The apartment needed vacuuming.
Although she'd only done it the day before, the rugs were already starting to look dirty again. Dust from the street and sand they'd brought back with them from the beach, hidden away inside their shoes. She'd cleaned them as well of course, but for some reason the stuff just got everywhere, still turning up now a week after they'd got back, sifted down between the couch cushions. It drove her crazy.
Later, she thought she might wax the table legs. You were supposed to do that sometimes to keep them nice and stop them from getting too scratched. Her Mom had told her that once and she'd laughed at her, but her Mom had been right about a lot of things so maybe she was right about that too. Having your own things was good, but it was a responsibility. Furniture, rugs, curtains, they all cost money and keeping a home together, looking as it should, was hard work. In some ways it was a lot like slaying. If you stayed on top of it, did a little every day, it could all be maintained. Let it go for a week or two, go on vacation, and suddenly it all went out of balance and you had to struggle to make up ground.
Soaking a cloth in hot soapy water, Buffy bent down to the kitchen counter again and worked vigorously at a pot burn. The damn thing just wouldn't shift and after another minute or two more she gave up in disgust, threw the wet rag down over it. Dawn never used the damn pot-stands. How many more times was she going to have to tell her this stuff? Mom had spent years cleaning up after her and now it looked like she was destined to do the same. Pick up your socks Dawn. Do some laundry Dawn. Don't rest your shoes on the coffee table. Drawing in a deep breath, Buffy picked up a casserole dish and frowned at the congealed mess of pasta and home-made tomato sauce inside. Her sister was looking around for colleges now. Maybe she should start helping her with those applications.
She was elbow deep in hot water when the door-buzzer went and, wiping the suds off on her jeans, she pressed the intercom button in with the heel of her hand, leant into the speaker.
"Ye...I mean...si?"
There was a slight pause and then Carlo's voice answered.
"Baffy?"
Shit.
Grabbing a cloth to clean the grease and soap from her arms, Buffy leant into the buzzer again, hesitating a moment before she pressed in the button.
"Ah...come right up."
Oh God. Her hair was a total mess. The last few days she hadn't really left the apartment and, running her hand through it now, she realised that it was actually way beyond messy, almost into the realms of bed-hair. Not that Carlo would really care of course, he even thought her hangnails were adorable but passing the little mirror in the hallway she stopped to pull the ends back into a barrette, rubbed furiously at a smudge of black on her cheek.
They hadn't really spoken much since she and Dawn had got back. Not that that was anything unusual, although normally if he didn't call for a few days there would be flowers waiting for her in the morning or a gorgeous handwritten note to assure her of his undying love. The fact that he had been out of touch for almost a week didn't surprise her though. Carlo's connections in the demon-underworld of L.A. were many and varied and Buffy was fairly certain that, by now, he probably knew as much about what had happened to her friends as she did. He knew of Wolfram and Hart, had even had some business dealings with them, and from what he'd hinted in the past he had even met Angel a few times in person. And he knew a little about Spike of course, their history. It would be just like him to allow her a few days much-needed breathing space before he tried to offer his heartfelt sympathies.
Rubbing a thumb under her eyes she tried to wipe away the smudges of old makeup before realising that the shadows there weren't mascara. She should have dabbed on some concealer or something, maybe Dawn had some in her room, but before she could go find out a quiet knock sounded on the apartment door and her time was up . Standing on her doorstep Carlo always looked oddly out of place. He was so tall that he had to stoop a little as he entered and his wide, muscular body seemed to almost fill the frame. Bending to take her face in his hands, his eyes searched hers briefly before he moved in for a kiss, his lips barely brushing hers while his palm gently cupped her jaw. It all felt a little clumsy somehow and, trying to cover the fact, Buffy gave a small awkward laugh.
"Now you're going to tell me I look beautiful right?"
He smiled,
"You do. Although you are tired, "his other hand slid to her hip, resting on the curve, "And a little sad. Your sadness makes you tired."
He had on new shoes. Soft cream suede pumps with golden stitching. They looked like they cost a small fortune. She frowned, actually no - they looked like they cost several large fortunes and maybe a small lottery win. They were probably made out of unicorn-skin or something.
"Baffy, you are not looking at me."
Taking one of her hands he tried to tip her head back again, but this time she shook him free and stepped away. One of Dawn's old sweat socks was lying over the arm of the couch and, grabbing it up, she stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans, folded her arms.
"So....how...are you?"
