Chapter Twelve

The chain link fence extended a good twelve hundred feet beyond the back of the alley and about eight hundred feet on either side. It was very quiet, dimly lit by the orange glow of a security light mounted on a pole. Dawn could see several uneven shapes in the distance and when she reached them she saw they were half a dozen or so rusted cars, some of which had been stripped down to the metal skeleton of their frames. Obviously, this lot belonged to the auto body shop next door and the cars were being used for their parts.

Dawn wound her way through the wrecked automobiles, her ears straining for the familiar sound of battle. At first, she heard nothing, and she was afraid that perhaps they had already left. Then she heard the metallic rattle of chain link, heard Spike's familiar voice yell, "Where do you think you're going, bitch?"

They were at the far corner of the lot. The vampire, who had just recovered from being thrown into the fence, was now whirling in a series of lightening-fast roundhouse kicks, each one of which Spike easily evaded. He swerved and dipped, occasionally striking back at her with fists or feet. Dawn stopped walking and concealed herself behind a rusted Ford pickup, watching them. In some strange way, there was a kind of beauty to the violence. The two of them seemed to be moving in rhythm to each other, dancing to a soundless melody—a perfectly choreographed dance that would stop only when one of them was dead. Strange as it seemed, the glow of Spike's white skin in the moonlight contrasted with the dark line of blood snaking from his mouth and made him beautiful, and Dawn was lost in the graceful movements of his rage.

There was no doubt who was winning the battle. The vampire was simply no match for him. Next to Spike, her movements seemed ungainly, slow. He seemed to read her thoughts and anticipate her attacks before they came, avoiding them effortlessly. Yet he didn't use any one of the dozen opportunities to just get it over with and kill her. His stake was clutched in his right hand, apparently forgotten as he pummeled her with his hands. There was a slight grin on his face—a grin Dawn had seen many times before—which said clearly that he was enjoying himself.

"So you're the one that got away?" he asked softly, raising his eyebrows at the vampire.

She tried to kick him but he slid out of the way easily, gliding around her before she had time to think, let alone move. He grabbed her arm as she was in mid turn, spun her so that he back was to him, and pulled her close. He pressed the stake he was holding against her chest, but he didn't apply enough pressure to penetrate—just enough to hurt her a little.  

"How did you manage to find me?" His voice was low and deep, a purr. "Have you been looking? Hunting? Stalking me by night like a little jungle kitty?"

The vampire gasped in pain as he gave a violent upward jerk on her arm. There was a loud cracking sound as the bone snapped. Still, she refused to give him an inch. Her yellow eyes were cold as she answered his question. "You're a traitor to us. Of course, I've been looking for you. I want—we all want—you dead. You're…worse than human."

"Too true," he said pleasantly. The lightness of his tone combined with the coldness of his expression made Dawn's blood chill. She hadn't seen Spike act this way in a very long time and it frightened her a little. He pulled the vampire so that her body was pressed tight against his, her back to his chest. He tilted his head, resting his chin on her shoulder like a lover, and whispered into her ear, "But I'm still better than you."

"Are you?" she spat. "The Slayer's lap dog? Her fuck buddy? Deserter of your own kind. You kill us to please her. You betrayed your calling and became something else for her." The vampire smiled suddenly, a cold evil smile Spike couldn't see because of his position. "But you know what? It didn't work, did it? The Slayer wasn't pleased. She saw you for what you are and she threw you out. She knew you were no better than you were—she knew you were worse. So she got rid of you."

He scoffed. "Shows how much you know. I left of my own free will. Got tired of the old home-and-family deal." But there was an edge to his voice—something neither the vampire nor Dawn failed to notice.

The demon brow furrowed, the gold eyes gleaming maliciously as she went on. "And now you're alone. A thing. Not human and not a vampire. Displaced. You should be glad to let me kill you. You should beg me for it. It would be a favor to you because she is all you had, and she doesn't want you now."

