. 
You think the same thoughts so you know those urges 
weren't there before."

At Buffy's questioning frown Spike had explained. "It's 
not like your memory is wiped clean. Up here--" he had 
pointed to his head "--you're the same person. 
Intellectually you can even be horrified by what you 
do, by what you *want* to do. But the urge is so 
strong, and...and parts of you are missing."  

"You make it sound like you're at war with yourself."

"Then I'm sounding wrong 'cause you're not."  Spike's 
words had been little more than breath in the night. 
"*That's* the scary part."

"I don't understand."

"It's complicated."

They had sat watching the ash of his cigarette grow to 
a gravity defying length. Buffy had waited for it to 
break and fall to the ground, but Spike had sat so 
perfectly still that the ash had continued to grow
with the silence.  Buffy had wanted to say something, 
anything to break the quiet, to bring the conversation 
to a close or to at least open a new one. However, it 
had been Spike who had spoken. 

"You know those blokes who lose a limb," he had murmured. 
"They talk about phantom pain. Part of them was severed, 
cut away, but they remember how it felt when it was there. 
Sometimes it feels like it's *still* there--even though 
it's not. I feel like that sometimes." He had faced Buffy.  

Buffy had asked breathlessly, "Is there a hole inside
you?  I mean...um...where the parts used to be."

Spike had shrugged.  "I don't feel empty if that's
what you're asking. Never have."

"So what fills you up?" They both knew they were 
talking about his soul, or rather his lack thereof.  
"What takes the missing part's place?"

"Don't know, love.  Whatever is handy I 'spose. 
Rage, obsession, despair, whatever is our personal 
raison d'etre." 

Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground. "And 
none of this has anything to do with you. *You've* 
got your parts."  Spike had shot her a leering, 
wolfish smile. "I checked."

Buffy had rolled her eyes, but to her own surprise she 
had also returned his smile.

Spike had reached out then, had lifted his hand and
almost touched her hair, had almost touched *her.*
But even as his hand had hovered close to her Spike 
must have seen something reflected in her face because 
he had a abandoned the telling gesture to rise to his 
feet. Shoving his hands into his pockets Spike had said 
gruffly, "You may be confused, pet, but you're whole. 
You believe that, don't you?"

"Maybe, I do."
 
"Right then. Glad we cleared that up." He must have 
sensed her hesitation. "What's the rest, love?"

Buffy had heard herself blurting, "Dawn is spending the 
night at a friend's. Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan 
lecture. And Anya has Xander picking out china."

"Pshaw!  Is that all?"

"First, no, that's not 'all,' and second, no one born 
after 1850 says 'pshaw!'"

"1854 actually, and if that's not all, what's the 
rest?"  

"They had plans for tonight! Plans they made last week.  
I wasn't here last week. I  didn't make plans."

"Yeah, that would've been difficult." Again Buffy had 
punched Spike in the shoulder. "Ow!" He had glowered 
at her. "What was that for?"

"I don't know, I..."  Buffy had looked around. Nope.
Trees and gravestones didn't have answers. "I just
need to hit something and you're convenient."

"Maybe I should be *inconvenient* then."

"They made plans without me." It was irrational.  
Buffy had known it even as she said it, but there it 
had been. "They did things without me.  I died and the 
world didn't end."

"That was sort of the point, wasn't it?"

Buffy's unfocused anger had dissipated, and suddenly 
she had felt very small and very lost. "They went on 
without me."

"They missed you, Buffy.  You weren't forgotten."

Her head had felt fuzzy. "They didn't forget me, but 
they went on without me."  Her gaze had snapped to meet 
Spike's.  "You said I haven't changed, and I haven't. 
*They* have though. Willow is stronger than ever.
Tara isn't brain sucked. Xander and Anya are getting  
married. Giles moved to London, and Dawn is now an 
inch taller than I am!"

Spike's eyes had become a shadowed, darker blue and 
his sharply sculpted features had seemed to soften.  
"They're only human, Buffy. Besides, the Scoobs are 
young.  Lots of changes at that age."

"It's not fair," she had whispered.

"No.  It's not. I can quote the cliché if you'd like
--the one about life." The corner of his mouth had 
quirked. "I can even bring up the one about it being 
a bitch, but I'd have to add an addenda after the 
'then you die' bit."  At her unwavering stare Spike
had added, "No, it isn't fair. You die and the world 
doesn't stop. Everyone goes on without you."

