This is it.

I've said all I know how to say and I don't think it's enough. I can't bear to watch him leave so I sit down on the couch and stare at the blank t.v. Is this how he felt every time I ran off 'virtue fluttering'? No, it was worse for him. I hate that I can see now all the things I couldn't see before.

I can feel him still, hovering in the hallway. When I moved away he had his hand on the door handle. Is it still there? What's he waiting for? Does he want me to see him go? Is this payback? Okay, if he's waiting for me to look he can just keep on standing there. That way, he can't leave. Ha, Spikey boy, the jokes on you. How d'you like them apples?

But this is no joke. My spine's like a steel rod, I'm so tense. Just waiting to hear the sound of the door closing behind him. Then it'll be okay to cry. Can't cry yet. That'd be blackmail. And I promised to let him go.

Don't go. Don't go. Don't go.

Oh god, Dawn will never forgive me! She'll think I drove him away. Again. How am I gonna tell her? 'Well, Dawnie, I gave him his coat back, he went a bit schizo, I laughed at him, he got pissed, I gave him a photo and he left. So ends the tale.' Yeh, she's gonna love that. Maybe she'd have better luck getting him to stay.

Please stay.

I thought Angelus was the one who was supposed to be into torture? Spike always said it wasn't his style. But he's torturing me now. How did he get to be so important? I want to blame the soul, 'cos that kinda makes it alright to want him. But the only difference I can see is his sadness. And that's not new, just deeper. So dark. Maybe that's what he meant when he said I belonged in the dark with him. Not just the night time, not with the evil, but lost in that unbearable sadness that only lightens when someone shares your pain. What did he call it that time? Something freaky and Spikelike and a bit British - made me think of Giles. He was almost joking when he said it. Oh yeh - 'Welcome, Slayer, to the long, dark, teatime of the soul.' Didn't make sense then. Not sure it does now. He was there when I was in the dark. Why won't he let me be there for him?

Crap! This so isn't about the soul, this is about him. D'you know what hurt most in the bathroom? It's a tie between him breaking my trust when he didn't even know he had it and knowing in some way that I'd left him so desperate, so alone. Left him in the dark. And now he doesn't want to come out. Come out and play, Spike. It's lovely and warm out here. You'll like it. And the trust? Look what he did after! Having a soul doesn't make you trustworthy. Jonathan had a soul and the little jerk was as fickle as.well, as me I guess. 'Oh yes Spike, take me now. No, Spike, I don't want you, you're evil and bad and ooky.' One thing you can say for Spike, not fickle. He's got the staying power of a mountain. Mmmm, hasn't he though. And I've really missed scaling Mount Spike. Jesus, does sex always have to get in the way?

Of course it does! That's Spike - determination, drive and sex. And devotion. Getting a soul was the greatest show of trust ever. The remorse and repentance of it. That's what makes me wanting him here okay. Not having the soul but the fact he went and got one.

So if he's Mount Spike, what am I? C'mon, some of Spike's way with words must've rubbed of on me. And that poetry class showed me the magic of metaphor. What am I? A yo-yo? A thermometer, reacting to the heat? No, it's got to go with the mountain, put us both in the same landscape. What about Ocean Buffy, with it's ever changing tides. Yeh, I like that. Bet he will to. If he gives me the chance to tell him.

Haven't you gone yet? Just get it over with so Ocean Buffy can cry her salty tears! Asshole.

No, as long as he stay's there's a chance. If he's hesitating then he doesn't really wanna go, right? So I just shift the balance to the happy side. Which means piss him of so he stays to fight his ground or say something so stupid he feels the need to correct me like some undead know- it-all. Or just let him know it's okay, whatever it is. But no touching. Make him respond some other way.

"So what's the deal with the coat?" Subtlety, thy name will never be Buffy.

"You don't wanna know, luv." I got an answer! Okay, not the one I was looking for 'cos I really am kinda curious. But it's something.

