Chapter Four

"Good morning, Spike."

It was amazing to him that three little words could affect him so profoundly. Three ordinary words…and he broke into a sweat, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thought for a moment he might be having a coronary. Then again, it was not so much what she said as how she said it. For the first time since the incident in her bathroom, her tone was not hostile, and for the first time in months, her voice wasn't condescending. As a matter of fact, she sounded almost...warm.

Shocked by her appearance, Spike began to stumble out of bed. Then he remembered his attire…or rather, his lack of it. He was naked. Despite the fact she had seen him naked at least a dozen times before this, he was reluctant to let her see him so now. Not because his newfound humanity had granted him modesty or shyness, he just didn't want to do anything else that might be construed as sexual harassment. He sat up carefully, wrapping the sheet around his midsection and draping it over his lap. It was not until he was certain his nether regions were concealed, that he finally looked at her.

She looked like bliss. Her hair was starting to grow out and she had brushed it back into a ponytail, which made her look impossibly young. The low-slung jeans and cropped sweatshirt revealed just a few inches of her golden-brown stomach. She wasn't wearing makeup, but there was a delicious scent of coconut clinging to her skin and hair, and it reached his nostrils in waves. She was so beautiful that for a moment he couldn't speak. He didn't want to speak—or to move, or think. He just wanted to look at her.

Buffy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, mistaking his silence for anger. She offered him a tiny smile, asking, "So…still in the crypt, huh?"

"Oh," he said, startled out of his reverie by her words. He gazed around him with a wry smile. "Well, it may not look like much…but the rent is good and the neighbors don't make a sound."

Her smile grew more genuine. "Yeah…good point."

Daring a quick glance at her eyes, Spike was relieved to see she was looking every bit as uncomfortable as he felt. Uncomfortable but not angry. Good. That meant she wasn't here to tell him off over some crime.

So why was she here?

He decided to risk the question. "Buffy…what are you doing here?"

She met his gaze, held it. "Actually…I came to thank you."

"Thank me?" he echoed. "What did I do?"

"Dawn told me how you came to her rescue last night," Buffy explained. "She said that if it hadn't been for you she might be dead now. I…wanted to tell you how grateful I am to you for helping her."

"Oh." His heart rate dropped rapidly at this statement. He had thought she was here to make amends, to say she was wrong to doubt his love for her—maybe even to tell him she loved him, too. Needless to say, the real reason was somewhat disappointing.

"I also came to apologize to you," she added.

His hope restored, Spike spent a difficult moment restraining his anticipation. This was it! She was finally going to admit how she felt for him! He clutched the bed sheet in one hand, working very hard at controlling himself. He wanted to reach out and grab her—he wanted to whisper in her ear that it was okay, apologies weren't necessary. He wanted to tell her he loved her. But he didn't. Instead, he made a strange, choking sound in the back of his throat and rasped, "Apologize?"

She nodded. "I…I know I've been really hard on you since you came back. You've been trying really hard to—to—"

"Behave?" he suggested.

"Yeah…and I…haven't really helped you in that department." She sighed. "I guess I was—and even still am—angry at you for what you did before you left."

"I really am sorry for that, Buffy," he told her quietly. "If I could take it back I would."

"I know," Buffy replied. "And…to be perfectly honest…I wasn't entirely blameless in that, either. Maybe that was one reason why I was so angry…because I knew it was partly my fault."

His eyes widened disbelievingly. "What?"

"Well, I don't mean to say I think you were right to do it," she rushed to add. "But maybe what you did is…understandable…if not exactly justifiable. I—I did some pretty rotten things to you in the few months we were…well…when we were. You have obviously forgiven me for hitting you—"

"And kicking me," he added.

"And kicking you," she amended.

"And throwing me into a wall."

Her smile tightened. "And throwing you into a wall."

"And leaving me trapped in a pile of rubble when the sun was up."

"Okay, okay," Buffy snapped. "I did a lot of horrible things to you! The point is that you forgave me for them!"

"I did."

She drew a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was calm. "Anyway, I realized—with a little help from Dawn—that if you are willing to forgive me for all those things then I should be able to forgive you for what you did to me."

"And do you?" he asked. Try as he might, he could not hide his enthusiasm at that last remark.