Talking to him had suddenly become so much harder and she couldn't understand why. It was almost a week now since she'd had the dream and its horror had long faded to be replaced by a deep grey ache. Whatever its meaning it was too late to do anything about it now. Thinking back, she wondered if it had just been a kind of psychic metaphor, her subconscious knowing, on some level, that Spike had finally died. That, painful though it was, she should let him go now and give up her heart completely to Carlo. It made a weird kind of sense symbolically but, for some reason, the interpretation didn't quite work. Since when had true love been all about horror and pain and death? Other than for her that was.
"Have you eaten?"
It wasn't the question she'd been expecting and for a moment she was caught off guard.
"Uh...no...I mean, I had some cereal earlier but...no lunch. Yet."
Although she'd been dreading the words from his lips; 'I'm so sorry to hear about...', not hearing them at all, in any form, was just confusing. It seemed unbelievable that Carlo could know nothing of what had happened but, as the seconds ticked by, she realised that that had to be it. He'd just been away on business or something, not avoiding her at all and, shifting her feet a little, she stared down at the floor. Some sand was rubbed deep into the pile of the rug. She'd missed that.
"Baffy, is there something wrong?"
Something. Yes, something was wrong, but it wasn't a something she could put into an explanation over lunch. Not something she could explain to him easily without breaking down again and she'd really cried enough. Enough for this week anyway. She thought she and Dawn had cried themselves dry that first night, but there had still been some left for Willow when she'd called on the Tuesday evening. Still some more every night after it got dark, every time she thought about never seeing either of them again. About all the things she'd needed to say to Spike, and hadn't. God, even though she'd been given a second chance to, she hadn't. The prospect of having to explain that to yet another person, filled her with a bleak misery.
"I can't...."
Her voice sounded odd, thin and tight like her throat was closing up. Shaking her head she cleared it,
"I just...I haven't been feeling too good this week. I had a...cold and maybe I just need to stay inside till I know it's...gone."
Carlo's hand, which had been resting unnoticed on her forearm, dropped to his side. He didn't move to touch her again but, even avoiding his gaze, she felt as if it were looking straight into her, seeing everything she chose to hide from him. For the first time ever, the thought made her truly uneasy.
"You are very strange today."
The Immortal's tone was light, even slightly amused, but lifting her face to look at him Buffy was struck again by the darkness of his eyes. They shifted in tone depending what kind of mood he was in and right now, despite his expression, she could see he was a little angry.
"I go to your work and they say you are at home. I think maybe you are bored and would like to have lunch. Maybe you would like to see me, but now I see that you would rather clean windows. I do not understand what you want. "
His hands wanted to reach for her again she could tell, his hurt pride maybe wanting her to make the first move and, seeing it, she felt an overwhelming urge to move into him. Be held; comforted and cradled by his strong arms as she had in the past. The need was immense but the sight of his hands, hanging by his sides, had frozen her. The long pale fingers with their perfect half-moon nails hypnotised her and, tilting back her head to look at him she smiled gently, before taking a small step backwards.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not feeling myself at the moment. Maybe we could do this another time."
After he'd gone, she sat on the couch for a while and just stared at the TV. There was one channel that showed American news and stuff and, even though she wasn't really interested in any of the programs, she still preferred to hear familiar voices speaking in the background while she was ignoring it. Staring blankly at the screen as it dissolved into an advertisement for Right Guard, she found herself wondering again how Carlo could not have known. Didn't Wolfram and Hart have offices in Rome? She was sure she'd heard Willow mention it before. And what about all his business connections in LA., certainly some of them must have been directly affected by what had happened. According to Giles, Angel and the others had taken out the entire demonic Governing Board of the company before they'd been ambushed. The whole firm and all its clients had to be in chaos, so why hadn't Carlo heard anything? Just where had he been for the last seven days? Tibet?
She was still pondering the question when she heard the sound of Dawn's key in the lock and, checking her watch, she was surprised to see it was four already. God, she really had to stop doing this. Zoning out when there was so much to do. She'd had almost two weeks off from training already and, unless she snapped herself out of it pretty soon, she was going to right back where she'd started a year ago. Staring into the middle distance and wondering when the earliest time of day was you could respectably order pizza.
"Hey."
Dropping the mail into her lap, Dawn threw herself down on the couch. Her eyes drifted around the room, taking in the immaculate furniture and sparkling windows.
"Guess this means you haven't been out again today huh?"
"I waxed the table legs."
"Mmm hmm, "lifting a hand to smooth down Buffy's hair, her sister smiled at her lopsidedly, "and this was before or after you got dragged through the hedge backwards?"
