Disclaimer: We do not own any of the characters, they all belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Summary: Soulful Spike returns to Sunny-D and he and another resident scorned lover, Anya, try to woo back Xander and Buffy the old fashioned way: using gifts. When the gifts turn out to be cursed, all four are in for a reunion that was a lot more than they'd bargained for . . .
Pairing: B/S, X/A
Dedications: To Plum Jade, who gave us great ideas for the story!
Co-written by ArtemisKai and Rubygoddess

Chapter 1: Old Things in a New Light

Everything looked as it was.
Same colored lights, same shabby stage, hell, even the same
boring people loitering in the same places besides the same pool table, the
same bar. Everything in Sunnydale always looked exactly the same through the
years, no matter how many near-apocalypses overtook it, no matter how many
demons, vampires and hell-gods who wanted otherwise. And the Bronze was one
of those constant fixtures, that no matter how trashed it got by trolls,
vampire gangs or pissed-off slayers, always managed to scrap itself together
into looking exactly as it had before. It was testament to the never-ending
lie that Sunnydale citizens imposed on themselves, trying to convince
themselves that their hometown was normal, despite everyday chaos and
questionable fatality rate. And it worked. World-weary patrons could always
count on coming to their favorite Sunnydale hangout and finding nothing
different or changed at all.

Except for one world-weary patron that is.

Perhaps it was he who had changed so much that the familiar
colored lights and chattered whispers of the Bronze that he had become
accustomed to after years seemed suddenly alien in feeling and appearance.
Yes, it was definitely he, who had changed, although it could not be so
easily seen physically. He wore his usual attire of black---black shirt,
black pants, black boots---everything except his characteristic black
leather duster. His hair was the customary blinding blonde, styled into
floppy short curls that fell around his chiseled face. And his eyes remained
the constant burning blue they had been for over a century. Yes, he looked
completely the same as the last time the town of Sunnydale saw him.

But something was different with him elementally. And it was
causing him to see his old surroundings in a new light. He used to look on
the crowds that packed the Bronze with disdain, as well as faint tinges of
violence, as if they were all walking targets on which to place his
aggression. Even after he was restricted technologically from acting out
this violence, a slight smattering of bloodlust remained within him.
More than that, he used to look upon them with a feeling of
apathy. He could not relate to them, so hence, he didn't care for them. They
were humans, they stank of humanity, that was their problem, it had nothing
to do with him. He almost pitied them in their desperate on-going struggle
to deal with the problems humanity inevitably offered them. A conscience
would be a buggering thing to have, he reasoned.

Oh how he missed those days. The days when he could come here
to only play pool and eat buffalo wings or that marvelous flower onion thing
they had. The days when he could drown out the skittering noise of the
Bronze and reside in dark corners in peace without the irritation of caring
what people thought when he arrogantly strut about the place, flask in hand,
cigarette in mouth. The days when the only thing that could ever overpower
him here and make him feel less than godly would be the occasional presence
of one blonde Slayer. It was only then when his knees shook and he felt
something stir within his chest that could be possibly thought upon as the
same human-like aspect that he held so much contempt for in other people.

But now . . .

The same colored lights he had frequently gazed upon a year
ago blinded his eyes. Even when he tried to hide in dark corners, the light
sought him out, placed him in target and forced him out in the open. He
never noticed how bright they could be before. He supposed that's because he
himself only used to see everything in the darkest of terms.
The noise of the Bronze crowds used to sail by him in a long stream of
irrelevance, meshing into one persistently annoying noise that became easy
to ignore. Now, he was drowning in it. The different conversations
surrounded him, tearing his head apart into different directions,
distracting him with endless swirls of confusion until the only noise he
could distinguish from the whole mess of noise was the singular pump of a
heartbeat. Everywhere he heard it. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. And he hated himself
for hearing it.

He should have never come back. There was nothing left for him
here . . . he thought that maybe, there was some way, after what happened in
Africa, there was her . . . but no.
He looked critically around the Bronze and paused to reflect.
Everything was different now. He saw everything in a new light, a horrible
light. What if he saw her in that light as well?

Suddenly he spotted a person among the crowd that didn't seem
so foreign and far removed from his perceptions of past. A female,
despondently cradling her head in her hands as she sat at a table by
herself, only a lonely drink to keep her company. He studied her, asked
himself if it was the best thing to approach her. But before he could act on
better judgment, he had already called out her name.

