Chapter One: From the Lightening in the Sky

Buffy Summers-Donovan pushed a long strand of her golden hair behind her ear as she leaned over a pool of water mixed with shards of glass.

“Fuck,” she hissed as her finger slipped against a sharp edge. Blood bubbled to the surface of her skin. She sucked on the cut while pulling out a rag.

Gingerly, Buffy wiped up the spilt water, carefully skirting around the pieces of glass. Then she delicately picked up the individual large shards and tossed them into the garbage.

Taking out the dustbin, Buffy brushed the remanding slivers of glass up, dumping them into the garbage. Finally, she stood up and studied the floor, looking for missed pieces.

Satisfied, Buffy put the garbage under the sink along with the dustbin. She glanced over at the clock, frowning slightly. It was nearly 8:00; Angel was supposed to be home almost an hour ago.

Walking over to the phone, Buffy picked it up, dialing her husband’s cell phone number. Her call was instantly forwarded to voicemail. She listened to Angel’s voice and the beep.

“Hi, it’s me. I was just wondering where you are. Call me back, okay? It looks like it’s gonna storm,” she paused, “I love you.”

She pressed the END button and placed the phone back in its receiver. Buffy wandered over to the kitchen table and stared out the window.

The sky was ominously cloudy and dark and thunder rolled in the distance. A shiver traveled up her spine. She hated storms. Always had. Her mother had been the bravest person she’d ever known, but as soon as the thunder started, she’d wake Buffy up and they’d huddle together inside the car safely in the garage.

Buffy sniffled slightly and stood up, pulling her hair back. It was just the storm; it was making her feel all kinds of weird.

She went over to the sink and started washing the small pile of dishes she hadn’t gotten to last night. Scrubbing hard, Buffy let her mind go, drifting off. It was better this way sometimes, not to think about anything.

After what felt like hours later, the phone rang loud over the soft radio. Buffy jumped and set her dish down, rushing over to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“’lo,” a voice said. It was male, unfamiliar and accented. “Angel there?”

“No,” Buffy replied, leaning against the counter. “Who is this?”

“An old friend of his from St. James. Who the bloody hell is this?” The man was clearly agitated.

“I’m Buffy Summers-Donovan. His wife,” Buffy answered, stressing the last two words.

The man let out a chuckle. “Right. Nice to meet you. Tell the hubby Spike called, yeah?”

“Fine,” Buffy said shortly and hung up the phone. Never had talking to one person for such a short period of time irritated her this much.

Well, she thought, whoever this Spike guy was, he was obviously not that close to Angel.

Pushing the thoughts of the rude caller away, Buffy went upstairs into her bedroom where her papers were scattered over the little nightstand. She carefully arranged them into a neat pile and sat on the edge of the bed. She flipped through the papers, skimming over the words.

It was a story that she’d written five years ago for her creative writing class in her sophomore year of college. A pang of regret startled her as she continued reading.

Buffy had dropped out after her fifth semester when her mother got sick, and then she’d met Angel. He’d been her savior, her rock and her best friend while her mother struggled with her brain tumor.

Two months after her mother had died, Angel had proposed and Buffy had accepted. She’d saw no need to go back to school since then, but now…maybe she should.

Stuffing the story into the nightstand drawer, Buffy pulled off her sweaty running clothes and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on hot. She stepped in, letting the water stream into her eyes, nose and mouth. After a few moments, Buffy picked up the shampoo and conditioner, scrubbing her hair to squeaky-clean perfection.

A half hour later, she stepped out feeling lighter and cleaner. She stood in front of the mirror with a fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and combed out her long hair.

Staring back at her in the mirror was a small, relatively thin blonde with long hair, dark eyes and perpetually golden skin. She was pretty, wholesome-looking, but not extraordinarily beautiful.

Buffy leaned forward, her breath steaming the mirror slightly. She examined her face, looking for any blemishes. A little pimple on her chin and another on her forehead.

Her funny-looking nose scrunched up in annoyance, and she applied some spot treatment on the two pimples. She and Angel were attending some function for his office, and there was no way she was sitting with the trophy wives with pimples.

