Do What You Have To Do
Part III
Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way, arms encircling one another as the tears--tears of pain, of regret, of frustration, and of second chances--rained from their eyes. Tears they had never been able to shed for two years, tears only they could understand, mingled as their cheeks brushed against each other's.
Spike refused to let go, knowing that moments of comfort with Buffy, no matter how close their newfound relationship could potentially bring them, would be virtually nil. So he held her as if his life depended on it, inhaling her sweet scent with the vigor of a man gasping for air. Her body was warm and inviting but the pain of the situation kept any lustful thoughts in abeyance. Instead, he channeled the strength and determination that radiated from her to him. Her presence alone prevented him from drowning in the now undulating tide of guilt and regret.
Buffy was also lost in the embrace. The old Buffy--the one that had slowly died over the past two years--raged at holding this attempted rapist so close to her breast. That old sliver of her that still resurfaced from time to time whispered to her to shove a shard of glass through his neck. With her strength, it would be nothing to decapitate him, turning him into nothing but a much-deserved pile of dust.
That voice that had controlled her for so long, dictating her words, some often cruel, did not win this round. Earlier, it had thought victory was at hand as she slung hurtful barbs at Spike, cutting into his already fractured self. She had felt a cold satisfaction at seeing him break under her tirade though it was a fleeting high. It wasn't until the new Buffy, the one that had been eight years in the making, roared to life that she saw how callous her words, though necessary for her, were.
She now held fast to the strong man before her, clinging to him with all her unnatural strength, with the same desperate grip that he held her with.
"Buffy," he whispered his voice thick and raspy with emotion. "God, luv, I've missed you so much." If possible, his arms tightened their hold on her as if he were afraid that she would disappear. Buffy was touched by his words, and she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a sob before it escaped her lips. She didn't know what to say. Should she tell him how much she had missed him? Or should she keep quiet? After all, she did ask him to come back--didn't that tell him how much she missed him?
Opting for the latter, Buffy ran her hands up and down Spike's taut back, crushing her eyes shut, hoping to staunch the tears that continued to flow. It did nothing and she relegated herself to the fact that they would continue to fall for some time. Instead, she tried to at least steady the pounding in her chest to some degree, before she passed out.
Buffy managed to get her breathing under control and felt her heart slowly--excruciatingly slowly--return to normal. Still, there was that same knocking on her chest. It took her a minute to deduce that said thump was occurring outside of her body, which meant only one thing--one thing that was completely impossible.
The curiosity was enough to temporarily slow her tears and she realized that, though his sobs had died down, Spike was still crying. His warm tears still dripped onto her skin…
And that's when it hit her. The warmth of his touch, of his blood, of his breath against her. With everything else that had happened, she had never really gotten a chance to elaborate on what she was feeling. Now, though…now, she could.
"Spike," she murmured, trying to disentangle herself from his embrace. As she lightly pushed against his chest, Spike clung to her with an even greater desperation.
"No," he croaked and she could feel him trying to hold back the sobs as they caught in his chest. "I can't let go, I can't." The sheer hopelessness of his tone was so heartbreaking to her. She didn't know what had happened to him these last two years, but she swore to herself that she would find out. And when she did, she could piece back together the fractures that were Spike.
"Shhh, baby," she said as she unconsciously stroked his light brown hair. "I'm not gonna go anywhere. Except maybe to the wonderful world of the unconscious if you don't ease up a bit." Her humorous remark was greeted by a hoarse bark and she wasn't sure whether it was a sob or a laugh. Her question was answered when Spike slowly released his hold on her enough for her to pull away.
Spike groaned inwardly at the loss of her touch but masked his disappointment with a tired smirk.
"Sorry, luv," he said sheepishly. He unabashedly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned gingerly against the mirror frame, the shards of glass crackling under his weight.
"Uhh, I don't know about you," Buffy said, still shocked, "but sitting in a pile of glass; not of the good."
"Don't bother me too much. Guess it's a man thing." He cast her a sultry look, desperately trying to reclaim some of his manhood. "Course, there's always my lap, pet."
Buffy stared at Spike, oblivious to his comment. She studied him closely, every angle, every tone, every movement. She briefly caught his mounting unease before returning to her task. She was looking for something--anything--that could shed light on the situation. That was when she saw it.
His skin was darker, though that wasn't saying much. It held the rich tint of someone who spent at least a modicum of time out in the sun. Still, it let her know that something besides his heartbeat was going on.
