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Chapter Thirty-Three

"Glinda..." he murmured, wondering what the hell was up. "What are you doin' here?"

"She's the PTB agent," Reggie explained. "The one who explained everything to me."

Now he was confused. His brow wrinkled as he dropped his hands from Reggie's shoulders. Damn, a lot was hitting him all at once, a lot of damn information and nowhere for it to settle properly.

"Reggie," Tara said, clasping her hands in front of her modern dress as she smiled that calm and sweet smile of hers. "Would you give me a few private moments with your brother?"

"Certainly." She hugged Spike once more. "It'll be alright." And then she turned to go.

"One more thing," Tara said just before his sister opened the door.

"Yes?"

"Please don't say anything to Kit and Lilith just yet. I'll need a while with him."

"What about Buffy? Doesn't she know?"

"Buffy's in her room. I think she'll be there for a while. But yes, she knows." Another smile.

Reggie nodded and slipped out of the room quietly.

"What the hell is goin' on, Glinda?" he asked as soon as his slip of a baby sister was gone. "Since when did you join the all-righteous ranks?"

"Are you hungry?" she asked instead, moving towards the lone table and chairs in his room. "You should enjoy the flavor of human food while it lasts."

He didn't like her changing the subject, but he couldn't say she was wrong. Whatever had been done to him, done to his past self and him, he did feel different. Without much else, he nodded and moved to go ring the bell for a servant.

"None of that," she told him, making him pause and look back at her from where she sat. His brow rose at the small spread of breakfast items on the table before her with drinks and two plates. "Normally I wouldn't abuse my powers this way, but I'd rather not be interrupted. Come," she said next, motioning to the other seat, "take a load off. We have a lot to discuss."

"Like how you got to be in the club with wings?" This he said as he slouched down in the other available chair across from her and began to put things on his plate.

"I died, Spike," she said gently. "If you must know, that's how."

He stilled at that, eyes catching hers—the sadness of her dark greens. But he didn't say anything.

"Warren," she told him, as if that explained it all. She reached for the teapot and poured herself a steaming brew, next mixing in cream and sugar. "He accidentally shot me. Willow... Willow went off the deep end, as you can imagine."

He could very easily, recalling the friction between Tara and Red about the waif of a girl abusing her powers. He hadn't been stupid; acted that way some of the time, but Spike could spot tension a mile away.

"A lot of things went wrong before and after you left. Willow killed Warren. It is a death—along with mine—that weighs heavily on her still. At present—well, our present," she corrected with a gentle smile, "she is in England, training under the guidance of some very experienced witches."

"Right," he murmured, needing to say something.

"The Scoobies are broken. Utterly so. No one more broken than the rest, no one less than the other. Anyway... I shortly after my demise, I was offered a second chance. I could have, if I so chose, move on to the afterlife—peaceful—or I could become a PTB agent and help my family out—all of you. Buffy and you specifically. So... I chose the latter." She paused as she sipped at her tea and then licked her lips. "Does that answer any questions about my new career choice for you?"

"I'm a... m'sorry, Glinda," he muttered. It wasn't his fault, no. He'd had his own shit to deal with. But... Christ.

"It's not your fault. And really... with the way things were going, something had to give. In this instance, it was my life. Willow needed something to shake her out of her ever-growing ego. I... I do not regret being that price."

He nodded before stuffing a bit of egg in his mouth. Damn... she'd been right. It had been while since he'd needed to coat every bloody thing in hot sauce and habanero. The witch was smiling at him as if knowing his thoughts, but he didn't rightly care. He wiped his mouth as he swallowed. "So... what else did you want to talk about, pet?"

"About what happened to you and why Buffy was sent for you. I imagine you have some idea, but I assumed you'd want some clarity. You should also know that while I can do that, that while I can be an ear for you, that what you and Buffy do from here on out—your relationship regardless of whether you decide to mend it not—is your choice and hers."

"Good to know."

"I understand you're angry and why. But I'm not going to urge you to do one thing or another."

"Not gonna tell me to get back with her?"

"Do you want to?"

"Didn't want to before this whole mess started. Just wanted to be decent. Be better. 'Least better than I was—better than I had been before an' after Dru." He washed the taste of salt and yolk down with tea and began cutting up a slice of ham. "Shit... can you magic up some good old hot chocolate?"