"Anya!"

Her head sprang up at the sound of her name. He paused when he got a few
feet from her and hesitated to plop into the chair next to her. But she made
no motion that she preferred him to sit or stand. So he stood.

"Spike." She looked exactly the same, he thought. Even with
this bloody new perception of the world he had recently gained, she gave off
the same air she ever did. Slightly annoyed, slightly petulant, and as
always, apathetic. The only difference was her hair color of course. Now it
appeared her ever-changing mood had led her to the domain of tawny brown. Of
course the inconsistency of her hair color was one thing that made her so
consistent in the first place. "I heard you were back in town."

This surprised him. He hadn't told anyone of his arrival back
in Sunnydale except for a select few----those being Clem, and Sophie, who he
found snuggling together in his crypt the moment of his return. Something he
referred to as a "sight I hope to God I never see again before ripping out
my eyeballs and spitting on 'em." Other than that, he kept his reappearance
in Sunnydale on the lowdown, except for the times he risked
inconspicuousness by squatting in the bushes next to the house on Revello
drive just to catch the glimpse of blonde and brunette heads conversing and
oftentimes, arguing, in the window. "How'd you hear 'bout that?"

Anya shrugged carelessly, more interested in her half-empty
glass of vodka-straight up---an unusual choice of drink for a lady, Spike
considered----than the vampire standing in front of her. "Well we all
figured. You haven't been all that incognito about it or anything. Plus you
left you're lighter in the bushes near Buffy's house."

Spike cocked his head. "That could have been anyone's
lighter."

"Yeah, but most people don't make Buffy's backyard a prime
smoking venue. That, and Sophie kind of hinted it."

He sighed in frustration. "Balls! I knew that silly git
couldn't keep her gob shut. I met her for five minutes; she hardly took a
breather the whole time. Gave me her life's story, she did, some of the most
bored moments of my unlife. Just allergies and her mother, allergies and her
mother." He collapsed into a seat next to Anya, who continued with
expressions of indifference. "So I suppose everyone knows . . . Xander,
Willow . . . Buffy?" His voice got expressly soft when pronouncing the last
name.

"Well it's mostly guesswork. They're called the Scoobies, but
they really don't have the perception to back the title up. Willow suspects,
though she's not saying anything, Buffy seems to be in a state of denial . .
."

"Nothing new there," Spike whispered under his breath.

" . . . And Xander . . ." Anya's face soured. "Well, Xander's
just dealing with the whole thing the way he always deals."
"Like a stuck-up donkey's ass?" Spike provided.

"Basically."

"So you still on the outs with the boy?" Spike said, wanting
to veer the conversation from suspicions of his return. That thought struck
him as ugly and that's not why he reached out to the ex-demon.

"I guess. He's not really . . . I don't really talk to the
whole 'gang' that much, not anymore, not after what happened, but . . . I
still help out sometimes, you know, with the slaying? Especially since I've
returned to old demon-y habits, I'm of extra help. Anyway . . . it doesn't
make for very civil conversations between the two of us."

Spike lounged back in his chair as he lit up a fag. "So he's
still not dealing with all the happenings of last spring, eh?"

Anya gave him a sudden timid look. "He hasn't really . . .
he's still mad about a lot of issues. That, and he's been too busy helping
Willow get herself back together."

Spike suddenly looked pensive. He had heard the detailed
report of Willow's chaotic downward spiral into destructive power from Clem.
How she killed that boy, sought revenge from the other two, then took out
her power against her own friends and family . . . and all because of the
great singular tragedy of her fellow lover-wicca, Tara, dying. When he heard
the news, he fell into a silent and dark mood that could have rivaled Angel
in its broodiness. "Yeah . . . that was a horrible thing that happened," he
said weakly.

Anya took a last swig of vodka. "Yeah . . . Willow tried to
end the world and bring fiery death to everyone in it, Buffy and Dawn were
nearly killed by plant people underground, not to mention the Magic Box was
completely destroyed, leaving me, the proprietor, out of a job and the
comfort of monetary security." The girl still had her priorities skewed,
Spike mused. But her face softened as she went on. "And . . . and I thought
maybe it would bring me and Xander back together, y'know? Last time we got
thrown into one of these apocalypty situations, he proposed. The least he
could do now is talk to me."

