***Well, FF.net is back and this the second part of the events Post 'Grave'

***Spike never returned to SunnyD, but when he was ready to leave the Left Coast for good, an unexpected visitor shows up.

Do What You Have To Do

Part II

One hundred plus years of life had given Spike more than his fair share of surprises, both of the good and of the bad. The first had been the first times his fangs sunk into the tender flesh of a young man given to him by Angelus. The strength that coursed through his veins was indescribable and, aside from the slayer's, no blood had ever tasted as sweet. Then there had been the years with Dru, everyday a surprise. His dance with the second slayer on the subway was also a pleasant memory. But none of his undead memories were as powerful as the things he remembered about her. When he realized that he was truly in love with her, Spike had felt truly alive for the first time in over a century. That feeling of being connected with humanity only increased when he was around her. All the times they fought--no danced--with only one another as audience. And then there was the time she had walked down those steps, alive, for the first time in one hundred and forty-seven days. He was speechless as if his brain refused to process what his eyes saw. Buffy, standing in front of him, as alive and as beautiful as ever. He knew that he would never feel that way again.

How wrong he was.

Spike cocked his head to the side and shook it in disbelief, hoping against hope that what was in front of him was the real thing and not some twisted hallucination.

"In the flesh," she said softly as her name choked past his lips. The countless emotions he undoubtedly felt peered at her through unshed tears as his warm blue eyes danced over every part of her, taking in every detail just in case it was all a mirage.

"Buffy?" he asked again and this time it was Spike that advanced, closing the distance even further. Her pert breasts brushed against his chest and she couldn't help but inhale sharply at his proximity. Even after all this time, she thought as his breath caressed her skin. It was a mixture of the tobacco and mints. Above all of that, however, she felt the distinct warmth of it all. Not just his breath but the warmth that cascaded off of him in waves, as if he were a living, breathing man. Or it could just be you, B, all hot and bothered by mister 'give you too many orgasms to count'.

Buffy blushed as her thoughts had turned to sexual encounters with the vampire before her that had refused to dull even after…that night. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what he almost did to her and berated herself for the umpteenth time for still wanting him.

***

As I stare at this man…no, vampire, in front of me, I can't help but feel revulsion at being here, in the same room with him. Not after what he did, or tried to do, to me. But what's worse? The fact that I am still here or that the part of me that is disgusted with him as well as with myself is so small that I barely register that it's there? Who the hell know? I know I don't.

I peel my eyes away from his, unable to stand up to the questions present in them. Sorry, Spike, can't answer 'em, especially since I can't even answer my own questions.

I try to look at my hands but I forgot they are behind my back and I am relegated to staring at his chest falling up and down, barely contained by his skin-tight shirt. As I nervously wring my sweaty palms behind my back, I frantically search for something, anything, to say. I don't know why words escape me, considering I had almost a month to prepare for this moment.

Has it been that long since Angel called me and told me about Spike? I fiddle with the ring that rests snuggly on my finger. Shit, I forgot to take it off. Don't even know why I still wear it…but I'm digressing. Gotta focus on the now, Buffy, not something that's in the past, no matter how recent that past happens to be.

"Spike," I whisper, finally getting the courage to look once again into his eyes and I cringe at the pain that greets me. A lone tear streaks down his face and I rush to catch it with the tip of my finger. He smiles weakly as I study my damp fingertip. I've never seen Spike cry before. I know the things I have said to him had hurt more than that night I pummeled him out behind the police station, but I never once saw him shed a tear. Was it because he hid the hurt so well or because I always hightailed it out of there before I could bear witness to the heartbroken Big Bad? I really don't know and who cares? It really doesn't matter now. You're full of a lot of warmth, Buffy I smirk as I think back to all the horrible things I did on the to him…

My smirk quickly fades as I feel his fingers tentatively caress my cheek. No! Not just fingers but warm fingers. I can feel my eyes practically bulge from their sockets. What's Dawn call it? Oh, my 'deer-in-headlights' look and I can't help but agree. I quickly erase the thought of my doe-eyes as I stare at him questioningly. He stares back, and I can't help but to sigh as his eyebrows furrow in that way only Spike can do. Stop it, Buffy. You feel Spike's warm hands and all you can think about is how cute he is when he frowns? Sick, B, sick.

"Spike," I manage for about the fifth time. "You're warm." Wow. I'm a freakin' Robert Frost with all the eloquence in that one, huh? He smiles at me, a genuine smile this time, though it lasts about all of two seconds before that lost look of confusion returns. I fight a moan as he steps back and my breasts are no longer brushing against him. He turns away from me and for the first time since I've been in the room, I take inventory.