Spike couldn't help but feel uneasy as Buffy's eyes raked across his body. Two years ago, such a visual dissection would have filled him with hope; hope that she actually had feelings for him. But that was not the case. He could tell that it was not a look of satisfaction or lust visible in her eyes, rather one of curiosity.
He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head and it wasn't a second later that her eyes bulged, her jaw clinking to the ground.
"Jesus, Spike," she said in disbelief, her eyes again watery with tears, "you're human."
***
One of the many things that I've learned in my…unique relationship with Buffy is not to laugh at her when she is either 1) already pissed or 2) trying to make a serious point. Though I loved to see her with her knickers in a twist (and always will), rarely did I enjoy the stakes she shot at me with her eyes.
Knowing that, you would have thought I would have taken her hand in mine, nodded solemnly and said "Yes dear, the wizard made me a real boy" or something to that effect. Instead, I did something I shouldn't have done.
I laughed.
The look on her face as she watches me double over is priceless. It's fills with an incredulity that precedes the brassed off Buffy by nary a millisecond.
"What the hell's so funny?" She stands up quickly, her balled fists resting on her hips. The sight of her like this only makes me laugh harder.
I can almost hear her eyes roll in annoyance but I am too far gone to get back to reality just yet.
"Spike," she screeches and stamps her foot hard to the ground. Of course, being the wearer of four-inch pumps causes her to stumble slightly and a litany of curses follow when she sees that her juvenile behavior has cost her one designer heel.
"Shit," she mutters and braces herself against the wall, removing the shoe. I shakily get to my feet, the laughter petering off a tad though my stomach still aches from the unexpected guffaw.
Leaning against the wall, head slumped, I feel her weighted gaze on me, waiting for some kind of response. I know this it not the same Buffy I left. How? That's easy because if it was, I'd be halfway through the wall, propelled through the air by slayer fists.
"Sorry, Slayer," I say, wiping the tears—a mix of pain and mirth—from my eyes. Her frown softens and she eyes me with concern and…? I'm not sure what the other emotion is, but it's something almost foreign.
Shaking off my curiosity, I lead her over to the chairs seated against the wall. I wait for her to sit and quickly follow into my own seat, exhaling dramatically as I fall into the leather.
Both of us sit there for several minutes, silently wringing our hands together, unable to sit still. I watch her fidget with the ring on her finger, as if she wants to take it off. I can't tell you how much it hurts to know that someone has taken her heart, but I can't really think about that now, because if I do…
"Your hand," she says, breaking the silence. Before I can respond, she has my sliced hand in hers, turning it over, examining the shards of glass lodged into my skin.
"Hold on, okay?" I watch her as she walks over to the overturned desk and I vaguely register that she picks up what must be her purse. But my attention is on something much more alluring.
She moves like a jungle cat—not so much walking as it is gliding gracefully, though her muscles are always at taut, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. She is always prepared, the confidence beating off her in waves, welcoming all challengers. That attitude, that danger hidden behind her golden tresses and smoldering eyes is what enthralled me all those years ago.
I can barely register her heartbeat as she takes her place next to me and I can't help but feel saddened by it. There was a time where I could detect every nuance in her heart's cadence as it pumped the rich, coppery fluid of life through her veins. With no more than a quick whiff, I could gauge her emotional state—whether she was aroused, depressed or angry. I always loved how I was in tune to every part of her, good and bad.
But now, as I watch her removing the shards from my hand with tweezers, I can't help but mourn my loss. With the help of my senses, she was more open to me than any man could ever hope to have her and I often knew what she was thinking even before she herself did. Course, that wasn't something she was too keen about.
"All better now."
I nod clumsily, though my eyes are still locked on hers. So many things now that are beyond my grasp, so many things I will have to relearn about this amazing woman before me. I ask myself whether or not I will like what I have to learn. I will always love her, this I know but after our upcoming re-acquaintance, will I still love her with the same intensity, with the same blind passion that I did two years ago.
As my gaze fixes onto her lips and I find my body moving towards her of its own volition, I know the answer.
"Spike," she says and gently places her hand to my chest. It is enough to break the spell, though for an instant, I could have sworn she was moving towards me as well.
"Sorry, luv," I say absently and turn away before she can see the disappointment in my eyes. Ever the masochist, I am.
"So, mind telling me how you pulled a Timmy?" Her voice is remarkably calm though I do detect a slight tremble in her voice, like she's holding it together by a thread. Least I can do is help her through it.
