Chapter 7:

HERO, MISUNDERSTOOD

Saw you walking on your velvet lawn Is it lonely on the moon?

You took a dive and swallowed all you could

Did you drink too much too soon?

Nothing left for you to fight about

And no-one wants to see you try

The nearest neighbors are a mile away

Does the ocean hear you cry?

Punching at the sky

They say the King is losin' his grip again

They said you're bullet proof, they said you

feel no pain

It seems the hero is misunderstood again.

-- Marillion, Gazpacho

Buffy settled onto the couch with a cup of tea.  Even now, a part of her was still screaming, still in shock over finding out Spike was human.  The idea jolted through her, not quite connecting yet, along with her other, bigger concern.  Spike, human; Angel, missing.  He didn't know anything, Spike didn't.  Funny, it seemed like the sort of thing he would know something about.  Cafell pressed in tight against her curled legs, her chin pillowed on Buffy's thigh.  She watched Spike closely and Buffy thought wryly about pets and owners resembling each other, at least in the way she and her dog both stared at Spike.  "All right," she said, after setting her cup aside.  "Tell me again."    

He sighed heavily and leaned forward, lacing his big hands together loosely.  "Pet," he said, shooting her a glance when she made a noise at his use of the endearment, "I wasn't kidding.  There's something big out there and it's more than we can handle."  He swung a hand out to encompass them, the room, beyond it to the world.  "I know you don't believe me."

Buffy knotted one of her hands in Cafell's ruff.  The collie's ears lifted and fell.  Angel, Buffy thought, Angel ought to be sitting on her other side, his arm looped around her waist, her shoulder pressed into his chest.  If she closed her eyes, she could still feel him in the air around her, like a ghost. 

No.  She snapped open her eyes.  She'd know if Angel was dead.  They'd made a promise, a pact so very long ago, sworn in blood and love and magic.  They'd each know if the other died.  He was still out there, somewhere.  She just had to find him. 

"Earth to Summers." 

Spike's voice intruded and she flicked her gaze towards him.  Some things never changed, she thought, taking in his short, somehow still bleached curly hair.  Spike wore his customary blacks, jacket, jeans, t-shirt; with a rich red shirt unbuttoned beneath the jacket.  Silver chains adorned his neck and wrists and another wrapped loosely around his left ankle.  If she looked closely, she could see the knife he'd hidden in the boot on the same side. 

Other things were different, though, Buffy realized.  A red stud adorned one ear.  She fingered one of her own earlobes, the holes there long healed over.  His hair was a little longer, though not so long that it wouldn't be manageable.  She nodded mentally.  Or give someone a handhold.  Long hair was always a liability in a fight.  Her restless fingers smoothed over a lock of her two-toned hair, tucking it behind her ear.  She still preferred her hair long to short.  And she could always put it in a bun if she knew there was going to be trouble. 

But that wasn't the subject at hand.  She focused her attention sharply on Spike.  "So.  You were telling me about the Red Baron.  Can I go on record and say it's a really stupid name?"

Spike rolled his shoulders in an expansive shrug that went all the way down to his hands.  "Wasn't my idea.  Maybe it was Harris'.  Dunno.  Wasn't paying too much attention at the time."  He stared at the mug on the table next to his elbow, his lips pursed.  "You got anything stronger than tea to go in this?"

"I've gotta move, sweetie," Buffy said to the dog and Cafell rolled her eyes in her long-suffering way.  The collie shuffled over, fixing Spike again with a glare as Buffy rose from the couch, reminding Cafell she had to stay where she was.  Walking into the kitchen, Buffy rummaged under the sink, giving herself some time to think more about what she'd learned in the past hour.

It was almost too much to wrap her brain around.  A new big bad, wanting to take down the world.  It wasn't anything new, at least not to her.  But she didn't doubt Spike's sincerity.  Buffy would grant that as a liar, the ex-vampire was more convincing than just about anyone she remembered from her former life but for reasons she couldn't quite explain or maybe didn't want to, even to herself, she believed him.  Or maybe it had been the realization that Spike had a heartbeat to go with that soul he'd gotten four years ago. 