Buffy slipped on her bathrobe, forgoing any underwear. She let her hair dry naturally in soft waves down her back. She was too lazy to dry it right now.

She walked back downstairs, her feet pitter-patting on the hard wood floor. Her eyes slid from shadow to shadow, and once again she wondered where Angel was.

The kitchen clock told her it was a quarter to nine. She picked up the phone again, dialing Angel’s cell phone number. And once again, she was sent to his voice mail. Angry, Buffy dialed his work number, getting the same response.

“Where is he?” She asked the empty house as she hung up the phone. She curled herself up on the leather couch watching the lightening and rain.

The radio was playing a song, she didn’t know what it was, but it was soft and slow and bittersweet. Her eyes stayed trained on the storm, she tried to stop worrying, stop thinking.

It wasn’t working.

Buffy stood up again and went into the kitchen, grabbing the wine and a wine glass. It was her favorite with swirls blue glass on the stem. She poured a chardonnay into the glass and took a sip.

Before she’d met Angel, she’d never been much of a drinker. A little sip of beer here another sip of wine there. But after her third date with Angel, she realized he liked having wine at dinner or a drink late at night. It’d seemed so sophisticated of him at the time that Buffy would always have a glass with him. Now it was a force of habit, and the bitter flavor had grown on her.

A loud knock at the door startled Buffy, and she set her glass down quickly before answering the door.

She opened it a crack to see two uniformed officers standing there, wet from the rain.

“Mrs. Donovan?” The taller one asked.

“Yeah,” Buffy answered, her brow furrowed.

“Your husband is Angel Donovan?” He asked, glancing down at a notepad in his hand.

Buffy could feel her stomach sloshing, her pulse racing. “Yeah, he is. Is something wrong?”

The second police officer stepped forward. “Mrs. Donovan, your husband was in a car accident on Main Street. His injuries are very severe. They’ve taken him to Sunnydale General-“

“What?” Buffy rasped, her head woozy. She couldn’t think, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “What happened?”

“Ma’am,” the first police officer said clearly, “your husband was in an accident and they’ve taken him to Sunnydale General, we’ll give you a ride.”

Buffy blinked rapidly. “Let me just…” she glanced down at her robe. “Change. I have to change. I’m wearing a robe.”

“Okay,” the shorter officer said with a calm voice. “We’ll wait right here.”

Buffy nodded and turned to run upstairs. Tears blurred her vision as she threw on a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans while sliding her feet into a pair of slip-ons.

She walked back down and took her purse off the table where she’d left it hours ago. “Okay, I-I’m ready,” she said to the officers.

They led her outside and into the police car. Her mind raced with worry and fear. Was Angel going to be okay? She hugged herself as thick tears rolled down her face.

They pulled up to the Emergency Entrance and helped Buffy out of the car. She let her feet guide her into the building and to the front desk.

“Name?”

“Buffy Summers-Donovan,” she said numbly. “My husband was…” She couldn’t say it. Tears threatened to fall again. She blinked and the tears became unstuck, falling freely.

The nurse took pity on her. “Donovan, right?”

Buffy could only nod.

The nurse flipped through the files. “Your husband was admitted twenty minutes ago. They’re operating on him now,” she looked up at Buffy. “Darling, is there anyone you need to call?”

Buffy swallowed, her eyes drifting shut. “Yes, my sister-in-law. I didn’t…I didn’t bring my phone.”

“There’s a payphone against the wall over there.” The nurse gestured and handed her a couple coins. Buffy followed her finger numbly.

“Okay, thank you,” she said stiffly and walked over to the phone. Everything ached, everything hurt. Her head pounded.

She dialed the number and slowly lifted the phone up to her ear. She answered on second ring.

“Yo?”

“Faith, it’s me, Buffy. Something’s happened, you have to come.” Buffy’s voice cracked pitifully.

“B? What happened?”

“Angel, he’s…he’s at Sunnydale General. Please come,” Buffy begged with hiccupping sobs.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be there in five minutes,” Faith said and Buffy could hear her moving. “Don’t hang up, okay? Stay with me.”

