Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 31 – The Heart of the Matter


Hyperion Hotel – Cordelia's Room

Late morning – After breakfast


"C'mon, Cordy, you've gotta start eating something," Xander gently cajoled as he sat on the bed alongside a rather morose, depressed-looking Cordelia.

It felt like it had been an eternity since Cordelia had eaten anything properly.

She had been awake, alive and parasite/Evil Power That Be-free for about two days now, and while her memories, free will and her old strength had basically returned, much else had not. Like her peace of mind. Her once-free spirit. Her sense of self. Her willingness to face the reality of what happened to her. At several points, she started to think, maybe even her will to go on.

Add that to the fact that her appetite had simply disappeared, and it was all Cordelia could do to keep from falling apart, led alone feel like she was up to the challenge of stopping another major apocalypse on the horizon. And despite Xander's best attempts, even he had been having trouble lifting her spirits this morning. The weight of one terrible night…and many others that preceded it when the Beastmaster and Jasmine decided to take her body on a genocidal joyride through L.A…still wore heavily on the Seer's troubled soul, and it was going to take a lot more than just the offering of pancakes, a bagel with grape jelly and orange juice—which Xander had left next to them on the nightstand in a futile attempt to get Cordelia eating—to snap her back to life.

The brunette stunner despondently shook her head. "Eating would only keep me alive, and frankly, the jury's still out on how I feel about that right now."

Xander frowned, displeased. "Hey, c'mon. Don't talk like that, Cordy. You're gonna get through this. One day at a time."

Cordelia could only scoff at that, her downcast eyes staring a hole into the floor. "Right. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. All sounds great…except every time I try to, I lose my balance and I end up right back on my ass. Not getting back up? Kinda starting to see the benefits of that."

Xander looked at her, sadly. "I know you don't mean that," he uttered softly.

Now it was her turn to frown as she turned to look at him. "Don't I, Xander? Come on, look at what happens every time I try to do something. Tried to be the center of attention in high school, got one-upped by a little back-flipping blonde chick with a stake, and that was before the IRS took all my family's money. Tried to be an actress, couldn't even get a stinking callback. Tried to be a hero, ended up jumpstarting Arma-freaking-ggedon, which, apparently, will be arriving just in time to cancel summer vacation plans for, oh, I don't know…everyone."

She sighed heavily as she returned her solemn gaze to the floor, shaking her head, discouraged. "Every time I try, I suck. I screw it all up. What's the point? Why even bother? Why waste my time?" Her voice became quieter as her eyes brimmed with tears. "What's the point in getting back up if you know that you're gonna just get knocked back down again?

Though he was squeezing her shoulder encouragingly, Xander was so taken aback at Cordelia's bleak outlook that for a moment, he didn't know what to say.

And then a voice answered her question. "To show whoever's doing the knocking down that you're still gonna get back up. That you'll never stay down. Sometimes, that's the only point that matters."

Startled, both Sunnydale High alumns looked up to see Angel, hovering in the doorway, a small, encouraging smile on his face. While Cordelia momentarily brightened at the sight of her best friend/boss, Xander was rather taken aback. In all the years he'd known Angel, not once had the vampire been one to smile, led alone offer helpful advice.

It kinda creeped him out a little…but in the end, Xander was at least somewhat grateful that the undead detective could lend a hand to Cordelia in her time of need.

"Hey," Angel greeted, his eyes locked on the pretty, crestfallen Seer.

Hastily wiping at her eyes, Cordelia flashed a pleasant smile, not wanting Angel to worry about her despite her downhearted state of mind. "Hey, boss."

He let his gaze roam to Xander, asking a polite, quiet request. "Xander, could you…can you give us a minute?"

For a moment, Xander felt the embers of long-forgotten jealousy towards the handsome, dark-haired vampire flare within his chest. He had thought that those feelings had been long put behind him and buried with the rest of Sunnydale High School years ago; after all, he was no longer that awkward boy he once was when he darted envious glares towards Angel whenever he was around Buffy. Despite the golden-haired Slayer's enchanting beauty, he no longer viewed Buffy that way anymore, and he had long since moved on with other romantic pursuits in his life. Yet he also knew that Cordelia and Angel had formed a very strong bond over the last three-plus years fighting evil in L.A., something that would have bothered him a lot less if this was, oh, a few weeks ago.

