Yes, I know this is late, but my beta reader hit me over the head with a stick and told me to read over it again. When I did I deleted pretty much the entire thing and re-wrote it. Trust me, it's all the better for it. This will be the last chapter I post this year, as I'm going on a holiday for the next three weeks. So Merry Christmas to all my readers and I hope you have a Happy New Year!

Until next year...

Creed

Chapter 14

Spike leant against the tree outside the house, and raised the cigarette to his lips. As smoke circled into the sky he watched the silhouettes walking around the living room behind the drawn curtains. He knew exactly what they were doing. They were holding a Scooby meeting without Scooby Doo. Buffy had left the house an hour ago for work, and they were deciding what to do- what to do about her.

He hated what his Slayer had become. Spike watched her more closely than he had when he was stalking her, only now he could watch her from a more advantageous view point. Since Buffy's reprieve in L.A, Giles had actually allowed him to take Dawn out some nights. "Out" was rigid with limitations and boundaries, but at least the poor girl was able to leave the house. A concentrated fear had started to gnaw at his chest, a fear that Buffy was slowly drawing more and more into herself. That she would decide she'd had enough of trying. That she'd had enough of fighting. That she would give up. Spike hated what had happened to her. She had changed. He had never actually thought of what being the Slayer did to her. It was being the Slayer that gave her the fire he loved. It was being the Slayer that made her the woman he loved.

She wasn't his "Slayer" anymore. But apparently he could still distinguish her scent from a thousand others.

"The 'What-to-do-with-Buffy' meeting is still going?"

He didn't smile at her joke. "Apparently. Aren't you meant to be working?"

She looked up at the living room window. "It was a slow night. They didn't need me."

Spike motioned to the window as he ground the cigarette butt beneath his foot. "You gonna storm the party?" He felt her gaze on him instantly.

"Why should I? They look like they're enjoying themselves."

"You think they're having a good ol' time in there? They're lost, pet. They have no idea what to do."

"Okay…" Her face was stony as she walked toward the door. "Later."

Spike mentally kicked himself for pushing her. He lifted his hand to call her back, but he could see the stiff set shoulders and the stubborn walk. He let his hand drop to his side, and watched as she strode into the house. He waited for her dark shadow to join the others in the living room, but she didn't appear and the gang continued their discussion. Realizing with a start that Buffy had snuck upstairs, Spike glanced above towards her window. Sure enough the light flicked on. He only hesitated for a minute before lifting himself into the tree and peering through the slightly parted curtains. He may be fighting for the white hats now, but he wasn't above spying.

Buffy sat on her bed, staring directly ahead of her. Her head suddenly fell forward, and her shoulders slumped. A small, dark piece of material poked out from behind her bed, and he realized what Buffy was looking at. Faith's makeshift bed.

The truth hit Spike with such force that he almost cursed aloud. He fell back against the rough branch supporting his back, and his gaze slowly lowered to the trampled grass ten feet below. His chest suddenly constricted and felt tight, as thought his skin was stretched too thin. Without sparing a glance at the window he let himself slip from his crouch in the tree. When he landed heavily on the soft earth he knew without a doubt that the painful pounding in his chest was the agony of his heart breaking.

Spike had always known that Buffy's love was something he may never possess. Her absolute abhorrence for him had slowly turned into an uneasy alliance, and over the last few months it had turned into something akin to reliance. She had trusted him with Dawn, spoken to him without scorn, and ultimately let him become a part of her life. He had never been one to throw hope to the wind and despair, but neither had he been one to accept things as they were. Everything kept changing and he had held onto that one belief and hoped that some day Buffy could return his love.

But now that hope had shattered, and as he fumbled to light a cigarette he tried to work through the numbing haze that had settled over him. As he took a furious drag on the butt of his smoke Spike lifted his eyes to the window on the second floor. A shadow moved past the square of light and heavy curtains were drawn, leaving him to stare into darkness. He waited until the faint light that peered past the edge of the blinds disappeared, and then turned and slammed his fist into the tree.