Buffy nodded her head, tears spilling over. “Okay.”

***************

Two hours later, Angel Liam Donovan was pronounced dead.

Buffy sagged against her sister-in-law, clutching her hand like a lifeline. Sobs racked her body and she pressed her palms against her eyes, trying in vain to stop the tears.

“B? Buffy?” Faith called, her own voice thick with tears. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“NO!” Buffy shook her head vehemently. “I can’t…I can’t go back there, not tonight, not now.”

“Okay, okay,” Faith said, holding the blonde. “You can stay with me, I have a pull out couch, no biggie. ‘kay?”

Buffy shivered and gave a tiny nod of understanding.

Together they managed to walk out of the hospital and to Faith’s old car. The rain was still falling, little drops biting her skin.

Buffy tilted her head up to the sky and closed her eyes. She was so tired and everything hurt.

She just wanted it to go away.

“Buffy…” Faith said softly, trying not to startle the blonde.

Buffy didn’t move, she just stood there, a perfect statue.

“Come on, B, we gotta go,” Faith urged as she wiped a rain mixed tear from her face.

What was she supposed to do? How could she go on without him?

The rain fell harder, but she just stood there, praying for it to wash the pain away.

Chapter Two: Black


One Week Later


"…In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

Dressed in a simple black dress, Buffy stood solemnly by the grave only half-listening to the priest’s words. Her eyes roved over the people, all in black with somber expressions. She didn’t even recognize half of them. Stupidly, she wondered who they were, how they’d known Angel.

For the millionth time, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. When would it stop? Wouldn’t she run out of tears?

Buffy discretely brushed a lone tear off her cheek, sniffling slightly. She turned her attention to the priest again.

The past week had been like one of those dreams where she watched herself doing something from the outside looking in. All she could remember was picking out the gleaming dark wood casket with the beautiful silk lining. Beautiful like Angel.

A warm hand touched hers. Faith.

Buffy gripped her sister-in-law’s hand. She was wearing a relatively conservative outfit, a short black skirt, high heels and a black blouse that Buffy knew was hers.

Faith mouthed bits and pieces of the prayers, and Buffy found herself watching her, trying to follow the words. It was hopeless, she decided. Buffy had only been to church a couple of times in her life, but Faith had gone to a Catholic school as a kid like Angel.

Buffy tore her gaze from the grave, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. Her eyes caught a glimpse of nearly white hair poking through the crowd. Against the black, the hair stood out in stark relief, and Buffy sought out for the head the hair belonged to.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of a face. It was different looking, all angles and sharp edges. High razor cheekbones, sharp jaw, but an oddly full mouth.

She wondered who he was.

Buffy kept her gaze on the peculiar man, trying to place him, but she knew she’d never met him. Probably a friend of Angel’s from work, she mused. It was nice that he could come.

Tears slipped down her faces as the priest said one last “Amen.”

Faith tugged her hand and they moved through the crowd. Everyone murmured, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Faith just ignored them; pulling Buffy as she murmured back, “Thank you.”

Faith stopped in front of a small group of people and let go of Buffy’s hand to hug them. Buffy looked up, surprised by Faith’s gesture.

Instantly her eyes met the man’s she’d seen before. The one with the white hair.

“Hello.” That voice, Buffy thought. She’d heard it before.

“Buffy,” Faith began, touching her shoulder lightly. “This is Will, he’s a friend from London.”

“Nice to meet you,” Buffy responded with a slight inclination of her head. Her eyes were unfocused. She just wanted to go home.

“B, this is Will’s uncle, Rupert Giles, and his daughter. Angel and I grew up with them,” Faith explained as an older, distinguished looking man walked up and grasped Buffy’s hands.

“I’m so deeply sorry for your loss,” Giles told her, and for once Buffy could feel the sincerity in those words.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice a bare whisper. Her eyes then shifted to a teenage girl, no more than fifteen, standing next to the older man. Her mouth was turn down, her big blue eyes filled with sorrow.

“I’m Dawn,” she said, pulling on a strand of her dark hair.