The vampire knew her prey, all right, and she had picked his weakest point to attack. To Dawn's utter shock, Spike's eyes went wide and stricken at the desperate, angry words. His grip on the vampire's arms loosened. In a flash, she was free of his hold and facing him. Laughing now, she taunted him. "I was there, you know. When Nikolai beat you. You cried and called her name. Just like you're crying now. Pathetic. No wonder she doesn't want you."

Spike reached up and touched his cheek. Dawn could see the tears on his face, glistening in the moonlight. When he brought his hand away, he gazed at the moisture on his fingertips with puzzlement. Something in him seemed to have broken at the mention of Buffy, and Dawn could see he now had no idea what danger he was in. He was too distracted by the vampire's words, by his own thoughts, to care. The stake slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

The vampire smiled.

Dawn watched in horror as the demon approached him, circling like a wolf around a lamb. Spike was staring straight ahead, apparently unseeing, as the vampire kicked his stake out of reach. The vampire grabbed his shoulders.

"SPIKE!"

Dawn wasn't even thinking. Had she been thinking she might have grabbed the stake and thrown it to him—or staked the vampire herself. But the sight of Spike as she had never known him—helpless—scared her, and she didn't think. She acted.

The vampires shrieked in surprise as the girl hit her like a torpedo, knocking them both to the dirt. "What the fuck?" she snapped. Her hands grappled at Dawn's shoulders, trying to hold her still. Her teeth clicked together as she snapped at Dawn's exposed throat. But Dawn was too fast for her. Before the vampire could deliver the bite, she squirmed off her, squirmed away. She scrambled to her feet and ran to Spike, who was watching the scene with something akin to shock—but watching the scene, Dawn was relieved to see. He had come back to himself. He was aware.

"Little Bit…?"

"Spike—" Dawn looked over shoulder. The vampire had gotten to her feet and was advancing on them. She was looking mightily pissed off. Dawn ducked behind Spike. "The stake," she hissed. "Get the stake."

He backed over to where the fallen stake lay (Dawn behind him at every step) and bent to retrieve the stake. He looked at the hungry vampire with one eyebrow raised. Then he turned to Dawn. "You know what?"

She shook her head. The vampire was right behind him now and she pushed at Spike's chest, trying to get him to turn around and pay attention to the approaching enemy. But he wouldn't. He merely smiled at her fondly. Part of her wondered if he hadn't gone completely nutters.

"I'm really sick of this shit." He said this casually, as one might say he was sick of pollution, or traffic, or a certain type of food.

Dawn stared at him openmouthed. The vampire was right on him now. Dawn reached to grab the stake from Spike's hand, fully prepared to fight the good fight all by herself. But before she could grasp the shaft of wood Spike whipped around, driving the stake into the vampire's chest with a movement so fluid Dawn went back to her first thought: he made carnage look good.

The vampire exploded in the typical cloud of dust, but seconds before she did Spike reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and withdrew a wad of bills. He put this casually into the pocket of his own jeans before turning back to Dawn. He grinned and—briefly—looked like the Spike of old.

"Thought I was going to let her get me, did you?"

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"Hey, Will."

Willow turned from the pot of spaghetti sauce she was stirring on the stove. She returned Buffy's smile. "Hey. How was your day?"

"Oh, you know…" Buffy tossed her bag onto the table and sank into a chair with a sigh, "extra ketchup on this, supersize that. It's a rat race."

"I can imagine."

"So how about you?" Buffy asked, as she sampled the spoonful of sauce Willow offered her. "How were things in Willow-world?"

Willow smiled wanly. "Oh…you know...kinda crazy. I packed some stuff…but really, it's hard to get into it. I think part of me can't really believe I'm going, you know? It just seems so unreal."

Buffy looked at her friend sympathetically. "What are the odds Giles will let you out of it?"