Still, he knew it wasn't his place to decide whether or not to comply with this request. Wordlessly, he looked to Cordelia for her answer. With a sigh, she nodded, and Xander took that as his cue to exit.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he told her, to which she gratefully smiled. At that, Xander looked to Angel once, nodded briefly and, biting hard on his tongue to prevent any of his normally flippant remarks towards the vampire, left without another word, telling himself all the while that he was not jealous.

Wordlessly, Angel made his way to the bed, sitting alongside his solemn-looking Seer. It didn't take being a detective for him to see that Cordelia was not herself. The normal dazzle and spark that her warm brown eyes normally held was all but gone, the redness around her eyes indicating that either she'd been crying recently or that she hadn't slept in days…perhaps both. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap as she let her gaze fall to them, another out-of-character thing for her. Cordelia was normally so confident that the first thing she would do was look another person straight in the eye, without a flinch or falter. Now, it was as if she wanted to look anywhere but into Angel's eyes, and that thought hurt him. It was almost exactly like how he had felt for more than a century after being cursed with the weight of all his terrible crimes. His best friend, his emotional rock, was dangerously close to falling apart, and he knew it. Even with the support of all of her friends behind her, Angel was wise enough to know that Cordelia alone was the one who had to climb her way out of her emotional abyss.

The only he could offer her at this moment, was a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on, if need be. But that wasn't what she needed, either. No, Angel knew what she needed. It was the same thing Whistler offered him years ago: motivation.

"If you're here to give me a ticket to the 'It's Not Your Fault' Express, that train's long left the station," Cordelia sighed, morosely.

"Nope," Angel replied, quietly. "Not much sense in that." Off her visible surprise, the handsome vampire continued. "What am I going to tell you that you haven't already heard? Can't tell you that it's not your fault because you won't believe it, and in the end, you're really the only person that matters in that opinion. Can't tell you not to blame yourself because clearly you do. Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or says, whether they absolve you or blame you. Because the think you blame yourself for is still there. Still eats at you when you eat, every time you sleep, every time you breathe, every time you're still on this earth. It's still inside you…and it will never go away. Ever."

His frank, soft-spoken words chilled Cordelia to the core. Mostly, because it was true. That was exactly how she felt. It didn't matter how many times that Xander or Buffy or Fred and the others had assured her that she wasn't at fault for what had happened and what was happening now. In the end, it didn't make her hands feel any less blood-stained. It didn't make her feel any less…tainted. Dirty. Worthless. Awful.

Is this what it feels like to be Angel? She couldn't help but wonder that as she stared at the ensouled immortal sitting next to her.

"How do you do this?" she said, her voice almost a hush, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "It feels like I'm being…like I'm being torn apart from the inside out. And it hurts. God, it hurts so much. How do you do this every day, Angel? How can you stand it?"

"Because I have to," Angel replied simply, the quiet strain in his voice, the haunted look in his eyes echoing an ancient pain that he had never really put to rest. "Because I have people counting on me. And because I have a chance to take that pain, that hurt, and channel it, do something good with it." He smiled at her. "Just like you do."

A bitter chuckle escaped her throat as she looked away. "Yeah, sorry, but the way I'm feeling, I wouldn't exactly bet on me to step up to the plate and swing for the fences, boss. I'm not even sure I remember how to pick up a bat."

"Then start with a single," he replied, almost bluntly, surprising her once again. "And if that doesn't work, bunt. Get hit by a pitch, crowd the plate, draw a walk, do whatever you have to do to get that man on third home. It's never easy. It's not supposed to be. Cordelia, believe me, nobody knows what you're going through better than me. What you're blaming yourself for over the last few months? Spread that out over nearly two centuries, add about a hundred years of guilt, torment, self-loathing and endless remorse and you've got me in a nutshell. There isn't a day that doesn't go by when I don't feel the weight of what I did. But I don't let that stop me from doing what I need to do. What I have to."