Buffy managed to crack a flimsy smile. “I’m Buffy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Giles cleared his throat. “We’ll see you back at the house then,” he said to Faith and she nodded.

“Buffy and I’ll stop by later,” she confirmed.

Buffy just nodded blankly while Faith led her back to the gravesite. Angel’s grave.

“Listen, I hope that wasn’t too awkward,” Faith began, “but Giles practically raised us when we were in school. Angel and Will were best friends at St. James.”

Buffy tried to picture Angel as a young teenage boy. It was so hard to do; he was always so calm, so charismatic, so grown-up. He was perfect, and now she’d lost him.

“Do you mind?” Faith was asking.

Buffy tried to clear her head. “Mind what?”

“If we stop by their house. It would just be the five of us,” Faith said, carefully watching her sister-in-law’s face.

“No,” Buffy said, “no I don’t mind.” Her voice sounded far away to her ears.

She and Faith stood in front of the grave until the crowd had dwindled to the graveyard people. The two men stood there respectively waiting for them to leave.

Finally, Faith half-pulled Buffy away. “Come on,” she said into the blonde’s ear, “let’s get something to eat.”

*****************

Buffy stared down at the bone-white china cup filled with tea. The dark liquid wobbled as she set it down on the tea plate.

Once again, Buffy looked up at the three unfamiliar faces, wondering what to say. Was there really anything to say?

Giles cleared his throat loudly. “Erm, Buffy, have you lived in Sunnydale your whole life?”

Buffy shook her head no. “I’m from LA, I moved with…” She swallowed, dropping her gaze to her hands.

A loud clatter startled Buffy and her head snapped up. Will sat on the chair opposite hers, his fist clenched and his face tight. “Sorry,” he mumbled, picking up the shattered cup.

Faith leaped up to help him. “I’ll get the dustbin,” she announced and disappeared down the long hallway.

Buffy let her eyes drift over the elegant room. The Giles’ house was more of a mansion than anything, and was filled with antiques and lovely wooden furniture. She had yet to spot a TV or computer. Briefly, Buffy wondered how the teenage girl lived without them.

Faith returned shortly and helped Will pick up the larger pieces before brushing the remainder in the dustbin. The scene painfully reminded Buffy of her own accident that evening.

Everything hurts, Buffy thought, her hands twisting together.

“Buffy,” Giles said gently and the blonde met his gaze.

“Oh sorry,” she apologized, “I was just spacing a little.”

“Don’t apologize, I was just wondering where you’re staying right now,” Giles asked.

“Oh.” Buffy hesitated. “I’m staying with Faith, for now at least.”

Giles’s eyes flickered over to Faith who had an unreadable look in her eyes. She turned to her sister-in-law. “Listen, B, I meant to tell you sooner, but with everything going on…” she stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’m moving to New York in about a week. I got a job offer there.”

Buffy could feel herself literally breaking into a thousand pieces.

No.

Faith couldn’t leave, not now. She had no one else, not her mother, not her father. She hadn’t kept in contact with any of her college friends, much less seen them.

She was alone.

“You’re leaving?” Buffy’s voice cracked.

Guilt was plain of Faith’s face. “I’m sorry, I accepted the day…I can’t take it back.”

Buffy’s throat felt tight, and she drew in a shaky breath. “Oh.”

“Buffy,” Giles’s calm tone caught her attention, and she slowly shifted her gaze to him, her vision blurred.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here. I know we’ve just met, but Angel was like a son to me, and my home is always open to you.”

Tears leaked out of Buffy’s eyes. “Thank you,” she stuttered. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Giles told her firmly. “Please, stay here with us.”

“You could even share my room,” Dawn finally spoke, her voice almost hopeful.

Buffy managed to crack a small smile at that. “Thank you,” she said and for the first time since Angel had died, she felt a little bit more focused.

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Giles replied with a faint smile of his own. “Well, I suspect you and Faith are exhausted, as am I. Do stop by tomorrow, and I’ll give you a more tour of my home beyond this room.”

Buffy nodded gratefully and stood up with Faith. “Good night,” she said softly as Faith hugged her friends.

