CHAPTER THREE - SPINNING AROUND

This person standing it front of her - it couldn't be Spike.

He looked nothing like the arrogant peroxided vampire she had once known so well.

The tousled hair - longer, darker, no longer slicked back but falling in soft, dark gold waves all over his head.

The clothes - a soft grey long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to his torso, and a pair of well-worn, supple denim jeans. Bare white feet, peeking out at the bottom, made him seem vulnerable.

The look in his eyes - she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something there was different. Darker. Deeper. They flicked from Angel to Giles to her, and stayed.

The expression on his face - uncertain, slightly anxious. There was a stillness about him that was all wrong.

But as she looked closer, she saw past the superficial changes ...

Those enviable cheekbones - they were as familiar to her as her own. The full lower lip, the hard planes of his chest visible in the way his shirt draped against his body, the scar on the eyebrow, the hollow in the cheeks, the sharp jaw line. The same porcelain skin and long dark eyelashes. The graceful slouch in the doorway, the head tilt. The long-fingered hand gripping the doorframe ...

She swallowed hard and looked back into those blue eyes.

*****

He clutched the doorframe, the fanciful thought flitting through his mind that if he let go then he would fall. He was aware of the two figures on either side of the tiny one in front of him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"Buffy," he breathed. A whisper of sound. She was here.

He had thought that he remembered her perfectly, that she was engraved in his memory, but now, when she stood in front of him after so long, he saw how flawed his memory had been. He'd forgotten so much - not the colour of her eyes or the natural pout of her lips, but her defiant stance, her delicate scent, the grave expression in her eyes.

His gaze collided with hers, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. He was drowning in her ...I'm drowning in you, Summers ... drowning in the feelings and emotions that only she could evoke. Had she come to stake him? He found that he didn't really care. Once, he had believed he knew every thought and emotion that she experienced. Now, he knew better, and was unable - didn't dare - to read anything from her expression or in her eyes.

Time seemed to slow, whispering past, just the two of them standing in the middle untouched and unbreathing ... no one else around.

The spell was broken by Giles, who cleared his throat and glanced over Buffy's head to Angel.

"Perhaps Angel and I should wait over there," he suggested, gesturing behind him to the sofa outside the lift doors. "Let you two - catch up..."

He trailed off as he realised how inappropriate the words were, but to his surprise Buffy nodded.

"Give us five minutes," she directed, and silently Giles and Angel moved away.

No sound had crossed Spike's lips since he had opened the door except her name, and he said nothing now as he stepped aside, allowing her to enter his apartment.

Buffy stepped inside and looked around curiously. A large room, with neutral painted walls, polished wooden floors, and at the window wooden Venetian blinds that were tilted to allow light but no sun to enter. A modern, stainless steel kitchenette in one corner, an enormous bed in an alcove, a large flat screen television in front of one of those black leather recliner chairs. A sofa tucked to one side. A single door, leading to what she presumed was a bathroom.

The only thing here that reminded her of the old Spike was the incongruity of dozens of candles scattered around on every available surface. And - she looked closer and couldn't restrain a smile. It was the ancient 'Kiss the Librarian' mug on the kitchen counter, cracks in the handle showing that at some point it had broken and been carefully glued back together. Aside from the mug and the candles, there was nothing personal in the room.

She turned to face him. He stood in front of the now-closed door, watching her silently, expectantly. Waiting - for what?

She gave him a half-smile. "I'm not here to stake you Spike."

He looked blank for a split-second, then breathed out in a ghost of a chuckle, rubbing his hands through his hair. "Wouldn't have surprised me." A beat. "Wouldn't have blamed you."

He moved a few paces into the room, tentative. "So why are you here?"

Buffy turned away from him, taking a few minutes to get back her composure, perching on the arm of the black leather chair before looking back at him. "Giles - he's found something, we need to talk to you about it." She waved a hand impatiently through the air. "He can tell you about that. I needed to talk to you first." She paused, looking at him again, still standing just inside the door. He was motionless, calm, completely unlike the Spike she had known so well. "I haven't heard anything about you in five years, Spike. Then, out of the blue, Giles is suggesting we talk to you. I don't know what to think. I don't know what you've been doing. I don't know anything. And I need to know."