"Is that what it was like for you?"

Spike had blinked.  "Why are you asking that, pet?"

She had shrugged. "I'm curious. Did they go on without 
you like nothing had happened? I mean before you 
returned and killed them all."

Spike had staggered backward.  "Where in the bloody
hell did you hatch that idea?"  He had even managed to 
look offended. "What? Do you think after Dru killed me in 
that stable I returned home late one night and murdered 
my Mum and kid sis?"

Buffy hadn't nodded but her answer must have been clear 
in her eyes.  

A muscle had jumped in Spike's jaw.  "You know just 
because Angelus had some weird hang-up about his father 
and decided to get his jollies by chopping down his 
family tree doesn't mean I did the same. Mum wasn't 
perfect, but she didn't deserve to die."

"Neither did a lot of your victims."

Spike's indignation had seemed to dissipate. "Maybe," 
At her arched brow he had conceded, "Okay, no they
didn't, but they also weren't my Mum."

For some reason, Buffy hadn't questioned Spike's sincere 
horror at the thought. Maybe some people--maybe a lot 
of people--would say she was naïve to believe him.  Spike
was a proven liar. He was a vampire and made no effort to
hide that fact.  Maybe it was *because* he had never
made an effort to hide his sins that Buffy was inclined
to believe him.  "So life went on without William the 
Bloody," she had concluded softly.

Spike had sniffed.  "Life didn't even pause to notice
William the Bloody got off the soddin' ride."

********************************************************

                    UNDERSTANDING

********************************************************

Buffy had wrapped her arms around herself and stared
into the night.  The graveyard was quiet as. . .well,
as quiet as a graveyard if the graveyard was anywhere 
but Sunnydale.  Spike must have been doing a good job 
of slaying in her absence. 

Great, another thing to prove she wasn't really needed.
They now had Spike the *Vampire* Slayer.

"Buffy," Spike had said quietly into the dark. "I think 
there's something you need to see."

She had shivered. "Oh no. The last time I heard that..."
Spike had what? Pulled her head out of the sand?  Shown 
her what Riley had been doing behind her back? Lead her
to a truth she had ignored but needed to see? 

Gathering her courage Buffy had asked, "So where are we 
going?"

"First off, to my crypt.  Need a change of clothes.
This blue goo is rank."

Buffy had smiled.  "I noticed."

"Don't grin, Blondie, you're covered in the stuff
as well."

After arriving at Spike's crypt Buffy had drawled,  "So 
one of the great mysteries of Sunnydale is about to be 
solved."

Spike had rummaged through a wooden chest behind the 
sarcophagus but had paused long enough to shoot her a 
questioning glance. "And what would that be, pet?"

"Whether you actually own more than one set of clothes.
What's the truth?  Is there a stack of black t-shirts 
and jeans in that trunk?"

He had pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the 
side. "What do you think?"

Buffy had thought for a lean guy, Spike was amazingly 
well sculpted.  Really...amazing.

Oh!  She had *so* not meant to notice that. She should 
have been struck blind for noticing that. . .even if it 
*was* hard to miss. 

"You should see him naked."

God, Buffy had the suspicion the Buffybot had been right.  
She bet Spike looked good naked, but seeing him naked? 
No. Never. That would be *wrong.*

Buffy had quickly turned around and stared at the candles.  
Lots and lots of candles. Spike had dozens of them. It was 
a fire hazard...and kind of atmospheric. Out of the corner 
of her eye she had seen him walk across the room and push 
back the cover to--

Buffy had squeezed her eyes shut. Oh no, not there. Not
down there.  She had opened one eye and seen Spike 
disappear into the tunnel and all the reasons she 
should *not* have gone to his crypt had tumbled through 
her mind.  

"Spike, what in the hell are you doing?" she had 
growled.

He had answered but Buffy had been unable to make 
out the words. . .and was that *water* she heard?!

She had stepped cautiously toward the opening to the
tunnel.  "Spike," she had said warningly.  "I am never,
let me repeat *never,* going to go down there so what 
are you doing?"

"I *said* I was taking a shower. Are you deaf?"

A shower.  Well that made sense. Wait.  No.  She poked
her head through the hole to the tunnel.  "Did you 
just say *shower*?"