They walked out into the bizarrely crisp night, and Buffy looked up at the faint stars against the dark sky before climbing into the passenger seat.

Was Angel up there? She wondered as she and Faith drove to her apartment in silence.

Slowly, Buffy made her way to the pullout couch, and didn’t even bother washing her face or changing into pajamas. She just slipped out of her painful high heels, pulled off the dress and curled into bed.

“Night, B,” Faith called out, her voice a whisper.

“Night,” Buffy replied. She waited until Faith’s door clicked shut before sitting up. She looked out the small window, out at the sky and the little park across the street.

No one was there this late at night, obviously, but the swings still moved, pushed by a phantom breeze. Buffy had never believed in the supernatural or ghosts, but now…she wanted so badly to believe.

“Angel,” she said out loud, her voice thick. “I love you.” Tears spilt on to her pillow, and she closed her eyes, falling into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 3: Gone


Sun streamed in from the open window, waking Buffy. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. Her lashes were glued together by dried tears, and it took a few moments to pry her eyes open.

“Mornin’, B,” Faith greeted from the kitchen.

Feeling slightly self-conscious in just her bra and panties, Buffy yanked on a crumpled shirt and her jeans. She stood up and sniffed the air. “Smells good,” Buffy offered.

Faith snorted. “Yeah right. I’m trying to remember how my mom used to make her famous eggs, but I’m blanking.”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s not a big deal.”

Faith slammed the pan down on the counter. “Yes it is! Fuck!” She threw the eggs down the sink, and they broke open, oozing egg yolk.

Buffy jumped, startled by the brunette’s sudden explosion. “Faith?”

She rested her elbows on the counter, rubbing her head. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just fuckin’ stressed out.”

Buffy’s heart broke a little more at the sight of her sister-in-law. Faith had been strong for the last week and a half for her, now it was Buffy’s turn to do the comforting.

She stepped forward and slowly wrapped her arms around the brunette. Buffy could feel Faith’s ragged breath against her neck and squeezed tighter.

In the past, they had never been particularly affectionate, they’d probably hugged once or twice, but other than that fateful night, they really hadn’t.

Finally Faith’s breathing eased, and Buffy pulled back. “You okay?”

Faith sniffled. “Five by five,” she told her and went to grab her jacket. “Hey, after work I can take you to your house. If you need anything.”

Buffy froze at the suggestion. “That’s okay, I’m good,” she replied, trying to keep a brave face. “Maybe later.”

Faith gave her a look that clearly said she doubted the blonde’s words, but shrugged. “’Kay, later, B.”

The door slammed shut, and Buffy sat down in a chair, staring at nothing.

She couldn’t do this, Buffy realized, blinking hard. It was too much like she was waiting for Angel to come home…like nothing had happened.

Suddenly restless, Buffy sprang to her feet and threw off her rumpled shirt and walked into Faith’s room. She flung the closet door open and thumbed through the various shirts.

Too skimpy, too low-cut, too thin…Buffy rejected almost half of Faith’s clothes in less than a minute. Finally, she settled on a tight, stretchy black long-sleeve shirt that looked like it’d only been worn once. Buffy toyed with the idea of borrowing a pair of Faith’s pants, but nixed it after spotting five pairs of tight, black leather pants.

There was a time she’d have worn them, Buffy remembered as she ran a brush through her curls. But since she’d been married to Angel, her clothes had turned to a more understated sexy elegance. Older. Not quite so college-party girl.

Her little black purse was right by the fold-out couch where she had left it, and Buffy picked it up, emptying out the contents.

Carefully, she applied a little cover-up and chapstick, trying to look halfway decent. She slipped her feet into her slip-ons and snatched the extra key as she walked out the door, locking it tightly.

The sun temporarily blinded her, and she had to shield her eyes. Nibbling slightly on her lower lip, Buffy vainly tried to remember where the Giles’ lived. She knew it was in one of the nice neighborhoods by the ocean, or on it in their case, but she wasn’t sure which road.

Buffy’s pace quickened as she neared the bus stop. She folded her arms around herself and settled against the thick pane surrounding the bus bench. According to the bus schedule, the next bus to Ocean View Heights, the Giles’ neighborhood, would arrive in seven minutes.

