Escape
Chapter Ten: Denial

"I can't believe this," Dawn said. "He's been back since yesterday afternoon and she didn't mention it."

She stared into her soda, the fact that Andrew hadn't whined about buying it for her not exactly registering at that moment.

"She told us all this morning," Andrew reminded her gently, before asking tentatively. "Do you mind?"

"I mind that she didn't say something earlier," Dawn frowned. "But I guess I can understand it."

"I didn't mean that," Andrew replied. "I meant Spike. Do you mind that he's back?"

"Why would I mind?" Dawn muttered, blowing bubbles in the soda, avoiding Andrew's questioning gaze.

"I know you two were pretty tight for a while and then, when I turned up; I noticed you had some… tension. And not the Buffy-Spike kinda tension."

"Andrew, could you be any more gross? Spike and I have never had Buffy-Spike tension. We were friends."

"Were?" Andrew prompted.

"My God, you're an annoying little man," Dawn snapped, but then smiled in apology. "Look, I fell out with Spike because of… stuff that happened with Buffy. We never got the chance to talk about it, to duke it out over a game of chess," she caught Andrew's stunned look and fought the blush she felt rise to her cheeks. "What? We played chess. Can't I be an intellectual? Anyway, you were there, you saw what it was like, what was going on. So Spike and I never got to make up."

"Buffy and Spike made up," Andrew pointed out. "Would you have, if you got the chance?"

"I don't know," Dawn shrugged. "I never had to think about it."

"And now he's back?"

"And now he's back," Dawn tailed off. "He'll be too busy with fighting Angel for Buffy to worry about me. But yeah, I did miss him. I did feel guilty that he died before we made up. That's what you've been getting at, right?"

"Damn, and I thought my subtlety was improving," he grinned at her and took a sip of his soda.

Dawn drank her soda through her pink straw, then trailed it through the liquid in silence. Suddenly, she stopped, staring into her soda, slightly surprised. Then she looked up at Andrew with a teasing smile.

"Andrew, did you just buy me a soda?"

Spike stretched and yawned as he padded down the hall to the answer the door. The knocking was steady and continuous, annoying Spike immediately.

"All right, all right. Will you – oh," he stopped when he saw exactly who was glowering in his doorway. "Angel."

"Spike. Do I need an invite?"

"Whether you do or not, you can come in," Spike answered, pushing the door open and stepping back to allow his Grandsire entry.

Angel stepped in slowly, looking around the hallway. He looked back at Spike with raised eyebrows.

"Not exactly you, is it, Spike?" he asked. "You're more the rust, broken glass and old grave dirt type."

"Insults already?" Spike replied, wandering into the living room and flopping on the black leather couch. "And here was me thinking you came for a civilised conversation."

"You mean you've got a roommate?" Angel answered.

"What do you want?" Spike asked, bored of the sniping. "I can guess, but she's quite the complex woman, so how about you narrow it down for me?"

Angel hesitated for a moment, before sitting down slowly beside Spike, staring at the plasma screen TV. He remembered vaguely that his contract with Wolfram and Hart included an apartment and he wondered whether it had a plasma TV and an XBox.

"What do you intend to do?" Angel asked stiffly.

"What are my intentions?" Spike scoffed. "It's not 1880 anymore, Angel. Come join the rest of us in the twenty-first century."

"Answer the question," Angel gritted out.

"Can't," Spike answered. "Because I haven't got any intentions. You here to lay down the rules of engagement, eh?"

"I just don't want her hurt," Angel stated firmly.

"You mean you want me out of your city as soon as humanly possible?"

"I never said that," Angel replied snappishly. "I know you two have… a lot to sort out. That's fine," he stood up, knowing he couldn't stay there any longer before he admitted he and Buffy were trying to make a go of things.

Though he dearly wished he could tell Spike, the only thing stopping him was the fact that it was Buffy who should tell him, Buffy who wanted to tell him. But that didn't stop the animalistic urge to mark out his territory, to tell Spike to back off because he had no claim on her.