"If it makes you run like a coward, which you never were before, then I wanna know. Don't you think you still owe me a few explanations, Spike? C'mon, you spent God knows how long trying to tell me things so now I wanna here them, spill already." I can look at him now. If I turn round I won't see his back and have to watch him head off into the wide blue yonder. I can tell, I don't know how, that he's turned to face me. And there he is, all wounded blue eyes and frustration.

"I owe you more than I can ever repay, Slayer. Don't you think I bloody know that? I owe everybody. Sure you want to use up some of your never ending credit on daft questions like that though?" Maybe he's right. The look on his face tells me that that way lies much badness. And I've seen enough of that to last who knows how many life times. But I also know this is important. If I let it drop we'll never get beyond this point. Scary as it is, the only way is forward. Damn truisms.

"Yes, Spike, I want to dip into my repayment fund and hear about what got you so freaked. I want you to sit down - or pace if you have to - and tell me. Now."

He's still hesitating. C'mon, baby, we can do this. I know what you were and I'm learning what you are. It'll be okay. Don't let me down. You are the mountain and I'm gonna play Mohammed for the evening.

With the biggest sigh I've heard since I told Dawnie that no, three-inch heels were not right for school, he carefully sits on the far end of the couch. Perching there like some sort of bird, ready to take flight if I startle him.

"So how do you want this - long story or short? Got all the bleedin' time in the world, me, and fuck all to do with it but think. So it makes no never mind. Tell you what. I'm gonna ask you a couple of questions and we'll go from there."

"But -"

"Hush, pet. If you want the bed time story then you have to do this my way. Right then, what do you know about the coat?"

This is so lame. He's meant to be telling me, not asking me to tell him. But if I'm gonna get anywhere then I'd better play nice with the angsty vamp. So wasn't expecting another game of twenty questions.

"You've always worn it, ever since you came to Sunnydale. It's a second skin, part of you. You look after it like it's precious. It's part of your Big Bad image but it's something more as well."

"Huh. Out of the mouths of babes and all that." Is he calling me a kid? Hey buster, I've lived more in twenty one years than most eighty year olds. Or maybe he's just calling me hot. And anyway, I guess he's the definition of the older guy and then some. Let it go, Summers. "So what you're saying, Slayer, is that the coat defines me, right? It's what I am, who I am. Too Bloody right. So, next question. Where do you think I got it?"

Well, duh!

"Knowing you, you stole it. Which is a world of bad but it could be worse."

Maybe that was the wrong answer, 'cos he's making these odd noises half way between a laugh and a sob. It's making my skin crawl. Thank god he gets it under control quickly. Then he just sits there, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. I can see him bracing himself to go on. Jeez, this is gonna be worse than I thought.

"Spot on pet, but this is aeons past a world of bad. Round the sodding universe and back. Okay, last question. What is it?"

"What? It's a coat."

"For fuck sake, do you have to be such a daft bint? Course it's a bloody coat! Thought with your bloody prophesies and Slayer dreams and basic sodding psychology classes you'd have a concept of layers, sub meanings and all that bollocks. C'mon girl, think!"

Talk about having a bug up your arse. Guess the soul didn't do much for his temper. He wants layers? I'll give him layers. If I can just get my brain back out of storage. I'm so tired I could sleep for the Olympics but so wired too. C'mon brain, let's pull one out of the bag for Professor Spike. Even Walsh was easier to deal with. Okay, maybe not. But still. Okay, layers...layers...

"It's a symbol. It represents you and what you want the world to see. It's your way of saying 'Stand back, here comes trouble'. Or...or...that stupid thing you yelled at the t.v. when the soccer was on. 'Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

For a guy who doesn't need to breathe he sure chokes a lot. I'd slap him on the back but there's that no touching rule.

"Bloody hell, woman! It's not sodding soccer, it's football. How many bloody times?"

"Um, Spike, kinda going off topic."

"Damn straight. Just try to remember, alright? Some things are sacred. Anyway, back to the fun and games. Yeh, it's a symbol, a signifier, but it's even more. It's a momento." And he looks at me like I'm meant to know what he's referring to.