She shoved aside a few things, making them clink together, continuing the pretense of her search.  Spike was human.  If there was a weirder thing to ever have presented itself from her past, this wasn't what she'd expected. Buffy slammed the cabinet closed and opened another.  Her memory supplied Angel's voice telling her about something called 'shanshu', of the vampire with a soul living to die.  She'd – they'd – assumed it meant Angel. 

A part of her was bitter that it didn't.  She shoved aside a crock of ointment in irritation.  Not that she wanted Angel to die.  Not that she really wanted Spike to die but if there was one thing in her life she'd learned to count on, it was that vampires were immortal, unless a stake stopped them in their tracks.  To find out that they could be made human, that Spike could be made human – Spike! – was almost too much to take in on top of Angel's disappearance. 

Now Spike wanted to add even more to her plate.  Instead of just worrying about Angel, he wanted her to go back to Los Angeles to help with this new problem.  She pulled an amber colored bottle out, the liquid inside entrancing her for a few seconds.  If they'd stayed, she thought, if only they'd stayed at Dragonskeep.  Buffy sighed mentally.  Trouble would've found them there eventually.  Maybe not in the form of Spike but she knew, they'd decided, it wasn't safe for them to stay there. 

"At least, not then."  Her own murmur startled her.  Buffy's eyes flew open, taking in the wooden door, gaping open in front of her with the bottles and crocks and jars inside.  She could still hear the voices of the friends they'd made.  The sound of their chanting filled her memories.  The pain of the magic being worked.  She shook her head angrily, sending her hair flying and rose from the floor.  "Here you go," she said, returning to the living room where Cafell waited impatiently on the couch and Spike held out his hand for the bottle.  She handed it to him and sat again.  "All right," she said as Spike uncorked the bottle, taking a sniff at the mouth of it.  "I'll help."  Her hand shot up, effectively cutting him off before he could speak.  "For a price."

Spike snapped his mouth closed, understanding dawning.  "Bloody hell.  You've gone mercenary."

Buffy shrugged one shoulder.  "You don't live in this kind of luxury without some sort of payment."  Her smile was ironic as she took in the small apartment.  They would have been leaving it soon, she knew but a pang still slid through her.  She'd liked this old place.  Angel had, too, its huge windows a constant delight to him, drafty as they could be.  What was it about vampires and windows? 

"What sort of price?"  Spike's voice dragged her back and she fixed him with a frown.  He was rubbing his hands together, unconsciously avaristic. 

She toyed with Cafell's closest ear, rubbing the silky black fur.  "Not too big, I think, for the possibility of me saving the world."  Her eyes narrowed on Spike as she said sharply, "Again."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Slayer," Spike said, his voice like rough velvet, rubbing against her skin. 

She ignored her body's reaction to that one-time familiar byplay.  "It's simple," she said.  "Willow."

"Red?"  Spike's eyebrows climbed for his short hair.  "Didn't know you had it in you, pet, but if she's what you want, doubt she'd turn you down."  He leered.  "Wouldn't mind watching."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Buffy snapped, Cafell tensing at her side.  She pressed her hand between the collie's shoulders to keep her on the sofa.  "I need Willow to track him for me." 

"And rescue him, too," Spike said, his lip curling.

Buffy shook her head slowly, smiling ferally.  "No.  I'll do that myself." 

Spike recoiled slightly from the expression on her face.  "All right then," he said, "it's a deal."

"Just like that?"  Buffy pushed off the sofa, pacing back and forth in front of it.  Cafell's eyes followed her.  "You don't have to ask anyone?  You're in charge there?  What about Giles?"

Spike lowered his head.  "I'm sorry, Summers," he said.  "Rupert, well, he died."

Her voice cracked as she whispered, "Died?"  She fumbled for the sofa, sinking onto it.  Cafell jumped out of the way, returning to push her muzzle under Buffy's chin. 

"Summers," Spike said gently.

She dashed at her eyes and hugged the dog.  "How."

"It was during the battle."  He sounded reluctant to go on and Buffy gestured at him.  She had to know.  "Red thought it might've been heart failure.  Wasn't a mark on him." 

"How many others?" Buffy asked, straightening. 

Spike pushed out of his seat.  It was his turn to pace.  Cafell watched him again and Buffy could feel the rumble of a non-vocalized growl through the border collie's thick fur.  "How many, Spike?"