"Didn't know you watched Passions, luv." I throw her my best smirk (which is quite good, considering the situation) and she grants me a genuine smile—albeit weak—but a smile nonetheless.
"Yeah, well, as loath as I am to admit it, the show kind of grows on you; like mold," she gives me a pointed look letting me know that Passions isn't the only thing she's talking about.
We fall into the same uncomfortable silence of a few minutes ago, and I take to studying my feet, and from my peripheral I can tell she's doing the same.
Finally, I work up the nerve to speak. "As much as I like this office and all, I really don't fancy it as a place for the big tell-all," when she looks up, I steal another glance at her finger, unable to hide the bitterness that's crawling inside of me at the thought of her being taken. I curse myself when she looks down, almost ashamed. Bugger.
I sigh heavily before standing up, offering my hand to her. She takes it nervously and I help her to her feet. Again, we stand, fidgeting on the balls of our feet as if expecting a blow. This time, however, it is her turn to break the silence.
"So…your car or mine?"
"I wager if we're getting back to Sunny D tonight…" she nods before I continue, "then I guess it'd be right to take yours, considering you probably have things to do with it. I can send for mine later."
She looks up at me, those bright, beautiful eyes of hers penetrating my two-year old soul and I can't help but smile at her.
"Good. We were gonna take my car anyway," she says and punches me playfully in the shoulder before turning on her heels and walking out the door. "Just wanted you to feel like you had a say in things."
I shake my head in mock disgust, muttering something about slayers and their bossiness, though I can hardly hide my budding exuberance.
As I follow her out the door, my thoughts turn to this new woman who is so much like my old love but yet different. I never would have thought I'd see her again, much less walk out of a confrontation unscathed. To have her ask me to come back home with her is more than I could ever dream of. I move to pinch myself but stop just as I'm about to. If this is a dream, I sure as bloody hell don't fancy waking up from it.
Twenty-five minutes later, the former lovers found themselves seated comfortably in a back booth of a Waffle House. It had taken Spike fifteen minutes to retrieve two suitcases from his car as well as plan for said car to be dropped off by the following Wednesday in Sunnydale. Spike had kept a casual watch out for Rachel to no avail and he had dejectedly left the club.
Deciding on the Waffle House had been a unanimous decision. Neither could deny the call of head-sized waffles waiting to be drenched in all the syrup you could stomach. The fact that it was right off the highway and that it offered a somewhat decent amount privacy without being overbearingly quiet was simply a logistical convenience.
Both had internally decided to forego any discussions of importance until they were finished eating. So when their mouths weren't full, they relegated themselves to idle small talk ranging from sports to the weather.
Even though she had a never ending list of questions she wanted to ask, Buffy stalled as much as humanly possible because, despite her eagerness to find out what had happened in the last two years, she was terrified at those answers. Even more so, she was petrified about telling Spike about the new (and not so new) developments in her life. So she sat there, toying with what remained of her overly saturated waffles, alternating between sips of coffee and furtive glances at the man on the opposite side of the table.
Spike wasn't stupid. He knew exactly was Buffy was doing. She was stalling, waiting for him to break this ice. See, by his guess, she probably had more than her fair share of things she was none too eager to spill, starting with the diamond on her finger.
Of course, one of the reasons he knew what she was doing was because he just so happened to be doing the exact same thing.
Staring into his now lukewarm cup of coffee, Spike wrestled with where to begin. She needed to know it all, but to know it all he had to start from the beginning. And since the beginning of his journey happened to coincide with the most shameful moment in his entire existence, it was obvious why he was more than apprehensive to begin the conversation.
Course, who said it had to start with me, he thought. If nothing, Spike was an accomplished bullshitter, with an uncanny ability to put someone on the defensive, especially Buffy. Well, the old Buffy at least. This one…don't quite know what to do with her. He knew he could ask her questions, like how Dawn was doing, or Red. Of course, he also had wanted to blurt out 'so who's the tosser that shoved that rock on your finger?' or something to that effect. But, as things went, he didn't see that as a viable option. Instead, he asked what he hoped to be more expecting.
"So how'd you find me?" Good. Not too personal, not too evasive either.
The question startled Buffy out of her own thoughts. She was debating whether she should start asking the questions or wait for him to explain himself. And an explanation was what she needed, because as much as she'd forgiven him, she was still hurt by the fact that he left without a word. It wasn't so much that she needed to know why he left (she had that pretty much pegged) but why he hadn't given her a heads up. She had decided to wait him out due to her fear that the pain she still felt would stick out like a sore thumb.