"Uh, yeah, that would be the word. You recognize it?"

Buffy had glanced around. The tunnel had looked much the 
same as before--sans Buffy shrine and, yes, she had 
thanked God for that--but Buffy hadn't seen a sign of Spike 
or a shower. . .another thing for which she should have
given thanks.  Buffy hadn't wanted to see a naked Spike; 
and, yes, she had been aware of the double entendre; and, 
no, she hadn't been lying to herself despite what the 
little voice in the back of her head had said.  She had
only wished that voice would stop reminding her of how 
nicely sculpted his chest had been...and his back...
and... 

"Spike, how can you have a shower down there?"

"How can you have a shower in your house?  Tap a water
main, find a hot water heater, visit Home Depot for the
rest."

"And terrorize a plumber into installing it for you," 
Buffy had quipped as she sat back on her heels at the 
edge of the opening to the tunnel. "'Cause most crypts 
don't come equipped with hot and cold running water."  
Or electricity and television sets for that matter, 
Buffy had privately thought.

"Didn't need a plumber.  Did it myself." Spike had 
emerged from the tunnel dressed in black t-shirt and
jeans. Must have been a short shower with no time spared
for a hair dryer afterwards.  His scruffy platinum blonde 
head was soaking wet.  At her incredulous look Spike had 
shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a handy guy to have around."

Yeah, real handy.  "So you can give the glorified 
brick layer a run for his money?"

Spike looked at her blankly. "Why would I want to do 
that?  Not my style."

Not his style. Right. . . but he had still installed a bathroom
in the tunnel.  Could things get any stranger?

As she and Spike had exited his crypt, Spike had chuckled.  
"In this our magic world filled with beasties, baddies, and 
resurrection spells it's my having a shower that confuses 
you?"

"Not confused, exactly."

"Demon," Spike had warned just as the last remaining
Lazuli chose to make a sneak attack.  

Pivoting swiftly, Buffy had landed a roundhouse kick 
squarely in the demon's solar plexus just as Spike hopped 
to take a seat on a gravestone off to the side.

Buffy had glared at the vamp. "Aren't you going to 
help?" The Lazuli had regained his footing and was
charging toward her.

"What? And get blue stuff all over my nice clean togs?
I just took a shower, y'know."

Buffy had punched the Lazuli in the nose and kneed him 
in the groin but had kept her attention focused on 
Spike. "So what happened to 'handy guy?'"

"I'm still handy."  Opening his jacket Spike had removed
a gleaming machete and tossed it to her.  

Buffy had caught it by the handle and with an effortless 
turn decapitated the demon with one stroke. She looked 
down at herself.  "More blue glue.  This outfit is a 
total loss."

Spike rose from his seat.  "I always thought so.  All 
bulky and not figure flattering. Really, Summers, what's 
become of your sartorial style?"

"Remind me why I keep you around."

"I'm handy, remember?"  He had approached her, an elegantly
graceful predator of the night, but his smile hadn't been 
predatory. It had been smug and somewhat pleased.  "Now 
admit it. You enjoyed the fight. Made you feel alive."

"So?"

"So enjoy it--being alive, living. The alternative, while 
peaceful, doesn't offer many opportunities to get your 
juices flowin' or make you feel all tingly. It's not 
very challenging and doesn't make your senses buzz."

And Buffy had admitted to herself that Spike had a 
point.  It hadn't been about the fight or the violence.
It had been about the heady pleasure of existence and
its physicality. It just *felt* good.  

As Spike had led the way out of the graveyard Buffy had 
watched him more closely than usual. Had Spike given her 
a glimpse into why he did so many of the things he did? 
Was that why he embraced action and battle in addition 
to things like hot chocolate, spicy chicken wings and 
sex? Did those things make him feel alive? No wonder 
he was such a hedonist.
  
"So what's next?" she had asked.

"Next, Revello Drive and a shower for the Slayer."

"And then?"

And then had come the long, dark drive to L.A.--not 
that Buffy had known L.A. had been their destination.  

They had fought over the CD player.  Spike had wanted 
the Sex Pistols. Buffy had told him that listening to 
that screeching only gave her a headache.  Spike, of 
course, had been outraged that she had called it 
'screeching.' He had then whined about her most probably 
wanting to listen to those wankers N'Sync.  Didn't she 
recognize third rate, pre-packaged pop when she heard 
it?  Spike had then spent ten minutes complaining 
about their latest CD until Buffy had pointed out he 
knew *way* too much about N'Sync.

