A/N: Sorry these chapters are coming along really slowly, having some trouble deciding how to connect all the planned scenes and plot points together. Still unsure just how much I want to get inside each character's head too, so feel free to let me know if you think I should spend more time on someone.

VIII. Heart Shaped Box

Buffy slowly opened her eyes to distantly stare upward at the ceiling of her bedroom without really seeing it, shivering and hugging the blankets to herself at the odd feeling of intense coldness that fell over her as she awoke. The impact of her resurrection was finally fully sinking in after the confusion of last night, and it felt like some very important part of her had been left behind somehow when she'd been brought back to life. Not whole. Despite feeling the strong and steady beating of her heart inside her chest, she didn't feel as though she was actually alive at all, just a pale imitation of herself, a hollow shell of a person that could no longer feel. The fire had gone, leaving her frozen over.

She wasn't entirely sure just how long she lied there before finally dazedly making herself get out of bed to check the time. It was late afternoon already, almost evening. The others would probably be showing up for patrol soon, expecting her to join them, wanting to talk to her. She didn't want to talk to any of them. Numbly, she went through the motions of getting dressed, not bothering to fuss over what to wear and just grabbing what was convenient. Maybe if she left before anyone else showed up, she wouldn't have to spend time around them.

Dawn was downstairs watching television, and she turned to give a bright-eyed joyful look to her sister when she saw her descending the stairs. "Hey, you're awake!" she addressed Buffy enthusiastically, hopping up from the couch to walk over to her.

"Yeah," Buffy responded flatly, slowly looking around to see if anyone else was there and feeling at least a bit relieved that Dawn seemed to be the only one home at the moment.

Dawn stopped short next to her and gave her a confused and worried look. "Are you okay? Buffy? Is something wrong?"

Buffy shook her head in response, though her eyes were dead, staring at some point far away. She didn't even react at first when Dawn then hugged her tightly in attempt to comfort her, continuing to simply stand there for a moment before finally awkwardly returning the hug, upset that she couldn't seem to feel anything at the gesture of affection. The connection was there, but the emotion she knew she was supposed to feel seemed slightly out of her reach.

Uncomfortable with her sister's uncharacteristic silence, Dawn spoke up again an almost overly bright and friendly tone to try to lift the mood, "Tara made food earlier. We saved some for you." When she didn't receive a response right away, she began to gently guide Buffy by the arm in the direction of the kitchen, adding cheerfully, "It's really good!"

"Okay," was all Buffy could think to say in response, letting herself be led along. She almost felt like a stranger in her own home after having been away from this place for so long. It was a bizarre and unsettling feeling.

"Tara and Willow took care of me while you...uh...while...you were...gone," Dawn continued awkwardly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence with random chatter as she helpfully brought Buffy over toward a seat at the table. "Spike, too. He stayed with me and kept me safe. He said he promised you he'd never let me get hurt." Her face fell a bit and her cheerfulness faltered somewhat for a moment as she continued, "He never came back last night, though...I hope he's okay."

A memory surfaced in the Slayer's mind at that—the night before the world nearly ended, Spike standing in the doorway, the intense emotions that played across his face when she'd allowed him across the threshold once more. She'd told him she was counting on him to look out for her sister, to protect her, and somehow she'd had faith that he would. Apparently he'd kept his word even when she wasn't alive to see it, when he'd had no chance of impressing her and nothing to gain from it. She really wasn't sure just what to think of that, and the very thought of a soulless demon doing something truly selfless unnerved her greatly. It wasn't supposed to work that way. Vampires were supposed to be evil. But...why had she put that much trust in him at all, then?

Shaking herself out of that unsettling train of thought, she assured her sister, "I saw him last night. He...walked me home." That didn't sound right somehow, and she wasn't sure why. "He's fine. I mean, this is Spike we're talking about. He has that annoying habit of not dying." She gave a halfhearted laugh at her attempted humour, then suddenly sobered again when she belatedly registered something odd about Dawn's wording. "Wait...Spike...was staying here?"

"Yeah," Dawn replied as she retrieved some leftovers from the fridge and moved them to the microwave to reheat. She glanced over her shoulder at the strange look on Buffy's face and asked sheepishly, "You're not mad about that, are you?"

Buffy was quiet for some time, considering it. "I...don't know. I guess it's okay...since he...kept you safe." Those words were awkward to say. Spike selflessly looking out for anybody just didn't seem like something that could happen, and that electronic muzzle of his still didn't exactly make him safe to be around, since it only held him back from directly physically attacking people. She'd seen for herself that the defanged vampire could still be dangerous. She shook her head, scowling a bit, and said firmly, "I don't want him staying here anymore, though."

Dawn looked disappointed and a bit sad at that, but nodded reluctantly. "I guess he moved back to that creepy graveyard place anyway, since he didn't come back here." She retrieved the food from the microwave and set out plates for herself and her sister, sitting down next to her quietly and watching Buffy absently pick at it with a sort of detached disinterest.

