Title: Letters From Home

Story by: all-choseny

Pairings: Spike/Buffy

Rating: PG-13

Genre: All Human

Betas: dawnofme & mabel_marsters .All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Disclaimer: This story is not written for profit and it is written for entertainment purposes only. The characters in this story belong to their original creator.

Summary: 9/11 was a day Buffy Summers would never forget. It was the day her husband Angel told her he was going to war. While he's in Iraq, Buffy and Angel exchange letters nearly everyday to stay close, but several months later Buffy learns Angel has been tragically killed during a mission. She vows to stay single until she meets Spike. The attraction is instantaneous, but Buffy is determined to fight it. Despite her resistance, Spike is determined to win Buffy's love for himself even if it means keeping a secret from her.

Prologue

September 11, 2001

The pleasant sounds of morning filled the brightly lit kitchen as Buffy moved efficiently from the stove to the kitchen table. Bacon sizzled in a frying pan next to a hot griddle with three half-dollar sized pancakes, and the coffee was brewing in the Mr. Coffee maker Willow got her the Christmas before. Breakfast was Buffy's favorite meal of the day. It was also the easiest to cook. Humming a light tune, she flipped the pancakes.

At the table, the baby began to tap her sippy cup on the tray attached to her high chair, signaling to Buffy that more juice was in order.

"How do we ask for more?" Buffy ran her hand over the little girl's dark hair, hair that was just like her father's. The little girl smiled at her mother, exposing her tiny little baby teeth she'd cut about the year before.

"Juice, please!" she said.

Buffy smiled and kissed the top of her hair, enjoying that pleasant baby smell only Johnson's & Johnson's could provide.

"Okay, one cup of juice just for you, Emma."

Buffy took the pink cup from her daughter's pudgy hands and headed over to the refrigerator. She made a short pit stop by the counter and turned on the television. The sound of the morning news filled the room as Buffy shook a carton of Pedialyte and chatted with her daughter, pointing out colors and objects for her to spy.

"The Twin Towers are down! Oh my God, the-the- Twin Towers have fallen down!"

Buffy lifted her head, momentarily distracted from her rousing game of "I spy" to stare at the images that filled the small television screen. It took her a few moments to process what she was seeing.

"I spy!" Emma said, trying to get her mother's attention.

"Shhh."

Buffy frowned as she watched the replay of the first, then the second building tumbling to the ground. She shook her head as they showed the second plane flying into the very top of the building in a head on collision. A part of her wanted to believe it was some kind of joke, a promo for a movie, but it was clear from the panicked voices of the reporters this was all too real.

Buffy barely noticed the juice spill over the side of Emma's cup. "Sh-" Buffy said, almost letting the curse slip. She lifted the small plastic cup to her lips and took a sip. Behind her the pancakes began to burn and the smell of smoke quickly filled the air. Buffy snapped the sippy cup together and handed it to Emma who continued to pound her little plastic eating utensils on her tray.

With one ear and eye on the television, Buffy turned off the stove and tried fruitlessly to save what was left of breakfast. Tentatively she lifted the hot cakes with a spatula and confirmed her suspicions. While the top half of the pancakes were golden brown, the bottom halves were blackened. Buffy blew on her bangs causing them to gust up as she dumped all of their breakfast in the trash. Improvising, Buffy placed a handful of Cheerio's on Emma's high chair tray until she could start breakfast again.

On the television, news reports continued to cover the plane crashes into the World Trade Center. Buffy's knees weakened and she hastily sat on one of the kitchen chairs. It was almost surreal watching the second plane crash into the building on live TV. The reporters on air all expressed their surprise for the world to see, each of them forgetting their studio audience. Moments later both blazing buildings toppled to the ground. Officials were calling it acts of terrorism as more reports came in about a third plane crash into the pentagon and a fourth plane crash presumed to be headed toward the white house.

Buffy jumped when the phone rang. Still stunned, she walked over to the phone and lifted it off the hook.

"Hello?" she answered absently.

"Buffy? Are you okay?"