"Slim to nil. And I don't even if I want to get out of it. I mean…I know it would be good for me to go, to learn how to control this. It's just so…scary. It's so far away."

"But it isn't forever."

The words appeared to cheer Willow slightly; her smile became more genuine. "True," she said. "It's not forever." Her face fell again. "I just wish Giles would stop being angry with me."

"He will. Give him time. You know how he is—all silent and scowling for a few days and then all better. It's the Brit in him. He can't yell and throw things like us coarse Yanks, so he has to make to with the cold shoulder. Not a very satisfying way to show your frustrations, I expect."

"Guess not," Willow replied. She adjusted the heat on the stove and asked casually, "So where's Xander?"

It was a blatant attempt to change the subject and Buffy recognized it as such. She didn't comment, however. She knew only to well how painful probing a sore tooth was, and she was not about to perform any harsh emotional dental work on Willow now—not when they had so little time left to spend together. She plastered a smile on her face and answered Willow's question. "He said he wanted to be alone tonight so he went home. I think he's feeling a little melancholy."

"Why? He's been doing so well lately, what with the promotion at work and everything." Willow turned back to her spaghetti sauce.

"I think part of it is that he got this great promotion…and he's got all this money and respect now…and no one to share it with."

Willow stirred her sauce steadily. "Must be hard," she said innocently.

"Yeah." Buffy's voice was soft. "I'm sure it is."

"What about you?"

Buffy looked up sharply. Willow's back was turned, her attention still riveted to the pot on the stove. "What do you mean? What about me?"

"Well…" Willow tasted her concoction then made a face. "It must be hard for you, as well," she went on, adding more garlic to the sauce. "You know…Spike being gone and all. Must hurt."

"Please. Spike—Spike is…Spike. Xander and Anya really had something. They were almost married, for God's sake. Spike and I were just…It doesn't compare."

"I guess."

"And, anyway, he was the one who left. It was his choice, not mine. Shows just how much he really loved me, doesn't it? Running off in the night without a word to anyone—"

"But could it?" Willow interrupted suddenly.

Buffy paused. "Huh?"

Willow turned from the stove eagerly, having suddenly come to a decision. "Could it compare?"

"Will…"

"Seriously, Buffy. You said you love him…"

Buffy's face became mutinous. "Yeah, I did say that. And I felt it. But he left, Willow. There's no point in speculating on what might have happened between us because he is gone. He's not coming back."

"How do you know that?"

Buffy thought of the note. "I just know," she said.

Willow turned off the burner on the stove. She turned and looked her friend full in the eye. "Buffy, I know something. About Spike, that is."

Buffy felt a sudden flash of excitement. She fought it down with difficulty. "What do you know?"

Willow smiled grimly. "I know where he is."

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For a moment, the two of them just looked at each other. Truthfully, he looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him, though Dawn didn't understand this. After all, he knew she was still in Sunnydale…He must have known they would run into each other eventually. Sunnydale wasn't a big enough town to hide in…particularly if one was inclined to go out on the town and kill things at night. That really made him really easy to spot.

Dawn was so happy to see him she could have cried. She wanted to leap into his arms, to hug him. But something in his eyes warned her not to. Nothing, however, could stop her from asking the dozens of questions that hovered on the tip of her tongue. The first, the most important, came out in a harsh whisper. "Why did you go?"

He glanced up at her face, briefly then stared back down at his shoes. "Buffy didn't tell you then." It wasn't a question.

"Buffy didn't tell me what?"

"About me. I left…to protect her. See…she's besotted with me now for some ungodly reason, and I didn't fancy the idea of…" His voice trailed off.

"Of what?"

