In what was beginning to be an all-too-familiar scene, Spike found himself awakened by the sound of his crypt door scraping open. He supposed it was too much to hope that it was some sort of marauding demon, and when he heard Buffy yell, "Spike!" in that demanding tone of hers, his worst fears were confirmed.

All things considered, he was tired, hurt, and pissed off, with a large dollop of inner turmoil on the side. Now, granted that all wasn't entirely her fault, but he decided that was an entirely academic distinction, and therefore he was entitled to be petty and refuse to respond to her hollering. Which, not surprisingly, didn't faze her; she just kept wailing like a banshee until he saw her head appear at the top of the ladder.

"You are here. Why didn't you answer me?" she demanded.

"I'm sleeping," he growled. "Can't you tell?"

She started down the ladder. "I've got something to tell you."

He snorted. "Decided I'm not worth the trouble and come here to finish me off?"

She rolled her eyes as she moved to stand next to his bed. "No. Lucky for you."

"What, then?"

"It's Angel."

The name sent a warning shiver down Spike's back, but he told himself not to panic. He shrugged carelessly, all bravado. "What about him?"

She looked him directly in the eyes. "They found a way to bind his soul to him. I'm moving to LA."

His brain told him that he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing--only an icy numbness blanketing his entire body, and what felt like a heavy weight pressing down all his limbs. He doubted he could have moved if his unlife depended on it. He noted, distantly, that he guessed she had come to kill him after all. And she was just staring at him, emotionless, like she'd just told him she was going to the supermarket. "What about Dawn?" he managed finally, the words barely a whisper out of his dry throat.

"She'll come with me," she answered, giving him a look that suggested he was a very slow child she was trying to educate. "They've got lots of high schools in LA."

"Right," he murmured, almost to himself. And now the pain was starting, a deep, slow burn, hollowing him out. He wanted to scream, bleed, anything to release the pressure, but he still couldn't move. "And the Hellmouth?"

She hitched a shoulder. "Can't stay here forever. There's lots of evil in the world." She looked at him quizzically, almost as if she were surprised at his reaction. "I'm sorry if it… hurts you."

"Hurt" was such a small word. It occurred to him that this would be a good time for a witty remark; unfortunately, he seemed to be fresh out. "When?" was all he said.

"As soon as we can get our stuff together." She was starting to look uncomfortable. The silence stretched between them. "I have to go," she said finally, abruptly.

He looked at her, and had just enough pride left not to tell her it was OK. Something wasn't right here, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what. Maybe it was the utter collapse of everything he'd built in the last three years. He just kept looking at her mutely, until she took a short breath.

"OK. Well. Goodbye, Spike." She eyed him expectantly, but he was still as a statue. She gave a minute shrug, and headed back up the ladder.

He heard the door scrape again, felt it resonate throughout his body. He stared sightlessly at the wall, and for the first time in over a century, he wished he had death to look forward to.

She stopped almost as soon as the door closed behind her, noticing with an injured air that it was raining. Raining in California? Totally unacceptable, she thought huffily. She ran a fussy hand through her short hair, then looked around carefully. Seeing no one nearby, she grasped the small stone hanging around her neck. Her brow furrowed with concentration. She seemed to shimmer slightly, to grow taller and thicker, blond hair curling into frizzy brown corkscrews. Finally, transformation complete, she adjusted her clothes, checked her watch, and retreated into a shadowed corner to wait.

And Halfrek smiled.

------------------------------------

Buffy dragged herself up out of sleep to find her neck stiff, her stomach complaining, and a dripping Xander staring at her with a mixture of shock and amusement.

"Wow," he commented, surveying the scene of Buffy and Willow sprawled out on the couch together, blinking sleepily, surrounded by the carcasses of various pints of Ben and Jerry's that had selflessly given their lives for the cause. "Did I just miss some kinky girl-on-girl action here, or what?"

Willow sat up blearily, her eyes only half-open. "Unh," she managed, holding her stomach. "No, but we'll be sure to invite you next time we…" Her eyes suddenly snapped alert as she realized Xander was sporting a black eye and a nasty-looking cut along his jaw. "What happened to you?"

Buffy, who had been curled into the couch idly trying to calculate calories, sat up instantly, ready to avenge where necessary. Xander's bruised jaw dropped as he caught sight of the black and blue marks on her face.