"From this era?"

"God, yeah."

Tara grinned wide enough to make her eyes crinkle. And in that moment a tall ceramic mug of warm liquidy brew was on the table.

"Thanks, luv." He grabbed it up and took a long swallow. Not too hot and not cold either. "Damn that's good."

"And what about now? You and Buffy?"

"Think I'd be better without it; think we'd both be better. 'M tired of being hurt, tired of her bein' hurt. Tired of the two of hurtin' each other and reaching for things neither of us can have. Fuckin' can fix a lot, but... not the shit we had on our shoulders long before we became bedfellows."

Tara nodded. "I understand. But... you realize Buffy might not be willing to accept that quite so easily?"

He snorted.

"She will fight for you, William."

"Yeah, and the bloody deepest reaches of Hell will freeze over tonight." He bit off a laugh. "The day she fights for me..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"And if she does?"

He shrugged before taking another long swallow of his mug. "Dunno. Can't do it again, you know? S'not worth the pain, Glinda. For either of us. We can't tear into each other anymore. Can be friends, maybe. But lovers?" He sighed, honestly not knowing. The wounds were still too fresh for him, even with all of William's memories and experiences with her as Dare. Admittedly, he couldn't believe she'd come back and dressed up like a bloke. That took stones. And the sap he'd been as William... he'd fallen for her again, all the wrong parts not included.

The heart wants what it wants.

Thing was, when something was abusive for both parties... sometimes all the love in the world didn't get your through. Sometimes you had to walk away. For yourself; for each other.

"So... fancy tellin' me what's goin' on, Glinda?" he finally asked, pushing his thoughts aside. He didn't want to talk about Buffy anymore, not when he knew that part of his unlife was over.

It had to be.

#

Tara hadn't taken too long to get it all out—the curse with the dijinn, the reason why it had to be Buffy, the reasons why he could go out in daylight and taste human food flavors, how they were getting home. All of it. His brain felt a little overloaded after, but he'd gotten over it, much preferring to be in the loop rather than lost and poking in the dark.

He wasn't mad at any of them. He, as much as Buffy, understood the whole 'end of the world' bollocks. Telling him would have mucked everything up, killing his sisters and many more in the process. But it was a funny thought to Spike; imagine him being the one thing the whole world existing hinged on. Hilarious shit, that was.

But with knowing that it hadn't been the one thing that threw him. No, what threw him was Reg wanting to come back with him—Buffy wanting her to come back with them. He couldn't deny that Reg had never been made for this world, but he also couldn't deny that the thought scared and made him happy all at once. It would take her a while to get used to the twenty-first century without the benefit of growing through it as he did. There was also the fact that Buffy would have to be in charge of her on paper. And that meant being around her a hell of a lot more than he'd really planned. It meant that even if it was hard for them to be friends they'd have to find a way. Because there wasn't a force on hell or earth that was going to stop him from being a part of Reg's life—her acclimation into the modern world. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let the bills keep piling up like they had been if she'd be staying with Buffy. He'd find a way to make her life, Buffy and Dawn's, easier. Whether Buffy wanted it or not. If she was allowed to come, that is. No point poking a hornets nest until he knew for sure.

But first—finally getting dressed.

After Tara departed he'd gone back over to his wardrobe and pulled out a few things. The cravat was out; he didn't give a damn if it made him look like a ruffian. And he wasn't wearing a tie either. Both of 'em choked him something awful.

In the end, he'd settled on a pair of slacks, black leather shoes, the shirt he'd put on before tucked into his slacks, and a vest—waistcoat—in a shade of deep garnet with embroidery stitched into it.

He also didn't give a damn if he were underdressed. Tara had explained that the staff at Kit's place were all demons or in 'the know' and therefore wouldn't be entirely put off by the way he acted. It was why Fredrick and his sister's maids had been left at home and replaced with others for their time in the country. He still hadn't felt up to ringing for someone to dress him. Not when he wasn't bothering with any of the trappings. He didn't even bother slicking his hair with oil, still wishing he had the gel.

He'd go without, deciding it wasn't often he let his curls fall where they may.