He stopped abruptly, facing her, his face cut in harsh lines.  The windows behind him showed the night sky, stars twinkling in it.  Buffy forced down the need for Angel to be with her.  Soon, she promised herself as Spike said, his voice harsh, "Rupert and Connor.  You, Dawn and Angelus.  Red's still with us, and Harris.  And Anya, sometimes.  She's a demon again; guess the magic took her humanity."  He laughed bitterly.  "Wes and your Scoobies pulled Faith outta jail.  Cordelia's still got her gang, plus Gunn's playmates."  His shoulders lifted as if to shake off a chill.  "Brachen demons.  The Hyperion's a haven, Summers.  'We help the bloody hopeless'."

Buffy closed her eyes against the venom in Spike's voice.  She knew, if they'd lived, Angel's and her desertion would have to hurt them.  There wasn't a choice, she told herself.  There hadn't been.  By the time they realized the world was stabilizing, they were so far away from…not even Los Angeles or even California.  Everything.  Lost in their own miseries, together because of circumstance.  It wasn't something she was proud of, just something that happened.  And by the time she and Angel had found themselves again, it seemed too late to go back.  "You can't go home again," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

Pushing her hair back, Buffy rose from the sofa, the steel returning as she said, "Help me pack.  The sooner I save the world, the sooner I can find Angel."

* * *

Nights were long in the City of Angels since the big battle.  Lilah usually had something to while away that time.  It still seemed most of her business was best conducted away from the light of the sun.  Even now, she had associates out in the world, though she didn't have to use the cover of Wolfram and Hart any longer.  She was known in what remained of L.A. as the top player, now that the world had changed.  Everything came to her, the last little squeak of information.  She'd liken herself to a spider in a web but she hated those disgusting things.  Too many legs, too many eyes, just creepy. 

She forced a shiver aside.  Wouldn't do to show any weakness, even in the halls that led to her quarters.  "You never know who might be watching," she said to herself as she gestured to the guard watching the doorway to her private rooms.  The guard, an attractive man whom she'd taken advantage of on more than one occasion, opened the door immediately, lowering his head in subjugation as she strolled past.  She reached out to slide her fingers over his muscular arm as she slipped inside the room, thinking that she might have to make some time to spend with him again, soon. 

The outer room of her suite was decorated with certain aspects in mind; leather furniture, a fireplace that blazed away against one wall, a full bar.  A pair of chandeliers, currently unlit, hung over a large stone table, darkly stained.  A black wooden cabinet hulked against one of the walls, symbols carved into its surface.  More symbols marked the walls; ancient runes, magical words, all designed to focus the power she raised on certain nights.  Now, all she wanted to do was get past this room and into her bedroom, so she could sleep part of the day away.  With luck, she'd dream up something new to do to Angel or perhaps the kids.  A smile flitted across her mouth.  Why hadn't she believed Drusilla about Angel still being alive earlier?  She could have had so much fun with him in her control. 

"Something's made you happy."

Lilah didn't allow a reaction, even if the voice did surprise her.  Mentally, she swore at her luck.  She couldn't allow them to know anything, not yet.  Wouldn't do to tip her hand so soon in the game.  Strolling to the fireplace, past the huge leather sofa that practically engulfed one of her visitors and completely ignoring the other, she tossed a few more logs onto the fire.  "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get warm any more?" 

"Sounds like you're stalling."

"No, just wondering why you're here."  She didn't even want to think about how this pair had entered her rooms.  The wards alone should keep out most anything she didn't invite in.  Walking to the bar, Lilah tossed over her shoulder, "Make yourself at home."  She poured herself two fingers of Scotch and turned, holding up the glass and the bottle.  "Oh, wait.  You already have.  Would you like something to drink, too?"

A perfectly arched eyebrow raised.  "I don't think so."

Shrugging, Lilah tossed back the liquor and poured herself another.  "Maybe I could offer you something else?  Tea?  Diet Coke?  I just got in a fresh shipment."  She smiled brilliantly.  "You'd be amazed what people will kill for these days." 

"You know damn well what I'm here for."  The vehemence in her voice caused her companion's spines to hackle. 