He's gained some weight the last two…since I last saw him. And no longer mister clean-shaven, either. But his hair, oh my God, his hair. I had always wondered what color it really was. Something tells me this is how he wore it back in London, though I seriously doubt that blond streaks were in vogue in the 1880s.

His shoulders are slumped and I glance down at his right hand. Blood is dripping from it and I want to go take care of it but something roots me where I am. My eyes fall to the mess on the floor and I notice a picture at my feet. I bend to pick it up and it shocks me when I see that it's a picture of Dawn and me. I study it intently and feel his eyes back on me. My hands begin shaking as I remember that day.

"You were there," I say and am proud beyond belief that I keep my voice steady.

"Sorta had to in order for the pic to come out right," he says almost sarcastically. I say 'almost' because something is missing from his tone. I just don't know what it is.

"No, I mean you were there. I felt you. That day." I never take my eyes off the picture but I sense him stiffen just a bit.

"How…?" he starts but falls silent.

"I felt you there," I say to myself and bring my hand to my lips to hide the shock of it all. The truth was that I did feel him but at the same time, I didn't. When he left after that night, I knew that if he didn't return, I would feel if something happened to him. That day, I really thought he had met the sharp end of a stick. I knew…I just knew that my Spike was gone. It was similar to something I had felt about a month after Xander stopped Willow and I couldn't place it. No, I knew, but I didn't want to admit it. But the second time, this time that was captured in the picture I admitted it then. I told no one of what I felt and kept it all to myself. I mourned him for weeks, hoping against hope that he would come back, even if I hated him. In actuality, facing the reality that he was dead was what had made my forgiveness of him complete. Wherever he was, I prayed that he knew I had…forgiven him. I had hoped to tell him in person but that was not to be. And (ha), as luck would have it, he's right here in front of me. So, what's stopping me from telling him?

"Why?" I ask and finally look up at him. I notice that his eyes fall to my hand. Shit, he sees the ring. Well, too late now. It's not like I'm really thinking about that now.

"Why what, l…" he stops before he calls me 'luv' and a part of me breaks. "I mean, you gotta be more specific than that." He smirks at me and runs his bloody hand through his hair. His is desperately reaching for the casual cockiness that always infuriated me but I don't really hear it. I can't quite put my finger on what it is that I exactly hear in it, but it's not good.

"Why did you do it?" I ask and there's no mistaking the anger in my voice. Well, that and the hurt and pain not to mention the disappointment. Two years has helped me heal a lot of wounds and Garrett had been a big part of that. As I glance down at my ring, I understand that, with some type of morbid certainty, time can't heal everything. Sometimes, only answers will do.

Spike bristles visibly at the tone in my voice and he hangs his head in shame. Good; he should be, after what he pulled.

There is nothing good in you! I hear myself scream as my fists use his face as a cheap punching bag and I can't help but feel ashamed at the memory. Yeah, he almost raped me, but didn't I do the same to him? The only difference was that he didn't fight back.

"Buffy," the pain in his voice lances my memory and all I can focus on are his hands. Those same hands that caressed and loved me are the same ones that tore at my robe and bruised my flesh.

I know you felt it-when I was inside of you. You'll feel it again, Buffy. I'm gonna make you feel it. His words careen through my brain and all my muscles constrict at the vividness of his words. The goose bumps litter my arms though that sick feeling that used to accompany me are gone. Thank God for small miracles.

"Why Spike?" I feel myself losing control but I don't try to stop it. I may have forgiven him for what happened but it still hurts, you know? And I thought seeing him with Anya was bad.

I stalk over to him and he tries to slink away but there's no where to go. I don't know where this is coming from though I'd wager seeing him for the first time has a lot to do with it. The tension coursing through me is its own monster just waiting to be unleashed and there's nothing I can do except release it.

"Buffy, please," he tells me, his hands in front of him to ward off a blow. I see the grief in his eyes and I so much want to stop but it's like I'm possessed and need him to see and understand.

"Please, Spike? Isn't that what I pled to you?" I spit as if his name is some nasty aftertaste that I can't get rid of. The tears are running freely now, ruining my mascara and I see the naked fear and self-disgust in his eyes. Stop it, Buffy. But I can't.

"I begged you to stop and you didn't. Why, Spike? What was it that you thought I'd feel? Is that what you always wanted? To fuck me against my will? I mean, you've killed two slayers and banged a third, why not add rape to the list, you know, to complete your impressive resume?" The look in his eyes frightens me and I see the death wish hovering there. I don't even stop to think how a soulless creature could feel guilty and I don't care. The sadistic part of me, the part that almost killed him in the alley, wants him to hurt, to feel helpless, to feel the pain he made me go through.

