Ring. Ring.

"Giles. He's going to be out tonight and the bodyguards will be busy."

"Buffy, what time is it?" Tired.

"Seven here. Must be six there."

"And what is it you have to report?"

"He just left the apartment; wants to take me out tonight but he has two major business rivals coming to town today. Won't say who they are but he needs to track them to keep some capo out of their hands until they leave."

"He just left your apartment at six in the morning?"

"Giles, do you remember what happened the last time you stuck your nose in my love life?"

"Very well, Buffy. It's just that Andrew had a, well, a disturbing point of view of your relationship with the target of this mission."

"Andrew isn't in on the mission, is he?"

"No."

"Good. Keep your nose out of my love life. And get your friend from Glenfiddich in here tonight if he's serious about this."

"It's Glenfinnan. And he's in New York City now."

"Spike always said you should have had Glenmorangie anyway."

"Maybe if he'd paid for his own scotch, he could have had a say on the roundness of the finish." Angry, then a pause. "Sorry Buffy, that's still a sore spot."

"Get your friend on a jet. Tonight's the night our guy will be out on the town and his bodyguards will be holding the capo."

--

"The Skeezy Immoral gone yet?" She's making french toast as Buffy steps out of the shower.

"Yes, Dawn. He left an hour ago."

"You know that when you leave early he gets up and he makes passes at me, don't you?"

"You've only reminded me a hundred times so far in the four weeks we've been dating." If only Dawn saw some of the other girls he did cheat on her with. "How is the french toast coming?"

"Great. It's Tara's recipe." Tara. "You want one slice or two?"

"Two. I miss Tara. And other people."

"Still can't say out loud that you miss Spike, can you? I miss him. I even miss when you were fucking Spike behind our backs. At least he tried to take care of us and didn't want to sleep with your underage sister."

"I miss Spike, too, Dawn. But he's gone. I'm with the Immortal now. And I'll ask him not to bother you in the mornings."

--

She could say it out loud now.

And she could ignore everyone's complaints about her boyfriend. Buffy no longer gave a damn what anyone had to say about whom she dated. Never again. That was the least she could do to remember Spike.

Spike would like this. She's really dipping into the dark side now, just like he said. Fucking the guy who started up the Rathrun colony in Frankfurt a century ago. Took ten slayers a year to control the Rathruns, and Vi broke her arm in three places. Thank goodness for slayer healing.

Sleeping with the mogul who engineered the Berlusconi fortune and set him up to be prime minister. Then ruthlessly exploited his control over the prime minister's resources, forcing him to pass off forged documents and underwrite a major war for the profiteers in the Halliburton demon clan.

Cuddling with the top client of Signora Costa Big-chi-chis at the world's evilest law firm. Yeah, Spike should like that.

Of course, it helped that he was fantastic in bed. Always knew just where to touch her and when to slip a finger in there. And he could keep it up for hours at a time.

The Immortal was her first partner in over two years and she had been a little worried. The new slayers were having trouble with their, um, needs. Human men aren't always resilient enough and tended to get bruised by a slayer's appetites. Rona wanted the council to open a training camp in Colorado Springs next to the Olympic Swim Team training center. Top endurance athletes from around the world would be fluming there and maybe the Council could sponsor some mixers. If there had been any demon activity nearby, they might have really done it.

But the Immortal was very good. Not screaming, building-smashing passion. She wan't in love, after all. But perfect technique and endurance was a lot better than celibacy. Good sex from a guy she didn't really have to care about.

--

Evil law firms had been on her mind recently. The slayer in Guatemala sent in a report that her tribe's shaman had suddenly recovered a magically suppressed memory. Some skank claiming to be a vampire was trying to prove that she was pregnant with Angel's baby. Of course, that was impossible. Even if Angel hadn't been forced to stay celibate these past six years for his soul, he couldn't father children. Vampire, after all. Must have happened after he agreed to take over at Wolfram and Hart. Filthy golddigger.

Seems like a good excuse to look into what Angel had been doing anyway. She had really stayed away more because of the amulet than because of any suspicion that Angel had gone evil. As long as he has the soul, he has to be on the side of good. And it wasn't his fault that Spike had to die. Angel had been willing to wear that amulet himself, after all. No, he wasn't to blame. Maybe she would visit him this Summer to gather intelligence for the Council.