She smiled, easily picking up on his eagerness. "Yeah…I do." Her expression sobered somewhat. "Spike…I want you to know that all those times I was so hard on you—all those times I hurt you—I didn't mean to do it. I—I was just so…"

"Angry?"

"Angry, confused, scared…you name it. That isn't any excuse for using you the way I did, but I…just wanted you to know."

"I know," he assured her. "And I understand. I really do."

"Then do you think we could…start again? I know we've been through a lot, but…I don't want you out of my life…"

"God, Buffy, I don't want that either. I have nightmares about that. It's the whole reason I went to Africa…the reason I became—" He paused, unsure of how to continue. After all, until Willow found what she was looking for in those dark arts books, he was not sure he could call himself human.

Buffy, unaware of this, simply looked pleased by his statement. "I can't believe you did that," she said. "You hate humans…you said they were…Happy Meals with legs."

"I don't hate you," he pointed out.

She looked away from him, but he was almost certain he could see her blushing. "I'm glad."

"You're glad about what?"

She glanced at him coyly. "That you don't hate me."

"Buffy…" He reached out, grabbed her wrist. "I could never hate you. Even when I said I hated you…even when I thought I hated you…it was all just…an illusion. A mask to hide behind until I could face the truth."

She closed her eyes as he brought her closer to him. "Spike…"

"I missed you so bad," he murmured, his arms encircling her waist. "You can't imagine how much I missed you…"

"Spike."

"Shh…" he whispered, nuzzling the bare skin of her stomach. "It's okay…you don't have to say anything."

He stood up—the sheet fell to the floor—but he didn't notice. He didn't notice anything except that she was in his arms and she was warm and soft and smelled like coconut. His mouth edged closer to hers, so close he could feel her warm breath against his cheek. He leaned down.

His lips were just touching hers when she jerked away from him, her voice firing his name like a pistol shot. "Spike!"

"What's wrong?" he asked, bewildered by her very unromantic reaction to his affection.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "What—what did you think—"

Her words were like cold water dashed on him and he began to shiver. "You…you said…"

"I said I wanted you in my life!" she interrupted. "I didn't say I wanted you in my bed!"

Spike shook his head. "No…no wait a minute…"

"I can't believe you would do this…after everything you said about being sorry!" She began backing out of the crypt.

"What?" He turned, grabbed a pair of jeans that was draped over a chair, and quickly began to pull them on. "B—Buffy, you can't compare this to the other time! Y—you were telling me how you were sorry…you were smiling…"

"Oh, and by smiling I automatically sent you an invitation to have sex?" she asked. "I'm glad you told me—I'll be sure not to do it again."

"You hugged me!" he maintained.

"You hugged me first," she retorted. Her expression softened a little when she saw his panicked expression, though she went on determinedly. "And I didn't hug you…I just didn't stop you from hugging me."

He stared at her. This could not be happening. "Buffy, please…"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm really not," she told him. "But I can't…"

"Why not?" he challenged. "You can't tell me you don't feel something for me…I held you in my arm two minutes ago and I know that isn't the case. You have feelings for me. You wanted someone normal and—and I became normal….What other reason is there?"

Buffy looked at him pityingly. "Oh, don't do this…" she said. "Don't make me say it."

"I have a right to know why you don't want to be with me!" he persisted.

"I'm embarrassed of you!" she blurted out. "Okay? Happy now? I'm embarrassed to have feelings for someone like you!"

She might as well have hit him over the head with a mallet—he was literally that stunned. For a moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. Then:

"Get out."

"Spike…" She reached out to touch his arm but he yanked back.

"Get out," he said again. His jaw was clenched so tight he could barely get the words out. His hands were balled into tight fists—but at his sides. It took a manful effort but they stayed at his sides.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, backing away from him. "I didn't want to tell you…"

"Just go—before I do something both of us regret. Just go!"

She turned and fled.

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Xander was waiting on the front porch when Willow returned from school. He was sitting on the steps, examining something in his hand with a thoughtful frown.

"Sorry, but we don't want any Girl Scout cookies," she told him, grinning.

"Ha ha," he said without laughing. "Too bad you aren't Native American, Will. I've got a great name picked out for you if you were."