"Did Spike…?" they immediately asked each other in unison, then both looked sheepish and nodded. "Yeah, but…"

Willow held up a hand. "OK. Enough with the stereo."

Relieved that there had obviously been no Dastardly Demonic Plot in need of foiling, Xander grinned a little, inclining his head. "Ladies first."

Buffy shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. We were… sparring. Got a little out of hand. No big. What's your excuse?"

"Just a manly macho guy thing," Xander shrugged, remembering his agreement with Spike to keep the details to himself. "Two testosterone-infused individuals blowing off a little steam, mano e mano. You should see him," he continued, warming up to the story, "he--" He realized Willow was looking at him skeptically. "What? What's with the Eyebrow of Disbelief?"

"You beat Spike in a fight?" Willow couldn't quite picture that.

"Well, no, not exactly beat him…" Xander hedged. "He'll be chewing his flowering onion on one side for awhile, though," he finished with some satisfaction.

"Very macho," Willow agreed solemnly. "If I weren't gay, I'd totally want you right now."

Xander gave her a wry smile. "Ah, if I had a nickel for every time I'd heard that one…"

Meanwhile, Buffy was studying Xander as if she'd never seen anything quite like him before, her brain having cleared enough to form a few questions. "Xander?" she asked finally. "Why aren't you at work? And why are you all… drippy?" She gestured at the growing water spots on the floor, adding, "On my carpet?"

"Because, my Californian friends," Xander answered, taking the hint and removing his dripping jacket, "it's raining. And construction workers cannot work in the rain, so they must go check on their superhero friends and drip on their carpets." He opened the front door, slung his jacket carefully over the door-handle where it could drip in peace. Willow bounced up, peering around him to see the steady sheets of water pouring from the cloud-covered sky.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," she grinned, delighted. "Buffy, come see."

Buffy levered herself up off the couch and joined them in the doorway. "Yup," she commented, after a minute. "Looks like rain."

"Buff-fee," Willow groaned, disgusted at her lack of enthusiasm. "It's not just rain, it's…" She trailed off, searching for words.

"Lots of rain," Xander finished for her.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, as if he had said something incredibly profound. "It's weird. And cool. Like that time it snowed at Christmas."

At the mention of that particular event, Buffy felt her stomach twist. "It's not like that," she stated flatly, and headed back towards the couch, feeling weight come crashing down on her again.

Willow and Xander exchanged a confused look as he closed the door. What was that about? he asked with his eyes, and she gave a tiny shrug. I don't know. Xander frowned, then moved to follow Buffy.

"So," he began, plopping down on the couch next to her, trying for the right mixture of cheerfulness and concern. "This place looks like a war zone. Everything OK at Casa de Summers?"

Buffy started to say yes, she was just fine, then discovered that there was a limit to how many months, days, and hours a person could spend lying to her friends. The words spilled from her mouth, independent of her brain. "Well, I was sleeping with Spike for awhile there, and last night I realized I didn't want to kill him, and Willow and I got into a fight because she thinks I should be alive and she doesn't want me to be evil and take the easy way out." She glanced at Willow. "That about sum it up?"

Willow nodded cautiously, unsure of Buffy's mood, and wondering if Xander was going to be able to take the news without spontaneously combusting. "I think so."

The prognosis on Xander wasn't good. He was sputtering helplessly, his brain having spiraled into complete overload immediately after the words "sleeping with Spike." His mouth worked soundlessly for awhile, until finally he forced out a heartfelt, "Huh?"

It felt so good to have it out in the open at last, no matter what Xander's reaction was, that Buffy took pity on him. "Sorry to break it to you that way, Xand," she continued, more gently. "I know it seems weird, but--"

"Weird?" Xander repeated in a strangled whisper, mindful of Dawn and Tara still sleeping upstairs. "No. Being possessed by a hyena was weird. Finding out your little sister was a ball of mystical energy was weird. This… this is so beyond the realm of weirdness, I don't even think you can see weird from here."

Willow, seeing the pain start to creep back into Buffy's face, tried to intercede, sitting on Xander's other side and putting a conciliatory hand on his knee. "It caught me by surprise, too," she told him. "But if you think about it, it makes sense, in a way. I mean, there've been signs. We just didn't want to see them."