Anger began to flare in Cordelia, who didn't like where this was going. "Hate to break it to you, Dr. Phil, but unlike you, there's no shiny happy prophecy waiting for me at the end of the rainbow when I pile up all my checks in the 'Good' column. All there is for me is just the rest of my life to remember just how badly I screwed up-"

"The hell with the prophecy," Angel retorted, his suddenly hard voice interrupting her. Ignoring the wide-eyed stare she gave him, he continued. "After the last one came about telling me that I was going to kill my son-which turned out lousy, by the way-I'm not really putting much stock into what a bunch of dead guys said centuries ago when they were probably high on opium. That's not what I believe in. You want to know what I believe in? I believe in Cordelia Chase."

Stifling a gasp that threatened to escape her lips, though she took in a sharp intake of breath, Cordelia had to fight not to flinch at the intensity, the sheer honesty in the older man's eyes. "I believe in the girl who picked herself up by her bootstraps after she lost everything and made a life for herself. I believe in the woman who worked long and hard training and fighting by my side to make herself a hero, to save people's lives. I believe in the woman who's been there for me through good times and bad, through thick and thin, who's seen me at my best and my worst." A beat. "And that includes hearing me sing Barry Manilow."

Cordelia couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped her throat at that, finding herself both hating Angel and adoring him for piercing through the thick armor of her self-loathing, if even for a moment. Smiling at her infectious laugh, Angel continued. "I've seen how much you've grown these past few years. How strong you've become. Inside and out. And I'll tell you this—there's few people I'd trust more to watch my back, to be by my side. I know you, Cordelia. Better than you do. And the Cordelia Chase I know? I'd be a fool to bet against her. Because she's one of the toughest, bravest people I've ever known. And at my age? That's a lot of people."

At that, Cordelia's smile was uncontainable, the pretty brunette shaking her head. It had felt like it had been forever since she had any kind of will to even go on, but something about Angel's speech stirred a sense of spirit inside her, something that was now only ready, but willing to stand back up and take a swing at the life that had just knocked her down. Gratefully, she placed her hand on Angel's lap, a simple act of friendship, of camaraderie they had exchanged over the years as times grew more difficult, more perilous.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Angel's famous half-smile was his response. "Hey, it's what frie…what I'm here for."

Mentally, Angel cursed himself as he stumbled on that word that almost came out as "friends." There really hadn't been a conversation yet between Cordelia and him about exactly where they stood. Even though he knew where his heart lay now with Buffy back in the picture—which was both soothing and miserable for him when he pondered the deeper implications of resurrecting their relationship—he wasn't sure if this was the time or the place to clear the air between them over…whatever it was that had grown between them over the last year.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that Cordelia took the initiative there. After all, being bold was one of her best traits. "Friends, Angel. It's okay to say it," she replied with a small chuckle in that same gentle voice. "Friends, as in, that's what we've always been. And all we'll ever be."

Angel looked at her sympathetically at that. "Cordy…"

"Hey, it's fine. I'm good with it. I mean, let's face it, Angel. Even if wasn't for the fact that the love of your life is back under the same roof as you…" Angel looked torn as he wanted to interject at that, but Cordelia shook her head as she continued. "Don't even try to deny it, Big Fella. I see the way you've been looking at Buffy. Hell, deep down, I was a little surprised it took the two of you this long to get over the whole 'Woe-Is-Me-We're-Too-Different-I'm-Cursed-You're-Human-I'm Not' crap and just friggin' go for it. Besides, I think it's safe to say that…whatever it was…that was happening between us wasn't exactly super-solid. I mean, we couldn't even get ourselves to say 'I love you' to each other, for God's sake. And really, after everything that happened with Jasmine pulling as many strings as she did, I'm not exactly sure either of us could be trusted with anything we said or did in the last few months." A bitter look came across her flawless features as her eyes looked away. "I know I sure as hell couldn't be."

Cordelia's words left the heroic immortal speechless for a moment. It was hard to argue with her there. Granted, it would have been easy to fall for Cordelia. She was sexy, strong, loyal and dependable; many times over the last few years in Los Angeles, it was only her friendship and her undying faith in him that helped keep Angel together during some of his darkest times. In the black, stormy waters that were his city, his fight, she was his rock, the thing that helped keep him from going under. Pursuing a romantic connection with her would have been easy, safe, maybe even smart.

But if there was one thing that Angel had learned from his time in Sunnydale, it was this-you can't love with your brain. You can only love with your heart. And Angel gave his heart away a long time ago. To the small blonde warrior with the endless courage and big open heart that guarded that town's Hellmouth.

