EDIT: No update- I'm just fixing a few mistakes my wonderful beta Rylee picked out.

I know a huge apology is due for the horrendous delay, but I do have excuses... Many excuses actually, but I don't want to bore you.

I had a few interesting reviews in response to the last chapter, so I'll do an individual answer to each reviewer.

wicked-obsession, unseen-eyes, mythic-lionheart- Thank you for your encouragement!

rma- I don't think I was writing Buffy as a stuck-up brat strutting on moral-highground, but you've made me look twice and I've decided to alter some things. And Faith will not be running back to "Sunnydale with her tail tucked between her legs". I promise.

gij- It's funny you wrote about Spike being the "good guy", because... Well, you better read this chapter, 'coz then you'll see it to. :)

Wolfmon- Thank you! I'm glad to see new reviewers taking the time to read my story.

Creed

Chapter 16

Buffy strolled along the footpath and forced herself to ignore the cemetery as she passed. Old habits died hard, and every time she went by a cemetery she would involuntarily take a step towards it before remembering that she no longer had any reason to. She kept her head down and walked a little faster, pushing away the niggling feeling at the base of her head. The quicker she got home, the quicker she could sleep and claim reprieve from the emptiness that filled her days. It was the only thing she looked forward to now.

She heard giggling and saw a group of young girls round the corner ahead of her. After a quick study she thought they might be around Dawn's age. They were dressed for a party and were playfully trading insults about someone's boyfriend. Buffy wondered whether she should warn them or tell them to make it to the party before the sun set, but they were laughing. Their faces were unlined by premature responsibility and grief. They were living a life without fear, a life free of pain.

She closed her mouth and let them pass.

Buffy had long ago ceased wondering what her life would be like had she not been chosen. Chosen to be the slayer; chosen to kill; chosen to die. When she was sixteen all she had dreamt about was a life without vampires and demons and creatures of the night. After turning seventeen she had finally understood that there was no point to her ponderings and dreams. Then, when she was eighteen, she had given up those dreams and thrown herself headfirst and bitterly into her only life. Being in university had given her a fresh perspective on things and she hadn't minded slaying after studying. And now, when her sixteen-year-old dreams were finally realized, she wanted nothing more than to give them back.

It never ceased to amaze her how much irony ruled her existence. With a grim smile on her lips Buffy glanced to the darkening sky and shook her head. The air felt chilled and she pulled her thin jacket tighter across her chest. She didn't see the upraised section of the path, and her toe collided with it. Her body pitched forward and she threw out her arms to grasp onto something. Her fingers closed around empty air and she hit the ground with a heavy thud. Her palms were grazed and her knees were going to bruise. The sound of giggling reached her and she knew the group of young girls had witnessed her fall.

Buffy shut her eyes and pursed her lips, determined not to let the tears fall. She felt hysterical laughter bubbling inside her. Oh, how the mighty fall, she thought. Once, vampires and fearsome creatures had quailed before her. Now, she lay in the dirt, laughed at by ignorant teenagers who would probably be drained dry before the night ended. A noise escaped her throat, something between a sob and laughter. What the hell had she been reduced to?

She was normal, and she hated it.

Buffy physically ached all the time now. Her energy levels dropped with every missed meal, whereas before she could run on empty and still retain her strength and concentration. She felt tired after five hours of work, and fell asleep every chance she got. She worked out in the basement or behind the magic shop and felt sore and stiff a day or two later. She went for runs and came home hurting and out of breath. Her body had become weak and frail. And Buffy was tired. She was always tired. She was tired mentally, physically and emotionally. She couldn't focus, she couldn't vent her frustrations through physical exertion, and she no longer had the energy to feel.

She pushed herself to her knees and dusted off her top. As she rose to her feet she picked up her bag and continued to walk down the street, forgetting about the giggling girls going in the opposite direction. The monotone beat of her footsteps on the pavement rang through her head and she counted them. One after another they resounded in the quiet dusk, until she reached her house. She stood for a moment, looking up at the daunting building.

When had her life become such a blend of boredom and repeats? It was all the same. It was always the same. Everyday, in and out, she was alone, uninterested and lacking something. There was no living on the edge. She didn't have the belief that each day could be her last, each conversation with her friends and family could be the last, and each moment she lived was no longer another moment she cherished. Lying in bed last night, in the haze of dozing, a thought had struck her.

Did she wish she had died that night on the tower? Did she wish she had taken her last breath, instead of living on in the state she was now? Buffy has never before entertained such dismal thoughts, but now the aching emptiness had consumed her and she couldn't feel the strength to fight on. She had always had some sort of back up, something that would remind her of who she was what she fought for. Now, there was nothing.

Buffy shook herself from her reverie and took a step forward, but a sharp prickling down her spine shocked her into action. She dipped low and dived into the shrubs that rested against the fence, holding her breath. And in that moment, Buffy felt a fear and hope so intense that she knew she would never be the same after it passed. The brief seconds that it took for her heart to skip a beat and her throat to constrict with anticipation were the longest seconds she had ever lived. And then a figure emerged from the shadows and crossed the road with a silent grace that no mere human could possess. Then the figure paused and glanced over its shoulder, and the yellow eyes pierced the grey dusk.