--


Shopping therapy.

In those first few months after Sunnydale, she couldn't think about Spike at all. She would start to remember his face, his eyes, his arms around her and imagine being held one more time and then ache in the back of her throat and she couldn't breathe. Wanted to remember a tender moment but instead saw herself refusing to let him help with the cure to her demon sting. The morning after their first time when she picked a fight and said he was just convenient. Him apologizing for imagining a future with her before her date, "my eyes are clear," he said.

She could have made him understand then. Could have made him happy to make her the focus of his existence. Could still make up for it except that he wasn't there anymore or anywhere except the past. And she couldn't change any of it. She had to remember the past they had, the only thing they would ever have.

It wasn't the big moments. She never felt bad about the alley behind the police station; that was the kind of thing they had forgiven each other, even if they never discussed it. And Spike didn't have to feel bad about the bathroom anymore. She hoped he hadn't, anyway, at the end.

Little things. The way she always emphasized that it was over between them when they met new potentials. The way she looked away from him whenever they made eye contact in front of her friends. The way she could never be caught in a casual conversation with him. A million little moments lost for reasons she couldn't make sense of anymore.

So she went shopping. Needed a new wardrobe anyway. French couture. Italian leather. The summer a whirlwind across Europe.

She learned to edit her memories. Slice out the little bits that made her feel right and forget the moments before and after. She took the night she was resurrected. The night he looked up the stairs to her like she was the only thing in the world and the night he held her raw hands in his own. Told her about digging himself out of his own grave. She sliced out the next moment when she let go of him because her friends come in the house. Let him get chased out. Buffy took that moment and not the bit that came after and wrapped it up in imaginary crepe paper, put it into an imaginary mental jewelry box in her mind to take it out and examine it when she needed it.

Wanted to do the same with their last night together. But she couldn't. She knew his last words meant he hadn't been there with her. She told him too late and he simply hadn't been able to be there with her. But she didn't know until it was too late and now all she had was a last night with Spike where she had been alone without even knowing it.

--

Ice cream therapy.

She takes out her little mental jewelry box and a pint of gelato. Imagines taking out their first kiss in his crypt with his bruised lips and her dressed up as the robot. Unwrapping it and remembering. And tastes some fine ice cream.

The jewelry box was too empty, so she once tried adding the evening they were betrothed. It didn't feel quite right but she didn't give it up until she caught herself once shopping for thank you notes to send Willow.

This afternoon is the chance to take her memories out for one last time before everything changes. Again.

Giles called her a month ago about some sort of imminent gathering. Some amoral immortal creature was threatening to win a powerful prize. Nobody knew exactly what the prize was, but an old friend of Giles from his Ripper days knew how to fix it.

Unfortunately for him, the immortal in question had found a way to make himself invulnerable on consecrated ground. One hundred fifty years in a Tibetan monastery and he learned to cast a temporary holy enchantment anywhere he needed. Giles sent her a dossier and told her to find a moment when this immortal would be off guard and outside his regular haunts.

He actually called himself the Immortal. He had perfect cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and a smooth muscular chest. He was a little short, about five foot six, with curly brown hair but he looked enough like her vampire to prime her fantasy.

And for the first time since Sunnydale she took a mission. She hadn't even been out on a routine patrol since the day she had lost the only one she trusted to cover her back. Hadn't dusted a single vamp in almost a year. Just didn't feel anymore. Didn't feel her calling or who she was supposed to be.

A new mission. To seduce the centuries old guy with a dark past who may or may not be evil. But probably evil. Of course, Giles didn't really expect her to seduce him outright.

And her memories of Spike dulled a little as she snuggled his replacement. Snuggled for starters. The Immortal had given her greek vases and tribal stone carvings and objects d'art to decorate her apartment. Buffy wondered which ones marked the consecrated ground. It didn't matter; she would have to set him up in a public place. But it kept him around overnight while she used him to imagine her Spike.