Sauntering back towards the fireplace, Lilah settled into the chair opposite the sofa, leaning back into the buttersoft leather.  "Actually, Cordelia, I don't.   Why don't you tell me."  She smiled over the rim of her glass, taking a sip of the Scotch and holding it in her mouth, letting the liquor burn her tongue before she swallowed.  She wasn't really interested in dealing with the seer right now, especially with her very own personal bodyguard in the form of that demon lurking behind her.  This pair, in their own right, were just as dangerous as Drusilla.  Not that she ever wanted to be in the same room with the three of them, though it would be worth it to see who might come out alive.

Cordelia leaned forward, her dark hair swinging down to frame her face.  "I had a vision."

Ah.  That could be a bad thing.  Lilah kept the faint smile in place, regarding the pair.  "Really?" she asked, swirling the Scotch around in the glass.  "What sort?"

Her fist slammed onto the coffee table between them, causing the demon behind her to chatter its teeth in an altogether creepy way.  Still, Lilah knew the demon wouldn't attack without provocation.  Which just made these little meetings downright dull.  If you couldn't insult your enemies, who could you insult?  "The Slayer."  The words dripped like acid from Cordelia's lips.  "Remember her?"  Her hand spun around the room.  "She's the one that brought all this down on us."

Lilah pursed her lips, contemplating her liquor.  "You mean," she said, tilting her eyes towards Cordelia, "Buffy Summers."

"Yes," Cordelia hissed.  The demon's chitinous skin gleamed metallic from the firelight as it shifted its weight.  It obviously didn't like the Slayer's name any more than its master did.

"So.  Did you learn anything from the vision, Cordelia, or did you just come over here, circumvent my guards and take up space in my living room to tell me that the Slayer still exists?"  Lilah finished off her Scotch, setting the glass on the table with a thump.  "Because I already knew she was alive."

Cordelia scowled at her.  Lilah folded her arms and lifted her eyebrows, tapping her manicured fingers on her upper arms.  With a gusty sigh, Cordelia leaped to her feet, pacing around the room.  "The vision showed her coming to L.A."  She touched her demon companion as she walked by it, making the demon croon softly. 

"Huh."  Lilah pretended to digest that news.  "Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough?"  Cordelia whirled, the hem of her robe swirling around her ankles.  She spat through her teeth, "You asked me to tell you when – if – I got any info on the Slayer.  Well, four-one-one, Lilah.  She's coming.  And from the vision I got, she ain't happy." 

"Sssslayer," the demon said, hackles rising on its back, like an angry dog's.  The glitter of its insect-like carapace glittered as it rose to its full height, head and shoulders above Lilah.  

She ignored the demon to toy with her lower lip.  "All right, Cordelia, you've brought me the information.  I appreciate it."

"That's it?" Cordelia nearly shivered in her rage. 

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want to know what you're planning on doing with her."  Cordelia moved around in front of the sofa, standing over Lilah. 

This wouldn't do.  Lilah rose to her feet, towering over the brunette.  "Listen, Cordy, what I want with the Slayer is my own business."  She flicked a glance at the agitated demon, trying to swallow her nausea at the sight of its all too human face, peering out at her from that sleek, inhuman body.  "Keep a leash on your bodyguard."

"Leah's a good girl," Cordelia said staunchly, "unlike someone I could name."

"Playground tactics, Cordelia?  I'd think you'd be above them."  Lilah wasn't about to back away from this woman.  It'll never do to let her think that she could cow me, she thought.  "Let's just say I have my reasons for wanting Buffy Summers."

"I want her too," Cordelia all but snarled. 

"Well, I guess what happens to her depends on who gets her first."  Lilah gave Cordelia a lazy smile.  "I'm sure you can understand that."

Cordelia seethed, glaring up at Lilah.  "She needs to pay," she finally spat out. 

"I agree with you on that, sister," Lilah said, reaching past Cordelia to pick up her glass.  She hip bumped the other woman out of the way and sashayed back to the bar, pouring herself another two fingers of Scotch.  Hell, she needed it this morning, with that nightmare sitting in her living room and having to deal with Cordelia, too.  "Let's toast to it."  She lifted her glass to the morning sun.  "Here's to Buffy Summers.  May she rest in pieces."