His eyes glazed slightly, focused on something over her shoulder, something away, something only he could see. "I wanted the best for her. I wanted to be the kind of man who could—I wanted to give her what she deserved, all that she deserved." His voice thickened as his throat clogged with tears. "But I couldn't. No matter what I did, how hard I tried…I could never be that man. I had to leave, Bit. I had to…"

Dawn swallowed hard. Her stomach fluttered with fear and something that wasn't fear. Pity, maybe? She reached out and touched his arm. "But you didn't go," she whispered. "Not really. We thought you'd left town…Clem thought you had left town. You were here all the time…you didn't leave. You just hid. Why?"

"I couldn't go," he sighed. "Leave here…Leave her. How could I do that? I wanted to be here to—to protect her. I wanted to keep her safe but never let her know. Is that so wrong? Is it?" The last words came out in a sort of tortured scream, making Dawn jump with surprise.

Dawn shook her head. "No…" She moved closer to him, patted his back. "It isn't wrong, Spike. It's…really nice of you to want to keep her safe. I just don't understand why you think you had to go."

"I can't talk to you about it."

"Spike…if it's about the thing Willow told you…about being a demon…I already know. We all do. Even Buffy. And no one cares, Spike. No one thinks badly of you because of it."

"Maybe they should."

"Why? Just because you started out something else doesn't make you bad. I started out something else…and you told me it doesn't matter so much how you start out. Remember? I believed you when you said that. Why don't you believe it?"

"It's different with me."

"Why? 'Cause you were a vampire? Spike it doesn't matter! Not to us." Dawn grabbed his arms. "We missed you, Buffy and me. Willow too…she's been very worried. Xander not so much but then he never—"

"Stop it!" he hissed, throwing her arms off. "Just…stop it! I'm doing what's right. I'm being good—for once, I am being good. Don't you come here and try to make me be bad—don't you dare!"

He sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, and for just a moment Dawn feared for his sanity. But when she looked into his eyes, they were perfectly lucid, just very confused, pained. "Spike, I'm not trying to make you bad," she told him quietly. "I'm not trying to upset you in any way. I'm just telling you the truth. Buffy and I don't care about the stupid spell, or the demon, or anything. We just want you back. We lo—"

"For God's sake!" His hand clapped over her mouth, muffling the rest of the sentence. "Shut up! Shut up, do you hear? I'm not going back with you! I'm never going back with you! I'm doing what's right for you—and for her. Nothing you say can make me think differently."

Seeing that he wouldn't let go until she agreed to stop talking about it, Dawn nodded. The hand dropped from her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, looking at the dirt. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"'s okay," he answered. He sounded very tired.

"It's just…everything is going wrong. You're gone…Giles is moving back to England. Willow is leaving…"

His head snapped around. "What?"

"Well, Giles said now that Buffy is settled into her classes—Buffy is auditing some classes part time at UC Sunnydale—he feels comfortable going back to England. He says he has ties there and he wants to—"

"Not Giles!" Spike snapped. "Why should I give a damn what that poof does? What about Willow? She's leaving? Where is she going?"

"With Giles. When he found out she broke into the Magic Box to steal some dark arts books, Giles decided Willow's place is in England with him. There's some big deal coven there; he works with them sometimes. He said they can help Willow learn to control herself with her magic."

"So she's moving there? For how long?"

Dawn shrugged. "As long as it takes."

He swallowed, the slight dipping of his Adam's apple somehow coinciding with his complete change of facial expression. The weary look was exchanged for one of heavy sorrow. His voice, when he spoke, was low and husky. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning. She's been packing like mad all day; she left it to the last minute so she's having to rush now." Dawn's eyes widened as Spike turned and began walking toward the back fence. "Where are you going?"

He grabbed the chain link in both hands, hoisting himself onto the fence with one lithe movement. "None of your damn business," he snapped.

His long, lean body began to slide up the high fence, his ropy muscles working, rippling beneath his clothes. When he reached the top of the fence, he stopped, the toe of his boots jammed into links, his fingers curled around the metal post as he twisted his upper body to look at her. His expression was hidden in the shadows, his voice unreadable as he spoke her name. "Dawn."