Twenty minutes later, Buffy was standing outside of the Giles’ home. Their mansion looked even more massive and impressive than it did the night before. Hesitantly, Buffy reached forward, pressing the elaborate doorbell. A moment passed before the heavy wooden door creaked open revealing Will.

Buffy blinked in surprise. “Oh…hi.” The words fell awkwardly from her mouth. “Is Mr. Giles here?” Even more awkward, she winced.

“Rupes? He’s at one of his shops,” Spike paused, studying her with a puzzled look. “Did you need somethin’?”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Um, not really…Mr. Giles offered to give me a tour of the house, but I can go if he’s not here…” she trailed off with a weak shrug.

Will peered behind her. “How’d you get here?”

“The bus,” Buffy answered honestly. “Faith has the car.”

Without a word, Will left the door wide open and walked away. Buffy stood there, dumbfounded.

Will turned around with a raised scarred brow. “You comin’?”

Buffy scrambled to open the screen door and stepped into the foyer, closing the wood door with loud noise. She followed Will down the hallway to a massive kitchen. Polished granite counters gleamed against dark wood and stainless steel.

“Pretty,” she commented softly, running her hands over the counter. The flecks of green entranced her and she sighed.

Will stared at her for a moment. “Yeah.” His voice, Buffy noticed, was rougher than a minute ago.

She obediently followed him down a pair of steps into a beautiful dining room. Once again the dark wood contrasted with simple white plaster walls. She walked over to the wall, touching the framed picture.

In it Buffy identified Angel, Will, a blonde and a brunette. They were all huddled together, smiling—sort of. Will had his arms around the unfamiliar brunette, and his eyes were solely on her, while she smiled coquettishly into the camera. But Angel…his arms were wrapped around the blonde loosely, but that wasn’t what caught Buffy’s eye. It was the look on his face, younger than she’d ever seen him look.

“That was the summer after high school,” Will said, answering her unspoken question.

Buffy reached out and touched the picture lightly. “He doesn’t really look that different, but his…expression, that’s different.”

“Yeah, Angel was always more mature than the rest of us,” Will responded with a soft chuckle.

“Who’s the girl?” Buffy asked automatically. She watched a slight play of emotions cross over Will’s face.

“His old girlfriend from high school. Darla,” Will answered with a shrug. “Don’t know much ‘bout her now.”

“She’s pretty,” Buffy said quietly. She couldn’t remember if Angel had ever told her about a girl named Darla. She fished through her memories, trying to recall if they had ever spoken of their past loves.

“So, I, uh, can take you ‘round to the living room, an’ such,” Will’s voice sliced through her reverie.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy startled to attention. “Thanks.”

For the next half hour, Will showed her each room of the house, giving a brief explanation if necessary. Buffy was surprisingly grateful for the impersonal tour, and let herself drift. She drank up the beautiful interior, the dark wood floor and smooth angled walls.

“…one of the guestrooms.”

Buffy tuned back in as they finished at the top of the stairs. “Sorry?”

Will glanced at her quickly. “M’ uncle said you’re planning on stayin’ for a bit, yeah?”

Clearing her throat, Buffy responded, “Um, yes. I mean, your uncle offered.” Suddenly, like a hammer to the face, she realized why he sounded so familiar. “You called.”

“What’s that?” Will asked, frowning as he started down the stairs.

Buffy continued with certainty. “You called that night. Before Angel…” she stopped and then finished, “you said you were Spike.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Wasn’t sure if you’d remember that. It’s a nickname back from our school days. I didn’t really think I’d be meetin’ you like…this.”

“Does Faith call you ‘Spike’?” Buffy asked, following him down the steps.

“Sometimes,” he acknowledged, “’m not the same bloke I was then. It’s just a name now.”

“It’s interesting,” Buffy said slowly, trying the name, “Spike.”

“You’re welcome to use it,” he told her with a faint tinge of humor to his voice.

Buffy could feel herself relaxing, if only a little. “Thanks,” she replied dryly with a glance over her shoulder. “When will Mr. Giles be back?”