"What, did Dru give it to you on your anniversary of being vamped or something insane like that?"

"No, pet, Dru had nothing to do with it. This was all me. My pride and my victory. What was I famous for when I got to Sunnydale? What did you know about me?"

Too easy.

"Being a homicidal maniac. But I'm guessing you mean something more, 'cos that covers all the big vamps. Okay, then it would be...Slayers...you've killed two Slayers...so you're saying...Oh God, oh my God!"

I think I'm gonna be sick. It's a fucking trophy. One of those girls, it belonged to her. What did he keep from the other one? What would he have kept from me? Who? Who was it? Not the Chinese girl, 'cos leather coats in turn of the century China. Thinking kinda not. So that Slayer in New York, the one 'with a touch of my style'. All those times I thought how cool the coat was, how great it'd be to fight with it swirling around me. Oh God, I can't breathe.

I can feel Spike fidgeting. If he touches me I'm gonna do some serious damage. Not so much 'cos I want to but this...horror...has to go somewhere. Has to be expressed. I knew. I knew what he was, how many people he must've killed. I've heard him boast and brag. Heard his pride in the fact he'd killed two Slayers. Not recently. Not for quite a while, I guess. But he used to be so full of it. I kinda thought he might...I don't know...not regret but...feel differently about the killing. I mean before he went away. Yeh, he loved the fight but...oh God. If he kept the coat then it was still there.

But it's gone now, right? Otherwise he wouldn't be so freaked about the coat. I can't go back to doubting him. It hurts too much. He was right, I didn't really want to know.

"And the girl gets it. Finally. So, ready to shove a tree limb through my chest? I'll even stand still for you. Or if that's a little too much, I'll just head out the door and we can look back on this as a pretty little farewell scene. One way or another, it's done. Can't take back the questions once they're answered. Have I got permission to retire then, Slayer?"

It would be so easy to let him go now. While I feel this disgust. Who'd have thought that anything about Spike would be easy? But even feeling like this I know I'd regret it.

"Permission not granted, Spike. I asked, you told me. That's all."

"No it isn't bloody all. Get this through your thick, bottle blonde skull. I. Shouldn't. Be. Here!!! Have you really understood what I've told you? Have you got a fucking clue? I killed the girl, broke her neck. Before she was even bloody cold I was wearing her goddamn coat. Too right it's a second skin. Took it with less thought than a hunter skinning a beaver. And I wore it with pride every day from then till I left it here. Pride, Slayer! Only thing worse would've been if I'd 'ad her stuffed and mounted and hung on the wall of my crypt."

"I thought you'd saved that treat for me." Oh, well done, Buffy. Can you get your foot any further down your throat? Looks like I've actually managed to shut him up though. Pity that what I'm trying to do is get him to talk to me.

"Sorry, Spike. Totally inappropriate humour."

"Don't you dare apologise to me, do you hear? You'll never do anything I'd need to forgive you for. Never. Anything you dish out, I deserve. Right? Right."

"Anything?"

"Yes, Slayer. Anything. I'll put up with anything you throw at me. Won't fight it. Don't have the right. Don't deserve any better. I can see that now. Before, I'd get pissed off at your blowing hot and cold. Thought I merited better treatment 'cos I had the audacity to love you. Thought we were alike, cut from the same cloth. I was a fucking idiot. You should never have come to me and I shouldn't have expected you to. So, yeh. Do your worst."

He's standing there, waiting for me to hit him. Break him. And he wants it. That's why he didn't defend himself from Xander, just waited for the blows. Spike wants to be punished. And he wants me to do the punishing.

I grab his upper arms, knowing my grip is hard enough to leave bruises. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Again he's waiting for the first blow. What's he think it's gonna be? Knee to the balls? Kick to the stomach? I pause as I gather myself to do this.

He makes a strangled noise as I reach up and gently kiss his lips.