"Yes?" she asked, holding her breath.

"Don't tell Buffy you saw me, okay?"

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Buffy stared at Willow, for a moment not comprehending what her friend had told her. When it finally sank in all she could think to say was, "Huh?"

Willow flushed, looking a little uneasy, as though she expected Buffy to light into her for keeping it a secret. "I don't know exactly where he is," she said. "I mean, I don't know where he lives or anything like that. But I know he is still in Sunnydale. He didn't leave. He's just been…lying low for the past couple of weeks."

"Have you seen him?" Buffy asked eagerly. "Is he—?"

"I haven't seen him," answered Willow. "But I've spoken to him. When he first left, when everyone else thought he had left town, I knew better. I could sense him here. I talked to him, in my head, a little bit every day. One day he talked back."

"Telepathy." Buffy looked shocked.

"It isn't a big deal." Willow shrugged. "We did it a lot that summer you were…gone. It helped during the patrols, you know. One of us would stand at a decent vantage point and let the others know what was coming. Spike, Tara and I were the best at it, though Giles could manage it if he concentrated hard. But Spike and I have had this connection…it made everything easier. We've been talking on and off for over a week."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought there was nothing to tell. I don't know where he is; he won't tell me. I know he is in Sunnydale but I can't give you an exact location. He could be living under the school for all I would know. The reason I'm telling you now is so you'll know he didn't just up and leave. He couldn't. He loves you."

"He loves me so much he hides out and refuses to let me talk to him?" Buffy demanded. Two red spots of anger appeared on her cheeks. "He loves me so much he—"

"BUFFY!"

Both girls jumped in their seats, startled by Dawn, who burst through the back door, shrieking her sister's name. "BUFFY!" she cried, grabbing her Buffy's hands and pulling her out of her chair. "Buffy, I saw him! I saw Spike! He's here! He's not gone at all!"

Buffy glanced at Willow as Dawn danced her around the kitchen. "Uh…"

"Go on," Willow said. Then to Dawn: "Where did you see him Dawnie?"

Buffy shook herself free from her younger sister's grasp. "And when?

"Just now! Janice and I were coming out of the movies, right? And there was this fight going on across the street—a big deal, with a bunch of people hanging around out front, staring, and all that. So we watched too. It was Spike, fighting with some skanky she-vamp." Quickly, Dawn described her encounter with Spike in minute detail. When she got to the part where he said he would not come back to them, that he was trying to be good, Willow rolled her eyes.

"Stupid, stupid," she muttered.

Buffy rubbed her hand over her forehead. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. "Where did he go?" she asked finally.

"I don't know…he climbed over the back fence and headed off down the street. He was going…west I think. Why?"

"No reason." She stood up and slowly began to make her way out of the room. When she reached the doorway, Willow called out to her.

"Buffy, don't you want to talk about this some more?"

"No…" she replied, not turning around. "That is really the last thing I want to do."

She dragged her feet up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. It was not until the door was shut tightly behind her that she allowed herself the luxury of tears.

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"Why didn't you tell me?"

Willow jumped, stifling a scream. She slammed her bedroom door shut and then turned on Spike in a fury. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed. "It's one o'clock in the morning! How'd you get in?"

He glanced at the window. "You really should lock that thing, you know."

She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Damn him. She could not stay angry with him even when she wanted to. There was something about those tip-tilted blue eyes that got to her, made her grin in spite of herself.

Still, there was something unsettling about having a man climb through her window in the middle of the night. Willow's inner schoolgirl quivered at the thought of him seeing her as she was— baggy T-shirt, underpants, and socks. Nothing else. She reached for the robe hanging on the back of the door. "So why are you here?"

He stared at her, completely winning her over to his side with the kicked-puppy look in those eyes. "You didn't tell me you were leaving."

She fiddled with the sash of her robe. "I know. I was going to tell you…"

"You were, huh? When? On the plane ride out there? After you'd been happily ensconced on some Nancy-boy Brit country estate?"