“Giles,” Spike corrected her. “Everyone just calls him by his last name. Or Rupes if you’re me. An’ he’ll be back soon. I gotta talk to him ‘bout headin’ back to the motherland.”

“Where do you live?” Buffy questioned conversationally.

“London, in a tiny flat,” Spike replied.

There was the deafening sound of the front door being shut and a young woman’s voice calling out, “Spike?”

“By the stairs, Bit!” Spike shouted back. Seconds later, Dawn barreled around the corner.

“Oh!” She started. “Hi.” Dawn looked nervous, glancing at Buffy with trepidation.

“How was your day?” Spike inquired, leaning against the wall.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Same as usual. Margo the freak fainted. Again.”

“Frog?” Spike asked.

“No, fetal pig,” Dawn responded with a scrunch of her nose. She moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at Buffy again.

Spike took that as his cue. “You remember Buffy, yeah Dawn?”

The young woman nodded, looking a little hesitant. “Sure. Hi.”

“Hey,” Buffy replied, trying to smile kindly. It seemed to take an enormous effort to pull her lips upward.

“Are you…” Dawn trailed off, glancing between the two blondes. “Are you gonna stay here?”

Buffy was wondering that herself. “Well,” she fished around, thinking of something to encompass both options. “I think so.”

Big blue eyes peered at her almost cautiously. “Okay.”

Buffy turned to Spike. “Um, thank you, for the tour, I mean. I should probably get going.”

Spike frowned a little. “Didn’t you catch the bus?”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded quickly. “The stop is just a couple of blocks from here—“

“Don’t worry,” Dawn piped up with a sudden grin. “Spike can take you back.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the teen. “You can’t keep holdin’ that over me, Bit.” He pulled out a key chain from his pocket and twirled it around his finger.

Feeling heat burn its way up her neck, Buffy shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no, you totally don’t have to.”

“Of course he does,” Dawn chirped. “It’s my car he’s using, so I have final say.”

“Please, Nibblet, you don’t even have your bloody license,” Spike replied, and this time Buffy caught the lingering jest behind their banter.

She followed the pair to front door, watching the spectacle in front of her. Like bickering teen siblings, they preceded to argue the technicalities of the car.

“Dad bought it for me,” Dawn said with triumphant look, “so it’s mine. Just because I can’t legally drive it, doesn’t mean you can go all nuts with it. Besides I get my temps in a couple months.”

“Go do your homework,” Spike commanded with finality, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Dawn flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Whatever,” then shyly she added, “Bye, Buffy.”

Buffy gave her a small wave before trailing after Spike to a massive black car. It was clearly an old vehicle, too large to be in style anymore. “Wow,” she said, trying to hide her distaste.

Spike beamed. “I bloody love this car. A gorgeous classic, she is.”

Buffy just sank into the deep bucket seats. She felt like the whole car was trying to swallow her up, and she shifted uncomfortably.

They drove in a silence that wasn’t really awkward, but more like a skip in a song, odd and puzzling. She was staring out of the window when she noticed that they were headed towards the downtown which ran on Main Street. Heart pounding frantically, Buffy half-shouted, “Turn right!”

Spike swerved the car quickly, and glanced over at her with confusion, his scarred eyebrow shooting upward.

Buffy shrank back in her seat, tilting her face to the window. She should have explained herself but the words were stuck somewhere between her stomach and throat. Instead she asked, “So this is Dawn’s car?”

Spike laughed at that. “Rupes needed to bribe her with something to move here from New York. ‘m thinkin’ of buying it from him, and he’ll use the money to buy her a new one, something more girly and whatnot.”

“She seems…” Buffy trailed off, unable to find the right words.

“Bit’s been through a lot,” Spike told her and that seemed to explain the extraordinariness of his cousin.

“I like her,” she announced, “She’s sweet and…full of life, I guess.”

“Yeah, you think that now but then you live with the chit…” Spike grumbled, but Buffy could hear his love laced in his words.