As the nicotine settled his nerves and the quiet of the night prevented him from venting his anger, Spike slowly came to realize that finality of what Buffy had just shown him. Buffy didn't love him, and likely never would. After a year of trying to prove himself and attempting to make Buffy admit she had feelings for him, the demise of his hope brought not only physical pain, anger and a fearful uncertainty, but also a strange sense of relief. Confusion overwhelmed him as he recognized this relief. He had wanted, dreamed of and breathed this woman for more than a year, but the feeling was undeniable.

As he came understand that his love would always be unrequited he knew the relief he felt was due to knowing that he could still survive without her. He had been afraid that his reason for existing rested solely with her, and yet he was still standing and thinking rationally. Surprisingly, he had no intention of throwing himself on a sharp, pointy branch.

The rejection hurt though. It cut through him and brought more agony than any of Angelus' bursts of creativity had ever caused. There was only a slight thread of sanity that prevented him from welcoming the sun the next morning. But for some reason, he wasn't falling apart.

Somewhere during the last few months he had found something more important to live for than a woman's love. He would never admit it aloud even under torture, but he was ever-so-slightly proud what he had accomplished over the summer. He had taken it upon himself to resume Buffy's patrols and was holding his own well enough. Dawn was handling her sister's slow withdrawal and depression as mature as was possible for a fifteen year old. And despite himself, he found he enjoyed their time together. Even Xander had made an effort by sharing his popcorn with Spike one night after dropping Dawn home.

But Spike felt a surge of jealousy that he would never kiss Buffy when he walked into the Summer's home each day. He wouldn't be able to slay by her side and anticipate what would happen when they both went back to his crypt for the night. She would not glance at him with the same complete and utter longing that filled her face when Angel had been around. She could never belong to him, because she loved another. Spike would need to get used to seeing her with another person every day if he decided to stick around. Although he played with the idea of leaving, Spike had never been able to stay away for too long. So he pushed aside that though, and concentrated on how he would handle seeing the woman he loved with another person.

In that one moment when he had seen the devastation on Buffy's face as she gazed at the mattress on the floor, Spike realized that not only did she not love him, but she loved another. Buffy loved Faith. The thought spun through his mind, but each time he repeated it the idea sounded even crazier than before. But everything pointed towards the truth, and despite his best efforts to prove it incorrect Spike could not rationalize it. Buffy loved Faith, and as the truth sunk in he felt all his anger drain away. He had no hope left.

Spike had known that they were two halves of one whole the very first time he had seen them slay together. They were black and white, ying and yang; whichever it was that made them two separate entities born of one purpose. He remembered the perfectly synchronized dancing as they slew a dozen vampires. Faith had fought with a desperate urgency, fierce but wild and uncontrolled in her movements. Buffy had quipped lightly, a pretense that hid her refined, graceful and fatal agility. When placed back to back they were an unassailable force that even made him shiver.

Grinding the cigarette butt to a pulp beneath his foot, Spike hesitated only briefly before lighting up another. The thought of Buffy and Faith together made him feel frustrated, confused and stupid. He recalled the prime excuse Buffy had used for her reasons not to love him, and that was his lack of soul and his past of murder and killing. He knew she didn't believe he could control himself without the morals that came with a soul, but he hadn't killed in a long time. Faith, on the other hand, had killed with a soul.

Why had Buffy forgiven Faith and not him? He knew Faith had murdered a man, lied to Buffy and the stuffy new Watcher about it, betrayed her friends and tried to kill Buffy's then boyfriend. When the brunette Slayer had woken from her coma she'd stolen Buffy's body, tricked her family and friends and slept with Buffy's boyfriend. Spike's past with Buffy included failed attempts to kill her, but he had never messed with her life the way Faith had. Faith had used a dangerous edge against Buffy; Faith had cunningly used the people that kept Buffy alive. Yet Buffy had still allowed the brunette renegade to worm her way into Buffy's heart.