She flinched. His voice was low, quiet, but as full of anger as if he had been shouting the words. And he was right, of course. She should have told him. She sighed.

"Spike…I'm sorry. I was going to tell you just as soon as I found the words…"

"The words?" he echoed. "How about this: 'Spike I'm leaving'? How are those words? How hard is that to come up with?"

"Spike…"

"You've been talking to me every day! Playing your little head-game. Yet you never once mentioned…"

"I'm sorry! I was trying to get things straightened out between you and Buffy before I left. I didn't want to upset you by telling you I was leaving, not when you were so depressed anyway. I just…I wanted to—"

"Don't go," he interrupted.

"W—what?"

"Don't go. Why should you do what that old cocksucker says? He's not God; he cannot make you leave if you don't want to go. What right does he have to judge you, to tell you that you need help?"

Willow smiled a little at Spike's colorful description of Giles. "Spike, Giles isn't making me go. It was his idea…I'm going at his suggestion. But it was my decision."

He shook his head slightly, puzzled. "Why…?"

"Because he was right. I'm not dealing with Tara's death well; I'm not controlling my magic well. I need help."

"Not controlling your magic? Willow, stealing the books was as much my fault as it was yours—and it wasn't as though you were going to cast any spells. It was for research purposes only. You're controlling yourself just fine."

"I'm not. There are times I will do things without even meaning to—without even knowing how I am doing them. Like the night I channeled you. I have no idea how or why that happened; I couldn't control it—"

"Yeah and you saved my life—"

She looked at him sadly. "It isn't just that, Spike. I need…I need to get away from Sunnydale for a while, I think. I need to be in a place Tara never was. There are too many memories of her here; it keeps the pain to new, too raw. She haunts me here. While some part of me is nervous—even reluctant—to leave, I know it will be easier to heal when I am gone."

"And what? You will just stay away until the pain subsides? That won't work, Willow. Your pain will be waiting for you when you get back; you can't run away from it."

"I know that. But Spike, don't you see that I've been using you?"

"You using me?" he repeated. "Willow—"

"I know what you're about to say," she cut in. "You're going to say that you were the one who came to me for help, you're the one who lured me back to magic; I know all that already, Spike. I was still using you. That…determination I had…that resolution to help you and Buffy find happiness…it was all just a cover. It was for me, not you."

"How…?"

Her eyes smiled at him through a film of tears. "Buffy and I were so similar last winter. We were both so caught up in our own problems, our own pain, that we completely ignored everyone else's needs. I—I abused Tara. When we fought, I cast a spell on her to erase her memory of the fight; I did it more than once. That was abuse. I didn't see it then—even when she told me. But I do now. I was so selfish, so…so damn cocky. I thought I could do anything to her and she would never be able to stop me, would never even have to know. I liked that feeling of power…that I owned someone so completely. Buffy was the same way with you. She used you and, when you complained, she…she beat you up. She had the same cockiness, the same power, because she is physically stronger than you are. She knew you loved her and she knew she could hurt you all she wanted. She knew you wouldn't fight back, knew that she could beat you even if you did. It was a lot like Tara and me."

"Yeah. Right. So what does this have to do with you leaving?"

"I was trying to fix things through you. I was trying to—I saw you as Tara, in a way. You were Tara and Buffy was me. I thought if I could make things work out between the two of you then I would be somehow atoning for all the wrong I did to Tara. I—it was my idea to break into the Magic Box that night. I was ready to do anything—try anything—to get the two of you back together. The night you came to me, looking for the love spell, I—I had a hard time saying no, Spike. I was…consumed by the desire to help you. But not because I wanted to help you. I was doing it to ease my own conscience. Giles knew that—the moment he heard the whole story he knew. It was one reason he wanted me to go to England, so I wouldn't have to be in a place where I was confronted by her spirit at every turn."

