Chapter Seven

-Thoughts: By Jack, and the Art of Forgiveness-



Buffy woke from eight hours of blissful sleep. She left the room and made her way downstairs. The meeting the previous night had been uneventful, a lack of further incidents made it impossible for them to discuss anything, learn anything new. They had decided to adjourn any more 'business meetings' until further evidence or circumstance was discovered, until something else happened. Something always does.

Downstairs, Dawn was already seated at the kitchen table. She was drinking a tall glass of orange juice. The morning scene was ideal.

"Hey. Sleep well?" She asked.

Buffy shrugged in response. Her thoughts filtered through the past couple days. New baddie, new job possibility, new Spike.

"You still have something on your mind. I can tell these things." Dawn conceded.

"Oh really?" Buffy asked good naturedly, one eyebrow raised in speculation. Dawn nodded seriously, her expression contrasted with her cow-print pajama bottoms.

"Mhmm…it is my new power. I can sense…ready for this one? Thoughts. I know when people are thinking about something. What that 'something' may be…I don't know. But that is where you come in, see, you have the power to tell me. Isn't that amazing?"

"Oh yes." Buffy agreed. "Quite."

"So…what is it."

"I don't know if I should say."



Jack woke up and stared at the sleeping girl next to him for a moment. What was her name? Jill, Janet, Joanna? He let the question slip his mind as his hangover caught up with him. Letting his head hang, he slipped out of the deep blue and green plaid sheets and slipped on a pair of jeans and a navy tee shirt. Cautiously he left the dorm room and made his way across campus. Hopefully, who ever she was, she would be gone by the time he got back.

As he walked, his hands deep in his pockets and the sun blazing on his hair, his thoughts drifted. He thought about classes, his first had only started a couple days ago, he thought about the party he was supposed to attend later that night, his car insurance. And then, as it sometimes happened, he thought of Buffy.

Maybe it was because Buffy was the one to leave him behind that fateful morning, or maybe not. Perhaps it was because she was different from any other girl he had slept with…and that is special, because Jack had slept with a lot of girls.

When he had woken that morning expecting to find the delicate form lying next to him, he was surprised to be alone. Somewhat shocked, he had stood up and looked around the room for a moment, and then abruptly sat down in his computer chair. He picked up a chocolate brown shirt that was draped over the corner of his bed. What kind of girl forgot her shirt?

He had swiveled idly, fingering the soft material. The more he thought about Buffy, the more she appealed to him, and the more he convinced himself that if he had woken first, he wouldn't have left her alone.

And so it had started, from then on, and especially after she had dumped him, his thoughts drifted towards the young blond more and more frequently. He thought about the determined way in which she moved, how thoughtfully she blinked her lashes, how dramatic her sighs were. She didn't interrupt him when he talked about football, or past girlfriends…hell, she was such a good listener, he could barely tell if she actually was listening. Yes, he concluded, Buffy was someone rare.

Walking along that path towards one of the fraternities where he knew he could hang for a bit, a few passing girls eyed him appreciatively. He smiled and winked back. Girls loved the wink. Sometimes, he would wink at ugly girls, and little girls, because the hot girls thought it was sweet. He honestly believed he had women completely figured out. Except Buffy, not her. She thought about things, she didn't provide answers, didn't ask questions, and apparently didn't mind walking around shirtless.

Yes, he thought, once the girls had passed…she may have been the one.





"Oh, come on! You have to tell me now!" Dawn pleaded to Buffy's aloof face.

"Oh…I don't know Dawn."

"But you said you were going to include me more." She pouted.

"Excuse me… but including you doesn't mean sharing all of my personal business." Buffy's voice was slightly annoyed.

"Please? Pretty please? I looooooove you." Dawn batted her eyelashes and pushed out her lower lip. Buffy couldn't help but laugh.

"Now I definitely can't tell you, your making me all happy, and it is serious, you know?"

Dawn nodded and the pleading look disappeared. Her face was blank.

"Ok. Now I am really serious. You should tell me. Really."

"Why?"

"Because, if it is bothering you, then it should come out. Our whole 'Willow' experience should have taught you that already."

"You're probably right," Buffy conceded. "But I still don't know if I should be telling you."

"Seriously, Buffy, you can. What is it?"

Buffy stared at her sister for a long second and then decided to tell her. She glanced down before resuming her gaze. Dawn stared back steadily.

"Spike is back."

"Oh…wow. Buffy…I…I don't know what to say." Dawn looked at the floor feeling guilty for pressuring her sister to spill.

"You don't have to say anything."

"Have you spoken to him yet?"

"Yeah…we did. Speak, I mean."

"Well, what did he say? What happened?"

Buffy's expression was distinctively sheepish.

"Oh, Buffy, no. You didn't…tell me you didn't." Dawn picked up on her sister's face, and while her assumption was perceptive, she didn't want it to be true.

"We did…we definitely did." Buffy put her head on the table in shame, and then looked up, her hand pushing her tousled hair back.