"I know!" Xander exploded, still valiantly trying to keep his voice down. "That's the weirdest thing about it!" He slumped back against the cushions, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes as if he was trying to block out some horrific image. Which he was. "Denial was nice," he muttered, anguished. "Denial was a beautiful thing."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at Willow. Despite his initial outburst, that last comment indicated that Xander was actually scoring much lower on the Wig-O-Meter than she'd expected. "So… you're not surprised?"

He took his hands away from his eyes and met her gaze. "Buff, I love you, but I don't think at this point your taste in men will ever surprise me."

Buffy smiled a little, looking down at her hands. She guessed she deserved that one.

Xander sighed. As utterly ax-murderer terrifying as the concept of Buffy boinking Spike was, he'd seen that shadow fall across her face way too many times in the last year or so, and he didn't want to be responsible for putting it there again. He supposed there were worse things than Buffy falling for Spike. He couldn't think of anything just at the moment, but he was sure he'd come up with something eventually. In the meantime, she needed him, and he'd just have to do his best to deal with it.

"OK." He spread his hands out in front of him, as if to ward off the entire topic. "I'm thinking a subject change might be the way to go here. Did you say something about you two having a fight?"

"Not as much of a subject change as you think," Buffy answered, her smile turning wry. "Will was trying to tell me it's OK that I've slept with a soulless demon who might be planning to murder us all as we speak."

Xander studied her, watching the guilt and self-condemnation spread over her features. He sighed again. He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but… "You know I'm not exactly a big Spike groupie," he began slowly. "But… I think we might have been… in some ways, anyway… a little wrong about him."

Xander doubted Buffy was even aware of the desperate hope that brightened her eyes, or the way her breath caught in her throat. It hurt his heart to see it, and he knew that no matter what he and Spike had agreed to, and no matter how he felt about the two of them, he had to tell her. "I followed Spike tonight, to keep an eye on him," he explained. "He went to a bar, drank enough whiskey to make me sick just thinking about it, and met this woman." He saw jealousy spark behind the hope, and hurried to finish. "Long story short, she hit on him, and he turned her down. I'm not sure, but I think she even knew he was a vampire, and he still said no. Even left her with cab fare."

"Did he know you were there?" Buffy asked, wondering distantly why her voice sounded so hoarse. It's about instinct, she remembered telling him. Something you do without thinking. Without expecting anything in return.

Xander shook his head. "I think we can all agree that Spike is Confrontation Guy. If he'd known I was there, he wouldn't have just left me alone."

For a long moment, none of them spoke, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Willow took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Whoa." Even given her earlier conversation with Spike, it was still more than she'd expected.

"Yeah," Xander agreed quietly. "Kind of tears the fabric of your reality a little, doesn't it?" They both looked at Buffy, but she only sat there without moving, her eyes bright again with unshed tears.

Buffy, for her part, felt as if something was slowly tearing loose inside of her, and she wasn't sure if she should cling to it or let it go.

"Buffy?" Willow offered tentatively, as a thought occurred to her. "It's your decision, but… I just realized something. If we've been wrong about Spike… and if he's been fighting this all this time, alone…" She trailed off, unsure how to finish without putting pressure on her friend.

Even without the conclusion, the words hit Buffy like Olaf's hammer. Her eyes darted up to meet Willow's, then Xander's. What she saw there was something she'd almost forgotten--concern, yes, and still a little frustration on Xander's part, but also overwhelming love. Support. She felt whatever it was inside her tear loose a little more, and her eyes overflowed.

"I have to go," she blurted suddenly, standing up with none of her usual grace. Willow and Xander stood with her, and Xander grabbed her arm before she could make it halfway to the door.

"Take a coat, it's raining," he told her, while Willow rummaged in the closet. She emerged with a somewhat dusty raincoat, and held it out to Buffy.

"Have you got an umbrella?"

Buffy shook her head. "I'll be OK." Her heart was pounding, and for a second she just stared at her friends, panic licking at her throat.

"What're you going to tell him?" Willow couldn't help asking.

Buffy laughed a little, the tinge of hysteria returning. "I don't know." Then she smiled shakily at them. "I…" She couldn't find the words. "Thanks," she said finally, lamely. Their encouraging smiles gave her just enough courage to duck out the door and into the rain.

It wasn't until she was outside, hurrying along with the rain plastering her hair to her head, that she remembered she had no idea just exactly what she was going to do.