"Here," I say and grab his hand and shove it against my breast. The blood seeps into my clothing and I can't help but feel how warm it is. I never take my eyes off his and the pain I see in them makes me falter for one moment. And that one moment is enough to feel the warm flesh beneath my fingers.

"Spike?" I choke out and all the anger has left me only to be replaced by total bewilderment. That and the fact that I feel like a total bitch.

"Buffy," he forces out and I understand what it was earlier that I couldn't quite place; Spike's spirit, the thing that made him the egotistical, self-centered, however selfless Big Bad, is broken. It's even worse than when he was on stage earlier. "I am so sorry," he cries and the tears flow like rivers down his cheeks and I instinctively cup his cheek with my hand.

His eyes drop but he raises them to me and then overlays his hand over mine. "I know you must hate me, hate me more than you have hated anyone and I deserve it. That's why I never came back; I didn't want you to have to face a monster like me, not after what I had done…" He trails off and chokes back the sob building in his chest and I worry that if he doesn't let it out he'll explode. If that happens, I hope that I go with him because I can't…

"You were right," he says and laughs humorlessly, breaking me out of my thoughts. He drops his hands to the side and turns away from me to stand in front of the remains of the shattered mirror. I bring the hand that was against his cheek to my face. I can make out the wet spots where the tears trailed down my palm and I can only wonder…how? How was he warm? How was…

"I was nothing but a soulless, evil monster. I didn't love you…" my heart stops at that and, of course I'm ready to jump to conclusions before he alleviates my concern, "How could I be and 'urt you like I did? You don't deserve someone…something like that and you bloody well don't deserve something like me. You deserve better…" he laughs again but it's filled with irony. "Funny thing is, I knew that before I left. Actually left to prove you wrong, to prove to you that I was what you deserved. The only thing I found out was that I never deserved you in the first place. Some epiphany, huh?" He asks before he pounds both fists into the remaining glass and I jump back just as the glass joins the pile at his feet. He studies the floor beneath him, kneels and I hear the crunch of glass under his knees. He fingers several sharp pieces and my heart jumps in my chest. What is he thinking? What is he going to do?

"Spike." The taste of his name on my tongue is not near as bad as it was two minutes ago. The tension in my body is gone, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. I walk gingerly over toward him and the sadness radiating from his pores is almost enough to drown me, utterly and completely.

I stand about a foot behind him, uncertain on what to do. I don't know how many times I've said it, but when I look at him, the word broken comes to mind. No, it's more than that and for the first time I understand that the bravado he carried on stage was just an act—just an act to get him through the night. How many times has he done this? How many times has the guilt been too much for him? I'm so concerned about what he feels that I don't even question that he feels it. Warm vampire or no.

"You know," he voice is barely above a whisper, "I used to dream about this day. The day that I'd finally get to see you again." He is silent for several seconds before he takes a deep breath and continues.

" 'Course in my dream, everything was right as rain. I'd save you from some ungodly hell-beast and you'd run into my arms--smacking me of course, for leavin'. Then you'd kiss me and it was like no kiss I've ever felt cuz you tell me with that one kiss the only thing I have ever wanted to hear; that you love me. Right bloody wanker, I am." He laughs again and I grimace at the pain within it. I shake my head in confusion. When did this turn into his forum to vent? I ask myself. That day in the picture, when you finally forgave him, Buffy—another part of me answers. Oh yeah, I forgot.

I kneel down, mindful of the glass strewn about, and lay a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch for just an instant before he relaxes.

"How can you touch me? I don't see how you can look at me, let alone touch me." The self-disgust in his words is staggering and I know I have to do something to right the situation before it deteriorates any further. Hell, I'm the reason it got as bad as it did two years ago…

***

Slowly, Buffy reached out her other hand and laid it against the soft cotton of his shirt. She still felt his warmth, but her curiosity towards its source was overshadowed by the deep sense of guilt she felt towards the wreck of a man that was before her.

Has it really been two years? Buffy asked herself as she rubbed the familiarly hard muscles under her fingertips. So much had happened since then. With Tara gone, Willow had stayed in England, with Giles, for the better part of a year. Anya and Xander had gone from hating each other to barely tolerable of one another to actual friends. They still had a long way to go, and neither was pushing for anything more than friendship at the moment. Then there was Garrett. Buffy had met him at her new job at the bank. He had pined over her from day one, though it had taken a bit of arm twisting from Dawn to get Buffy to relent and actually go out with him. The first date had been a disaster and Buffy thought that would have been the last of her and Mr. Garrett but as the light overhead caught the diamond on her finger--well, a lot had happened in two years.