As the vampire slipped back into the shadows Buffy crouched in the dirt behind the shrubs and began to shake. She shook with relief, with happiness, and with a hope that finally allowed the wall she had built around herself to crumble. She thought of all the months of knowing what it was like to be ordinary; what it had been like being weak and tired and frustrated. And then Faith's face flashed through her mind, and she was jerked from her shock and spurred into a state of guilty regret.

Faith had known. Faith had known all along that Buffy was still, and always would be, the Slayer. Buffy hadn't believed her, and Giles hadn't believed her. The gang hadn't even believed her, and they had sent her away. Oh God, Buffy thought. What have we done?

Buffy had found someone who understood her completely, a person who knew what it was like to be the Slayer. Faith knew her secrets and her desires, and shared her fears and needs. Faith was the one person that had seen her for who she truly was when no one else had, not even herself. Buffy knew without a doubt that Faith was the one person she could love without reserve or holding back.

Buffy shot to her feet with the shock of a sudden realization. Faith was the one person she loved without reserve or holding back. Faith was the person she loved. She took one glance at the place where the vampire had disappeared, and without wasting another moment ran into the house.

As she searched for Giles' car keys she thanked whatever deity existed that Xander had the foresight to keep her busy by teaching her to drive. She had barely grabbed the keys from the kitchen bench when she heard a scuffle from the hallway. When she turned around she found Xander, Willow and Giles standing in the door. She glanced anxiously at the backdoor and played with the idea of simply running out, but there was something different about the way they looked at her. Her curiosity was piqued, and she knew she couldn't run out on them without an explanation.

"Go," Xander said quietly.

She startled. "What?"

Willow came forward and pulled her into a hug. "Spike made us see something we'd refused to believe."

"He did what?" This conversation was not what she had expected.

"He went to L.A. and found Faith. Spike spoke to her and then came to us, and we want you to know we're really sorry."

"Sorry?"

Giles nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He dipped his head and reached for his glasses. "We don't know if you're still the Slayer or not. We don't want to give you false hope, but at the moment we'll do anything to see you smile again. Faith loves you, Buffy. And I don't know what you may feel for her, but, uh… We want you to be happy again. If she's what it takes to make you happy, then go get her back."

Buffy stared at her closest friends, no, family, and wondered what she had done to deserve them. Xander came over with his trademark dopey grin and wrapped his big arms around her. "Go get 'er, Buff."

She nodded, wishing that her throat wasn't so constricted with emotion. Glancing up at her Watcher, her mentor, she felt a sudden appreciation for them all and threw her arms around his neck. He stiffened at her unusual display of sentiment, and slowly collected her in his arms. She stepped back and Giles noticed the healthy flush on her cheeks. He couldn't believe he was allowing Buffy to go find Faith and bring her back. Neither could he believe that he had actually listened to Spike, or that he had managed to convince Xander and Willow.

He watched her face flush and her eyes glimmer with a hint of something they had lost a long time ago. Then she was gone, and he heard the noise of an engine revving, and waited until the car had backed down the drive way and sped away before he moved.

"Well, I suppose we can only wait now."

Willow and Xander nodded in unison, and he wondered if they even noticed that their hands were clasped tightly.

Now that Spike was drunk he couldn't see the logic in his match making. He had no idea what stupid reasons had made him help the two bints. He loved Buffy, had loved her for years, and now Faith was moving in on his girl. And he had helped her. When had his pathetic existence hit so low? He had selflessly given up his hopes of finding love with Buffy to ensure her happiness. If he had seen someone else do it a couple of years back he would have killed the guy. Actions like that used to disgust him- maybe because it was something William would have done.

Spike took another long swig to banish thoughts of his long-dead self. Today he was giving up his own happiness for Buffy- tomorrow he'd be a willing sacrifice to save the world. If this keeps up, he thought, I'll become the next Angel -Realizing the direction and truth of his drunken thoughts Spike let out a series of curses and smashed his now-empty bottle of Jack Daniels onto a new grave stone. A shard of glass bounced up and lodged itself in his cheek. With a sudden roar he tore it out and flung it further into the cemetery. He felt the blood dribble onto his chin and fought the temptation to lick it.

He'd rather stake himself now than become a pillock like the nancy-boy. Spike remembered the loathing he felt when he first saw Angel four years ago; a loathing that had only festered as he watched his mentor become putty in the hands of a girl and a slave to guilt. Well, Spike was putty in a girl's hands now, just as Angel had been, but he'd be damned if he let guilt worm its way into him. That just wasn't his way. And neither was this gallant bollocks of playing the Good Samaritan. Helping get rid of demons and vampires was one thing, but turning into a moral stiff like Angel was a completely different story.

Something splashed onto his lower lip and he wiped it away. Blood stained his fingers and he automatically lifted his hand to his mouth. He hesitated.

"Ah, bugger it," he muttered, before licking at the cold fluid on his fingers. It tasted horrible though, and he was suddenly hit with the desire for warm blood. Real blood. Human blood. Spike tried to push that train of thought away. It didn't matter if he wanted to kill again anyway; the chip was still firmly in place and still working. He pulled up suddenly. He hadn't tested the chip in a while. What if it no longer worked?

A moment later the place where Spike had stood was empty, and all that was left was the broken glass scattered on the new grave.

Then a scream pierced the air, only to be abruptly cut off, and once more the night was quiet.

To Be Continued…