Instead, he took a deep breath and clenched his fists to keep a hold on his temper.

"Just don't hurt her," he hissed, before turning to leave.

He found her three blocks away from her building. She was leaning, with her nose practically pressed against the glass, smiling wistfully at a pair of shoes.

Gunn hung back for a moment to look at her. She had always dressed well, but the gloves had been an ever present accessory. Now though, her arms were bare and she swung them happily as she dragged herself away from the window and continued down the street.

Gunn started after her, hurrying along and reaching out a hand to grab her bare shoulder. She swung around to meet him with a fierce glare.

"Gunn?" she said weakly, the glare fading slightly into confusion. Then she stepped back out of her grip and opened her bag, looking through it as she muttered, "I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again?" she looked up and he noticed the long red gloves in her hands, she pulled one on with a menacing look as she added. "Or else?"

"Thought you didn't need those anymore?" he asked, indicating the gloves as she pulled on the second one.

"They're my thing," she snapped. "And – wait, why do you care anyway?"

"Gwen, I want to talk to you," he started to walk at her side as she turned away from him. "I want to explain what happened between us."

"Gunn, I know I wasn't experienced, but I'm not stupid, I do know what happened. We slept together, you left and I got on with my life. End of."

"And what if I don't want it to be the end of?" Gunn asked.

Gwen came to a sudden halt and stared at him incredulously.

"You kidding me?"

"I believe we start with coffee," Gunn said gently, pointing to a coffee shop across the street. "But, hey, I'm not all that experienced in these things either."

She gave him a brief, searching look through narrowed eyes, then nodded slowly and followed him across the street.

She settled into a soft leather chair as he ordered the drinks and when he returned, her gloves were off again.

"So what's up with that?" he asked, inclining his head toward where they lay scrunched on the edge of the table.

Gwen shrugged and didn't look at him as she sipped her scalding coffee.

"I'm working on controlling it," she said. "Between making the decision to use my… power and actually doing it, there's a split second. It's a precautionary measure. If I do a job, I'm already in the frame of mind that I'm gonna use it. It's safer this way."

Gunn snorted and it wasn't until he met Gwen's eyes that he realised what a mistake that had been.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"That it's bullshit," he answered bluntly. "While you've got that… device, you're no danger," he raised an eyebrow at her. "I know that better than anyone," he leaned forward and lowered his voice as he added. "You're just scared."

"Am not!" she protested childishly.

His hand darted out and grabbed hers. Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, but he met her eyes challengingly.

"Habit of a lifetime," she said, her voice wavering slightly as she pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he said, leaning back in his chair, watching her gather herself together. "I shouldn't have walked out on you like that. But, y'know, things did get kinda crazy," at her sharp look, he quickly added. "Not that that's any excuse."

"I still don't get why you're here," she replied coolly.

"Someone told me not to give up," Gunn answered. "Thought I'd take his advice."

"Why?" Gwen asked suspiciously.

"Because I like you," Gunn said simply, then smirked. "And I kinda think you like me too."

"You know," Fred mused aloud. "Our grapevine's pretty good."

"What was that?" Wes asked, rubbing his eyes as he took a welcome break from scouring contracts and legal texts.

He supposed their conversations and ludicrously long coffee breaks were to blame for the amount of time this was taking. But he couldn't seem to care when she smiled at him.

"Our grapevine," Fred repeated. "I don't know how, but everyone knows all about Angel and Buffy getting back together. And thanks to Buffy's announcement this morning, everyone knows about Spike being back."

"Yes," Wes nodded. "It's rather like being in an extremely complicated soap opera. With vampires," he added as an afterthought.

Fred chuckled, but her face quickly settled back into what Wesley immediately recognised as her Thinking Face.

"Should I be worried?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Fred, I can see from here that you're hatching something. Should I be worried, scared or possibly jealous?"

