Chapter Six

In the kitchen, Buffy found herself arranging and rearranging all the dirty dishes in the sink She could hear Giles' voice murmuring in the background, and found that the sound soothed her troubled thoughts. Sighing, she began to relax her muscles, her shoulders dropping slowly, her hands unclenching. She knew if she stepped closer to the stairs she would be able to hear what he was telling the kids for bedtime. But a part of her whispered that she didn't belong with them. The innocence upstairs would remain that way only without her interference. It was what she had died to save. Joining them would only pull them all down into her personal hell. Accepting that fact was the only thing that continued to keep her distant from them all.

Giles had almost gotten to her. If she had let so much as a finger of his touch her, she knew all her resolve would crumble. He didn't need to know how much she needed him. Because she could do this on her own. She had to. The Slayer worked alone. Wasn't that what the first Slayer had tried to tell her months ago? And so it would be. This time around, she wouldn't be scrambling to save both the world and people she loved. It was hard enough to do her job. She didn't want to think about Dawn up on some sort of hell tower, being sliced open. She didn't want to see Willow and Xander broken. Even harder to bear was the thought of her Watcher, cleaning up another one of her messes.

"Ben," she whispered aloud. A shudder passed through her. Once glance down as she rushed up the final steps to get to Dawn had been almost enough to make her jump off straight away. The sight of Giles, his hand pressed resolutely over Ben's battered face. Ending the human life that housed Glory. Giles had become a murderer for her.

"Never again," she managed, her voice choked. This was her battle. Letting him close to her would only hurt him. They knew the truth about where she had been now, and would be rushing to be at her side. She wouldn't allow it. And after this latest crises was over, she would begin with Giles. She would send him back to England, his home. He deserved some peace. And there was no denying that the only thing he would find here with her was death and horror. It would never end.

The sudden paralyzing thought knocked her to her knees. No matter where she went when she died, the selfishness in her friends would make them bring her back, again and again. She was doomed to slay until her body was too old and frail to continue on. But Willow would have a spell for that, too. Pressing shaking hands against her face, she began to fight for breath, choking on sobs she couldn't allow to escape. So hard was her struggle for self control, she didn't hear the kitchen door being pushed to the side, or the rushed steps across the tiles to her side.

Strong arms encircled her from behind. The smell of stale cigarettes and blood reached her nose, and she quickly registered Spike's presence. "There, there, luv," he crooned. "It won't be like this forever."

"What do you know about it," she said harshly, pulling away from him. Standing up, she swiped at her face, turning cold eyes toward the vampire. He looked hurt.

"You're talking to a vampire," he said quietly. "It's kind of hard to forget being gone and then back again."

"I'm not a vampire, Spike," she managed. "I don't suddenly belong in your social circle just because I've visited Club Dead. I still happen to have a beating heart, something you've been missing for, what, 100 years or so now?"

"You could have fooled me," he muttered, reaching into his jacket for a crumpled case of cigarettes.

"What was that?"

Ice blue eyes met hers defiantly. "You've come back, alright. But you left your heart in the place you came from. We both know it. Tell me truthfully, do you give a toss for anyone in this house? For that kid sister you so nobly sacrificed yourself for? Your stupid gang of friends? That useless old man who pretends he still has a place at your side?"

His words struck her like blows, and she stepped forward, rage suffusing her face with color. "You shut up about him, Spike."

He snorted, tossing the pack down on the counter top. "Ah, now it's all coming out. Allow me to punch my own face down the back steps for you. I'd rather it be myself than the matched pair of Watcher and Slayer in one night."

"What are you talking about?"

"What, ole Rupes happen to forget to tell you it was me come by just a bit ago? Had a nice heart to heart, we did. Something I haven't had since we were Odd Couple-ing it years back in his flat. Ended pretty much the same as they always do, though, with me flat on my back, nose bleeding." He laughed shortly and stomped out of the kitchen and down the steps into the darkened yard. Buffy followed him.

Whirling once he had reached the bottom, he glared up at her. "I just hope you remember it was me you were kissing while everyone was singing the Hallelujah Chorus tonight. I thought you might want to explain."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned tiredly against the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Spike," she sighed. He paused, staring up at her with an unreadable expression. Gathering what little reserves she had left, she stepped outside and sat on the steps. "Thank you for listening to me when I needed to talk."

"Not like you ever gave me a choice, Slayer," he said gruffly, stepping closer to her. She smiled wryly up at him.

"I know. And you actually helped me a little bit, Spike. You really did." She met his eyes briefly and then looked away. "But what happened earlier tonight... It's not going to happen again."

He stared hard at the top of her bent head. Clenching his teeth against the rising tide of abuse the demon wanted to hurl at her, he settled for turning away. The words he had sung to her earlier came back to him suddenly. Break my chest indeed, he thought bitterly.

Her voice was beseeching. "I know what you want, Spike, and I can't give it to you. Do you understand?" She rose and stepped down to him another step. "It would kill me."

"Thought being dead was what you wanted, Pet," he said lightly, facing her. She wrapped her arms around her chest tightly.

"I don't have a choice in that, Spike," she said resignedly.

"You always have a choice, Buffy," he murmured, moving closer to her. Sensing his movement, she turned away and climbed the steps again.

"I have a choice here, that's all," she said, suddenly angry. "I can choose you or not. That's about it. Everything else I leave at the hands of the gang. They have my life planned out already. Slay into the horizon. The Energizer Bunny of killers." Her chest was heaving as she began to hyperventilate. "I don't have a choice. I never did."

At the end of the hall, Giles made his way to the kitchen, glad that he had gotten them to sleep. The sight of Buffy sinking to her knees outside the back door shocked him, and he ran to get to her. Spike and he almost knocked heads over her prone form, and he glared up at him.

"What the hell did you do to her?" he demanded coldly. Spike stepped away, hands held up defensively.

"Maybe you should be pointing the finger at those ruddy friends of hers, Rupert," he bit out. "No worries here, though. If this fit kills her, they'll just get in line at Resurrections-Are-Us and put in another order."

"No," Buffy moaned, and then blackness engulfed her.