And that, he realized bitterly, was the damnable misery of it all; to love someone that he couldn't be with, that he could never keep safe, because he was what he was. A demon. A monster. Killer. Vampire.

Shaking those dark thoughts from his head, Angel looked at Cordelia once more. "You know…it would have been really easy to fall for you, Cordy."

Blushing a becoming pink that contrasted in a lovely way with her tanned skin, she smiled sadly at the vampire opposite her. "Likewise. I mean, not that you can look in a mirror, but in case you haven't noticed, you are pretty Hunk-alicious." Her smile fell as she grew more serious. "But love's not about the easy way. And it's never been like you to pick the easy way. Believe me, after three and a half years of seeing your ups, downs and everywhere else in between, I know that firsthand."

"But, do me a favor, Angel," Cordelia said earnestly, taking his large hand into her warm palm. "Just this once, just stop with the excuses. Stop with the self-loathing, the pretexts and the apologies and the alphabetical listing of every reason why you shouldn't be happy and just…go for it. If that means being with Buffy, then just friggin' do it, you know? I mean, who knows how many more chances you'll have to be happy?"

Angel looked away, miserably. "Me and happiness don't go well together, Cordy. You know that better than most."

"Neither do you and karaoke, but you still belt out tunes to Lorne if it means saving a life!" Cordelia blurted out, almost exasperated. Off his startled gaze, she softened her tone. "Angel, the girl died twice, you got sent to Hell and then tossed to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and here you are, still looking for reasons why you two shouldn't be together. Hate to break it to you, buster, but if you think you have all the time in the world just because you're immortal, you're dead wrong. So stop convincing yourself into thinking that you don't deserve happiness, because you do. You deserve it more than anyone else I know. Take your chance. It's yours to take."

She could see Angel taking in her words, mulling them over, but she wasn't sure if any of it was sinking in. God help her, she adored him, but there were just times were she wanted to smack him for being so dense. She knew she had often made fun of the tortured, angst-ridden relationship between Angel and Buffy, but deep down, she acknowledged she would have given much to experience what those two shared. She had seen how much the souled vampire and the feisty blonde Slayer had meant to each other, seen how they had looked at each other, as if they could stare into their hearts, their very souls with but a glance. Such emotion, such passion…it must have been amazing. And Cordelia had to admit that she would have given much to have someone look at her the way Angel looked at Buffy.

Cordelia was almost grateful for Angel's none-too-subtle segue from this conversation as his eyes ticked to the open briefcase where the Keystone lay. "So, uh, what's that doing here?"

Sighing, Cordelia picked up the long, flawless sliver of crystal. "Oh, uh…just got a weird vibe from it last night."

Angel's brow furrowed at that. "Vision-weird?"

"No, nothing like that," Cordelia shook her head. "Just thought it looked familiar. I saw a lot of things back in the Higher Planes over the summer. Thought it could jog a memory or two, but nothing so far." She cocked her head as she eyed the stone. "Hard to believe something so pretty could cause so much destruction. But at least it's safe with us and not with The First and its cronies, huh?"

As he reached over and took the crystal from Cordelia, Angel eyed the shiny stone guardedly. "For now. But even with it here at home, I have a feeling this little trinket's not done giving us headaches. Not by a long shot."


Hyperion Hotel – Second Floor, Private Gym

Late morning – After breakfast


Faith wasn't the only one in the mood to hit something this morning.

Spike had been at it for hours in the spare gym the hotel had, wailing away on a heavy punching bag. He was somewhat thankful that this place had a spare place to work out some of his aggression, as he was in no mood this morning to babysit the Slayer Junior Brigade of teenage freeloaders that had come to stay at the Summers residence prior to their relocation to L.A.

He wasn't in the mood for training, either, to be frank. He seldom did it; he much preferred to keep his battle skills sharp through hunting vampires and fighting demons over the last few years after the damn chip was placed in his head. But he didn't quite know the lay of the land here in this stinking city like he did Sunnydale, and with the sun up, his options for letting loose a little steam were dangerously thin. And after everything that had happened last night, he knew he had to cut loose or else that dangerously thin temper of his could be aimed at the wrong person.