Glad that he had decided to speak, Buffy gathered her thoughts. How should I answer that? Well, Spike I hired a mutual friend of ours to track you down…
"Angel," she said softly as she watched Spike's jaw clinch noticeably. In truth, she hadn't actually hired Angel so much as begged him of the favor. He was totally thrown by why she actually wanted to find his Childe and after an hour of debating, Angel had finally conceded--begrudgingly, of course.
"What'd you tell him?" Spike asked, forcing his tone to remain even. It was a little over a month ago that Spike's 'favorite' Sire came to pay him a visit. Angel never said anything about Buffy--well, that wasn't true. What he didn't say was how Buffy had contacted him to find Spike. When Angel had walked into the back of the club that night, murder in his eyes, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Angel knew. And considering the thrashing the elder vampire gave him, it wasn't just their affair that he knew about.
Spike hadn't really fought back, looking at his pummeling as just a part of his penance for his actions. Course, after it became clear that Angel was on the verge of doing to Spike what the former vampire had almost done to Buffy, the Brit had fought with tooth and nail. As it were, after beating each other senseless, the two had come to an uneasy truce.
Buffy averted her eyes at the question. She had told Angel virtually everything, with exception to the incident in the bathroom. He had been more than furious knowing that she and his Childe had slept together. Finding out that said Childe had almost raped her--no; she didn't want to think about what Angel would have done.
"I told him…about us."
"Us?" She nodded. "'About us' what?" he couldn't keep disdain from creeping into his tone at that.
Buffy knew what he was thinking and quickly moved to clear things up.
"I told him about us when I came back. About how you were there for me--listened to me when no one else wanted to understand. I told him that when we were--together--that I felt alive for the first time since they brought me back. Needless to say, he was a tad bit upset about that," Buffy laughed tiredly. 'A bit upset' was the ultimate of understatements.
"He wanted to kill you for what he said was taking advantage of me."
"Ever treatin' you like the little girl," Spike muttered, not ashamed of the contempt in his tone.
"Got that right," she said and when they caught each other's eye, they both smiled.
"So, anyway, like I said, he wanted to kill you. I practically had to beat him down just so he'd stop and listen to what I had to say."
"And that was?" Spike was all ears, almost not believing that this was the same girl--no, woman--that was the reigning 'Queen of Denial'. He couldn't help but wonder how she had matured so much in the two years since he had last seen her.
"I told him that I was the one taking advantage of you. I was the one who used the love you had for me for my own selfish needs."
"Which, of course, he didn't believe," he spat derisively. "Soulless creature like me can't love. Love's only for those with a soul. Am I right, pet?"
Buffy just stared at Spike, who didn't bother to keep his disgust at bay. As she studied him, his eyes flickering to that cold blue he got when he was angry, she couldn't help but giggle.
Seeing Buffy laugh had made Spike angrier than he had been in years…at least for an instant. But as he watched her shoulders shake slightly, he couldn't help but smile back.
"What?" He asked, grinning.
"Seems like you have the 'poofter' pegged perfectly." That was enough to get them both laughing loud enough to draw the ire of several customers. Seeing the faces of the patrons only made them laugh harder and when the waitress came back to pick up their dishes, she gave them a mock evil eye before sauntering back to the kitchen, chuckling herself.
After a few minutes, the laughter died down and both slayer and ex-vampire had eyes wet with tears.
Spike was the first to recover, wiping his eyes with a napkin, his jaw stiff from smiling so much, though he'd never complain. This was a woman who he had tried to kill on more than half a dozen times and she refused to kill him. Not only that, but she also had entrusted the two most important people in the world to her to his care; never doubting that he would protect Dawn and her mother with his life. Then, in some twisted chance of fate, he had become her confidant, listening to the problems she had adjusting to the life she didn't want anymore. That pseudo-friendship had slowly transformed into an affair that, to this day, he couldn't come to terms with. But out of all that, what surprised him the most was that after all that he had done, culminating with his attack on her in the bathroom, they were in a restaurant, eating and laughing together as if they had been doing it for years.
Buffy watched Spike intently as he sobered up, mentally cataloguing his every twitch. She could tell that the wheels inside his head were turning…thinking about things, much the same way that she was. She had wanted to ask whether Angel confronted him about things, knowing that he probably did. Though she had told Angel not to hurt Spike, knowing the two as intimately as she did, Buffy knew that words, and most definitely fists, were exchanged.
