It shouldn't surprise me, Buffy thought, slamming a roundhouse blow into the punching bag in front of her with a grunt. Everyone, to the last of them, has lied to me when it came to Spike. And he— He was the only one in those last years who had never lied to her. Painfully honest, up until the end.
She swung her right leg in an arc and slammed the bag with her foot, timing her next kick to hit the bag just as it swung into its original position. Right, right, right; pause, left, left, left. The kicks became faster, the grunts turned into yells, and yells turned into sobs as she curled her arms around the bag and leaned her forehead into it.
She missed her sparring partner. No one had fought as he had.
"He's gone," she told herself angrily. Suck it up. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she stripped the tape from her hands and headed to the classroom she'd been assigned. She had tired herself out just enough that she shouldn't be a hazard to her students.
Forcing a cheerful smile onto her face, she entered the classroom. She tried to console herself with the fact that there could have been more strangers facing her, but it didn't dull the sharp fear that needled through her as she looked at the twenty-one pairs of eyes staring back at her.
"Hello," she said, marveling at how young, how little, her voice sounded. In a habitual action, she scanned the room. Though she didn't mean to, she was calculating the odds, pinpointing the strong ones and all but dismissing the weak ones. It's not a fight, for God's sake. It's a class.
A few greetings were returned to her, but most of the congregation looked just as wary as she did. Hoping to break the ice, she walked among them, standing as part of the group, constantly moving so as to make eye contact with each person. Think about leading a group, she reminded herself. You've been doing it for years.
"My name's Buffy, and I'm pretty new around here, so you'll have to cut me some slack now and then." She smiled at the scattered laughter and pressed on. "I'll be teaching you self-defense and also some aerobics. They sort of go hand-in-hand. You can defend yourself better if you're in good shape."
Strength in the young woman standing off to the edge, by herself. Buffy sympathized with the brunette. Sometimes isolation was just a fact of life.
Weakness in the paunchy middle-aged woman in the back. But determination in her eyes, and that could go a long way.
Strength in the—for a moment, Buffy's heart stopped beating. Tall, lean, a shock of white-blond hair, head tilted back proudly. But it wasn't him. Not even close, really, a younger man with the glow of naiveté about him, long, nervous hands, perpetual motion. Just another all-American guy.
"All right," she said, clasping her hands together and trying to compose herself. "Everybody give your name, tell me why you wanted to do this, and we'll start with some basic stuff."
One by one, people gave their answers, some laughing, some quiet and shy. Buffy kept her ears honed when the loner spoke. "I'm just trying to do something to burn off excess energy," the woman admitted quietly, shifting her hair out of her face. Buffy made a note to keep an eye on her. With every potential in the world elevated to Slayer status, it would do Buffy well to keep her eyes peeled for sisters.
The young man was the last to go. His face coloring a bright pink, he grinned sheepishly and kept his eyes squarely on Buffy. "Coach told me to come in, do some aerobics. Hopefully work on my coordination. I'm good with a ball, but…" he shrugged his shoulders. "I sorta suck at maneuvering."
"I hear ballet's good for that," the brunette said in an undertone. When the young man glanced at her, her face turned bright red and she lowered her head again.
Uh-oh, Buffy thought, hiding a smile. Looks like we might have a bit of blooming romance here.
So thinking, Buffy completely missed the look the guy was giving her.
~~~
Ramie, as he was called, certainly had a flair for the dramatic. He demanded French coffee rather than the standard British tea, broke more rules than he kept, and had the reputation for being the best Watcher in the Council. His last Slayer had died a few months before, and that was all he would say about her.
Spike had imagined, uncountable times, how things would go down if the Slayer-- his Slayer, his Buffy—had died. And just as those times were uncountable, the results were unimaginable. He knew he could not go on living, even a dead life, without her.
He wondered if she felt the same.
"If the bloody Council can't help me, then how in the hell can you?" he asked the dark Watcher, watching with some fascination as he drank coffee with flecks of coffee bean floating in it.
"I know people." Dipping into the sugar bowl to take a few lumps, Ramie dropped one into his coffee and popped the other into his mouth. "Or… unpeople, if you will. Sometimes there is little difference."
"Unpeople." Spike watched Laramie indulge in his vice and wished for one of his own. If he couldn't have Buffy, then he'd damn well find something to smoke.
"There's a man at the counter who sells cigarillos," Ramie said quietly. "I warrant it's not quite what you're used to, but-" he let his sentence trail off with an eloquent shrug.
Spike nodded, standing up and looking down at the man who held all his hopes. "Hang on a moment."
Hang on? Laramie puzzled over the idiom while Spike bought the small cigars. When Spike sat back down, already lighting one, Ramie leaned forward, his cat's eyes glistening in the muted light of the café. "I have to warn you, sir, what we're proposing to do here… it will take much time, and you will give up much."
"Much?" Spike snorted derisively through a cloud of smoke. "Listen, friend, I would give up all." He took another draw and closed his eyes, calling up memories of pain and terror. "I already went through hell for her."
Ramie templed his fingers and sighed. "Mon ami, that could precisely what you will have to do again."
"Bring it on, Watcher." Spike's voice carried confidently through the cloud of smoke he'd made, but there was another who cringed inwardly.
William was afraid.
~~~
"You lied." He was lucky her eyes were clear and not blackened, her magic in reign and not loosed in the rage she felt. She had respected him, their host, respected his wishes, respected his moods. She had not offered her advice unless it was asked, and she had always given him the benefit of the doubt because Buffy had loved him, then in one way, and now in another.
But he had betrayed her love, the past love and the friendship he had shown to her, by withholding the truth. So now Willow abandoned the respect she'd once offered and prayed for the strength to keep her hurt at bay.
"Beggin' your pardon?" He was tired, had been on his feet all night long on another case, and the Irish slid through his voice unchecked.
"You lied to us. You didn't tell her about Spike." A fresh wave of hurt hit Willow. She'd never quiet listened to Buffy about Spike, had never understood the connection they had. But he had stood by her even when Willow didn't. Now she was paying for it. Fleetingly, she wondered if she was feeling sympathetic heartbreak.
Her quiet statement slapped away some of the weariness. His eyes sharpened and he sat up a little straighter. "Do you think that's what she needs right now, Willow? On top of everything else, to be told that maybe Spike's human, maybe he's not dead, but maybe he is? Hey, Buffy, we don't know what's going on, but let me lay out the options for you." He was gathering steam, ready to plow into more justifications, when he felt a sharp burning pain in his hands.
Willow was completely calm, completely cool, but she kept the heat focused on the backs of each of his hands, watching detachedly as smoke rose from his pale skin.
"What are you doing?" he asked, clenching his jaw and keeping his big hands in place.
"Making you shut up," she said through clenched teeth. "I told her because you weren't man enough to do it. But then again, we already knew you weren't a man, didn't we?" Tossing her head, she broke the spell and slammed out the door, leaving him with all his pain.