The breath she'd been holding escaped her lungs at the sound of Angel's voice on the other end of the phone. "Yes. Are you? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm still on base," he said, his tone bereft of any emotion. "Did you see any of the reports?"

Buffy nodded before she answered into the phone. "Yes, I just turned on the TV. The Twin Towers…"

"I know. It happened earlier this morning. We heard about it right away."

"What's happening? Are these really terrorist attacks?"

"I can't say. Right now no one knows anything."

"When are you coming home?" Buffy couldn't help the pleading in her voice.

"I'm not sure. Things are crazy right now."

Buffy closed her eyes and gripped the phone tighter in her hand. She tried to stay calm as her mind began to race. No one knew what was going on. They could be under a terrorist attack and her husband was thousands of miles away on an Army base in Germany.

"I want you to come home, Angel." Buffy's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Buffy..." Angel didn't know what to say. He was supposed to be done with his tour in four months. In just four months he would be back home with his wife and daughter. He had already missed Emma's second birthday, he didn't want to miss her third. Angel had promised his wife he would be coming home soon. Now he wasn't so sure. "You know I want to come home. You know I want that more than anything."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She knew that tone of voice. She knew what it meant for her-for them. She blinked hard. "But you won't."

"I can't," he corrected her. "They're talking about a war, Buffy."

Buffy's chest constricted. Blindly, her hand reached for the linoleum counter top and gripped it until her knuckles turned white. "You promised me you wouldn't re-up."

"I know," Angel said faintly. "But I can't come back now. I'm sorry."

Chapter One

Iraq, 2001

"Bloody hell!" Spike tripped over the threshold of the empty barracks and staggered inside. Through bleary eyes, he strained to make out which bed was his.

They all looked exactly the same. He had never noticed that before. Spike patted down his uniform several times before he realized he was holding his prized flask in the opposite hand. With jerky motions, Spike untwisted the cap and took a long, hard swig. The alcohol burned a line of fire down his throat and warmed his belly. He burped once, before he made his way down the rows of neatly made beds until he found the one that belonged to him.

Spike continued to grumble as he flopped down on his bed. He cursed under his breath at the hard spring mattress he had to sleep on every night since enlisting. It was all her bloody fault, Spike thought as his mind drifted back to Drusilla. He'd joined the army because of her. Their last break up had been a brutal one. Theirs was a very volatile love, but they couldn't live without each other. She would leave, but she would eventually come back. It had always been that way. Spike was the only one who could take care of her, and no one could love her the way he did.

"Me and you were forever, you stupid bitch!" Spike slurred. He jerked the letter he'd folded up and read it for the third time that night.

Dru's handwriting was large and overblown against the lined paper. It was almost childlike, just like she was. Spike gave an unmanly sniff as he tried to keep from crying. At that moment, the door to the barracks swung open, and Spike began to scramble on his bed.

"Oh, it's you," he said when he realized the intruder was only Angel.

"Were you expecting anyone?" Angel said from across the room. He studied Spike's disheveled appearance and guessed he was drunk from the way he slurred his words and the change in his accent. "Are you drinking, Spike?"

Spike leaned back against the metal frame of his bed and glared at Angel behind heavily hooded eyes. From the moment they'd met, there was just something about the other man that didn't quite sit with Spike. He thought it had a lot to do with the striking resemblance Angel bore to the last wanker Dru had shagged behind his back. That guy had a poncy name as well. Heath, Stone, or something of the sort. Spike lifted his flask and took a long swig while he eyed Angel over the rim.

"Yeah, and what of it? You gonna go running back to tell?"

"No. You'll eventually get caught. I was only coming in to-"

"Lemme guess, write your bird a love letter?" Spike spat out in disgust. Bitterness boiled in the pit of his stomach like a hot geyser. The one and only letter he had received from Dru was a letter telling him to piss off.

"Look, Spike, obviously you're going through something. It's none of my business. I'm just going to grab a few things and leave. If you want to talk about it-"

"Well, I don't. Got myself a real good set up right here." Angel shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave. "She's gone and left me," Spike said.