She didn't have any pictures and she knew he would fade in her memory. She lost the man she loved and she would lose the intensity of her memories one day too. But it went faster when the Immortal was there. And she needed it to go faster. Even though she couldn't stand losing a piece of him again.

Spike is never coming back. He would want her to be Buffy again. She has to move on because the past is gone whether you cling to it or not.

So she eats ice cream. Two pints down now and working on a third.

Andrew comes home and she rushes into the bathroom to clean tears she didn't notice crying. Leaves the ice cream and the spoon out on the coffee table.

--

Buffy heads out at eight to meet the Immortal at his favorite dance club. Dawn is staying overnight with a friend. Even Andrew will be heading out bar hopping the gay clubs with some lesbian friends later on.

Andrew adores the Immortal as much as Dawn hates him. Probably told Giles about Buffy fucking him. Giles has been hinting about unprofessional conduct of the mission and undue personal involvement all week.

Buffy doesn't care. She can complete her mission and have her Spike substitute one more night. It's all about moving on and this toy boyfriend is just the tool for moving on. She won't even need to worry about him any more after tonight.

"The garden, it is so very beautiful this spring. Little flowers and deep green herbs. Smells like old Italian family dinner."

Signora Cioni took Dawn and Buffy in as homestudy students after the Summer of shopping. Through 76 years in Rome the signora raised seven children and since they grew up and left home she takes in Italian language students for a local total immersion program.

Takes them in between visits from the grandchildren, anyway.

And Signora Cioni really knows how to cook. Buffy gained fifteen pounds living with her before she found an apartment in her building for Dawn and Buffy to settle in permanently.

Fifteen extra pounds that looked great in Buffy's little black dress and delighted the Immortal. Curvier breasts draw eyes but it is Buffy's legs that really keep the attention and her new wardrobe is cut almost as high as the dresses she wore when she arrived in Sunnydale.

She had to cover up her too skinny legs ever since high school. Buffy would never let the stress catch up to her like that again. She likes her new less stress Buffy body. Peace of mind is a nice side effect, too.

Had it really been four years she was so skinny that she was afraid to show off her legs at all? What would Spike have done with the new sexy Buffy with his hands rising on her new curvy thighs and his cool tongue circling her breasts? Cool and wet spiraling slowly up toward her nipple pointing upwards more erect with anticipation each turn; crystal blue eyes focusing into hers, into her soul, wanting her, loving her, full of nothing but Buffy.

Warm tingles fill her belly and she needs to reach a hand out to the wall to steady herself.

"Buffy, truly you dance the song of the green."

"What? Uh, what did you say?" Startled. Somehow Buffy had been distracted.

"The garden. It has never been so beautiful before you took on cultivation of it."

"Oh, thank you." Gardening is something else Buffy had picked up from Signora Cioni along with italian cooking and her nearly perfect accent. Over the years Buffy had lost confidence in her ability to study but Italian classes changed everything. Her quick absorption of nearly fluent Italian proved that Buffy matching Willow's Verbal SAT score was no fluke.

"Now your houseguest, he has come again and again to borrow--"

A catchy tune from a indistinguishable mid '90s boy band rang out from Buffy's pocket

"Giles. Sorry, signora, I have to take this." Thank goodness; she might never have got away from that conversation in time to meet the Immortal.

--

"The capo is a head? That makes sense."

"Yes, well, we have discovered intelligence that indicates that the head must be returned to prevent imminent hostilities between demon clans."

"Returned where, Giles?"

"The transport is being handled by," he pauses. "It's being handled by Wolfram and Hart."

"Angel's evil law firm?"

"No, the Italian branch. You must discover where they are shipping the capo and see that it arrives with the family so they can perform the rituals on time. The Immortal cannot be allowed to start this war. We may have a contact for you. Vincenzo Bernucci-Facci is a corrupted former watcher who runs the Ancient Prophecies wing at Wolfram and Hart's Rome office. I'm sending you a picture from his file. The office is on Via Appia at--"

"I know it. The Immortal likes to work with I-wanna-Ilona," Buffy stressed the sarcasm in 'work.' "What about your scotch champion?"