* * *

It had been a long day.  While packing the Slayer's stuff hadn't really taken that much time, getting someone to haul the boxes to the train station had.  Not to mention finding the Go-Betweens she wanted. 

"What're you gonna do with them?" Spike had asked, as they walked through the city, searching for the little creatures. 

Buffy turned to look at him, her gaze level and cool.  "You'll see," she said, then, in a completely different voice, "Cafell, sweetie, leave it."  She tugged at the dog's leash and it came back into line. 

Go-Betweens were one of those strange anomalies that showed up in the new world.  No one knew exactly what they were, hell, Spike thought, they didn't even much look like each other.  He'd seen Go-Betweens that looked like Tinkerbell and others that resembled little dragons.  One he'd sent to Red once, asking for her help, was nothing more than a giant scarab. 

The Go-Betweens didn't seem to really be alive.  Red wasn't sure if they were or not.  They all kind of glowed, they all carried messages.  None of them seemed to care about payment of any sort, as if carrying the message was all they were designed to do.  Harris once said they were the equivalent of a Babel fish and then went on to explain that the Babel fish was a fish that allowed you to understand any other language in the universe and it was proof that God existed.  Everyone had just looked at him blankly, Chase finally rolling her eyes and saying, "What-ever," in that 'I can't believe you said that' way she had.  Might've degenerated into another verbal spat but Wes stepped in and made the peace.

Whatever they were, they flitted around like manic fireflies, giggling and singing until someone could get their attention.  Then they were all business-like; well, the one who'd flutter down to get the message to be passed on.  The Slayer seemed to know where to go in this town to find the Go-Betweens, though she was starting to give off irritated sparks by the time they'd actually tracked the little buggers down.

She'd held out a hand and one dropped into her palm, looking like a cross between a dragonfly and a mouse, all metallic colored fur and delicate wings.  Its tail was flattened at the end, sort of a rudder, Spike guessed, watching as it preened, its faceted eyes staring at the Slayer. 

She had to imprint the Go-Between with the person she wanted to send the message to and a cute scowl crinkled her forehead as she concentrated.  The mouse-fly's whiskers twitched once then it became very still, its huge eyes unblinking.  Spike had to look away.  The weird little thing creeped him out.  They all did, truth be told.  Finally, the Go-Between chirped in a bell-like tone and Buffy said, "Forge, Angel's been taken from me.  I'm going to Los Angeles."  Her voice wavered for a second.  "I don't know where I'll be going from there but I might need help getting him back.  I need you…I need your help.  All of you."  She said slowly, clearly, "I need someone I can trust at my back.  Please come."

She tossed the Go-Between in the air, watching as it hovered for a few seconds in front of her, cheeping its delight then it zoomed off, dodging around the buildings.  The Slayer watched it go, her face set as if carved in stone.  Finally, she raised her hand again and another Go-Between dropped into it eagerly.  Spike thought Dru might've liked this one; it reminded him of the rocking-horse fly from Lewis Carroll's stories.  The Go-Between indicated it was ready for the message and Buffy said, "I'm coming for you, Angel.  Never doubt that."  A ghost of a smile materialized on her face.  "Tell whoever has you that no one messes with my boyfriend."

The Slayer got rid of the second Go-Between, following its flight as she had the first.  The flock hovered overhead for a few minutes then, when Buffy didn't offer a landing place for any more, they swarmed off.  Spike asked, "Bit risky, don't you think, pet?"

"What?"  She finally turned away from the flight path of the second Go-Between. 

"Alerting them that you're coming."

Her smile was chilling and as feral as the one he'd seen back at her apartment.  "You have to give them a warning, Spike," she said.  "Otherwise, there's no sport in it."                 

They made it to the train station, a steam engine stoking up for the trip across country to Los Angeles.  It might've been faster to try to bribe a dragon but Spike didn't have that kind of money and the Slayer didn't suggest that she might.  That meant traveling by train.  Once they paid for their trip, the Slayer refused to be separated from the bloody dog.  She'd come too close to losing the dog before she said, despite Spike's urgings that the beast would be safe in one of the baggage cars.  So they wound up riding there, crammed in with the boxes and everything else. 