"And the other reason?"

"Because there is a coven there who can teach me to control my magic. I thought magic was just a series of spells and incantations, something you could do or not do at will. But it's here, inside me, all the time. I have to learn to control it. I have a responsibility to control it…and I need help getting started."

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, her words hanging like a fog between them. Finally, Spike sighed.

"I'll miss you, Red. You're the only friend I've got."

There were no tears in his voice, no self-pity at his situation. Yet something in his expression made Willow want to cry. She threw her arms around him impulsively, drawing him into an embrace that, had she given it a moments thought, she would have been sure he would scorn. Except that he didn't. His arms moved—hesitated—then encircled her shoulders. He hugged her back lightly, as though fearful she would break.

"You still have me," Willow whispered to him. "We can still speak any time we want—there are no long distance charges if your mind is open enough to the experience. We might have to practice a while, but I'm sure we can do it eventually." She paused then added, "You can have Buffy, too. Anytime you want. She's confused…upset…but she would take you back in an instant. I'm sure of it. If you would just—"

Spike shook his head, uttering one muffled syllable into her shoulder: "Can't."

Though she knew better than to say so aloud, Willow smiled to herself, thinking, "Can."

Then she went one better than that: "Will."

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The following morning Spike was up early. Usually, he preferred sleeping until the early afternoon so he could stay awake late into the night—a hangover from his vampire days, which made it easier to dog Buffy's footsteps on patrol. But today was different. He woke just after dawn and, try as he might, he could not get back to sleep. Seeing there was no point in staying in bed, he got dressed, fed the kitten, and left the apartment.

It was a crisp autumn day, bright and cool, the sun blazing in an azure sky. In just an hour Willow's plane would be departing from the airport, carrying her thousands of miles from him. Spike would have liked to have been there to see her off, but he knew this was impossible. No doubt, she would be surrounded by Scoobies, and he didn't want Xander to start a scene in the middle of the bloody airport. It would be hard enough for her to leave; he didn't want her last memories of the place to consist of him kicking her best friend's ass. So instead of going to the airport he went to the cemetery. Willow had given him a handful of small, round stones with the request that he put them on top of Tara's marker for her. It was something she had forgotten to do, she said, and she would appreciate it if he did it for her. She didn't tell him why she wanted it done and he didn't ask, but he promised her he would do it. It was the least he could do.

Spike placed the stones on the smooth marble ledge and sat back on his heels. At some point during his absence, gravel had been laid so that Tara's plot was no longer a raw mound of earth, marring the beauty of the emerald grass; now it was glittering white with tiny white pebbles that crunched under his feet and made him squint when the sun hit them. There were several pots and bouquets of flowers arranged against the simple marble monument, but the Wicca teddy bear shrine was gone, washed away, no doubt, by the awful rainstorm of that last night. That was how he categorized it: the last night. His last night. The last time he would ever be hers. He picked up a handful of gravel and let spill through his fingers, thinking of it, of her.

He heard the footsteps behind him, but he didn't think anything about it. People came here all the time during the day. It was something that had surprised him, at first. He had lived in the cemetery for years and had always assumed it to be a deserted place. But for the odd fresh grave, there was never any indication that people actually came here to pay their respects to the dead. Now that he was able to come out in the daytime, Spike discovered that there was actually quite a bit of cemetery traffic. People came to leave flowers, to pray, to pull weeds, and to weep. It no longer surprised him when whole families would march by, bearing flowers and balloons to mark the birthday of a departed loved one. So when he heard the footsteps approaching from behind, he didn't even bother to turn around.

Then she spoke and for a moment, it was as if he were dreaming.

"Spike?"

He twisted around, staring up at her with confusion.

She looked back at him and for a moment, he certain she was going to say something important, something very tender.

"So we're not worrying about the hair at all anymore, huh?"

Then again maybe not.

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End of Chapter Twelve