"Scottish. Scottish champion. He arrives at Fiumicino at eleven tonight."

"I'll call you then. I've got to go or I'll be late to meet the Immortal."

"Buffy, Andrew reported again and I'm really worried that you may be connecting to the subject of this mission under influence of some sort of spell or potion..."

She interrupted, "if you'd killed Spike like you wanted, you would have destroyed the entire world."

"You almost killed everyone on Earth. I know how to keep the mission first, Giles. Don't question my methods."

Silence.

"I told you not to bring this up."

"All right, Buffy," Slowly. "I'll wait for your call tonight."

--

"Andrew." He hopped up off the sofa at her tone. "You've been spying on me for Giles." Buffy rushed back up to the apartment to get the pretty teal helmet for her pretty teal vespa. There was no way to walk to Wolfram and Hart and back to Trastevere in time for an eight thirty date.

"B-b-but Buffy. I was just trying to," he watched Buffy rush into her room and back to the door.

"Listen, Andrew. I had them send you here to be watcher in Rome because you were the only one who didn't turn on me in Sunnydale. I even let you stay in my home, and why don't you have a new apartment yet? Nevermind. Don't make me send you back. I'm together with the Immortal now. I fell for him by myself. No magic. I'm moving on, and I'm happy." Quick, staccato, and to the point.

She was already sliding down the stairs from apartment 34. That was as much as Andrew needed to know, anyway.

--

Scooting left out of the courtyard on her vespa, Buffy barely saw the idiot speeding through the narrow lane in a bright red convertible. Almost run down by a midlife crisis flaccid penis-substitute driven by some pathetic--

By some pathetic vampire? Her vamp sense tingled like crazy when that compensating-for-something mobile nearly clipped her.

What kind of stupid vampire drives a convertible?

If she is really getting back in the business after tonight, maybe she should take care of them. It would be a mercy slaying. And it sounds like they're pulling to a stop right in front of her building.

Spike would have always stopped to squeeze in a few more dustings before moving on. A little bonus violence was his favorite part of patrol. Except for that winter when she would ride him until he could barely even beg for more every night after the rounds, of course. Then his favorite part was--well, it was probably the kissing. The kissing was the only thing she could never suck the intimacy out of by doing it violently.

As Buffy races off across the Tiber to Wolfram and Hart, she wonders if Spike would be disappointed that she didn't stop.

Convenient. Just as Buffy threw open the doors of the Rome office of Wolfram e Hart, Signore Bernucci-Facci walked in from the parking garage. Late lunch or early dinner, maybe. He didn't appear to have returned with any clients.

Perfect.

Buffy walked up next to him on his way to the elevators like they were old friends. Smiled. Wiggled a little in the tiny black dress she was wearing for her date with the Immortal. Slid her arm into his.

He had looked a little stiff, like he was missing out on feminine attention lately. And just like that he showed no judgment at all with a strange, but attractive--if Buffy did say so herself--woman.

They walked together right past security to the elevator. The elevator where Buffy slammed him up against the wall even before the doors were completely closed.

Little round glasses, nicely cut suit, and stronger than he looked. Very watcherish, in an Italian kind of way. She introduced herself, with her forearm pressing across his windpipe.

"Vicenzio. I am Miss Summers of the Council Of Watchers."

"Eeeeaaahh," he wheezes. She loosens her forearm and he coughs "Very, ahem, nice to meet you Miss Summers. Vicenzio Bernucci-Facci, Ancient Prophecies, Wolfram e Hart. Formerly of the Council myself. And just why is the Council sending assassins to visit old business partners?"

"Old business partners? You left the Council to join the law firm for every evil thing with money and now you want to be--I don't know--some kind of watchering buddies?" Just enough force back into her forearm to tap his head against the wall. The back of his head hits and lights up the button for the twenty second floor.

"Come now, we have a long standing relationship with the Council of Watchers." He says it with such matter-of-fact nonchalance that she pulls back a little in surprise. The elevator jerks to slowly start rising and Vicenzio takes advantage to kick Buffy hard in the knee and try to slip out of her grasp.

It doesn't work.