Buffy didn't seem to notice the surroundings, making Spike wonder how often she'd traveled this way.  She sat cross-legged, leaning back against one of the boxes she'd packed, full of books and weapons, the dog lying at her side.  Spike huddled across the car, a pack of clothing cushioning his back.  He found himself staring at her, at her curves, so much more lush than the last time he'd seen her.  Buffy lifted her head, staring him down so he was forced to avert his eyes.  "Sorry," he said gruffly, turning his head.  His hand wagged at her body.  "Just seems like not being the Slayer agrees with you."

"You have no idea," she said.

He turned back at that, his eyes narrowing sharply.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

It was her turn to look away.  "Do you have any idea how hard it is to live up to other peoples' expectations?" she asked, toying with the dog's fur. 

Spike snorted in disgust.  "I think I know," he said.  "Oh, don't give me that look, pet.  You were drownin', that's why you turned to me in the first place.  I knew it.  Your friends didn't but they're thick as bricks mosta the time anyway."  He rocked back to lean against the wall of the boxcar.  "They didn't see it 'til it was almost too late."

Buffy's smile was tired.  "They only saw what they wanted to.  I got lost and there wasn't anyone to help me find my way back."  She dragged her free hand over her hair, her throat moving as she swallowed. 

He scowled.  "What about me?" 

The smile vanished abruptly.  "What you did…what we did, it wasn't about me finding my way back and we both know it."  

"I was there, pet.  You did get better."  He adjusted himself, trying to find a more comfortable position.       

She fixed him with her diamond eyes.  "Better?  I hurt you.  I let you hurt me."

Spreading his hands, Spike tried to interrupt.  "Water under the bridge, pet -"

"No."  Her headshake was firm.  "Maybe for you.  Do you have any idea how long it took me to get over that?"  She thrust her hand at him.  "You went to get a soul because of me."  Her laugh shattered around her.  "Now you're human."  Her voice softened, so he could barely hear it over the clack of the wheels against the rails beneath them.  "I left…I didn't plan to leave.  Neither of us did.  No one will believe it but it's true." 

"Why not?"  Spike started to sidle closer but that damned dog jerked her head up, her lips furling back to reveal her sharp teeth.  Despite his desire to comfort, he stayed where he was, wrapping his arms around his legs to keep from reaching out to the woman across from him. 

"During the fight."  Her gaze met his again and she sighed, her fingers buried deep in the collie's fur.  "Did you…any of you think we didn't have a plan?  That we didn't have it all worked out?"  Her voice quavered for an instant then steadied.  "Angel and I…we shared information.  Through letters."

"Red or Little Bit would've seen 'em," Spike insisted.

Buffy studied the dog next to her.  "They didn't come to the house.  When I…Mom died, I found some stuff of mine in one of her drawers.  A bunch of letters.  From Angel.  She never told me he'd sent them."  She stroked the dog's spine.  "I…he came after her funeral.  You probably knew that, though." 

Spike shook his head.  "Nope," he said, feeling a faint flare of jealousy.  He'd been busy that night, he remembered, helping Dawn.  Angel had been comforting Buffy.  Who got the better end of the deal?

"I guess no one did, then.  I never told anyone he came."  Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug.  "But after that, when I was cleaning out Mom's room, I found the letters.  She'd opened some of 'em.  I was pretty mad at the time."  Her grin was self-mocking.  "Yay me, I felt something because Mom was reading mail addressed to me.  I'm kinda surprised she didn't just throw them away.  But she didn't.  And I read them all.  And I wrote him back."

Spike shifted, uncomfortable with this knowledge.  He didn't really care about Angelus or the long, drawn out story of his love for the Slayer.  "Mind if you get back to the fight?"

"Just giving you some back story."  Her wistful tone snapped back to the cool one she'd been using since he'd shown up on her doorstep.  "Anyway.  We started writing each other.  Short notes here and there."  Her eyes shuttered as she said, "I called him before we went to fight for Glory.  He wasn't there.  Later, when I came back and I saw him, I found out he'd called to tell me he had to go after Cordelia, stuck in a hell dimension."

"Shoulda left the bint there," Spike muttered, almost under his breath.  He caught Buffy's politely curious expression and waved at her.  "Go on.  Chase.  Hell dimension."

