Rules Reset

By Sweetprincipale

Sequel to I Like to Win. Please read that first. Skipping around through season six. Buffy's life ended before she and Spike had a chance to try out a second game Spike proposed, inspired by the drinking game of "Drowning the Sorrows". He never thought he'd have chance to prove how much he loved her, or show he could be her champion when it came to making her happy. Now Buffy's back and the game continues, offering Spike a chance to show that he can not only bring her happiness, but possibly bring her back to life.

Dedicated to ginar369, Alexiarrose, Sirius 120, Neon Raver, Jewel74, Mike13z50, NausicA, omslagpapper, cavementftw, Illusera, rororogers, and Teddybear-514.

Direct Quotes are obviously not mine, but belong to the fabulously talented and creative people who wrote them. In this case, some of season six's dialogue will be used.

Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.

Part II

As soon as she was back, he wanted to spend every second with her, to make sure she was going to be okay, and to look after the little one for her, let her readjust, heal, keep everything nice and even. He would have offered them that, even if balancing this little family was like trying to balance a rabid badger on one shoulder and a mountainside on the other- likely to get you bitten, driven mad, crushed, weighed down, or simply lost in a landslide. But he wasn't the only one desperate to try to do what he could, and for once, and incredibly selfish personality didn't feel inclined to be selfish at all. She didn't just need him. She needed all of them. She'd loved all of them- and she didn't love him at all. She didn't think she could back then, who knew about now after- after everything.

Maybe one day, though. If he ever got the chance to show her he was sorry, and prove he could make it better.

He distanced himself unwillingly, letting the others in.

Game delayed on account of not just reopening play, but reopening life.


Everyone missed her, everyone needs her, and she is drowning trying to swim to all of them at once. They try so hard to understand, but they can't.

At first, he didn't know why things seemed strained, more strained than even he would have believed possible. He had ideas, but he wasn't sure.

Right until they were in that alleyway together.


He wanted to be with her, beside her, hell, he wanted to be inside her... but everything was a tangle for her and he was busy thanking all the deities he didn't really like and that didn't like him either, that she was back. Alive. That someone someplace said he got a second chance , and busy realizing, with a sickening thud, why the ones he thought had begun to grudgingly accept him had excluded him from their plan, their work, why they'd left him and the girl to fend on their own.

They knew it might not work, they knew something might go wrong, something horrible would come back. Something who would walk like Buffy, talk like Buffy, but not be "their Buffy". And they'd off her.

He'd never let them do that. Because he knew the myth. The vampire myth was the embodiment of "It's the person but not the person". Ugly and unappetizing as it was to the little humans, lots of it was a lie. Yeah, you weren't yourself, but you were in there. You might even be more yourself, not the person you showed the world, the person you were when stripped bare, the thoughts you had, maybe twisted up, but driven by what you wanted. You were bloody well boiled down to the distilled essence of yourself. A primal version of all that you desired. Sweet William- Dru called him that because she could see it in him- before and after. Certain pieces never changed.

He'd never let them hurt her, nor would Dawn. She knew too, all about changing the shape, but still being what you were. So they were locked out of the plan, lest they protect a damaged version of the hero.

She might not have been "their Buffy", but she'd still have been "ours". She'll always be mine.


She visited him in his crypt the day before. Just showed up. Made his heart thrill, that she was there, she'd come to him, and only for him.

Only, once she was there, he had to- he had to tell her what he'd said so many thousands of times, and it wasn't easy. He'd never been sure she could hear him when he explained before, speaking to himself, or a hunk of carved marble on a patch of grass. Now she was sitting a foot or two from him, eyes unwavering.

Her eyes were black in the darkness, and always looked liquid, as if tears were there. He wondered if his own eyes were like that. He thought they might be, around her.

"Uh." A pause. "I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her." He waited. No scoff. No 'Well, you sucked at that'. No spark left in her and it killed him worse than if she'd pulled a stake on him, said that was his punishment because he hadn't done his job. Instead, simply nothing.

He continued. "If I had done that ... even if I didn't make it ..." Here it was. The hardest part. I finally did it, Luv, when I finally stopped wanting to. I killed you. "You wouldn't have had to jump."

Nothing. Just looking at him, almost helplessly. Oh, Luv, what'd they do, where'd they send you... or where'd they take you from, that you don't know yourself anymore? Doesn't matter. You're in there. I can bring you back, or love you just like this.

He pushed on, doggedly, like he had been for day after hundred -soddin' forty seventh day. "But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but - after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again. Do something different. Faster or more clever, y' know?" His voice was just a hushed rasp now. "Dozens of times, lots of different ways ..." So soft she almost had to watch his lips, not hear his voice. "Every night I save you."

No tears, no thanks, no retribution. She sat, battered hands clasped on her knees, his own bloodied hands (damaged from taking out his frustration with life, death, and incompetent witches on the cavernous walls below) clasped on his belt loops.