Shaking off the thought of Garrett, Buffy smiled serenely at her little sister. Not so little anymore, she thought ruefully. In three days, Dawn would officially be a graduate of Sunnydale High, on her way out into the world. She was going to attend UCLA in the fall, her major undecided, though she was leaning toward Ancient Studies and Buffy couldn't help but wonder if Dawn's choice had anything to do with helping her big sister.

The rise and fall of the torso under her palms cut Buffy out of her brief respite into the past and onto the wreck that lay before her in the present.

"Spike?" She tried to gently turn him to her but he resisted. Buffy's eyebrows furrowed in frustration and she put a little more 'umph' into the gesture and this time he relented.

"Spike," she said his name again, trying to get him to look at her though she was afraid of what she would see in those blue oceans.

Clearing some glass away from the floor, Buffy sat in front of the vampire and rubbed her hands up and down his shoulders. Her dress cinched up close to her waist, exposing her black panties but she didn't pay any attention to that particular nuance.

"Spike, look at me," she commanded, her trademark determination clearly resonated in her tone. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Spike obeyed and looked at her with the most heart-rending look she had ever seen. It took all her will not to bawl then and there but she had to be strong for him, for both of them.

"You hurt me," she whispered and though it pained her to do it, Buffy never broke eye contact. What she had to say would hurt both of them but it had to be said. "You hurt me more than anybody ever has, including Angel." She saw him tense but didn't know whether it was at the mention of his grand-sire or how much he had hurt her. "I really didn't get a chance to think about it, with all that happened. Seeing your best friend want to destroy the world has a way of leapfrogging its way to the top of things most relevant." At first Buffy wasn't certain whether or not Spike knew all of what happened but the sad resignation in his eyes let her know that he did.

She removed her hands from his shoulders and wrapped them around her knees that were bunched to her chest. It was a ridiculous pose, considering her attire but it gave her comfort and that was all that was important.

"After…after the funeral and Giles and Willow leaving, I really got a chance to think about things. And you know how thinking and Buffy don't go along too well," she smiled and was glad to see him return the gesture, albeit wearily. "I won't lie, Spike; I hated you. I hated you more than Angelus, more than Glory, more than anything I have ever hated in my life." She gave him a poignant look and despite the fact that with each word he virtually wilted away, he still did not look down.

"I promised myself that if I ever saw you again, I'd stake you on site. No questions, no pleasantries, no warning. I mean, that's my job, right? --To fight against the vampires, hence the name Vampire Slayer. I thought up so many different things that I wanted to do to you to make you suffer. Spike your blood with holy water, tie you up under a tree so only your legs caught on fire; you know? Just vengeful stuff.

"Well, it didn't last long at all. In those two days that I thought about it all, I hated you enough to last a lifetime. You know why I stopped?"

"No," he said and his voice cracked with emotion.

"Because, I realized that hating you was only a diversion from the person I hated the most; me."

"Lu…Buffy," Spike soothed and reached a tentative hand out to Buffy and placed it lovingly on her knee. He felt the tension in her mount for several seconds before she saw the sincerity in his eyes and relaxed. "You had--have--every right to hate me. What I did," he paused, willing the new onslaught of tears away, "what I did to you was inexcusable. There is nothing that you did that made you deserve to face the monster you saw that night…"

"Don't you think I know that?" Her agitation rose as the events from that night played for the millionth time over in her head. She was too lost in the moment; however, to realize that said images weren't half as gut-wrenching as they had been not twenty minutes ago.

Closing her eyes deliberately, Buffy took several deep breaths to calm herself. It's never halfway with Spike, is it? She thought bittersweetly. "What you did was wrong, Spike. No, it was beyond wrong. You know, being the slayer made me think I would never have to face something like that. I thought I was scared when I had to face the Master or Angelus or Glory…but nothing was as terrifying as the helplessness I felt when you were on top of me, ripping off my clothes. God, Spike, I resented you so much and I vowed that I would never forgive you…but then that picture of you in the alley sobered me up real quick."

The silence, though unnerving was slightly less uncomfortable than the last several silent outtakes. Spike's forearms rested on his knees and he studied the room, his shoes and the floor--anything but the petite figure before him that had replaced Dru as the love of his life.

Buffy, however, was not as determined to keeping her eyes elsewhere. Every so often, they would sweep across his hunched form, desperately trying to figure out what was so different about him. It wasn't his hair or stubble across his chin or the fact that he was dressed so differently. No, it wasn't as mundane as being relegated to his physical makeup, though his eyes did hold an additional quality about them. She stared intently at his blue orbs, though she noticed he was quite actively avoiding eye contact, again. No, this wasn't the Spike she had come to know and love…

Love? She thought to herself frantically. Where did that come from?