"See, isn't Tara a great cook?" Dawn broke the silence again after awhile with a somewhat forced smile.

Buffy nodded distractedly in response, though for some reason the food tasted bland to her. That numbness just seemed to surround her, smothering anything that tried to break through it. It almost seemed like a chore to eat, another lackluster aspect of this life she'd been returned to, something she simply had to do that held no meaning. Her hand moved the fork from the plate to her mouth in an almost robotic manner, just wanting to get this done with so that she could leave the house. She glanced over at the windows and the darkening sky she could see through them, finding it strange that the only activity that actually appealed to her was slaying.

Finishing, she stood up from the table, picking up both now-empty plates and taking them to the dishwasher. "I'm gonna go patrol," she told her sister, then clarified decisively, "By myself. I...need some time alone, okay?"

Dawn gave her a concerned and uncertain look, seeming as though she wanted to disagree with that, but then consented softly, "Okay." She was quiet for awhile longer, then stood up and hugged her sister again. "See if Spike is alright for me while you're out?" she added hopefully after a moment, her wide blue eyes looking into Buffy's imploringly.

Buffy sighed slightly, then nodded. "Alright. I'm sure I'll see him even if I'm not looking for him," she muttered ruefully.

A short time later, the Slayer walked out into the night, feeling eerily more at home out under the night sky than inside her own house. She wandered around a bit, scanning and re-memorising the area and the locations of the graveyards, recalling her old haunts. The memories of going to these places were from long ago for her, but they surfaced surprisingly easily as she let her mind slip into slaying mode. Muscle memory told her exactly how to fight the vampires she encountered, never faltering or slipping up as she dusted them effortlessly. Somehow she felt not even a day out of practice at it, despite how long she'd been gone. That thought confused her, but she pushed it aside.

As she made her rounds, one of the graveyards she walked through filled her with an odd feeling and sent a shiver up her spine. Pausing and looking around, she identified why—this was where Spike's crypt was, and where she'd run into him countless times on patrol. She wasn't sure what exactly it made her feel to be here, maybe many things all at once, conflicting and confusing. For a moment, she considered not even going through there to avoid encountering the blonde vampire, yet at the same time she found herself wandering almost against her will towards his crypt, not even sure why she was doing it. She oddly both wanted to avoid him and really wanted to talk to him.

Making up her mind, she shoved open the door to the crypt and slowly walked inside.

Spike was sprawled out haphazardly on his back on the worn sofa in front of the television, out cold, one arm dangling off the side and loosely gripping a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. Several more, empty, were lying on the floor nearby. The whole place was a mess, really; various bottles, including some broken ones, cigarette butts, and other assorted bits of rubbish were scattered about everywhere. The television had been left on when he'd presumably fallen asleep in front of it, and some inane soppy drama was playing out on it.

As for the vampire himself...well, he was as much a wreck as his surroundings, Buffy noticed as she looked over his unconscious form with a sort of morbid curiosity. She'd seen him last night, sure, but she hadn't gotten this good of a look at him, and she shuddered involuntarily at the clear sight of how very unhealthily thin he was. His platinum hair was sort of tousled rather than being properly gelled back, his sharp cheekbones stood out starkly in a gaunt manner, and his eyes had such dark circles under them that they almost looked bruised against his eerily pale skin. He looked terrible.

Buffy quickly shook her head as if to shake off the concern that had started to find its way in, hardening her heart and refusing to feel sympathy for him. He was a vampire. A monster. It didn't matter.

Feeling a bit annoyed at her thoughts and frustrated that he was unresponsive, she approached him and leant closer to him briefly to address him in a deliberately too-loud voice, "HEY! Wakey wakey!"

Predictably and much to her amusement, Spike groaned at the volume of her voice as he stirred, bringing the hand not holding the bottle to his head. "Oww...bloody hell, not so loud..." he mumbled, remaining slouched bonelessly as he scrubbed his hand over his face, barely awake and clearly nursing a hangover. He opened his eyes slightly for a moment to glance over at Buffy before closing them again, adding groggily, " 'Lo, Slayer."

Buffy shook her head at him in slight disbelief, unable to keep from smirking slightly at just how low the supposed 'Big Bad' had sunk. At least his misery distracted her from her own a bit. "Wow. What's with the whole drowning in alcohol thing you got going here? Gotta say...not one of your best moments."

Spike clumsily tried to reach over to shut off the television...and ended up falling off the sofa in the process, almost spilling the bottle in his hand before carefully setting it aside and finally managing to turn the telly off. Looking embarrassed and indignant at the Slayer having witnessed this, he dusted himself off and attempted to act cool and casual whilst climbing back up onto the sofa. "What, a bloke can't 'ave a drink now 'n then?" he finally replied a tad defensively, trying to play it off as the most natural thing in the world despite his bleariness.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the awkward scene. "Right, and you had just one," she remarked incredulously. "Anyway, Dawn was asking about you, wanted to know if you were okay. Told her I'd stop by and check on you for her."