Spike had muttered something about hanging around 
Niblet too much. It had actually been a comfort, though 
shockingly not a surprise, to know Spike had kept his 
promise to watch over her sister.

When Spike had parked his car in front of the Hyperion, 
Buffy had been clueless about where they were and
why.  She had looked at the mostly dark building then
widened her eyes and theatrically gasped.  "It's a 
building!  We don't have buildings in Sunnydale!"

He rolled his eyes.  "Could live without the sarcasm,
Slayer."

"I always thought sarcasm was one of my better qualities."  
Then she had noticed that something Spike's shadowed gaze
meant that he was being serious. "Where are we and why?" 
she had asked gravely. For once her voice had been 
completely devoid of suspicion. Somehow she just knew 
he was doing this for her...whatever 'this' was.

"This--" Spike had gestured toward the hotel. "--is
Angel's new digs." 

Buffy's head had snapped around.  "But I thought..."
She frowned. "Didn't he live somewhere else?"

Spike shrugged. "After the thing with the hellbitch
Red came to tell the poof..."  Spike paused and fiddled
with the CD player, turning the sound way down. "Anyway, 
turns out magnificent poof moved some time last year." 

Buffy had studied the unfamiliar building. "I don't 
understand.  Why did you bring me here? I mean *you*...
You hate Angel."

"Yeah. But I don't hate you."  God, when had Spike ever
been capable of looking so solemn?  "You need this,"
he had told her in his soft, rich voice.

Buffy had searched Spike's face trying to figure how a
supposedly soulless creature was capable of some of 
the acts of generosity she had seen in Spike.  There
were humans who couldn't make the kinds of selfless
gestures that Spike sometimes performed with astounding 
grace.

His features, so sharply chiseled, so startlingly handsome, 
had remained gentle.  "You said that the Scoobs had gone 
on without you.  They had changed.  That's only to be 
expected in the young."  Spike had looked at the building 
while Buffy studied his profile. "Four months feels like a 
lifetime to the young. But to a vampire, it's a heartbeat."  
The deep timbre of his voice seemed to fill the confines of 
the car and envelope her with a curious warmth.  "A single
heartbeat."  Spike had tilted his head slightly. "Go on, love."

"Aren't you coming?"

"Phaw! You're kiddin' right?" Spike had shaken his head.
"Nah, I think we'll save the fang gang reunion for another 
night. This is for you."

He had reached across her, and unlike the last February 
when she had jumped and pulled away, Buffy had remained 
still and all too aware of the scent of soap and old 
leather.  If Spike had been human she would have felt 
his body heat as he had opened the passenger door. 

When he had pulled away Buffy had stepped out of the car.
"Wait!" she had said before he moved to close it behind
her. "Where are you going?" 

"You don't need me here."

"Yeah, but..."  Buffy had glanced back at the unfamiliar
building.  "What if Angel's out fighting evil and helping
the helpless or something?  What if no one is home? I 
wouldn't want to be stranded alone here."

"There's a light inside and I've seen shadows moving 
about."

"Yeah but..."  Buffy had shifted uncomfortably on her
feet.  Honestly, had she actually tried to talk Spike
out of leaving?  "What if I need a ride home or something? 
Dawn is supposed to be back first thing in the morning 
and taking a bus is--ew."  Not that the DeSoto hadn't 
been. Buffy didn't want to contemplate what half the 
stains were on the seats.  Okay, that was a lie.  Buffy 
didn't want to contemplate what *any* of the stains 
were on the seats.

Spike had grasped her hand, his fingers pleasantly cool
against her skin.  Out of his pocket he had produced
a felt tip pen and, turning her hand over, he had written 
an address on her palm.  "I'll be there if you need me."

They had remained transfixed in the moonlight for 
several moments. A lot of improbable and generally 
assumed impossible things had happened to two of them 
over their lifetimes.  Spike had been turned into a 
vampire.  Buffy had become a Slayer. They had both 
died in some form or another and been brought to fight 
another day.  Yet the most astounding thing to Buffy 
was that  after everything that had happened they had 
stared  silently at one another in the moonlight. She and 
Spike had once been mortal enemies and now. . . 
they weren't. 