They both were silent for a few moments and Buffy could tell that Spike wanted to say something by the way he worried his lip between his teeth. Obviously, it was something he was having a hard time bringing to words.
"Did you tell him?" he interrupted her thoughts and Buffy took a second to gather her wits.
"Tell him what?"
Spike was trying hard to give her the hint without actually saying it. Even the slightest thought of…that night…was enough to make the bile rise in his chest. She may have forgiven him, but he damn sure hadn't forgiven himself and doubted that he ever would.
Buffy only stared at Spike, waiting for him to continue, but he refused to meet her gaze. She was confused. Thirty seconds ago they had been laughing like children and now--now, Spike's head hung low, his shoulders slumped in shame…
"Oh," she said as realization hit her, "oh." Spike forced himself to look Buffy in the eye, something that was getting harder the more he thought about what he had almost done.
"No. If…if I would have told him that, it wouldn't have mattered what I said... he would've killed you. And I really wasn't interested in having two urns on my mantle reminding me of my two ex-boy..." she stopped in mid-sentence but it was too late. Thoroughly mortified, she buried her face in her hands and laid her head down on the table.
Spike could only stare at her in awe, his previous melancholy temporarily forgotten at Buffy's unintentional confession. It wasn't just the fact that she had almost referred to him as her ex-boyfriend, but her casual slip of having two urns was what had lifted his hearts.
"You…would have killed Angel? --If he killed me?" He couldn't hide the adoration from his voice and his genuine sincerity was the only reason Buffy uncovered her face.
She wanted to deny it, not wanting him to think he had meant more to her than he really did. But didn't it? --Doesn't he? She thought to herself and didn't answer, because she knew it was true.
Smiling bashfully, she drew circles with her finger on the table, giving Spike a knowing look.
"So--what happened?" she asked, hoping that he got the hint.
Thankfully, he did and replied with bright smile. He would drop the subject for now, content on letting her words marinate for awhile.
"Where to begin?" he said idly, falling back into serious mode.
"Well," Buffy perked, "most narratives start at the beginning--you know, cuts down on the need for back story and all."
He couldn't help but smile, though wearily. But as he began, the smile again faded from his lips and his face became an emotionless fixture.
"I couldn't be around you. After what I did to you, I knew things couldn't stay like they were. So I left. I didn't know what I was anymore. I tried…I wanted to be a man for you but I wasn't a man. And the chip prevented me from being the monster I had been for so long," he nervously ran a hand through his highlighted locks. "I was nothing."
Buffy could hear the sadness in his voice and wanted to comfort him but she held back. Hearing this was going to be hard for both of them but it was necessary. She decided that it was better for Spike to get through it on his own as best he could. If he stumbled--really stumbled, then she would lend a shoulder for him.
"Funny thing was, I tried to blame you for everything that happened. You were eating me up inside, consuming me. My every thought was of you and I couldn't stop it--every time I said I loved you, I tried to hate you for making me feel that way," he laughed bitterly. "But it never worked. Even that little rhubarb behind the police station wasn't enough for me to resent you. All those months with you, being there for you in any way you needed only did one thing--it made me hate myself. Hate what I was becoming. Hate what I couldn't be."
"But why?" Buffy asked, noting the faraway look in his eyes as they glazed over with unshed tears of frustration.
"Come now, luv. You knew me in the beginning. Weren't many things I was proud of in my existence. Being a vampire was one of them. Bloody fantastic feeling that was. Hell, even with that sodding chip shoved into my gray matter, I still knew who I was. My nature.
"But when I fell in love with you, everything changed. I was torn inside, Buffy. Torn between what was in my nature versus what I wanted to be for you. I tried to deny my feelings, to change them like I said. But the more I fought them, the more they grew until I was enveloped by everything that was you. I didn't know where you ended and I bloody began," he spat.
"Any way, after that night, after the way I felt--my mind replaying everything over and over again, I knew I had to change it. I couldn't live like that anymore, not knowing what I was. And like I said, I tried to blame it on you--on the chip. So I decided to make that change."
"So you wanted to get the chip out?" Buffy asked, her voice eerily calm.