Something was broken. But he didn't have the missing piece to fix it. Not yet. Please, Slayer, try to give me the tools, and don't tell me it's only time. I bloody hate waitin' on "time". But I guess I'd do a thousand things I hate, for you.

They sat in silence for a long time. When she rose, he rose as well, arms open, defenselessly spread to his sides. "I better go."

"Yeah. Sure." He agreed quickly.

"Thank you." She whispered, before she vanished.

He blinked after her retreating back. Could it be just being around him helped? Or was she thanking him for all his imaginary saves? Didn't matter. He'd do what he'd always done to win. Watch, wait even though he disliked that part, learn his prey- then make a move when he got the gut instinct.


That push came to him the next day, though he'd planned to simply spend another day of quietly checking in on her and the Bit. He waited outside while she was inside the store, he listened to them talk, just dull murmurs, and then slipped onto the edge of some old crates in the narrow back street. He could tell her facial expression just by her tone of voice. She was smiling. But not at him, no, at the ones in there, the ones who brought her back, though she doesn't know they did it with "some conditions apply" in the backs of their brains. He sighed.

You take your time. You come back slowly. I'll wait my turn.

He smoked, he watched the sun he could never defeat, and he thought of her, losing himself in thoughts of her.

Then she was there, like a bright shadow, golden and peach and pink, slipping into the shade of overhanging roofs.

"Buffy." He said it so she'd know he was there. He'd learned the hard way not to startle the girl.

When she looked up- it wasn't the happy face she put on for her friends. It was drawn and exhausted. He was instantly in motion, but slowly, turning to her, hands twitching, wanting to grab hers.

She looked at him, puzzled. "Spike, it's daylight and you're-"

He smirked at her, then at the sky. "Not on fire? Sun's low enough, shady enough here."

Buffy folded her arms around her middle, nodding vaguely.

Last year she'd have demanded to know exactly why he was there, was he stalking her, wasn't he being creepy, etc, etc. Now she just accepted his presence. But for familiarity's sake he put on his slightly mocking, nauseated voice. "I was gonna go inside, but I overheard you and the Super-friends exchanging a special moment and I came over a bit queasy."

Buffy brushed her hair out of her face, didn't seem to be listening.

Not a good sign. I've given her the glove twice, once for the soft underbelly, and now a shot at my chin, a chance to snark right back. C'mon, Beautiful...

He cleared his throat. "Say, aren't you leaving a hole in the middle of some soggy group hug?"

" Just wanted a little time alone."

Yet she walked over and sat beside him as she said it.

"Oh, uh, right then." This was good. This was a good first move, he could just leave and give her the space, show he respected what she wanted, he could give her what she needed. He got up, starting to walk away, but stopped at the place where shadow met sunlight. Positions were reversed. Shouldn't be. He was walking into the light, and she was cowering in the dimness. Something prickled his senses, but he ignored it. He squinted up at the sky. What the hell, I can run. But I don't want to get singed to death now, I've finally got a second chance. Both of us do.

She almost smiled. "That's okay. I can be alone with you here."

"Thanks ever so." He returned the ghost of a smile with a rueful one of his own.

"Right." A hollow voice. For the hollowed out girl.

Dammit, so much for waiting. "Buff?" He turned to her, dark eyes intense, no more teasing, no more punch pulling, deadly earnest. "Slayer? Are you okay?"

Buffy let her fingertips dart over her face again, tucking hair behind her ear, caught in a breeze she never thought she'd feel again. No. But don't tell him. Don't tell anyone. She nodded. "I'm here. I'm good."

No denying that, you are good. He walked slowly back to her, brows almost together, looking intently at her, the only thing in the world he could see. "Buffy, if you're in- if you're in pain, or if you need anything...or if I can do anything for you..." The words dragged out slowly, but only because he hated thinking of her in pain or in any trouble now, knowing he caused it. He spoke in a somber, heartfelt voice, every word pulled out, because he wanted them to weigh so much, he wanted her to feel every ounce of meaning he had in them.

She looked down at her lap. She'd wanted to tell him earlier. The real reason she came to see him. She could go anywhere, but she chose to go see him. His crappy, scary little place was an oddly comforting one. The one where she'd opened up, told him... It had meant so much, to know he was there for her, and to just be able to talk. To tell the truth the way you see it, good or bad, just let it out! But don't. Don't say it out loud, this isn't the same. Just answer the question he almost asked, reject the offer. "You can't."

He refused to accept that answer. Her head didn't rise back up, but he kept talking to her. Had to get her to see that even if he'd screwed up royally before, he wouldn't fail again. Had to show her he could help somehow. "Well, I haven't been to a hell dimension just of late, but I do know a thing or two about torment." He eased over and sat beside her, close, but not touching. That was his opening gambit, but he had so much more to say, to remind her of, but she never gave him a chance.

She was still looking down when the words flew out of her mouth, hard on the heels of his. "I was happy."