"Spike," she said before the snarky voice inside her could reply with an answer she wasn't quite ready to hear.

"Yeah?" He said and looked at her indirectly.

"I never…I never apologized for what I did that night--you know, in the alley. If you didn't do what you did, I may not even be here right now," she laughed humorlessly. "That would have really thrown the Council for a loop, having two slayers in jail." She measured the air between them before taking both his hands in hers.

"And," she added, "I never got to thank you for all the other things you did for me, either. Look, we both know how much you hurt me that night but…"

"But what?" he ventured.

"But I also know that however bad it was that night, I had been hurting you, intentionally, for months."

"Buffy…"

"Shut up, Spike," she said gently with a small smile poking at the corner of her lips. "All the things I said to you when you were trying so hard to change--God, I was such a bitch to you. I can admit that now. I can also admit that, no matter what happened that night, I forgive you. I really do." She saw the wariness in his eyes and knew what he was thinking.

"Look, I'm not saying I'm totally over it or anything. I mean, seeing you brought up a lot of things I thought I had dealt with but hadn't. I guess…" she fumbled for the right word. "I guess I just needed closure and part of the old, hurtful Buffy got loose for a second." She finally saw the hint of a genuine smile in his eyes though so much hurt and pain was still there. It was there for both of them, and she knew they both needed time to fully and properly heal. But it wasn't something that time apart would accomplish. No, it was something they needed to do together.

"Spike; I'm sorry," she said and couldn't keep the tears in abeyance any longer, "I am so sorry about everything. How things got between us…I know now that most of the blame falls on me. You loved me as much, if not more, than I have ever been loved and I used that, used you, for my own selfishness. I know I don't deserve it, but I hope that you can forgive me. I me…" but Spike silenced her with a gentle caress of his finger across her lips.

"No, luv," he said unabashedly, "there's no need." Her eyebrows knitted together and he couldn't help but smile at how much he loved that look. "I forgave you the moment you did those things. You were right, about me being a monster. What I…" but now it was her turn to shush him.

"No more, Spike. No more talk about that night. I have forgiven you for it already, so there is no reason to bring it back up again. I know we both aren't through with getting over the things we have done to one another and that is going to take time. I don't know how long, but we both need time to heal…"

Spike couldn't help but lower his head in dejection. So this is the send-off, eh? This is where she tells me that she doesn't want to see me again. Ha. 'S alright, pet, go ahead and say it. 'S not like I thought anything was going to go differently, now did I? Spike closed his eyes and the tears that were kept prisoner in his eyes, broke free. Despite what he had done to her, a part of him hoped against hope that she would take him back into her arms. His inner self mocked his naivete and it wasn't until he felt her warm hands on his chin that he snapped out of the malaise he was free falling into.

"We need time, William. But," she took a huge breath of air before she could finish and Spike physically braced himself for the coup de grace that never came. Instead her words stopped his beating heart mid-rhythm and he stared at her in disbelief.

"What…what did you say?"

"I said that I don't think time apart is the answer. I think we need to deal with this together. Spike, I want you to come home, back to Sunnydale. Come back with me."

Spike could only stare at the beautiful woman before him as his mind frantically processed her words. She had asked him to come home with her. To come home to Sunnydale. He felt the physical relief as an invisible weight had been eased from his weary shoulders and he laughed tiredly. It wasn't long before his laughs crossed over into hoarse sobs until he was crying hard, his whole body heaving as the pain was released.

He never felt Buffy's arms encircle his trembling form or the comforting words she whispered in his ears. What he did feel was the warmth that surrounded his heart. So much had happened between them and he had never thought he'd get a chance to make amends for any of it. But through the grace of God, he would be able to seek redemption; he would be able to make things right. It might take time but something like this was worth the wait. And though he no longer had all the time in the world, he did have the forgiveness of the one person he loved more than his existence. Maybe that was all he would get. He all but eliminated the possibility that they would be lovers, but maybe being friends was an option, he really wasn't sure.

As the clouds rolled from his mind and he felt the tiny arms of Buffy surrounding him, he smiled amid the sobbing and knew that, if anything, the memory of her holding him, comforting him, would be enough to propel him through the short years.

It would have to be.

***Did I leave You hanging? Hehe. I know there are A LOT of questions floating around about this part but don't worry, I ll answer things eventually. I won't be updating this as frequently as 'Family Ties' but I ll try to have part III up by July 27th at the latest. Until then, you can check out my "Family Ties" updates and my one shot "Til the End of the World."

***Reviews always welcome as well as suggestions.