Spike's expression softened at that, and affection shined in his half-open eyes, along with a tad of regret. "Li'l Bit...she alright?" he asked softly. "Di'n't mean to jus' leave 'er like that, but..."

Buffy had forgotten just how incredibly expressive the vampire could be sometimes, though she tried to dismiss this observation as soon as she thought it. He had no soul. He wasn't supposed to feel. That thought distracted her for a moment, bothering her with the fact that she was the one unable to feel, and that tinged her voice with a bit of sadness as she said, "No, I get why you left. Dawn misses you though." She looked down, avoiding looking at him. "So, you were there for her when I was...gone?"

"Yeah. Promised, after all, didn't I?" Spike replied, tilting his head slightly to study the Slayer as he tried to wake up fully. Taking in the look on her face and her body language, he gradually realised she'd come here for another reason. Shifting his position on the sofa to make room for her, he nodded toward the cushion next to him and suggested gently, " 'Ave a seat, pet?"

Buffy hesitated, considering. Spike always seemed to have a talent for reading people, as infuriating as it was sometimes, and he seemed to know that she needed to talk to someone. With a slight sigh, she took the proffered seat, glancing suspiciously at the vampire to make sure he was going to keep his hands to himself and not try anything. When he just looked at her as though waiting for her to talk, she relaxed a bit and settled in.

After sitting in silence for a moment, Spike spoke up again, "What's on your mind, Slayer?" Damn, that perceptive thing again.

Buffy stared down at the floor, unsure if she wanted to share her thoughts. "I'm fine, all...alive and stuff, y'know?" she replied awkwardly. She glanced sidelong at Spike briefly, increasingly aware he seemed to see right through her, and turned her eyes downwards again uncertainly. "Just...nothing feels right. I feel like something's missing...and it hurts." When she turned her eyes upwards again to look at him, there were tears in them. "It's weird, but...you aren't forcing me to be or do anything, so I feel like you're the only person I can talk to about this."

That certainly wasn't something Spike ever expected to hear. He would never have dreamt that the Slayer would actually trust him enough to confide in him about anything. "You can always talk to me...if you're in pain...or you need summin, y'know?" he told her when he recovered from the shock. He gazed at her awhile, affectionate and concerned. "Anything I can do, love?"

Buffy shook her head, closing her eyes. "You can't help. Not with this."

Spike looked at the Slayer sadly, unsure what to say. The silence stretched out for some time, then he ventured, "It'll jus' take time, pet...gettin' used to things again. Nobody expects ya to be all sunshine 'n kittens if you've been trapped in some Hell dimension or—"

"I was happy," Buffy interrupted him suddenly without looking at him, trying not to cry.

He looked at her in confusion, having a sinking feeling that he'd completely misjudged the cause of her pain. "You...what...?"

"Wherever I was, it wasn't Hell. I was at peace there. It was bright and warm and beautiful, and I had no worries anymore. Everything was complete, and I felt so loved. I was so happy." She hung her head and closed her eyes as tears began to flow, her voice faltering as she finished, "I...I think I was in Heaven. And...now I'm not."

Spike was completely stunned by the Slayer's confession, utterly at a loss for what to say. " 'M sorry," he told her quietly, blinking back his own tears.

She slouched and hugged her knees to herself, then went on to say, "My...'friends'...they tore me out of there. I lost all of that...what I had. I don't want to be here. It hurts here. This is Hell, where I am now."

Spike gazed at her sadly for a long time, speechless. Very cautiously, wary of retaliation for the action, he gently placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, but allowed the contact.

"Don't tell them...the others...about where I was, what happened," she told him very quietly. "They can't know about this. Never."

"Won't tell," he promised her solemnly.

She relaxed somewhat at that, though she was unsure why she felt so safe in trusting a vampire yet again. For some reason, she kept believing in Spike to honour his promises. He had so far, though she couldn't understand his motivation for it, what he gained from it. It didn't make sense. Looking at him as she brushed the tears from her eyes self-consciously, she took in his appearance again, how sick and broken he seemed. It was as if he was depressed, and had been for some time...or at least, that's what she would think if he were human, but vampires weren't supposed to be able to be like that. Why did Spike have to keep breaking the rules?

"Well...uh...slaying time," Buffy finally spoke up nervously, standing from her seat. "Got...things to do."

Spike nodded in response and didn't protest as he watched her leave, letting her have her space. He wanted badly for her to stay, he wanted to comfort her and make this better somehow, but there was just nothing he could say or do right now. In spite of the hopelessness of his feelings, he loved her, and he wanted her to be able to be happy. He couldn't help ease her pain...and it hurt to see her suffering. His heart ached for her.

As the Slayer exited the crypt and left his sight, Spike sighed heavily, then reached for that bottle of whiskey he'd set aside and started knocking it back.