Angel was hoping he'd be able to leave without having to hear whatever dramatics were going on in Spike's life. They weren't exactly friends. And the other man had guessed right; he had been planning to write Buffy a letter. Too many weeks had gone by since the last time he'd had the opportunity to write.

"Again. And this time for my best mate. Says it all right here." Spike lifted the letter and waved it around wildly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Angel said, trying to make his voice sound sincere .

"Stupid, bloody, bint," Spike mumbled as he hunkered down on his bed. "She says she can't put her life on hold and that I'm not 'the man I used to be.' She says she has ineeds/i." Spike took another drink from his flask. "You know, I joined this sodding war because of her?"

"No, I didn't know that. Listen, Spike I have to-"

"Yeah. Had us a flaming huge row. I got completely pissed and signed my life away for two whole years. And you know what I get for it? My girl shagging my best friend. And you should see this guy. Clem. He's got acne. Big, huge craters all over the place." As he spoke, Spike gestured toward his own smooth face as if to emphasize his point. "Got a bloody face that only a mother could love. And apparently Dru does, too. Oh Christ." Spike buried his face into his hands and began to sob.

He knew he should be feeling shame and embarrassment, crying in front of another man like some ponce, but he couldn't help himself. "I got a bloody 'Dear John' letter. I'm off at war risking life and limb, and my girl dumps me through the post. I'm a walking cliche."

Angel stood awkwardly a few feet away from the crying blond man. He tried to empathize with Spike. Angel knew that if he ever received one of those letters he would be just as devastated. "I'm sorry," he said finally after searching the catalogue of sympathetic phrases. He couldn't find one that didn't sound placating and decided to go with the old tried and true 'I'm sorry.'

Spike lifted his head and stared at Angel behind bleary, red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah, so am I. Sorry I ever laid eyes on the bitch," he said even though he knew he didn't mean it. Not really. "What would you do? If you found out your wife was putting it to your best friend?"

"I don't know. I think I'd react just like you."

Spike barked out a short laugh and shook his head. "But it wouldn't happen to you would it? You've got the perfect life and the perfect lil' wife at home, don't you?"

"No one's perfect, Spike."

"You know something, Angel. I always give you hell about your letters. But I-"

Spike shook his head, cutting himself off. He was not about to tell Angel he envied him. It wasn't Angel he really envied per se. He took a long hard look at his fellow soldier. His eyes were beady and too close set. And the forehead-he could play a feature film on that thing. He supposed Angel was good looking if one were into the whole look-deep-into-my-brooding-soul kind of thing. Most women were. No, he didn't envy Angel physically or even mentally. What he envied was his stability. He had a loving wife at home who obviously doted on him. He had a family. Spike may have razzed Angel about it all the time, but deep down inside he wanted that too.

"Forget it. I just need to forget about her, 's all." Spike tilted his flask up to his lips and prepared to take another long drink, but the flask was empty.

"I think the bar's cut you off," Angel said as he stepped forward and took the flask out of Spike's hand.

"Hey! Gimme that back."

"I will once you're sober. In the meantime we better get you out of Doyle's bed. I'm sure he wouldn't be too thrilled about sharing it with someone else."

Spike's eyes widened in surprised as he looked around the room. "I'm in Doyle's bed?"

"Yeah. And it's going to be lights out in a few. Here, can you stand up?"

Spike stood up and grinned proudly when he was able to do it on his own. He looked down at his regulation-booted feet and took one careful step forward before he nearly went tumbling down. Angel quickly grabbed him. Without saying a word, he helped walk Spike to his own bed and sat him down.

"You're on your own with your clothes."

Spike patted down his tan army fatigues and frowned. "Awww, Peaches, you know you've been waiting for the opportunity to see me naked."

"Goodnight, Spike."

Spike laughed. When he closed his eyes, he saw Drusilla's face. Spike groaned, the pain in his heart growing deeper, knowing that her dark eyes were going to haunt him throughout the night.