Part One

Spike rolled his eyes skyward. Anya had been making comments about their brief time together a lot lately, and he didn't think he could take much more if it.

"You're like a dog with a bone!" he exclaimed, utterly fed up with overwrought euphemisms.

"So?" asked Anya, who was obviously frustrated of a different kind.

"So, it's my bone! Point of fact, it's Buffy's… whether she ever uses it again or not."

Anya watched as the annoyance left his expression in time with the words leaving his mouth. By the time he reached the end of the sentence, his shoulders had slumped, and his voice had got real quiet. She wished desperately she still had that amount of power over a man.

"What is it about Buffy that inspires guys to go running after her?"

Spike looked at her, incredulous. Not knowing how to even begin answering the question, he instead deflected it.

"Xander would do the same for you."

"Oh, yeah right! I saw him run when it counted, and it was in the opposite direction!"

Sighing, Spike closed his eyes. All he wanted was a quiet drink away from a house full of teenagers, not get into heavy, uncomfortable conversations.

"Look," he began, giving into the inevitable. "Harris is an idiot. I'd be the first one to tell you that, but it's bloody obvious he loves you. So he made a mistake. I…"

Spike paused to clench his fist before continuing, "God knows I made a worse one. The thing is, you gotta get past it. You love him, he loves you, why don't you just bloody get on with it? Life's short."

Anya stood and silently considered him.

"What?"

"You're over a hundred, and I'm over a thousand," she stated, plainly.

"Yeah. Like I said, life is short."

Anya nodded. It was a strange sentiment, when you thought about it, but that didn't make it any less true.

Without another word, they continued on toward the bar.

Anya continued to think about what Spike said as she watched him sit there, a vacant look in his eye as he savored his Scotch.

"What now?" he asked, after some time; eyes still unfocusedly pointed towards his glass.

Anya only sighed in response.

He set the glass down, and then finally looked at her.

"You're lonely, yeah? Meant what I said. Your boy's right there, waiting for you. Go fix it."

"But it's not simple!" she protested.

"O'course it's bloody not. But you jus' gotta get on with it anyway."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" his voice was flat – devoid of hope.

"Aren't you gonna go after Buffy?"

Spike almost choked at the question.

"No."

She didn't really have to ask why not, but that had never stopped her before.

"But it's stupid," she said. "You give me advice, but you won't take it yourself."

Closing his eyes, Spike shook his head – more at the thought than in answer to the question.

"You're unhappy," Anya told him, to which he allowed himself a small, joyless smile.

"Yeah, pet."

Standing up, she declared the whole thing "infuriating" before stomping away.

Now Spike sighed again, and drained the rest of his drink, before following after her.

In the house, which Anya had entered well ahead of him, Spike found her stood with Buffy. They both looked up at him as he walked in.

He swore under his breath.

The last thing Buffy needed was for things to be even more awkward between them, but Anya just had to interfere and go and say something.

Deciding to ignore the fact that they'd been talking about him, he offered a quick nod and continued on his way to the basement, only stopping when Buffy called out to him.

"Wait," she said.

He couldn't deny her.

Turning around, he watched Anya leave the room; giving them the illusion of space.

"She told me what you did," Buffy told him, making him raise his eyebrows.

It wasn't quite the opening he expected. But, then, what had he expected? Her to be mad with him or… annoyed? Spike thought that Buffy wouldn't want to hear about his continued feelings for her – not that she ever really had, but especially not now. Maybe she'd ask him to stop. If not stop feeling them then at least stop talking about them. He could do that, he guessed…

"I think you're right," Buffy continued.

Spike frowned. He was fairly certain he'd never been right in his life – not once. He didn't tell her that, though. He didn't say anything.

"She and Xander. It's… complicated. But I think you're right. They should give it another shot." Buffy shrugged, a little, before concluding: "Life is short."

Spike's lips parted, but still no words came. What was she driving at?

Hesitantly, she took a step towards him, and he instinctively shifted so that he was facing her full-on in response.

"Spike," she said, with just the smallest tremor in her voice. "We should talk."

To be continued...