As Buffy and Willow leave the room Spike is just climbing the stairs.
Buffy takes in the bruises on his jaw, the trace of blood under his nose... the red welt over his heart. Fury boils inside her.
Spike glances over at Willow. Her face is a pale mask of anger, her teeth are clenched so tightly he can see her jaw muscles straining under her skin.
"What's up, Red?"
She ignores the question, but instead turns to Buffy.
"He's not going to the work site until midday, so he's probably at the Magic Box. I'm gonna get dressed and then we'll go?" She doesn't wait for an answer, just closes her bedroom door. Spike furrows his brows at Buffy.
"What's that about?"
Buffy shakes her head. Her face a mask of rage and exhaustion. He follows her into her bedroom and shuts the door.
Her crashing hug squeezes his ribs hard but he doesn't stop her.
"Are you ok?"
"'M'fine, luv."
"He tried to stake you?"
"Didn't get the chance. Your sister is bloody terrifying when she's angry."
He can feel Buffy trembling with fury, and he hugs her harder.
"I could kill him." She mumbles angrily into his neck.
Spike chuckles.
"Can I watch?"
He feels her smile begrudgingly through the anger flowing through her, raising her heart rate like a maddened wasp caught in a glass. He can feel it vibrating off her in waves, but underneath it is a shaking misery, sour and hot and painful.
"What's got Willow? She looks like she's out for blood. Speaking from experience."
She pulls out of his arms.
"Nothing. We're just going to deal with the Xander problem together."
She crosses the room, pulling clothes out of her closet, avoiding his gaze.
"I doubt Willow would be seething out of concern for me. What's going on, luv?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing to do with us or nothing you want to tell to me?"
"Spike I can't talk about it right now-"
"Can't? Why the hell not?"
"It's not-"
"Buffy, we're both exhausted, and I've had about as much as I can take of secrets and lies, if you dodge the question one more time I swear to God I'm really going to lose my temper, and we're not in the ideal setting for a fight right now."
She's dressing in a hurry, not meeting his gaze. She reaches for a sweater on the back of a chair and he snatches it out of her hand.
"I've had more than enough of having to drag everything out of you. I'm bloody well through playing games, Slayer. Sit down, and talk to me."
She rolls her eyes, pleading inwardly for strength, but her resolve breaks. Every emotion from the last 24 hours cripples her, and she slumps down on the bed like a broken doll.
He brings the chair over from her vanity table and sets it in front of her, sitting face to face.
"What's he done that's got you both looking like you're on the war path? Not that I'm deeply concerned for his well-being but I do feel for the bloke having the Slayer and one of the most powerful witches of the century on his tail."
Buffy sits for a while on the bed, not saying anything.
I'm going to have to tell him. I'm going to have to and he's going to get all mucho stupid jealous because it's about Angel. Even though it's not, it's about this awful crushing weight I've been carrying around everyday. God, everyday for years, and maybe I didn't need to. How can I explain how much guilt I've felt about it all? He spent an eternity in hell and I sent him there...
She looks him in the eyes, and takes a breath.
Guess the only way out is through.
"The day when," her voice cracks uncontrollably and she swallows to get a grip, "the day when we had to stop Angel. The day I had to... Willow gave Xander a message to stall for time, that she was trying to put his soul back in to stop it all. He didn't give me that message. And he made it seem that... that Willow wanted him dead too."
Spike is silent for a long time, spinning the rings on his fingers absentmindedly. He cracks his knuckles one by one, flexing his hand into a fist clicking a few more bones and out again.
"Always knew he was a manipulative wanker, but that hits a new low."
Buffy blinks, her mind doing a U-turn back from the destination she thought the conversation was headed.
Spike sees her confusion, and smirks.
"I don't always have to make everything about me, Buffy. If it's one thing I understand it's grief, believe me on that one. Me and the Big Brood might not have been bosom pals by any stretch but letting you believe that was your only option... your boy's a real piece of work."
Buffy feels the anger she was clinging to trip and falter, and underneath it rises a deep aching grief. Old grief and new. For Angel, and for herself. The feel of it tips her over the edge and she realises she's balled her hands into fists so tightly the knuckles are white.
I really could kill him. I could fucking kill him for putting me through that. Maybe it would've been the same outcome, but at least I wouldv'e known I tried. I wouldn't feel like I murdered him.
Spike pushes some of her hair out of her face.
"Tough being tough, innit luv?"