"I guess either Willow or Dawn erased the message.  Can't blame 'em, why would they keep it after I died?"  Her fingers moved hypnotically through the dog's coat.  "But when I came back…after you and I were over, I started writing him again.  Sometimes he'd write me back.  For a long time he didn't."  Her mouth jerked, like a fishhook was caught in it.  "He was under the ocean for part of it."

Spike nodded.  He'd heard this story before, from Wes.  Or one of the others.  He couldn't remember now. 

Buffy seemed a little surprised at his lack of reaction, but went on.  "When he came back from that, he was."  Her body went tense then relaxed.  She took up the story again, leaving Spike with the distinct feeling she'd jumped a lot of storyline.  He knew some of it, they'd passed around stories to while away time at the hotel.  He wondered what Angelus might've told Buffy about his part in all of it.  "Anyway.  When I found out about the Hellmouth, I wrote him again.  This time he wrote back.  Something weird was going on in L.A., too."  Her voice trailed off, Buffy obviously lost in her memories.  "He told me about Connor, didn't leave anything out.  I already knew about him sleeping with Darla." 

She said it so nonchalantly, Spike had to swallow an oath.  He'd have bet the Slayer would've killed Angel, finding out about Darla.  Buffy was never wrapped too tightly when it came to Angel and vice versa.  He wondered if the Slayer knew about Chase and her claims of Angelus being in love with her.  Had the bloody wanker bothered to say anything about that?     

"But he wrote about portents, signs."  Buffy blinked, suddenly coming back to the present, her gaze focused on Spike.  "Between us, and Giles and Wes and Willow, we figured out what it wanted and who.  It wasn't us.  It was Dawn and Connor.  It had to destroy them.  So we figured out the best way to protect them."  Her expression hardened.  "We'd offer ourselves up as bait."  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  "It worked, at first.  But you didn't trust us."

"You kept us in the dark," Spike snapped.  "We all knew how you were around Angelus.  And he was fighting to protect his boy."

"We both were!"  Buffy's shout rang around the boxcar, making her dog lay back her ears and growl at Spike reflexively.  "We were fighting for Dawn and Connor.  We had to make it think I was gonna kill him otherwise it wouldn't work."

"What wouldn't work?" Spike asked, frustrated. 

"The spell.  The binding."  Her hand twisted in the air, making a fist in description.  "The way to make sure the Hellmouth was sealed forever."  Buffy laughed bitterly.  "But no one trusted us."

"If you'd just told us!"

Buffy swarmed to her feet, looming over him.  Spike stared up at her, her clenched fists, her drawn, angry face, the snarling dog pressed against her knee.  "We couldn't," she said, the words dropping from her mouth like lead weights.  "We didn't know who might be watching, who might tell something without meaning to.  We banked on your listening to us, doing what we said."  She visibly forced herself to relax.  "You didn't.  Because of that, we lost Dawn.  And when we lost Dawn, the walls separating us from the demon worlds fell."

"And then what, Slayer?" Spike asked.  "You left.  You bloody left us there alone."  He found himself on his feet, shouting at her, ignoring the dog that raged at her side, ignoring the snarl that twisted her face.  "We needed you, hell, we needed him too, much as I hate to say it.  And you just walked out on us?  Me, I can almost understand you leavin' me without another word.  But Red and Harris?  Rupert?  Your friends and your old man?"  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard enough that her blue and white hair scattered over his hands.  "Why in hell did you leave them?"

She shoved him, sending him flying into the wall of the car.  He slid down it as she stepped over luggage to glare at him, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.  "Did you hear me?" she screamed.  "Did you hear one word I said?  Dawn died because of all of you.  Because we trusted you," her hands went out, indicating not just him, not just the Scoobs but Angel's people as well, "to listen to what we told you and do it.  But no, you all knew better, you knew better than me or Angel.  And because of that, I lost my little sister.  Angel's son died.  His son!  God, Spike, buy a clue!"

Buffy visibly tried to calm herself.  Her voice sounded almost normal as she said, "I told Giles once if anything happened to Dawn, I quit.  Well, guess what, Spike.  Dawn died.  And I fucking quit."

* * *