Besides, Spike knew he needed some time to think. Part of him felt he should be halfway across the interstate and out of this city, out of this state, maybe out of the damn country. He felt like there wasn't much here for him anymore, not after that little speech Buffy gave about picturing his sanctimonious bastard of a GrandSire while he and her were together, after choosing that wanker over him. The thought of it made him slam his powerful fist into the bag even harder. Unbelievable.

Even after everything they'd been through the last three years, after Glory, after her resurrection, this madness with the First, sticking with her through thick and thin through all the mood swings, the insults, the punches and everything in between, Spike couldn't for the unlife of him understand why she still ran back to her ex- the first chance she got. Why Angel, and not him? What made Angel so damn special as opposed to him? Hadn't he also gotten a soul? Hadn't he also fought on the side of good? Hadn't he bled enough, been tortured enough, given enough pride, shed enough tears? Hadn't he given enough of his shoulder to cry on when things got tough, lent enough of his ears to hear her frustrations, her pains, her insecurities? Why wasn't that enough? Why wasn't it ever enough?

Spike's thoughts were interrupted when his nose caught the wiff of a hauntingly familiar vanilla scent. He knew it was Buffy even before he could hear the sound of her light footsteps echoing through the halls. But he'd be damned if he was going to stop what he was doing for her. No, that was long over. Part of him wanted to bolt right then and there. He knew why she was here; the dreaded "Let's be friends" talk. And he was in absolutely in no way, shape or form ready to have that talk. Yet, part of him knew that this talk was a long time coming. He had hoped for a long time that it would never come, that he could change her mind and her heart, make her see that he was the one for her. Now, it was time for all the pretenses to end and the truth to be laid bare, and damn it all, he wasn't ready for it. But it was coming, the soft steps of the beautiful blonde Slayer ominously coming closer and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Buffy had to pause at the doorway as she took in the sight of Spike wailing away at the punching bag. There he was, bare chested and clad only in black workout pants and shoes, wiry frame working hard in frenetic movements, blue eyes fixed in intensity on his target. She had long admitted to herself that Spike was quite attractive, very easy on the eyes. It's what made the nights they had spent together last year slightly more bearable despite the toxic situation that it was for both of them. Damn it all, she thought, this is hard enough to do as it is, couldn't he at least have put a shirt on? Does he have to make it harder? Ummm…okay, maybe I need to rephrase that…

"Hey," she began softly. "Thought I might find you here."

Grunting as he let another fist explode against the bag, he snorted. "Yeah? Is that right? Sure it's me you were looking for, or were you maybe picturing Angel accidentally?"

Buffy winced at that. This was gonna be a tough one, for sure. "Okay," she muttered, "I guess I had that coming after last night."

"So, how's Tall, Dark and Forehead doin' this morning?" Spike asked in almost a sneer. He could already smell the older vampire on her, and that enough was motivation as he slammed his fist harder against the bag. "Thought you two would be all over each other by now. Oh, wait, my bad, can't pull off the horizontal tango without the big ox turning all homicidal now."

Buffy's eyes narrowed at that. She felt for Spike, but she was not going to tolerate any commentary on her feelings for Angel from him, of all people. "Okay," she warned, her tone crisp with warning. "The first one was free. But believe me when I say that any more comments like that are definitely going to cost you. Dearly."

"The check's in the mail, Slayer," an unimpressed Spike spat, taking one last swing at the bag before stopping to grab a nearby towel. "What do you want? Come to tell me when the wedding date's set?"

"Spike," Buffy said, her tone a warning growl.

At that, Spike threw up his hands. He knew he was pushing it, but damn it all, he couldn't help it. Hell, I'm entitled to it at this point, aren't I? "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry, alright?" he sighed. "But it's just that…I just…damn it, Buffy, of all people, Angel? Really? Hell, Captain Cardboard I could at least understand, in a nausea-inducing sort of way, but haven't you already seen this movie? Don't you know how it's going to end by now?"

Buffy sighed, shaking her head. There just wasn't any way around the Angel Question in this convo, she saw that now. But it wasn't just about him. She knew that. "That's my choice to make, Spike."

That wasn't good enough for him, she could see that in his simmering blue eyes. "Just tell me…why?"