Happy? He inclined his head slightly, wondering if he'd misheard. But he knew he hadn't. He looked at her in puzzlement, the dread wheels beginning to grind.

Don't say anymore, don't say it, you can't unsay it... "Wherever I - was," she began falteringly, "I was happy. At peace." And now everything in this world feels so different, but I'm still the same, at least around one person. Him. The things I never meant to say to anyone, I just pour 'em out around Spike. Like that night.

He stared, shocked, horror rearing awake in his mind, but it hadn't reached his face yet. No. No, no, no. But of course, yes, yes, yes. Why the hell do you think she's like this? This strain, this quiet? Yeah, pain does it to you, what horrors you endure, it weakens you, might make you different. But you're glad when it's over.

Wherever she was, she's out of it now. She's miserable about it, too. It wasn't supposed to be over.

Like the snowball rolling down a hill, the first few words grew and tumbled free, more and more, faster and faster, though still hesitant. "I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time ... didn't mean anything. Nothing had form, but I was still me, you know?" She glanced at him. Of course he knows. It's why I'm telling him. Her head dropped back, away from him again. "And I was warm." A pause. "And I was loved."

His face contracted suddenly, just like his heart was doing inside of him, but she didn't see it. She looked out, away, maybe back into that formless place where she was safe.

It was harder to talk, but hardest of all to stop. So much anger and confusion and pain, and she felt it all so much, so acutely- frankly, now she'd gone numb. Like when something heavy sits on you too long, you just lose all feeling. "I was finished. Complete." Her lips turned into a troubled little twitch, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to explain, speaking hesitantly. " I don't understand about theology or dimensions, or any of it, really- but I think I was in heaven."

His face showed dismay, that nagging little piece of the puzzle slotting neatly into place- and suddenly changing the whole picture. She doesn't look like a haunted soul. She looks like one of the angels they cast out. Only she was never meant to be. They took her paradise away...

When she continued, she was almost tearful."And now I'm not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out ... by my friends." Her lips gave a little quiver of disgust. His own face was stunned, but other than that, it was frozen, almost impassive. She couldn't see her mere shiver of dislike was setting off a full throated shouting torrent inside his head.

Her words just fanned that flame to an inferno. "Everything here is -" she searched for a word, knowing she didn't want to give it a definition. If you can name it, you know it, if you know it, you can feel it. "Everything here is- hard, and bright, and violent." She seemed to jump inside her skin, like she couldn't get away from whatever she was feeling, her breathing picking up.

He had to look away. He wanted to kill them all. And that would be the worst thing in the world for her. Focus. Focus, William, on making it better.

"Everything I feel, everything I touch ... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that," her voice faded, eyes so deeply troubled, "knowing what I've lost..."

His shuddering in silence brought her back to herself. She'd forgotten she had an audience for just a was one of his gifts-slash-curses. You could just open up, tell him the truth, start talking- and forget he was there. Or forget what you should or shouldn't say. Like that one night, one bottle, one session of confessions, long ago... So much longer ago to her.


Months ago...

She talked to the floor, plowing herself into the ground now with this admission, every bad thought, every betrayal of herself, what and who she ought to be. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, Spike. See how wrong it sounds? It's because it is wrong. It's sick. But does that stop me? Oh no. No, instead I have dreams where you and I are together, talking, fighting. Hell, even doing the wild thing, all hot and pokey and prickly, and it's good."

"Why is it such a terrible tragedy, Buffy?" Spike's voice was soft and low in her mind, the way it had been that night.

"Because I have dreams about someone I can never be with, never even love."


Her face lost the vacant, troubled look, replaced by one of discomfort. Buffy rose, smoothing her skirt with quick, uneasy tugs.

Positions reversed once again, he was back on the crates in the shadows, and she was staring out towards the sunlight as she walked away from him.

She paused where light met dark. Do I really want to leave him? He's the only one who knows, who I can tell.

Better to keep it like that.

She turned to flash him a quick glance over her shoulder, watched him struggle to say something, and silenced him. "They can never know. Never."

She walked into the sun, but she was heading deeper into that blackness he'd been longing to save her from.


He couldn't follow her.

Couldn't help her.

The hell, you say.

So you knocked over the board and stole half the pieces. He paced like a caged tiger, stuck in the light's prison. He was no longer mad at himself, not as mad, at any road, but mad at the world and the asses who pluck people out of heaven mistaking it for hell. How? Never mind how, wondering how doesn't fix a damn thing.

The pacing slowed, and he walked to that line of shadow and light, the line he couldn't cross.

You don't know me if you think there's nothing I can do for you. Every night I saved you. Just 'cause I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to play this game, Slayer, doesn't mean I don't know exactly what moves to make.

Every night I saved you. The sun lowered, beam by beam, and he waited, coiled, ready to run, to put the wheels in motion.

Finally, instead of every night, it's tonight.

Darkness fell, and he ran.


To be continued...

Note: Prepare to depart the canon train, Sweet is driving from here.