-----------------------------

Halfrek, on the other hand, had a very specific plan. Her failure with Dawn had been nagging at her for months, and finally she'd realized a return to Sunnydale was a necessity to salve her pride. Another quick glance at her watch told her it was time. She'd decided to go for the dramatic entrance, to make up a little for her less-than-dramatic exit several months before. She snapped her fingers--not really necessary, but she felt it added a certain style--and appeared in a puff of smoke on the lower floor of Spike's crypt.

"Hello, William." He didn't appear to have moved since she'd left him earlier.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the wall. Ordinarily he supposed her appearance would have made his bad day worse, only on this particular occasion, that was impossible. So all he could muster up was a kind of tired hostility. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you, of course," she told him, in much the same tone Buffy had used on him not too long ago.

"You've helped me plenty, Cecily," he returned, and felt the first stirrings of anger.

"Have I?" She preened a little. Spike remembered she'd never been big with the sarcasm. Or with the brains in general, come to think of it.

"Oh, yeah," he continued, swinging his legs around to the edge of the bed. "If you hadn't been such a bitch to me all those years ago, I wouldn't have met Dru, and she wouldn't have turned me, and I wouldn't have had this glorious opportunity to fall in love with bloody Slayer." He swung a fist into the wall on the last word, welcoming the pain.

Halfrek liked to think that, over the years, she'd perfected the sympathetic look. "I hear Angelus had his soul bound to him."

Rage flashed through him, white-hot, and before she could blink, he had his hand wrapped around her throat. "Mention that name again and I'll pull that damned pendant off right through your neck."

Her eyes widened a little, but she regained control quickly. "All right, William, no need for violence," she managed hoarsely.

He released her with a jerk. "Stop calling me that. The William you knew is dead. And a good thing, too." He turned his back on her. "How did you know?" he asked after a moment.

"It's all anyone can talk about," she replied, sounding surprised. "Or have you forgotten how quickly gossip moves in the demon world?" She looked at him pityingly. "Oh, Spike." She gave his name just a hint of careful emphasis. "Have you been away for so long you're forgetting the rules already?"

That stung him, she could tell. He whirled back around. "Why are you here?"

She answered his question with one of her own. "Why didn't you kill me?"

It was the last thing he'd expected. He blinked at her for a second, taken aback.

"You killed everyone else, with those awful spikes," she continued, moving a little closer to him, a hint of her highbrow accent returning. "Why didn't you kill me?"

On any other day, he would have at least lied, and quite possibly made the question moot by just killing her right then. But today, he was too sodding tired. "I wanted you to know what it felt like to be alone," he told her in a low voice.

A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. She'd obviously been expecting a more flattering answer. Well, he'd devoted some of the most embarrassing moments of his life to flattering her, and figured that was enough to last him roughly through eternity. "Well…" He could see her trying to regroup, forcing cheerfulness. "I can't really agree with your reasoning, but I suppose I do owe you--if you'd killed me then, I'd never have found the job satisfaction I have now."

He sighed, tired of the bullshit. "What are you trying to say, Cecily?"

She smiled at him. "I'm offering you something. A gift, if you like."

Oh, God. "What?" he asked warily. If she said she was offering herself, he swore on Dru's grave that he'd snap and kill them both.

Her smile widened, and she laid a hand on his arm. "A wish."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Surely you don't think I'll fall for that. Demons aren't supposed to grant wishes for other demons."

She shrugged. "You're a special case. A… fence-sitter," she finished, after searching for the right word. "D'Hoffryn has agreed to make an exception."

He had to admit, that was intriguing. It would be nice to get something in return for three years of humiliation and suffering. But he wasn't about to tip his hand so easily. "What could you give me that I can't get for myself?" He spread his arms wide, mockingly. "The chip's out. The world is my oyster. What could I possibly want?"

Halfrek paused just long enough to make him curious, then said simply, "To forget."

And "intriguing" got a rapid upgrade to "almost too good to be true." He considered it for a moment, studying her. "So I'd forget her, and she'd forget me, and I'd be… free again?"

Halfrek nodded. "You could stay here, or I could take you somewhere else--Prague, London, anywhere you want."