"What is that?" she asked, moving past him up the steps.

"Little Smart Ass."

"Huh. I would've gone with 'Dances With Girls.'" She opened the door. "Are you coming in?"

"Yeah." He stood up and followed her inside.

"How long having you been waiting out there?"

"About an hour. I picked up the washer we need to fix the sink."

"Why didn't you just use the key under the mat?" Willow asked, tossing her bag on the sofa and heading into the kitchen.

"I didn't want to intrude," he said.

She laughed. "Honestly, Xander! You practically live here…I don't think Buffy would consider it 'intruding' for you to use the key to come inside. Especially since you are here to fix her sink."

"I know she wouldn't mind," he countered. "But it's the principle of the matter." He began fiddling with the faucet.

"Where is Buffy, anyway? I thought she wasn't working today."

"She isn't," Willow said. "But she said she had something to do."

"Slayage?" Xander asked. "Without us? I'm hurt."

"I don't think it was slayer-related," Willow reassured him. "I think it was personal."

"Man-type-personal?" he queried. "Is that what you mean? Does the Buffster have a boyfriend?"

"Well…"

"She does! I can tell from the look on your face. Who is he? And why have I not been informed of this before?"

"She doesn't have a boyfriend," Willow said. "Not exactly. She has…"

"What?" he teased. "A chum? A pen pal? A sound investment portfolio?"

Willow laughed. "No. Look…if I tell you, do you promise you won't get all worked up over it?"

"Yes."

"Really?" she asked, delighted.

"No. But tell me anyway."

She sighed. "All right…but don't tell her I said anything to you about it."

He crossed his heart.

"I think—and this is just my own personal opinion—but I think that Buffy is with Spike."

"What?"

"You promised not to get worked up," she reminded him.

"No, I didn't," he rejoined. "And what do you mean she is with Spike? With him doing what?"

"I don't know! I don't even know if she is with him. I told you I'm not sure."

"But you think she is. Why do you think she is?"

She shot him a boy aren't you stupid look. "Come on, Xander. You know what happened between them."

"Yeah, he tried to rape her!"

"I mean before that. They were…involved." She saw his baffled expression and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Xander, you had to have been able to see it…how down she was when she found out he had left. She has feelings for him."

"How could she have feelings for him?" Xander cried. "He's—he's evil! I don't care if he is a human now—there are evil people, as well as evil vampires. He's disgusting!"

"He isn't evil, Xander. He is trying…and he's changed for the better."

"Spare me! That getting-a-soul stunt was just for Buffy's benefit. He saw it as a way to get her into bed, that's all."

"I don't think so."

"Well and what makes you the expert?" Xander snapped.

She met his angry eyes unflinchingly. "I know a lot more than you think, Xander. Ever since Giles…ever since I took that magic from him, the magic the coven gave him…I've been able to feel things."

"What do you mean you can 'feel things'?" Xander asked. "Feel things how?"

"I can…feel…people. When I'm with someone…I can feel what they feel…"

"What—are you saying you're…psychic?"

"No. I can't see the future or anything. I just…I connect with people now. If someone is hurt or lonely or angry I can feel it—feel it as though I'm going through the same things they are."

"So what does that have to do with Spike?"

"Spike's changed. I can feel it when I'm with him, Xander."

"Oh?" He sneered. "And just what is it you feel when you are with him?"

"I can feel how much he loves her."

Xander froze for a moment, considering. Then his brow darkened. "That is ridiculous, Willow. Buffy is being a fool if she thinks he can feel anything but lust for anyone. Look what he did with Anya while he was supposedly 'in love' with Buffy! Look what he tried to do to Buffy!"

"Xander?"

He sighed wearily and turned back to his repair job. "What?"

"Don't say anything to Buffy about this…please."

"What?" he asked. He was looking at the sink, not at Willow. "Are you afraid I'll changed her mind?"

"No. I just think she should make up her own mind without influence from anyone else. She needs to decide for herself whether she loves him or not."

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"Embarrassed huh?" Spike muttered, ripping a sheet of sketching paper in half and throwing it to the floor. "Can't let people see how she feels? I'll show her…"

Buffy had gone and he was releasing all his anger at her out on his belongings. Though he no longer had a secret shrine constructed in her honor (she had not seemed too honored when she found out about it) he still had a number of sketches and poems created for her. These were not pasted to the wall surrounded by candles and surveillance pictures, but rather scattered about, on furniture and in folders. He was searching them out like a bloodhound. Seek and destroy—something he was good at.