Spike snickered at it, having an idea of what she was thinking. "Yeah. Thought that if I had it out, things would become clear. Either I'd be back to my old self and come hunting for my third slayer…" he paused, measuring her before continuing. "Or, I could find that what I felt was real and that I had truly changed. At the time, I was really rooting for possibility number one," he saw her face fall and quickly amended his words. "Course, not for reasons you think."
"What reasons would those be, Spike?" She said in that same emotionless tone though he detected a small crack in her resolve.
"Even in my rage I knew I could never kill you, pet. No matter what you did, no matter how hurt I was, I'd never hurt you." He frowned, the scene in the bathroom rearing its ugly head again. "I could never kill you, Buffy. And if I had come back vamped up, it'd be my own death wish I'd have been here to fulfill."
"What do you mean?" She leaned forward, intrigued by his phrasing. She almost gasped in surprise when she felt his warm hands envelop hers, his glistening blue eyes boring into her.
"If I was going to be dust, Slayer, there's no one I'd rather have deliver me to oblivion than you." She smiled, despite the morbid undertones. She had been around vampires long enough to know that what he had said, though not of the sweet, shiny and happy, was a great compliment.
"There would have been a problem with that, Spike."
"And that would be?" Her eyes studied the salt shaker, the crusted up napkins on the table, anything but the bottomless pits that were his eyes. Garnering a snippet of courage, Buffy glanced at him sideways before answering,
"I could never kill you…"
Spike gaped at the slayer as if she had sprouted two heads before his lips turned up into a sheepish grin. He saw it in her eyes that she could kill him no more than he could her. It was invigorating and at the same time, scary. He thought he had known the depths of her emotions and character before he left but he now knew how wrong he was.
There were many layers to Buffy Anne Summers and he could only hope that he would be privy to re-discover even a fraction of those layers.
***
After Buffy's admission, the rest of the conversation went smoothly. Spike had been injected with a renewed vigor and he told her everything. The parts he had been most proud of were, of course, the trials. He told them with a zest that Buffy hadn't seen since their conversation in the Bronze about the two slayers he had killed.
He told her about how that ponce Lurky had stiffed him (though Spike could tell she wasn't falling for his mock-dejection) and what it had been like those first couple of weeks as a new man. He had stopped there, saving the two years between for another time.
For all her questions, Buffy remained quiet for the majority of Spike's tale, inserting the expected 'ewws' and 'gross, Spike' when necessary. She had been enthralled with it all and had to bite down on her lip when he begrudgingly told her what he had wished for. His words of giving her what she deserved had touched Buffy's soul and the tears had once again tried to rear their mushy heads. Of course, she played it off like something had been in her eye. An excuse that he, surprisingly, let slide.
"What time is it?" She asked him, stifling a yawn.
Spike snapped his wrist over and glared at the platinum band that hung there. "Quarter to four."
"Man," she said, before stretching her hands to the ceiling. Spike couldn't but fall into the familiar worship of the graceful movements of her body. He admired how the dress clung to her as her arms reached for the heavens, her nipples taut under the thin fabric.
"Pervert," she spat, jokingly, rustling the ex-vampire from his daze.
"Well, yeah," he replied as he stood, stretching his own limbs. He sauntered over to Buffy while she wriggled out of the booth and whispered into her ear seductively, "but you like it." He was properly re-introduced to a small, yet powerful fist into the meat of his shoulder.
"You're a pig, Spike," Buffy said smiling as she pushed past Spike to the exit.
"Oink, Oink, baby," he retorted and followed her out.
As they made it to her black Civic, both were lost in identical thoughts. It had been two years since they had last been face to face and had departed on the worst of terms. That being true neither could explain how so much of the anger and pain that had festered within both of them had been extinguished in a few short hours. Neither was under the impression that everything had been put right. On the contrary, now that the big stuff was out of the way, the little things needed to be taken care of. And they both knew that the little things often proved to be the biggest hurdles to get over. Of course, it didn't help that one of the said 'little things' just so happened to be a tight knit group called the Scoobies.
Their thoughts running parallel, the slayer and her former lover moaned simultaneously. The Scoobies was a whole other subject. Neither was fully prepared for the confrontation that was bound to take place just a few short hours from now but it was unavoidable.
At least we have each other to lean on, they both thought as Buffy pulled out onto the highway.
***Just so you know, I am a B/S fan, so don't jump to conclusions on stuff. Of course, there will be a lot more angst as well as some teary re-acquaintances.
***I will try to have part four up by Sunday but no promises. I can only promise that it will be up by Tuesday at the latest.
***Reviews are welcome and needed.