For a moment, Buffy felt pity on Spike. He really didn't get it, was truly confused by her decision. So she summed it up in the best way she could. "Because I love him. Always have, Spike. I think deep down…you probably knew that, too."

Her words were like having a gallon of salt poured onto his wounded pride and heart. The worst part was that she was right. For the longest time, Spike had known on some level that the saga of Buffy and Angel was not nearly over, though he tried his hardest to deny it, to convince himself that he was the frontrunner in the race for Buffy's heart, that he had a chance to win her love in the end. But there was no denying the truth now, not when it was standing right across from him, plain as day, slicing away at his pride bit by bit.

"And me?" He hated how stupid his voice sounded, so damn weak and meak. So unlike the cocky, proud badass persona he had spent a century cultivating carefully so to bury the weak, pathetic human poet he once was. "What about what we had, Buffy? Huh? You can't tell me that it meant nothing. All the nights we shared, fighting together, bleeding together, making each other howl and moan until we couldn't see straight, until we could barely remember our own names, led alone our troubles…."

He drew closer to her, ever so slowly so as not to startle her, yet she still fidgeted uncomfortably from his looming presence. There once was a time where Spike would have delighted and reveled in being able to make her so uncomfortable, so on edge by his mere proximity, but now the sight of her being so guarded near him only hurt and angered him. "You can't tell me that you didn't feel something, luv," he said earnestly, softly. "I made you feel. I know I did, you can't tell me I didn't. I felt your heart racing, felt your pulse quicken, I could feel it, could taste how alive you were when you were with me. I could do it again if you just let me-"

He reached upwards, brushing a stray lock of hair dangling in front of her face, and for a moment, Buffy lost herself as memories of their nights together raced unbidden through her mind, but she quickly regained her senses, pushing Spike's hand away, trying her best not to focus too long on his hurt face.

"No, Spike," she said softly, shaking her head ruefully. "That's over. We can't go back to how it was before. Ever. Look, I…yes, you did make me feel something during that time. But it wasn't exactly a good thing."

He looked as if he was about to protest, so she silenced his objections with a raise of her hand as she continued. "Spike, I was a mess when we began sleeping together. I hated being brought back into a lonely, hard life that I couldn't understand or bear, I was miserable and crying most of the time and it was all I could stand to keep from going crazy. Yeah, being with you was an escape, and sometimes…yeah, it could be nice. But I never took it seriously. I couldn't; you were a demon, and not even one with a soul. You were way too dangerous for me to trust with my heart. I think that first night we slept together proved that."

Off his confused glance, she elaborated, recalling words long lost, but never forgotten. "You were getting off on the idea of throwing it in my face that I was lonely and hurting. 'Poor little lost girl,' was what you called me between the punches, remember? That was us in a nutshell. I hurt you, you hurt me, we bang hips, and repeat. You might have been okay with that, but I wasn't. I was miserable. It was killing me, and after a while, I started to resent you for it. Do you really think that we had some sort of long term future when the foundation for it was based on something that twisted? Do you really think I could have been happy living like that? Do you think you could have been happy being part of something like that forever, knowing that I was willing to give you my body but not my heart?"

She knew, or at least she believed she did, that the answer to that question for Spike was "No." Spike might put on the show of being the tough, arrogant prick for the world to see, but she had known him long enough to know that underneath the swagger and boasts and cocky smirks and lust for violence and drinking, there was a man in there. A man that needed to love, and to be loved in return. And she knew now, just as she did back then, that she could not be that person to offer him those things.

Spike balked at that. How could she say that? "And what? You're telling me that it's better to hang your hopes on a tosser who bloody well walked out on you when the going got tough? Who can't even love you the way I can, the way you deserve?"

"Love is more than just sex, Spike," she said simply. "Yeah, it's no cakewalk with Angel, I know that. Believe me, we've had our ups and downs. But it's what I want." With a touch of finality, she added, "He's all I want. Always has been."

Spike felt his undead heart drop in his chest as he studied her soft features, took in the simplicity and truth etched on them. She meant it. Damn it all, she really meant it. It was over. Truly, completely, and eternally. Over. And he hated it. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Nothing at all.

His shoulders slumped for a moment, as he looked away. Off this gesture, Buffy felt her heart move, remembering what Faith had told her. "Spike," she said carefully. "Is it true that you were thinking about leaving?"