Buffy couldn't name what it was between them. She 
knew Spike loved her, but his love didn't a relationship
make.  There was no title or definition for what
ran between them and held them together, it simply 
was.

One thing Buffy had admitted to herself when Spike had 
finally shut the door, was the simple fact she didn't 
want to see Spike go. Spike was the one who didn't 
leave, who *never* left. As hard as she sometimes 
pushed, he refused to go. It didn't seem to matter 
what she did or didn't do, Spike stayed. It was  
comforting in a frustrating kind of way, and it felt...right.

As Spike had driven away Buffy had known he wasn't 
really going.  He would be in Sunnydale tomorrow. He 
would annoy her at The Bronze tomorrow night.  The
scary thing as the antique car turned the corner, was 
Buffy's realization that at some point she had come
to depend on Spike's always being there, on his being a
constant in her life.  She also had come to realize
it would hurt to ever see him go. 

Now when in the hell had *that* happened?

"Not the most talkative couple I've ever seen," Gunn
muttered dragging Buffy back to the present.  She 
looked up at Angel--*way* up at Angel. She had always 
felt so damn small around him.  Angel could hold out his 
arm and she could walk under it just like she had done 
with her father when she was ten. 

Angel seemed so broad and physically imposing.  It 
wasn't a strength thing. Buffy knew she could throw 
him across the room--not that she would.  It was just 
he was so tall that she never felt she could look him 
straight in the eye, not like. . .

Buffy pulled away from the thought but even as she did
the question which had haunted her all night rose again
in her mind.  Why was she here?  Was she here because 
she had needed to see Angel? Because she had needed to 
tell Angel she wasn't dead?  She was tempted to say it
was to lessen Angel's grief and guilt, and maybe she 
had done that.  But Buffy had to admit that his friend Gunn 
had done a better job of dragging Angel out of guilt mode
than she had.   

Was she only here because Spike had brought her here 
and left her at the door?  Uh-uh.  No way.  She would have
had to have faced Angel.  She had wanted to see him and
would have. . .if not tonight then soon.   Then it struck
Buffy that it was less of a mystery why she was here than
why Spike--Spike of all creatures--had brought her here. 

Buffy knew she could be oblivious to others' feelings, 
but when a guy was willing to be tortured to death because 
of his feelings for her, even Buffy tended to notice.  
Spike could not have  *wanted* to bring her to Angel's door
so why had he?

"Three months feels like a lifetime to the young, but
to a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."

Buffy had complained to Spike about how the others had
gone on with their lives without her.  It was selfish
she knew, but it was honest, visceral, and real. 
Anya and Xander planned a wedding.  Willow and Tara
attended school. Dawn had begun piecing together a life 
as a real, live girl.  They had grown, changed, and 
moved a few more steps toward their future. It wasn't 
their fault that Buffy felt as though she was out of 
sync and out of place.  The world had revolved without 
her and now she was no longer sure where she fit, where
she belonged.

"To a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."

Buffy looked at Angel. Was that what Spike had brought
her here to see? That Angel hadn't changed? 

Her gaze fell to Fred and Gunn. If that had been the
point Spike had been trying to make he had failed.  Angel 
*had* changed. Oh, it had taken far longer than three 
months.  It had taken years, but Angel had changed. He
had friends she didn't know.  He lived in a place she 
had never seen.  He had *smiled* and the smile had 
reached all the way to his eyes.  Buffy couldn't 
remember ever having seen that before.

Angel had changed, and it was a good change, a healthy
change, a change she had no right to resent. But it 
separated them in a way the curse never had.

Angel had a life in L.A. He had friends here.  Friends
who did him a world of good.  Friends he depended on for
perspective while those same friends looked to Angel for
help. This was Angel's life. His. And it was going 
somewhere.  It was leading him to happiness--a non-evil 
Angelus happiness. Buffy wasn't sure how, but it was 
written all over him as he listened to something Fred
was saying to him.  

Suddenly Buffy knew.  She just knew. Angel had a future, 
and it was here and wasn't her.

God, why *was* she here again?

"To a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."

Damnit, Spike, you were wrong!  I know you haven't seen
Angel in years so you couldn't know, but you were wrong,
Buffy silently raged.  Angel has grown. He's changed, 
and he's done those things without me.

She glanced at the address written in her palm.