She clenches her jaw trying to control the anger from spiralling outward.
"Have I just been really blind to it? Is it me? I just keep attracting all these controlling assholes."
"No, pet. Even I didn't think he'd go so far as to let you shoulder the guilt of having to kill someone you loved if it was preventable. That's a really special kind of inventive torture. Feel like I should be taking notes."
"I could have saved him."
"If anyone could, it'd be you."
"I could've tried. If I'd got Willows message. I could at least have tried. That would've meant something. He let me kill him. And it did work, she got his soul back in just before... and now... with you- he tried-" she breaks off, unable to get out anymore words.
Spike sighs, and scoops her up into his lap, holding her by the waist. She leans against him, feeling the warmth of his hands wrap around her arms, soft thump of his heart through his chest.
The heat of him is like slipping in to a warm bath and she relaxes a little, pushing the rage down. Saving it for later.
"You look worn out, luv."
"I feel it."
"Rough few weeks."
"An extreme uh huh."
He pulls her closer into a hard embrace, and she wraps an arm behind his shoulders, breathing in the smell of him, letting it unwind her.
"You're still so warm." She whispers in his ear.
He smiles and kisses her gently. She pushes back harder, holding his face up to hers.
"Tonight we can try out my new warm mouth a little lower." He twirls his tongue into hers and she smirks, albeit sadly.
"Maybe I'm going insane, but it's sort of comforting that you're so one track minded."
"I'm not one track minded, sweetheart, I'm just stuck on you." He breaks their kisses. "I need to borrow some gloves."
"Uh, okay? That took a detour."
"I'm gonna drive Niblet to school, my car's still outside. It's overcast at the moment but if it clears up I'd rather not set my hands on fire."
Buffy leans her head against his, before hugging him hard.
"Thank you."
"S'alright. I'd rather burst into flames than let her go anywhere near that prick right now anyway. I'll drop her off and then I'll head to Tara's."
"So early?"
"I can't wait any longer Buffy."
"Let me come with you-" There's a knock at her door.
"Ready Buffy?" Willow calls through from the otherside.
Buffy bites her lip, wanting to stay.
"Deal with Xander while you're still pissed off enough not to take any bullshit. Meet me there afterwards."
She nods, and slides off his lap. She shrugs into her sweater and then digs in her cupboards before re-emerging with a black pair of wool gloves.
"They should fit." She hastily wraps her hair up into a bun, giving him a last lingering kiss.
The clouds are starting to clear by the time Spike reaches Tara's flat on the other side of town. It's still early but the concrete is already beginning to cook under the harsh Sunnydale skies.
Spike parks the car in an alley behind Tara's apartment building.
There's a rusted chain around the handle of the back entrance which takes little more than a hard yank to crumble in Spikes hand, and he ducks into the shadowy cool of the basement hallway.
He makes his way up to Tara's flat, shielding himself from the windows in the stairwell with his coat, but the light is still muted enough for him not to blister.
He knocks on her door and she answers within in seconds, having clearly been waiting for him for a while.
"Morning Doc. I'm here for my check up."
"Sp-Spike." She steps aside to let him in. He raises an eyebrow.
It takes her a while to catch on and she flushes.
"Oh! Co-come in."
He feels a shifting in pressure, something pulled away, and steps across the threshold. It's warm in the flat and his leather jacket feels oppressively heavy.
Gotta get used to this body having a temperature again...
He shrugs out of it, and drapes it across the arm of a chair.
"Would you- would you like tea? Or- or there's coffee."
"Tea would be fine. Thanks."
"How do you take it?"
"Strong, sugar no milk."
As the water boils Spike thumbs the lighter in his pocket. He's itching for a smoke.
Tara joins him in the living room, and hands him a mug of tea.
"Ta."
"How've you been feeling?"
"Better. No blood, no gore. Just voices in my head. But there is something new, I've-" he notices Tara has turned a yellowish white, eyes near popping out of her skull, "Jesus, Glinda, what?"
"Uh- It's started."
"What's started?"
She points a finger behind him. He turns.
A thin pale man stands behind him. White blonde hair, hard blue eyes. There's something distinctly familiar about him but Spike can't quite put his finger on it.
He moves to put the mug down on the table and the pale man moves too. The realisation crashes into Spike like being hit by a wrecking ball.
The reflection, Spike's reflection, in Tara's mirror drops the mug and it shatters on the floor.