"But…how…after he did that to you? How could you let him?"

"It is so complicated Dawnie…this is why I didn't want to get into it."

"Where did he go?" Dawn asked somewhat sadly.

"To Africa."

"Africa?"

"Yeah…a lot happened to him. I think…I think he might have to tell you himself though. He owes you an explanation…he's human now." She added.

Dawn's expression was stunned. Her mouth dropped open a little. "He…he's human." She finally said. Buffy nodded.

"Well. What did it mean then? Between the two of you…now that he is human."

"I don't know." Buffy sighed.

"Well…what does it mean to him?"





After much urging from Dawn to confront Spike again, Buffy finally agreed. When she cautiously stepped into the crypt, Spike was fingering the leather duster that was propped upon the chair. His eyes were closed, and his brow furrowed. Perhaps he was trying to remember something. Or perhaps he was trying to forget.

"I brought that for you yesterday." She commented, causing him to look up. His eyes were a shock to her system. She would never be used to them.

"Yeah. Thanks." He looked back down and then suddenly pushed the coat away as if it no longer mattered. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one up and inhaled deeply, eagerly. The smoke passed through his lips and swayed in front of his face as he looked at her expectantly.

"We should talk." Buffy commented.

"'Bout what?" He leaned back.

"You know."

"Yeah…I suppose I do." He pushed himself over and patted the space next to him, unceremoniously inviting her to sit. Instead she sat in the chair. The chair was old; she didn't recognize the couch. Spike rolled his eyes.

"So, what do you want to tell me? That it was all a mistake, that I disgusted you, that you weren't thinking straight?"

"No…I wasn't going say any of that." She stared at him. "I want to know…what it meant to you."

"What it meant to me?" He repeated with a raised eyebrow. Buffy nodded slowly. "Well, what do you think it meant to me, love? It meant everything. I don't think you understand yet what it feels like when I am allowed to touch you. It is like the rest of the world stops…and they are all waiting for that moment, the one second that my body comes into contact with yours." His voice was very quiet, and Buffy listened carefully, enraptured.

"It was perfect…it is always perfect. Even with the whole world listening."

He tapped some of the ash off of his cigarette and then continued, holding her gaze. "And even though you left as soon as you woke, and I almost wondered if it was a dream, it was still perfect. Being with you…it means everything, Buffy. My whole bleeding world." He almost smirked at the last part and stood up to walk away.

When he looked back, her expression was surprised and a little hurt. He wanted to go to her, and kiss her eyes and nose and pretty pink lips, and beg her forgiveness, give her his tears, each one on a rose petal if she requested it so, but instead he stood his ground. In his mind he prayed she would say something.

"How can I forgive you for what you did?" She asked. He nearly growled, he thought the question so unfair. He was angry, so angry. Why was he angry? Buffy deserved to be angry.

"You either do or you don't. When you figure it out, you can come back. Until then, leave."

She pursed her lips, and then stood up. Without a glance, she went out the front door. Outside she shook her head and glowered, crushing the grass with her footsteps, murdering the air as she sliced her way through it. He was so…hopeless.





He stared at the wall, and then at the last second threw his cigarette down and he bolted after her. At the sudden entry into the outside world he didn't pause.

"Buffy!" He called, causing her to turn around. She stared as the sun glared down on him, and he breathed heavily. His eyes were shining with hope and torment. Her breath caught at seeing him shrouded in natural light. This being…that she had seen so money times only adorned by shadows and mystique, movements that spoke of ashes and blood. Now, he was so bold and glaring, nothing hidden. He caught up to her, and took her hand. Slowly he turned around and glanced at the sudden presence of day. Then he looked back down at her, his face so different and new. His eyes still cold and ancient.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Don't leave."

She looked down at the ground. He continued to speak. "I want you to forgive me, but only when you want to. I want it to be real. What we have…there is no explaining it, so bloody confusing…we both make it complicated. What happened between us, a short time ago, that was one of the simplest things we ever did. We simply cared, simply forgot, I simply loved. And you…you let me. If that isn't already forgiveness, then I don't know what is. Forgiveness isn't a word."

"No?" Buffy asked, forcing him to explain.

"No. It's a movement, a gesture…a look, a kiss. A breath, a gasp, a tear… A touch." As a soft breeze swept over the both of them he fingered a piece of hair that had begun to fly about. His words played upon the warm air, caressing it in such a way that it blended in with the rustle of tree leaves and birdcalls, melded with the mournful sobs of a nearby woman.

"No words are needed. They are meaningless, love. This…this is enough." He stared at her intently, her face basking in the sun, so beautiful, so new. Her eyes were soft and familiar. Cautiously, he let his hand fall from her hair and onto her face. Tracing her jaw and lips, he rested his forehead against her own, breathing in deeply, eyes sealed shut. Their hands were still clasped. She let them be.

"Thank you." He said softly.

She gave him a short smile, then turned and left, his fingers slowly falling from hers. And the moment the parted, they first second they no longer touched…it seemed the whole world listened.