Chapter 11: Back to Basics

Buffy prowls through Lake View's fog-filled Cemetery with a wooden stake in her fist and a hunger for violence in her belly. After a rough day at the office - a.k.a the meeting from - Hell, the Slayer is more than ready to show some lurking demons what she's made of. Unfortunately, the only thing infesting these grounds are the two vampires that tagged along with her. A few yards away is Spike, who crouches behind a gravestone with his hand on a dagger. Buffy can see the smallest wisps of crinkly bleach-blonde hair blowing in the wind above the stone that cloaks him. Not too far from him stands Angel, dressed in shadows beside a mausoleum. Buffy notes the music his heavy trench coat makes in the breeze, blowing his cover. It's a good thing those vamps aren't on my hit list because they would've been super-slayed by now. While Buffy, Spike and Angel skulk in the remarkably dead graveyard, Faith and her squad of newbie Slayers are tackling the back entrance. Maybe that's where all the action is, Buffy thinks. She waits a few moments more before loosening out of her Slayer stance and walking towards the two vampires in hiding.

"Are we sure there's a Hellmouth here? What gives?" she complains, her lower lip protruding into a sulky pout. There was a time when Buffy would've loved to take an evening off and curl up in a blanket next to her stuffed-pig, Mr. Gordo. But with the uncertainty of every night in a post-"Wanna be a Slayer" spell world, slaying has quickly become the only constant Buffy has in her life - and she needs it.

Angel emerges from the darkness in response to her voice as Spike simultaneously pops up from his headstone like a groundhog. Buffy finds herself in the middle of their triangle.

"Yeah, this place isn't exactly crawling with vamps. Might have better luck at a shopping center," Angel says sarcastically.

"I did actually have a run-in with a vamp at a mall once," Buffy responds. Angel's eyes perk up at her words, a disbelieving smile creeping up on his face. "True story. Remember the Gorch brothers?

"Oh, yeah," he chuckles. "Those were some … long patrol nights."

The memory of them making out in a graveyard for hours instead of searching for Lyle and Tector Gorch is suddenly taking up shop in their brains. The two of them share an ambiguous smile before clearing their throats. The remembrance of two very different people in a very different time is a strange comfort to Buffy and Angel, whose lives have only gotten more complicated since parting. Watching this strangely sentimental interaction between them go down, Spike is unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wants to hide his feelings, contain them inside his clenched jaw and never breathe a word about them. But the way Buffy's looking at Angel is making Spike want to put his fist through the wall of the crypt even more. He swallows hard and turns to another coping mechanism of his - smoking. Leaning up against the tomb, Spike pulls a loose cigarette out of his leather pocket along with a vintage lighter. He stows it between his pouty lips and lights up the end of it without noticing that Buffy's been watching him.

"Smoking is bad for your lungs. No, seriously. I heard it on TV once," Buffy quips to the bleach-blonde vampire.

"Yeah, I think Will mentioned that. Fortunately for me, I don't breathe. Or care," he shrugs, pulling the smoke into his mouth before exhaling it into Angel's stone-cold face. "What are you staring at, peaches?"

"Nothing, I just forgot you were here until you started talking," Angel replies, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Now, now. I thought couples therapy was working for us," Spike jokes, with subtle contempt on the edge of his speech.

"That's a pleasing image," Buffy says to herself before snapping out of it. "How did you two manage it in L.A. without killing each other?" she asks, twirling the stake in her hand.

Angel and Spike glance at each other and recall every ridiculous fight they've had in the last year - some more violent than others. Images of spilled blood and words than can never be taken back crowd their memories.

"Plain luck," Angel answers her in a huff.

"Well, it's nice to imagine you two working together. Weird and unnatural, but nice."

"I mean, we didn't really work together," Spike chimes in. "If anything, we worked separately, next to each other."

"Yeah, and I wouldn't exactly call what Spike was doing 'work,'" says Angel.

Spike takes another puff of smoke and narrows his eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just … nevermind."

"Say it, you sod."

"It's just … you kinda did the bare minimum. Not exactly an inspiring hero," Angel says with a shrug. Buffy's eyes widen at him.

Uh oh. He pulled the hero card.

In that moment, she realizes that Angel knows exactly what to say to push Spike's buttons - and vice versa.

"You mean I saved lives without brooding?" Spike retorts.

"I think maybe you fought a bit harder when there was someone there to pat you on the back," Angel can't help himself from saying.

Suddenly the three of us out on patrol together sounds like a very bad, no good idea, Buffy thinks.

"Maybe we should split up and continue this incredibly civil conversation later," she suggests, stepping between their huffing chests.

Angel and Spike are about to protest when an ear-splitting howl fills the air and shakes the ground beneath their feet. That sound. Buffy's eyes wander up to the sky and find a glistening full moon staring back at her. Suddenly the graveyard is alive, and ready to give them the fight they long for.