Supper was just plain - ham sandwiches and some brie and grapes – but, listening to Dawn talk about her day, Buffy felt her sadness and frustration over Carlo's visit melting away. School was sucky, one of the girls in her class had a real problem with her and was it Dawn's fault if she had to have special language tutoring while everyone else had double maths? Report cards were due that week and she was determined to pull her grades up, and did she think that some extra money from the Council might be possible for something essential like Chemistry books or maybe tap shoes? Finishing off the cheese, Buffy sorted through the letters automatically, turned them over one by one and slitting them open with her finger. A check from their Dad. God, should she cash it or frame it?
"Anyway, I just didn't get it so after class I stayed behind to ask him why..."
Gas and electric bills, no surprises there. A card and letter from Willow, just to say she was thinking of her. They were hiking up to some village in the Andes the next week and she was really suffering in the heat, but determined not to show it.
"...And he said it was because I got the 'valency' of Sulphur wrong. Can you believe it?"
And the last was plain, an unfamiliar local stamp: Civita Vecchia. Tearing it open she took out an invoice, frowned at it in confusion.
"What's that?"
Dawn's chin hooked over her shoulder, munching a grape, and they stared at it together. It was simple enough, a carbon-copied docket addressed to Miss B. Summers, a long reference number and US port of departure. Confused, her sister reached for the envelope, read the address on the back.
"Is it a haulage firm? 'Prothero Shipping'? Did we get sent something from Xander?"
Buffy shook her head, turning it over.
"I don't think so. I think this is one of those container-shipping firms, the ones people have all their furniture and house stuff sent over in," she shrugged, "When people have furniture to send that hasn't been swallowed by a Hellmouth."
"Hmm."
Wrinkling her nose, Dawn lifted it out of her hands and read the back.
"It says we need to take this down to the port of entry and sign for it."
"Sign for what?"
"Your personal effects. See? 'Personal Effects of Miss B. Summers.' It says right here. Civita Vecchia? Is that far?"
Groaning in exasperation Buffy snatched the paper back and reached for the phone. Dialled the number at the top of the form and listened to it ring a couple of times before she realised, crap, they probably didn't speak any English.
"Trasporti Prothero, come posso aiutarla?"
"Uh... Buona sera. Il mio nome è Buffy Summers..."
Her mouth completely dry she was still struggling to think of the next words when Dawn reached over and gently plucked the receiver from her hand.
"Ciao. Avete della merce in consegna per me. Il mio nome è Sommers ed il mio numero di riferimento è 345-567-9834."
She was infuriating sometimes, the way she managed the things Buffy found hard so very easily, but at times like this Dawn was invaluable. Watching her smile and chatter away in Italian with such confidence, she tried to understand what was being said but couldn't get more than a few words of it.
"What's she saying?" "She says she's just pulling it up now."
"Does she know who sent it?"
"I don't....ssssh. No. Sto ascoltando."
The woman at the other end had typed in the reference number and was now reeling off something that sounded like complete gibberish, but her sister was just saying 'Si...si', asking about times and directions and writing them down on the back of her Chemistry book. Grabbing the pen from her, Buffy scrawled a sentence underneath and punched her in the thigh.
"Si, si, dobbiamo esibire un documento? Si."
Sticking her tongue out at her, Dawn flicked her hair back over her shoulder,
"Oh... posso chiedere, chi è il mittente?" and then wrinkled her nose as she got the answer, "No, non li conosco, ma ringrazio molto."
The back of her book was covered in writing now, but scanning down it Buffy still couldn't see the answer. Putting down the phone, Dawn shrugged.
"It's no one we know."
"What?"
"Well unless we have an old Irish uncle I've never heard of, "her sister laughed, "It's probably just some Council stuff. Some old geezer died and left us his diaries or something. What was that Watcher who came to visit us that time called? The one who looked about 300?"
"Why an Irish uncle?"
Buffy picked up the docket again. Turned it over. Shipped from California. Two weeks ago. 'Personal Effects of Miss. B. Summers'.
"'Cause...get this...Mr Liam Patrick Kilkenny. Sounds like a leprechaun."
And just like that it slid into place.
Click.
Slide.
Click.
Dark square room and the walls etched with blackened rust and dirt. Choking heat and an airless windowless prison. Spike's body, slashed to ribbons, his strength seeping away for the last fourteen days. The stench of decaying blood and behind it, thin and colourless, the unmistakable smell of the sea. The personal effects of Miss B. Summers. Shipped and sent to her by Angel himself.