"None of the above," Fred replied, a slightly scolding note to her voice. "You should be pleased. Pleasantly surprised, even."

"Oh?"

"Mmm," Fred nodded. "I was thinking that since we're not getting anywhere fast with this, we may as well take advantage of the resources while we carry on with figuring out how to severe our contracts."

"Take advantage of the resources for what purpose exactly?"

"Curing Angel's curse?"

Wes didn't answer immediately, but glanced at Fred's notebook shrewdly. He grabbed the notebook from her and leapt away from the table as she cried out in protest and reached for him. He held the notebook out of her reach and laughed as he studied her latest artistic offering. It was a cartoon of Angel with half his face goofy and love struck, while the other half was wrinkled in his vampire visage.

"Well," Wes said. "I think this is something that needs discussing over dinner."

"We're going nowhere until you've given my notebook back," Fred answered, trying and failing to sound stern.

As he brought his arm down to hand it to her, she caught hold of his elbow and pulled. He stumbled forward slightly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder, notebook clutched tightly. She was staring at him, ignoring the notebook she had fought so hard for.

So Wes bent forward slightly.

And kissed her.

Xander looked up as Fred and Wes entered the hotel and frowned as he noted the awkwardness between them. He had thought that the gang in Sunnydale had the most complicated love lives, but he seemed to have found a group that challenged that title.

Jeez, he thought. You'd think people that intelligent would figure how perfect they are for each other.

He heard Wes's vague mutters about "A blip. Of course, just a bloody blip," and was about to make a few pointed comments when the doors of the hotel opened again, this time banging open loudly.

Xander could have been back in the Magic Box, in the middle of a sunny afternoon with Anya humming merrily by the shelves, Tara smiling sweetly at Willow… and Spike barrelling in covered in a dark blanket at the most inappropriate moment.

Xander blinked away the memory and stared at Spike who was patting out a smoking patch on his black shirt. He looked up, scanning the lobby when his eyes fell on Xander.

Xander didn't feel anything. Not even the vague annoyance he always felt around Spike. He had decided he was going to accept the Buffy and Angel thing, which meant that left no room for Spike. He couldn't even feel smug that this was one thing Spike didn't win. If he felt anything at all for the blonde vampire, it was a pity.

Until Spike opened his mouth.

"Harris," he said, looking a little uncomfortable. "Uh, Xander… Sorry to hear about… She was a great girl, Anya was…"

When he heard her name, coming from Spike of all people, Xander suddenly felt a whole lot more than pity.

He jumped up and glared at Spike. He felt tears pricking again, the churning in his stomach telling him that if he let himself cry, he'd crumble to the floor in a sobbing, Xander-shaped heap. That wasn't something he was going to let Spike see.

"Don't," he snapped. "We're not friends, you never cared, so we don't discuss this. What are you even doing here, Spike? Buffy doesn't need you anymore. One vampire is enough for her."

Spike didn't react for a second, then the meaning of his words sank in. He glared at Xander, his own temper suddenly rising up, his anger, like Xander's, ready to snap at the easiest target, if not the cause of his anger.

"Are you trying to piss me off, Harris?" he hissed. "'Cause I didn't come here looking for a fight and all I get from you is your usual crap. Grow the fuck up, Whelp."

Wes and Fred left their offices and leaned over the counter to watch the pair's anger die as they launched into their usual sniping.

"Whelp? Is that the best you can come up with?" Xander sneered.

"Give me a minute and something to write with and I'm sure I can improve it."

"Write with? You mean you're capable of something that doesn't involve fists?"

"Unlike you, I'm multi talented, Mr-I-Fight-Like-A-Girl."

The hotel's main doors opened once again and Gunn paused to watch the bitching as the rest of the gang slowly came toward the lobby, staring at the two men sneering like schoolgirls.

Gunn smiled grimly at a surprised Gwen.

"Meet the family, honey."