Spike could practically taste it: the blood warm and rich in his mouth, the surge of power, the recklessness and glory and desperate energy. No little girl staring up at him with those big, trusting brown eyes; no sneers and punches from the rest of the demons; and most of all, no tiny, blonde, fascinating Slayer to rip his heart out and dance a jig on it with those ridiculous shoes she insisted on wearing. Of course he knew Halfrek would be doing it for her own reasons, but he didn't think he necessarily cared what those were. After all, if she could rid him of this nasty conscience rash he seemed to be developing of late, what would it matter?

Still, he didn't like the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, didn't like the feeling that she knew he was interested. She just kept smiling at him, and he fought to keep his poker face.

"It would be just like none of this ever happened," she whispered, staring up into his eyes.

As soon as she said it, his mind was suddenly flooded with memories: playing gin with Dawn, Willow's smile from the day before, Harris' apology later that night, the sudden grin that split Buffy's face when she got in a particularly good takedown, the little smile she couldn't quite hide after he'd seduced her into having sex on her kitchen floor, even the image that was burned into his brain of the terrible-beautiful swan-dive that had ended his world for one hundred and forty-seven days. Like none of this ever happened.

He found that the thought of forgetting hurt almost as much as the remembering.

Is this what it's going to be like? he raged inwardly, frustrated. The woman last night was bad enough. Am I going to have to choose every bleeding day?

He had the uneasy feeling that the answer was yes.

Halfrek was still waiting patiently for his answer, sure of her victory. He focused on her again, gave her a hint of a smile.

"All right," he whispered back. "I wish…" He paused, lowered his voice even more. She leaned forward, and he murmured in her ear. "I wish… that you'd get the hell out of my crypt before I drag you out, piece by piece."

The mixture of insult, shock, and disappointment on her face brought him the first sliver of joy he'd felt in a long time. "But…" she protested weakly.

"I mean it, pet," he continued with dangerous cheer. "It's been a couple of days since I killed anything, and if you want to know the truth, I'm getting just a little bit antsy." He flexed his hands suggestively.

"But…" she repeated, scrabbling to gain back the ground she'd lost. "A vampire loving the Slayer? That's just wrong!"

He simply shrugged, grinned at her. "What can I tell you, luv? I'm a rebel."

"You…" She wracked her brain, but she couldn't find an answer for that one. Spike clucked his tongue.

"Y'know," he went on meditatively, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, "it used to be that being a vengeance demon meant something, but I guess they're just letting anyone in these days, aren't they? Even brainless society chits with no talent and no vision who wish a few boils on a man and think it makes them the second coming of Hecate." He shook his head. "Sad, really."

"Fine," she huffed, turning a rather unusual shade of red, her demon visage creeping back over her human face. "I try to do you a favor, out of the goodness of my heart, and--"

He was on her in an instant, grabbing her shoulders. "The goodness of your heart? You don't have either of those things, Cecily, and we both know it." He shook her, hard, then threw her back a few steps. "Get out. Come near me again, and I'll kill you." She started to speak, but he held up a hand. "You can sod off, and live, or keep yammering at me, and die. Your choice, pet."

Halfrek blinked and turned even redder. He wondered idly what the chances were of her exploding. Too much to hope for, he guessed.

She was spluttering. "I… you…what…" While he was still trying to decide if that counted as yammering, she gave a final indignant, frustrated screech, snapped her fingers, and disappeared.

Spike felt a strange tickling in the back of his throat, and when he opened his mouth, he discovered it was a laugh. He gave the bedside table a cheerful kick. Damn, that felt good. He surveyed the room appraisingly. Not much to it, really. Anything he cared about would easily fit in his DeSoto.

It was becoming painfully obvious that he couldn't get out of this. Maybe it was time he got into it.

Change of scene wouldn't be so bad, he thought to himself. Not going to be helping the bloody helpless or anything like that, but there are enough demons around to keep me busy for awhile before I have to start on the humans. Buffy didn't love him, that was clear, and never would, and he figured three years was just about long enough to be beating his head against that particular wall. She'd made her choice. Now he wanted his own answers, ones that weren't all wrapped up in her, in what she'd think, in how she felt. The Little Bit might shed a few tears over his going, but she'd be all right, and he could drop in on her from time to time, without Buffy knowing.

All in all, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

He hauled a battered suitcase out from under his bed, threw it open, and started packing.

TBC

See, much faster this time! : )