"Bitch," he whispered, crumpling a poem in his fist. "Bitch, bitch, bitch!" He was screaming now, attacking not only the stacks of paper but his furniture as well—throwing, beating, and cursing everything in his path.

"William, William, you haven't changed a bit!"

He froze. The light laughter and feminine voice startled him both because it was unexpected and because it was familiar. Painfully familiar. He turned slowly around.

Anya's friend and fellow vengeance demon, Halfrek, was standing by the open doorway of the crypt, watching him with amusement. While she normally had the countenance of all vengeance demons—full of red veins and wrinkles—now she looked like a normal person. Normal and almost pretty, dressed in a light blue dress, her hair piled on top of her head. Spike stared at her with what could only be described as intense loathing.

"Cecily."

Halfrek laughed again. "Really, William! I have not been known as Cecily for over a century…since just after you became 'Spike' I suppose. Although between the two of us, I think I received the better pseudonym. I mean, really darling, Spike? It sounds so…"

"Cecily, did you come here just to pour salt in my wounds? Or is there an actual point to this delightful visit?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "I thought you might want to talk…to reminisce about old times…but if you want to get right down to business that's fine."

"Business?"

"Um…duh…vengeance demon here."

"I know what you do, you stupid bint! But why on earth do you think I would be remotely interested?"

"Hmm…let me think…maybe because you are screaming at the top of your lungs and assaulting defenseless furniture? I mean, I could hear you all over town. You are just dying for some vengeance. So who is the woman, William?"

"What woman?"

"The one who humiliated you…the one you were crying over and calling a bitch about five minutes ago. Don't tell me you can't remember that."

He growled under his breath. "I will tell you this once, Cecily, so you had better listen well: if you don't haul your wise-mouthed, veiny little demon ass out that door in the next three seconds, you are going to be incredibly sorry."

Halfrek threw her head back and chortled. "You can't do anything to me, William! I am a demon!" She looked at him disdainfully. "You, however, you…are a sellout."

"I'm a what?"

"You really haven't changed, have you?" she asked, shaking her head sorrowfully. "You're still that naïve little Englishman who is willing to do anything for the woman he loves. William, when are you going to learn that you cannot make yourself into something you are not? Putting on an act is not going to impress a woman who knows you for your true self. And this—" she motioned to his entire body "—is nothing but an act. You became a vampire for a woman who grew tired of you once she saw through the facade…and now you've become human for a woman who never wanted you in the first place. Really, I think maybe you should try to find a woman who likes you as you already are….Although that would probably be just as hard to do, at least you wouldn't have to constantly pretend." She sighed and rubbed her hands together. "So…let's get down to business…"

Throughout Halfrek's speech, Spike had been staring at her, thunderstruck. Now the shock was wearing off and his temper was starting to rise again.

"…how about a nice plague?" she asked, completely oblivious to his rage. "Everyone loves a plague…we could even do a biblical one…you know…darkness and vermin. Or maybe we could make her really ugly! You would like that, wouldn't you, William? If she was ugly then you wouldn't have to worry about being good enough for her…you'd be the only man who would have her."

That did it.

Spike lunged forward, moving so quickly Halfrek was caught off guard. She did not fully realize what was happening until she saw Spike standing several feet away—holding her amulet.

"Hey!" she cried, grabbing her neck where the amulet had been. "Give that back!"

"Or what?" he snickered. "You're going to cry? You can't do anything to me without your talisman…and I have no intention of giving back."

"Damn it, William! I was trying to help you!"

"And I thank you for it." He held the pendant up by its broken chain, dangling it just in front of Halfrek's nose.

"This is about what happened in London, isn't it?" she demanded. "You're holding a grudge about something that happened a hundred and twenty-two years ago!"

"No…" he drawled. "I'm really not…." Spike dropped the pendant to the floor and, just as Halfrek dove to retrieve it, he ground it to powder beneath his heel.

"I'm just tired of being everyone's bitch."

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End of Chapter Four