His eyes shot to hers. "Rupert didn't tell you?"

Buffy shook her head. "He didn't tell me anything. He said - it wasn't his story to tell." Her gaze remained on him, waiting. Silent.

"No. Well." Finally, he was pacing, fidgeting. "Better make yourself comfortable, then."

Buffy slid into the chair, curling her legs up under her. Her eyes didn't leave him.

"To begin at the beginning ..." He lowered himself onto the sofa, then almost immediately got to his feet again, pacing in tight controlled circles in front of her. That was familiar. The graceful, predatory prowl. In stark contrast to his halting, reluctant words. "The beginning - that night, the night that I - attacked you ..."

Cold tile, cold skin ... shame, confusion ... disgust, horror ... always the horror ...

"Afterwards, when I went back home ... I don't really know what was going on in my head. I can't remember ... it was all confusion. I remember feeling guilty. I was - horrified by what I had done. Angry at myself. Angry at what I had done to you, as well as angry that I felt guilty about it. Cause if I was a monster, then why was I guilty? It meant that I wasn't really a monster ... but then, only a monster would have done what I had. It was going round and round in my head, first one feeling, then the other, then back again, round and round..."

He took a deep breath before continuing. The words were coming easier now, flowing from him in confession. "I decided I had to do something, change things, change myself, in a way that you would recognise. I was so sure that there was something there, you see, something that you refused to acknowledge. I thought that if I could change the one thing about me that was causing you to hold you back, then everything would be fine.

"So I went to this demon I had heard about. In Africa. I wanted to - I wanted a soul. So that I could walk up to you and say 'Here I am. Not just an evil soulless thing, you see. As good as your precious Angel'." He stood up straight as he said this, hands raised at his sides in supplication. "I thought it would make you see - that I had really changed. Before. That having a soul made no difference to my feelings for you. Just allowed me to become something that you could admit to loving ..."

He sat down again, collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "Oh, God ..." Covering his face with his hands, he was silent for a long minute.

Buffy could only stare at him in silence. Spike went to get a soul. For me. He wanted a soul ... he got a soul ... She felt almost light-headed. She had thought her day was surreal before ... Could this really be happening?

Just as Buffy began to feel as though she would have to say something to break the suffocating silence, Spike lifted his head and continued speaking, his eyes averted, staring at his hands. Jerkily, as though he was reciting. "To cut a long story short. I found this demon. Got through the trials. Got back my soul. I don't remember too much about it. Or afterwards. I was out of it for months. Hallucinating. It was about a year later I came back to myself. I was in Morocco. Squatting in a deserted building somewhere. Surviving on butcher's blood. Don't really know why I bothered. Suppose the survival instinct is still strong. I think - I think I didn't want to die on my own. Die alone. Again." He swallowed hard. Another useless breath. "I had this one thought - to come back here. I got this idea in my head - go to Angel. Didn't know what he would do. Didn't really care. One way or another he would help me - help me live with my soul, or else put me out of my misery. Didn't really care."

He paused again, rubbing his hands over his face and hair in a gesture that was becoming familiar. Buffy kept silent, still digesting his words. Got his soul, got his soul. She tried to imagine what it must have been like, and knew that she could never comprehend the pain and the anguish that must have caused. It went against everything she had ever believed, and in spite of herself she felt stirrings of respect for the vampire in front of her.

"I told Angel everything - everything that had happened," Spike said, glancing quickly at Buffy before looking back at his hands. "Almost did get staked, then. And again, when Rupert came after Angel contacted him. I don't know what stopped them - still don't know. But - they decided to help me instead. Angel has been ... I couldn't have survived without Angel's help. I don't know how he coped for so long on his own after he was cursed with his soul. The horror, the self-loathing ... it eats you up. I finally understood everything you had been trying to tell me. There was no way I could ever face you again. I made Angel and Giles promise that they would never tell you ... they promised, on the condition that if you ever asked then they would have to let you know. I never expected you would ask ... you must have been thanking your lucky stars that I had finally left you in peace ..."