"Werewolf," Buffy mutters, her thoughts racing toward her next move.

"Buggar," Spike says in response, his cigarette still wedged between his lips.

"Tranquilizer. I need a tranquilizer," she concludes, frantically searching for the weapon like it might appear out of thin air. Buffy instinctually looks to the two of them for help.

"I think I saw one in the van," Angel announces in an obsequious voice. "I'll run over and grab it."

"The Big, Strapping Hero," Spike says through gritted teeth, dropping his cig to the ground and stepping on it with the outsole of his boot. "I'll go get it."

"Fine, suit yourself. I'll just stay here with Buffy."

Angel's shift in tone causes Spike to have an immediate change of heart.

"Fat chance. Go fetch the gun, you sod," he says.

Angel scoffs, hovering over Spike's head in an attempt to intimidate him. "You're out of your depth, Spike."

"Oh, is that right?" He mimics Angel's domineering posture.

Another explosive howl rumbles through the graveyard, causing the two vamps to look over and find that the girl of their desire has already left in search of her tranquilizer gun. In the cold silence comes the realization that even when there isn't a hunt at stake, Buffy doesn't have time for their issues with each other - especially the ones that involve her. Spike and Angel exchange a look of irritation with one another before following the wolf's sharp cries.

Across the cemetery, Faith and the Slayers find themselves face-to-face with the manic beast. Its unpredictable movements, razor-sharp teeth and menacing growl are enough to terrify even Faith, who shouts, "You want this? Come and get it!," before running the opposite way. Her heartbeat accelerates as she can feel the werewolf's attention shift to her. It snarls and bolts in the direction of the firecracker Slayer, who then tries to lead it into a crypt to be locked inside.

"C'mon, c'mon," she mutters. Sensing her motives, the werewolf abandons its initial impulse to follow her and springs towards one of the other Slayers. Faith turns herself around to find that the beast has trampled one of the girls to the ground, with her crossbow just out of reach. The young Slayer squirms beneath the wolf's heavy mass, shrieking all the while.

"No, no, no, you little shit!" Faith upbraids while running toward the fight with slayer speed. A few others attempt to restrain the animal without tranquilizer guns and without causing serious bodily harm, as they were taught in training. However, as newbies who don't totally understand their powers yet, they're having some difficulty.

The red scythe in hand, Faith comes to an abrupt stop before the struggling girls and raises her weapon in the air above the werewolf's neck. A voice creeps into her thoughts.

A werewolf is a person 28 days out of the month.

The scythe wavers in her hands as she musters up a response.

Don't kill it.

Faith twists her weapon and knocks the werewolf to the ground with the scythe's flat metal side, releasing the girl from its hold. The young Slayer at her feet is still reeling from the experience. As the werewolf darts off in the other direction, Faith extends a hand to her and says, "You good, Annie?"

"Is it always like this?" she asks, taking her hand and brushing the dirt off of her clothes. Faith doesn't respond; instead, she flashes empathic, ebony eyes at Annie and follows the rest of the rookie Slayers as they chase after the werewolf.

Meanwhile, an exasperated Spike and Angel spare no effort to trace the wooly demon that roams the cemetery.

"You stupid git! It went that way!" Spike barks at him, pointing east with his black nail-polished finger.

"I think I know how to track a werewolf, Spike," Angel grumbles, continuing west.

"Why, because your super-honey is one?" Spike puts his hands on his waist, taunting Angel like it's his God-given right. "Speaking of - shouldn't you be checking on her? Or do you always prefer to leave your girl behind?"

Angel clenches his fists in response to Spike. Before the big battle with the Senior Partners' army, he gave his werewolf girlfriend, Nina, a one-way ticket out of L.A and out of his life. He managed to keep her out of his head too, until now; until Spike.

"She's better off without me," he finally says.

Spike is miffed by his words - especially due to how territorial he was acting with Buffy a few minutes ago.

"And Buffy isn't?"

"She is," Angel sighs deeply. "She's better off without you too," he finishes before turning towards Spike. They look at each other with fiercely dark eyes, centuries of frustration and jealousy flowing through them. Spike suppresses a growl as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his long, leather jacket. He has a chest full of witty responses reserved for his vampire foe - most of them carefully crafted insults. But Spike doesn't use them because he knows Angel's right.

Before the tension between them reaches a breaking point, Angel is tackled to the ground by the werewolf they both had forgotten about. They bare their bumpy foreheads and fangs at each other, wrestling and flipping over a few times on the heavy soil. Spike stands a couple feet away, taking great pleasure in watching the werewolf slobber all over Angel's face.

"Need a hand there?"

"Nope," Angel grumbles. "I got it."

"Suit yourself," Spike says without a nanosecond of hesitation. "Wanker."