As he stemmed the urge to crush the cigarette in his fist Spike was struck with another thought: when had Buffy switched teams? He tried to think back over the last months, and years even, searching for any signs or hints that Buffy's preference had moved to women. Buffy usually went after the big, strong type of guys, a sure sign that she needed a man who could handle her lot. Although, Spike thought wryly, that she had dated Angel at all should have alerted him to her feminine penchant.

Minutes passed, and as Spike grappled with what he should do, the idea of Buffy and Faith gradually came to make sense. Faith was the only one who understood Buffy. Spike could keep pretending that he new the darkness inside her, but only Faith would completely know the depth and truth of who Buffy is and what her purpose is. They were linked in ways Spike couldn't begin to comprehend, and he saw that it was only a matter of time before the two Slayers found something within the other that no one else could possibly possess.

Spike noticed the torn, bloody skin on his fist and twisted his head around. There was a deep hollow in the trunk of the tree, and the bark hung limply where his fist had collided with it. He let the smoke slip from his fingers and stormed down the lawn, swearing softly until he was a couple of blocks away. A dark figure slinked around the corner and only just managed to prevent walking right into Spike by sidestepping with a speed that gave away much information. Feeling a surge of irrepressible anger Spike screamed curses at the figure and slammed his fist into the shadowed face. The vampire's head snapped back and it tumbled to the pavement. The dead creature who had once been a seventeen year old boy knew fear when it saw the rage in the blue eyes that glared through the darkness. He didn't bother to scream or fight back, because he knew there was no chance he would escape. The blows seemed like they would never stop, as fist after fist slammed into the side of his head. When the stake eventually came, it was meet with relief.

Spike stood alone on the corner, shaking with rage and clenching the stake so hard that splinters pierced his skin. And then suddenly, it seemed as if all anger left him. The stake slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly on the pavement. His fists clenched then slackened, and his shoulders drooped forward, as though his energy was spent. Exhausted from the onslaught of emotions and revelations, Spike finally allowed himself to think objectively of the thought that caused his barbaric act against the vampire.

Did he love Buffy enough to give her happiness, if it meant she would never love him back? He struggled with the idea. Spike didn't know if he could give up on her, but a part of him was slowly overruling his selfishness. Once, even last year, he would have ignored her unhappiness and pretended she loved him. These days he knew that he couldn't do it. He didn't need a soul to tell him what he had to do. He already knew.

Spike pivoted on his left foot and stormed back towards the house. His footsteps were silent as he made his way onto the porch. He pushed the back door open with every intention of joining the gang in the living room, but he hesitated when he saw Giles pick up the phone in the hallway. When he heard the name murmured by the Watcher, Spike lifted the kitchen phone gently from its cradle and listened to the conversation.

Giles' voice was hushed. "I'm worried about her."

"Which one?" Angel asked.

"The both of them."

Angel paused for a moment. "What happened?"

"She almost got Buffy killed, Angel. I couldn't stand by and let her hair-brained idea drive Buffy to her death. I got angry, and she left. I need to know if she's okay. Have you seen her?"

"I've seen her," Angel said. His voice was terse and Spike could tell that he was frustrated. "She's…"

"She's what?" Giles pressed.

"She was getting better, Giles. Don't you understand that? Buffy was helping her move on from her past, and now you've sent her away. Do you remember what she was like when she first appeared in Sunnydale?"

Giles drew in a sharp breath. "No, she's not…"

"She is," Angel cut him off. "She's killed almost everything in this town. Vampires, demons… even harmless ones. And she enjoys it."

Silence fell.

"Can you do anything?" Giles' voice was soft and defeated.

"I can't." Angel murmured. "But Buffy can."

"How can Buffy help her? From what I've seen, Faith would rather see Buffy dead than let her help."

"Then open your eyes, old man," Angel snarled into the phone. "As someone who considers himself a Watcher, you've missed the one thing that's going to save both of your Slayers."

The line went dead.

Spike was still holding the phone to his ear when Giles walked into the kitchen. He stopped short, caught by surprise, but then the Watcher sank onto the stool and covered his face with his hands. Spike gently replaced the phone and stared at the weathered old man. Then he began to talk.

To Be Continued…