It angered Spike to know that Anya was still pining over one
whom in Spike's mind, didn't deserve the attention. Xander had been an ass,
a biased and cowardly one at that, while Anya had been mainly in the right.
Now look what the poor girl had been driven too----slightly alcoholic
tendencies in the Bronze. "Look here, pet, you don't deserve Harris. You're
worth loads more than that, so I say sod 'em!"

Anya gazed back up at him appreciatively and glowed at the
compliment, but her face soon turned angry. "Hey! None of that!"

"None of what?"

"That!! Making with the compliments and niceness! That's what
got us trouble in the first place. You all being consoling and attractive
and manly and smelling nice while doing it! And hey!" She grabbed the empty
bottle of liquor. "Drunk here! I don't really need a flashback of days
past!"

Spike looked down awkwardly. "I'm sorry Anya, that's not what
I meant. I . . . I wouldn't do that again. I'm . . . different."

"Different how?" A more hurt and tired look came over her
face. " You mean you suddenly don't find me attractive?" Uh oh, now it was
turning into a drunk vengeance demon scorned. Spike had to get himself out
of this mess as soon as possible.

"It's not that, ducks! You're as stunning as you ever where,
it's just . . . I'm just . . . different." He didn't know exactly how to
break the news that ol' Spikey took a safari for a few months and found
himself with a brand-spanking new soul. "And plus, I wouldn't because----"

"Of Buffy?" Anya said the words sharply and collapsed back
into her chair.

Spike stiffened, the way he always did lately when thinking of her. " . . .
Yeah. Yeah I guess."

"News flash Spike, but just because you're back in Sunnydale
doesn't mean you have much of a chance with the Slayer."

Spike pursed his lips in anger. "So I got as much chance with
her as you do with Xander? That's what you're saying?"
Anya's eyes widened and her face again went from anger to
despondency. She began to sniff and wrinkle her chin into a quivering frown.

"I guess," she murmured softly. Spike kicked himself inwardly. Damnit.
Hadn't meant to make her cry, Spike thought to himself. He awkwardly put an
arm around her shoulder and eased the tearful lady into his arms. "Um,
there, there. I'm sure it's not all that bad."

"Yes it is! He won't talk to me, can't even look at me
sometimes! I-I want to do something to make it better, but I can't think
what!"

It seemed him and Demon-girl were always getting themselves
into these situations. Them blubbering and sulking about the tragic comedy
of their love lives together, both of them sitting around like the King and
Queen of Love's Bitches. Planning, concocting schemes of how to get back the
people who obviously didn't want them. Anya began blowing her nose into
Spike's shirt. "Y-you know what I wanted to do?" she began drunkenly
rambling.

"What's that, pet?"

"I w-wanted to get him a gift . . . y'know, as they like a
'peace offering'? In my day it used to be a slain, fatted calf, but I was
thinking now more of a commercially licensed product . . . like a cell phone
. . . or a George Forman grill."

"So why don't you, luv?" Spike answered, smiling at her
drunken childishness.

Anya had began to sob in hiccups by now. "Because I don't have
the money! I'm not working anymore with the Magic Box all in ruins, and
hence all my advantage over the whole market of exchanging money for goods
and services is pretty much depleted. How else do you get a gift without
money? Bartering is pretty much out these days….."

Spike had already been scheming while Anya cried into his
shirt. A gift . . . he hadn't thought of that before. Maybe it was a gift
that would ease himself into the Slayer's good graces.
Spike peeled Anya off of him, and sat her up, taking her by the arms and
looking into here eyes. " You know what, pet?" Anya vaguely shook her head,
wiping away her tears. " I think I may know just the place to get the
perfect thing to bring our better halves back into our lives. If you're up
for it…."

Anya smiled excitedly, her eyes shinning brightly. " Oh! That would be
great. And I'm up for anything and everything. Lead the way." Spike started
to get up and do just as she suggested, when Anya bent from the middle and
grabbed the table, letting loose all that alcohol from her system.

As Spike cringed and backed up a few steps, he nodded to himself. It would
take just about everything he had to win back the Slayer's affections....