Faith and her squad of Slayers find themselves in a circle around the werewolf-vampire pissing contest, exchanging looks of what the hell are we supposed to do? In an extremely timely moment, a hypodermic needle thrusts into the werewolf's back, triggering a low moan and a slow fall to the ground. The group swivels around to find Buffy with her tranquilizer gun.

"Wow, were we so not prepared for werewolves tonight," the Chosen One says, lowering the weapon from her face and revealing a look of relief. Faith walks toward her with crossed arms, as if to cover a scared heartbeat that nobody can see or hear.

"We could really use a weapon with like, multiple settings," she responds to the quippy blonde.

"Like a stake that duals as a tranquilizer gun?" The idea grows on her in the moment. "Wow, I'm getting Xander on that immediately."

Buffy looks over at Spike and Angel, who look ready to stake themselves any minute now. Somehow, someway, they were able to set aside their differences for the greater good when they were in L.A. But the addition of Buffy into their lives has complicated things - and she knows it. She also knows that Angel will be fine; he built a life for himself outside of her; one with the love of other women, a child, a family. Spike, however, is less inclined to let things go and move on. And as hard as it is for her to admit it after all this time, she really doesn't want him to.

The Slayers lift the sedated werewolf over their shoulders and carry it back to the van as Angel and Faith follow behind. Buffy locks eyes with Spike and moves toward him slowly. She waits for the squad to turn into small dots in the distance before opening her mouth, but Spike talks first.

"What, you don't want to take an evening stroll with your sweetie bear?" he says boldly, gesturing to Angel from afar.

"I take it you're upset," Buffy says with a furrowed brow, leaning her side up against a graveyard statue.

"I'm not upset," Spike replies, clearly upset. "I thoroughly enjoyed watching you two lovebirds reminisce about the good old days. Makes a fella feel all warm inside." He rubs over his chest in order to make his point and Buffy watches with pointed eyes.

"It didn't mean anything," she assures him.

"Have I mentioned he wears lifts?"

Buffy rolls her eyes and huffs at Spike. He can tell by the expression on her face that she's gonna try to fix things.

"Spike -"

"No, it's okay," Spike interrupts in a softer voice than before, realizing he might be overreacting. "I'm being …" he stops himself. "You don't have to make it better. You're free to do whatever you like, Slayer."

Slayer. It feels like such a cold nickname for her right now.

"As usual, I don't know what we are or where we stand or what to say," he continues. "Maybe it's best if it stays that way."

Buffy feels now is as good a time as any to bring up something that's been on her mind for days.

"Spike," she starts. "Can you be honest with me about something?"

His eyes soften on hers. He nods slowly.

"What's the real reason you didn't find me after you came back? After you … corporealized or whatever."

"I told you."

"No," Buffy replies with a deep, penetrating gaze that Spike can't hide from. "The real reason."

Spike exhales deeply into the night. He was hoping to not have this conversation in a Cleveland cemetery - or ever.

"There's always been a … question hanging over us. A question I've been too scared to answer. 'Course when the fiery depths of Hell swallowed me whole, I didn't have to. I died for the person … for the world I love, and that was enough." His eyes wander back to hers. "But then I came back. And the question was still there. I knew if I saw you again, I'd have to face it, so I … I didn't. Call me a coward, if ya like." She doesn't laugh - he didn't really expect her to. It's silent for a bit, before he continues. "And now I'm with you again, after so long, and I should be happy, and I am, but … the bloody question it's … it's still there. Hanging over us. Over me."

Buffy struggles to maintain her stoic composure as she looks back into Spike's midnight blue eyes.

"What is it? The question?"

"Do I deserve you?"

"Spike," she repeats more gently than she ever has.

"And as much as I want to … I don't. I know I don't. I'm a fool for even entertaining the idea," he tells her. "You are ... better off without me."

Buffy takes a brief intermission from their conversation to think over his words. She cups her hands together and brings them to her face while Spike watches - terrified.

"I don't know what this is," she finally admits. "What we are … I don't think there's a word for it exactly."

"You don't have to -"

"But what I do know is this: I just spent the last year without your long-winded passionate rants and references to Shakespeare's literary works. And I wouldn't say I was better off. I wouldn't say that at all." Buffy places the palm of her hand on Spike's cheek, her thumb gently grazing the sharpness of his jaw. His eyes fill with surprise as she does this. For a brief moment in time, Spike lets himself give in to her words; bask in the affection she's offering him. But Angel's influence over him is too powerful to stay in that place forever. She's better off without you too.

Pained, Spike gives Buffy a weak smile and drops his gaze to the ground. The spell is broken.

"We should probably go. Doe eyes and the Big Hunk of Nobody Cares will be wondering why we fell behind," says Spike. They both start walking toward the black gate in the distance, passing a variety of headstones on the way. Spike fills the silence by humming I Wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones, which makes Buffy look at him strangely before eventually joining in. Spike's lips curve into a smirk. Since when does she like The Ramones?