You know, Spike, I hope you're sitting there waiting for
me to show up because I'm going to. I'm going to tell you
just how wrong you were.

And then that little evil voice, the one that told Buffy 
things she didn't want to hear, just *had* to speak up
one more time.  It just *had* to ask, "Was he *really*
wrong or did it depend on his point of view?"

Buffy closed her eyes.  Okay, it didn't take a genius
to figure this thing out.  Buffy may not have finished
her Psychology 101 class without her professor going 
psycho and creating a Frankenstein monster who had wanted
to kill her, but Buffy had stuck with the class long enough
to know about transference.

Spike probably had believed that Angel's world had stopped
when Buffy had died. Spike believed that for a vamp like
himself four months was nothing more than a heartbeat. 
It was just the vampire Spike had been speaking of 
hadn't been Angel.  It had been himself.  It had been 
Spike's world that had stopped.

Buffy swallowed.  She had known that, right?  She had
known it from the moment she gazed into Spike's eyes
when she had found him in the cemetery.  She had known
it when he had given her that sad smile in the moonlight
before sending her inside to see Angel.  

Buffy read the address written in her palm and knew
that Spike was waiting for her, not because he expected 
her to show up but because that's what he did. He watched 
for the moments when he might be needed and he was there.
He waited.

Buffy blinked and her chaotic emotions seemed to settle
into some sort of order. Looks like she wasn't out of step 
with *everyone.*  As she stood on tiptoe to kiss Angel lightly 
on the lips, Buffy discovered that she had many of the 
answers she had so desperately needed to find.  Angel 
hadn't given her those answers. Spike had provided many 
of them, but it had taken seeing Angel for her to realize it.

"I'm happy you're back," Angel told her, and Buffy could
see the truth of it in his sherry brown eyes.

She remembered Spike reassuring her, "They missed you,
Buffy.  You weren't forgotten."

No, Buffy hadn't been forgotten and, yes, she had been
missed.  But life went on.  Angel's, Willow's, Xander's,
and Dawn's lives had gone on, and Buffy didn't resent
it any longer.  Envied it a little, but she didn't resent it.

Now it was time to get on with the living.  Time to 
face new challenges and strike new paths.  She couldn't 
spend forever holding onto the past, or just sitting
stagnant in the present because she was frightened that
the future would take her to a place she had once thought 
she would never go. Preconceived ideas of where she 
belonged fell away because life couldn't be planned in 
exacting detail.  Life had to be lived, to be experienced, 
to be enjoyed. 

Buffy smiled at Angel, her fingers still touching the 
silk of his shirt, her lips still feeling his kiss. It was a 
sense memory, but that was all it was.  And that was 
*not* a bad thing because with the acceptance of the 
memory came the knowledge that her pain was no 
longer there.

Before, when she had looked at Angel she had been 
filled with hurt, hurt over what they couldn't have, for 
all the things that could never work.  Now, Buffy could 
look back and remember the good times they had shared.  
She remembered the bad times as well, but she also 
remembered that the world hadn't ended.  She hadn't 
been destroyed. Not even the bad memories packed the 
punch they used to because they were only memories.  
Buffy wasn't in that place any more.  It wasn't her 
life any more.  Her life was in the here and now and 
somewhere in Sunnydale.

"I needed to see you," Buffy murmured as she became
filled with self understanding.  "I needed to tell you
I was alive, that I'm okay now."  She knew her smile was
big and glowing smile and free of pain.  "And I need to 
go back to Sunnydale."  

Buffy stepped back, Angel slipping out of her reach
but she was okay with that too.  "I'm glad things
are going so well for you here in L.A." she told him.  
"It's great to see. I'm glad you've found friends, 
and some happiness and a purpose."

Angel looked perplexed but agreed with her assessment
of his life.  "I'm glad you're back."

Buffy laughed.  "So am I.  For the first time since
I've been back, I'm *glad* about it."  She rushed
forward and gave Angel a peck on the cheek.  "But
now I've really got to go.  Someone is waiting for
me."

Buffy made it out the door, before she realized she
had to go  back. A few seconds later she peeked through 
the Hyperion's door. "Could someone call me a cab?"

***************************************************
TBC at Caritas (Hey, where did you *think* Spike went? <G>) 
In the next installment of the series. . .whenever that 
might be.