When he finally made it out into the hallway and out of his room all was silent. He actually didn't know where he wanted to go, but he had needed to get out of his room. Lily... he still hadn't seen Lily yet. Or his nephew. It was as good an idea any. He'd missed them both terribly.

As he rounded a corner, however, he found himself running into someone. "Sorry," he began, thinking it was a servant, and placed his hand on their shoulders to steady them as they fell. But then something burned, shot straight through him. He looked up and pulled away, jerking, as he met a hazel-green gaze.

Buffy.

"Slayer," he murmured.

She didn't step back though, pull away from him as if she couldn't get away from him quickly enough. Rather, her eyes softened at the sight of him—pained. Her lips parted to say something, but then she shut them before scratching the back of her head.

And for a moment he looked at her, really looked at her.

Memories of all those moments with Dare—with her as someone else, as someone else while he'd been William—assailed him. Kisses in the middle of the night, soft words, the way she'd clung to him when he'd crawled into bed with her after his mother's death, the way she'd worn black despite not needing to—something that had meant more than anything thing else during their tryst to William. To... him. He also couldn't help the way he recalled her on her knees in the carriage, begging him—of all bloody things—begging him to make love to him with her mouth. Like she hadn't been able to breathe without him, without feeling him...

"I love you..."

His heart choked on it, twisted at the effect she always had on him—to turn him to a pile of useless broken pieces waiting for her to assemble, to love in return.

And hell if she didn't look fucking amazing in men's clothes too. She'd always been cute as a button and sexier than hell in short skirts and leather boots. But there was something perversely alluring about her crossdressing. Something that should have not been perversely alluring to him. At all. And he blamed it on sentiment. On William. William had fallen for Dare, for a man that didn't exist. And this image of her...

"Hi..." she finally said, straightening. "I was just coming back from breakfast. Have you eaten?"

"Uh... yeah. In my room." Because he wasn't going to stand there like an idiot without enough sense to speak.

"Lily and Reg are still downstairs. Kit too. I don't think they're done eating if you want to see them though. I ah... I was thinking of going for a walk. Or maybe the library." He watched as she rubbed at her arm before brushing short strands of her hair out of her eyes. He liked that too. The short hair half falling into her eyes. He'd always been with women who had long locks of hair falling over their shoulders like a cascade. Buffy's had been short before, but not like this.

He nodded. "I'll ah... I'll head out then, Slayer." He moved to step around her, but stilled unnaturally to a stop as she reached for his arm and barely tugged on his sleeve—like she couldn't bear for him to go.

"I... I missed you," she finally said, the words whispered. "I really... I really missed you, Spike." He heard her breathe in slowly as she looked down. "A lot..."

They were words that made his heart constrict and fire rush through his veins. He wanted to grab her, hold her, pour all that he was into her the same way she'd done to him—the way she'd never let him do to her before.

But he couldn't.

"We can't do this again, Buffy," he said softly, finally voicing the words he'd been playing in his mind over and over again since Tara had disappeared from his room.

He could feel her gaze on him, but he didn't look at her. Instead, he shut his eyes, asking for strength. "I appreciate you coming back for me, luv—for doin' your duty. All of it. Don't hate you, if that's what worries you. But... Can't do it again."

"Spike..."

He forced himself to remain resolute. "We tried, didn't we, luv? Gave it a shot. 'M tired of us hurting each other so bad we bleed-weep for days on end. Tired of being a doormat. Tired of... tired of hating myself."

She was quiet for a while, her fingers sliding down his arm until hers fell to her side—lifeless. "You... you don't love me anymore..." She said hollowly.

He barked laughter, unable to keep himself from doing so—bitter with it while everything within him, as usual, screamed to ease her hurt. "Still love you," he said honestly. "Gotta learn how to stop." And then he walked away finally, unwilling to trust his natural instincts if she started crying right there in the middle of the hallway.

AN :: Is it just me, or is this all a little too Brokeback Mountain there at the end? ^,^;; I've never actually seen that movie; which is weird for me. I should. Eventually.

At any rate!

I apologize for making you wait. Primarily, I stopped because I was overworked, depressed, and getting tired of school. Still am, on that last bit. I've also been trying to get one of my original works done so I can actually get something new published this year. Again, I apologize and hope you enjoyed the update. (I realize it's short and will do my best to squeeze another out soonly.)

—Blade