His voice trailed off, and for a long time there was silence. Then Spike spoke again.

"I'm glad you're here now," he said softly. "I need to say something to you, Buffy. I know you could never forgive me, I don't expect that. But I do need you to know how sorry I am about what I did - what I tried to do. Nobody should ever go through something like that, and the fact that I did it to you, to the person that I loved ..." He spread his hands helplessly. "I just need you to know that I'm so sorry."

"I do forgive you," Buffy said, surprising herself. She forgave him? When did that happen? "I hadn't - up until just now. I would have thought it was impossible - but now, it doesn't hurt any more. I can tell that you are sorry. I think I knew you were sorry at the time. And so - I do forgive you."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment, relearning all that they had forgotten. A soft knock at the door roused them, and Spike got to his feet.

"Angel and Ripper must be wondering if we've killed each other," he said wryly, and sure enough the expression on Giles' face when he opened the door was one of relief.

"It's all right, Rupert, everyone's still alive," Spike said, gesturing the two into the room. "So how bout you tell me what's going on."

Giles glanced between Buffy and Spike, checking that everything was all right before speaking.

"We think there's a new danger threatening the Hellmouth," he finally said. "It's something to do with the Order of Aurelius. We need to know if you've heard anything, picked up any news or rumours."

Buffy held up her hand, reluctant to interrupt but needing to ask. "Why would Spike know any more than Angel?"

Giles turned exasperated eyes towards Spike. "I thought you'd explained everything."

Spike leaned back on the sofa. "Didn't quite get that far before you came on the rescue mission." He glanced at Buffy. "We've kept news about my soul quiet. I spend most of my time on the streets, so to speak, and anything useful I hear I pass on to Angel. That kind of thing."

"Like a double agent?" Buffy asked, and his lips twitched.

"Something like that, yeah." He turned back to Giles. "And in answer to your question, no, I haven't heard anything. But then the fact that I'm chipped would probably stop me getting the latest newsletter or an invite to a family reunion. I'm almost a much of a black sheep in the family as Angel."

"Marvellous," sighed Giles. "So we have nothing."

"Maybe there is one thing." Spike paused for a moment, considering. "Maybe. I did hear of a few vampires back in town. Or coming to town. Old family members. Including Drusilla. I hadn't thought before, but sounds like a good old get together."

"Then let's recap," Buffy said. "We have an ancient prophecy. We have signs to show that it's coming to pass. We have insane vampires heading into town. But we have no idea how to stop it or even when it's going to happen." She looked around. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, I think that about sums it up," Giles replied dryly.

"Well, we can be pretty sure it's going to be in Sunnydale, at the Hellmouth," Angel volunteered. "Maybe we should all head over there, see if we can find anything that's going on."

Giles looked almost eager. "That would be extremely helpful. Can you leave things here for a few days?"

Angel and Spike exchanged glances, then both nodded.

"I need to make a few calls, get a few things together. We'll make our own way down, meet you there," Angel suggested.

"Excellent." Giles stood, efficiency personified. "Do you need us to arrange somewhere to stay?"

"I've still got the mansion there," Angel said. "We can bunk down there for a few nights."

"Very good. Why don't we see you at Buffy's at about half past-nine. Well then." He turned to Buffy. "Shall we head off?"

"Very good," she echoed, feeling as though she was in some kind of alternate universe. One, Angel and Spike in the same room and not trying to kill each other. Two, Giles treating them both as equals. Three, a prophecy that has Giles in a spin. Coupled with the story she had just heard, she was beginning to feel a bit light-headed. She turned to her Watcher. "Why don't you drive home, Giles."

TBC