Off that question, his eyes shot to her suspiciously, and she could see the anger being held at bay in those clear blue orbs. "Ah, I see," he said. "That the real reason you came down here, Slayer? Trying to make sure you don't lose your top soldier in this little makeshift army of yours a few weeks before the big showdown with Big Evil?"

"That wasn't an answer," Buffy noted guardedly.

"Answer mine first, then maybe I'll answer yours," Spike replied coolly.

With a sigh, Buffy looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze not wavering. "Fine. No. That wasn't the real reason. Yeah, it was a reason, but not the only one. I was worried about you and I know that I owed you an explanation for last night. You…you deserved that much."

Spike stared at her for what felt like an eternity, the long glance making her a bit uncomfortable, though she refused to flinch. After deciding that she was telling the truth, Spike shrugged, averting his gaze from her. "Maybe it was a thought, yeah."

He could see the disappointment in her eyes and he hated how it still got under his skin to see her look at him like that. "Do you really think that would have been the right thing to do? After everything all of us have been through?"

Spike snorted, shaking his head. "You know me, luv. Never really been much to philosophize about right and wrong."

Something about the way he said that so casually, like it was no big deal, like there weren't so many lives at stake, some of them dear to her, struck a nerve in Buffy. "So, what? You mean to tell me that unless you get the girl in the end, there's no incentive in fighting? No reason to protect people's lives, to do the right thing?"

"I didn't say that," he snapped. "Hell, the only reason I haven't bolted outta here yet is the Nibblet. She'd probably hunt me down and stake me herself without at least a proper goodbye."

"But you're still thinking about leaving?" Buffy asked, hoping that he would deny that.

Her hopes were dashed as she took in the confused, frustrated look on his face, refusing to meet her eyes. "I don't know."

Sighing, Buffy rubbed the back of her neck, not quite sure what to do here. She knew she had no right to ask him to stay, that she couldn't force him to help. It wasn't like it was back when he was just a chipped soulless monster that she could threaten or pay for help, and even then, his help wasn't a given; he had to be in the mood.

But after Glory, he had earned a place within the Scoobies, pulled his weight, protected Dawn at his own peril. He was one of them, Buffy felt, even if the others were still wary of his intentions and hadn't fully trusted him still. And she thought that he had started to feel the same way, too. There was a part of her that felt that as much as they needed him here, there was a part of him that, deep down, needed to be here just as much.

She took a deep breath as she spoke. "Spike…look, I know that I don't exactly have much in the way of carrots to convince you to stay, but, if it means anything, we really need you here." She sighed. "I need you here."

Off his surprised look, she added, "The line I've always been feeding people when they ask why I haven't just staked you or put you down yet is that you've changed. It's a change that I've seen with my own eyes. There was a time that I never thought you'd be anything but a monster. But you proved me wrong. You fought the darkness in you and you changed. You showed me that there's a man still in there. A man worth saving. A man who was capable of doing good. I've seen you be that man before. And I need you to be that man now. I need you to be the man who's risked life and limb to protect me and mine time and again."

"I know that I might not have the right to ask you to, I know that there's not much in it for you, but walking the road you're on now isn't about doing things because you're getting something out of it. It's about doing the right thing because it's right, and that's the only reason you need. That's what being good is all about. That's what being a hero is about."

As she turned to go, she gave him one last thing to think over. "You have a soul now. That means you have the choice. No excuses, nobody to blame. If you leave now, you leave for you, and if you stay, then you stay for you, because it's what you chose. Because you chose to do right. Remember that, Spike. No matter what…it's your choice."


To Be Continued

Next: Spike weighs his decision: Will he stay or go? And you won't believe who drops into the hotel for a surprise visit with major consequences for our heroes!


Note: Big news! "Bring Me to Life" has been nominated for two categories for the 2015 Fanfic Fanatics MultiFandom Awards! I think that's the first time my stuff has ever been nominated for anything, so yay! This story has been nominated under "Favorite Action Fanfic" and "Favorite Work in Progress Fanfic" categories. Remember to go to my FF dot net home page to go to the link, and please vote for my story! Thanks!

Voting ends on June 14! New chapter coming soon!


Best,

Jean-TheGuardian