"Okay." She punches him in the nose and again his head rebounds to knock against the buttons behind him. Floor twenty-three this time. "Tell me what Wolfram and Hart is doing for the Council."

He looks at her suspiciously.

"Now!" As she holds him with her right forearm Buffy firmly grips his right ear and starts to twist.

"Aaargh! Okay!" She loosens her grip on his ear. "I was hired here after handling the contract to turn criminally insane vampires."

"Criminally insane vampires? For the Council Of Watchers?" She asked with clear disbelief.

"For when a--you know--independent minded," and he said 'independent minded' in his sleaziest voice, "slayer takes the Cruciamentum. And you need a special," that voice again, "sort of test."

Buffy opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Twice. The she throws the former watcher across the elevator so that he hits the door on the far side with the length of his body. Hard.

She turns to him with her mouth still open about to speak. Buffy pauses and then turns back to the buttons and pulls the emergency stop knob.

She tilts her head down and peaks at Vicenzio through narrowed eyes. "I don't have time for this now. Tell me about the capo head and where it needs to be delivered."

"The capo di famiglia of the Goran demon clan?"

"Yes. Where does it go?"

"That's not even our office. We're just helping get it to the Los Angeles office."

"Los Angeles?"

"Yes."

"Where Wolfram and Hart is run by Angel?"

"Indeed. In fact, Angelus is sending his top man to come pick up the head tonight."

"Angelus? You mean Angel, right?"

"Oh yes, the soul. He goes by Angel. I don't know who he thinks he's fooling; soul or no, he's working for us now."

Buffy growls.

"The Los Angeles office jet is coming--no, has already landed--at Aeroporto dell'Urbe and goes back to Los Angeles tonight with the head."

"Aeroporto dell'Urbe?"

"Yes, it's much closer to the city and easier to bribe the customs officials, you know. When you have a private jet, of course."

She hauls him up against the wall one last time and hits him in the gut. Not too hard, she doesn't want to injure him--just cause pain. "That was for my mother." Then grabs his hair and slams his head one more time against the wall, hard enough to knock him unconscious. She notes that often works well with watchers.

"Now have yourself a nice little nap, Italian watcher." She sits his limp body in the corner of the elevator, turns off the emergency stop and presses the button for the next floor.

The door opens on a giant two story wood paneled atrium with a staircase rising out of the center to a balcony. "Woah." Buffy imagines that if the Los Angeles office looks anything like this it's no wonder Angel was taken in. But it probably doesn't; this is probably a triumph of Italian design. Demons in fine cut suits stroll, casually smoking, across the open space and Buffy decides to let the door close again without exiting.

She quickly presses the button for the opposite door of this two door elevator and when it opens Buffy scrambles around the hallway behind the atrium to the other elevator, jamming her finger into the button to ride it down.

They'll find the former Italian watcher soon enough and he'll sleep it off in his office. Meanwhile back in the Trastevere, Buffy has a date.

--

Zipping around the corners on her cool Vespa, Buffy hurries back to the club where she should have met the Immortal five minutes ago.

Angel. Working for Wolfram and Hart. The evil law firm that tried to kill her and her family, along with Quentin Travers. Willow's resoulment spell was supposed to keep him on the straight and narrow. But sometimes she wishes she could just lock Angel away in a box where no one could ever touch him.

Her soul mate. And the star crossed love she could never have. But after all these years it didn't really hurt anymore.

Not like the love she never wanted. Spike had been nothing like her soul mate; maybe he was her soul mortal enemy. But that just made it even more extraordinary, didn't it? The one who was there in all the hardest times of her life. Even when he was evil he was the only one she could rely on in her worst night when she sent Angel to Hell. Tried to kill her countless times but when she faced the ultimate Evil, he was the only one she could trust to watch her back. Beat him and taunted him and used him and hurt him and still he saw who she was deep inside--not very lovable in her opinion--and loved her for it. She fought for years to keep him out of her heart but in the end she loved him. And in the end it was too late.

He died believing that she never loved him. She has to go on knowing nothing can ever change that.

It was a little hard to breathe while she thought about it. She told herself it was just all the wind from her vespa zipping around.

And she was going to exorcise that ghost tonight anyway.