“So how long are you staying?” Buffy questioned as she directed him into Faith’s neighborhood. She kept talking, hoping to fool herself into thinking everything was normal.

“I was thinkin’ ‘nother week or so. ‘S not like I’ve got a nine-to-five job I gotta report to, an’ my mate is lookin’ out for my flat. Rupes and Nibblet won’t mind me stayin’ for a while.”

It suddenly occurred to Buffy to ask, “How long have they lived here? I would think that Angel would’ve mentioned it. You guys all seem really…close.” Would’ve, she echoed in her mind shakily.

“Only a couple of months,” Spike answered casually, not looking over at her. “’Sides, it’s Angel. He liked doing things on his own. Think it’s always been a thorn in his side to admit he needed an adult to watch over him as a kiddie.”

It was so true, Buffy realized. Angel would always grumble when a senior associate corrected him at work, and he was the one fixing things up around the house. The memory of Angel dressed in one of his white undershirts and black sweatpants fixing the sink while talking to her about funny clients burned a hole in her gut. So much for distraction, she thought with a small choked sob.

“Will you tell me about him?” There was no question who “him” was.

“Not now,” Spike said quietly, “Later. Promise. Just not now.”

Buffy tried to nod understandingly. “Okay.” She gave him the address, and he parked on the side of the street. Kindly, he walked her into the building and up the stairs to Faith’s place.

Unlocking the door, Buffy was suspired to see Faith on the couch in sweats and a tank top. A bottle of tequila sat nestled in the crock of her arm like a lover.

“Hey B, Spike,” she slurred with a dazed grin. She held up the half empty bottle. “Join me?”

The second surprise came from Spike. “Soddin’ hell yes,” he said with evident relief and plopped down next to her, already unscrewing the bottle.

“B, come on,” Faith patted her other side. “We could all use this.”

But Spike gave her the ultimatum. “If ‘m gonna tell you about Peaches, it’d best be with a bottle of shitty tequila.”

Without further prompting, Buffy sat down and folded her feet underneath her. “Hand it over.” after a second’s pause, she added, “And who’s Peaches?”

Chapter Four: Drunk

Spike roared with laughter while Buffy giggled until her stomach hurt. “Oh my god, that has to be the best story ever!”

Faith grinned, laughter bubbling over. “No, please, the best fucking story is when Spike and Angel decided that the needed to finish off the fruit of the day at school.”

Spike sputtered, “Bloody hell! He told you ‘bout that?”

At his expression alone, Buffy burst into fresh peals of laughter. Oh, it felt so good to smile and laugh that she didn’t even mind that it was all an illusion brought on by tequila.

“I’ll tell it,” Faith said with authority, and stood up with quivering legs. “So, Angel and dumbass here were drunk and wondering all around St. James. This was before they had girlfriends so they felt it was their fucking obligation to finish off what the chefs had left over,” she paused for an effect, her lips already twitching, “peaches.”

Buffy frowned. “Is this how he got the nickname Peaches?” she asked with a slur.

“Oh yeah,” Faith replied, grinning madly. “They dared each other to eat as much as possible and since Spike is a wormy wimp…”

“Hey!” Spike interjected defensively.

“And Angel,” Faith continued, “never backs down from a challenge, the hardheaded ass. The friggin’ contest ended with Angel clutching the toilet bowl.”

“It was the most bloody disgusting stuff,” Spike added. “Orange globs just came oozing out of mouth like a soddin’ waterfall.”

“Ewwww!” Buffy squealed, laughing until she was gasping for air. Faith joined her with hiccupping giggles, slumping against the blonde’s shoulder.

“All right,” Spike grumbled good-naturedly and then chuckled. “Now, let’s tell the numerous tales of Faith.”

“Like hell!” She slapped his shoulder and simultaneously took a gulp of tequila. The bottle was mostly gone now.

Buffy straightened, frowning at her sister-in-law. “Did you make with the pranks too?”

“No.” Faith rolled her eyes, flopping back on the couch. “It’s all sex, B.”

“Oh,” Buffy said, a flush staining her cheeks. There was a limit to how much she needed to know about Faith and her sexual conquests.

Spike grew quiet and stared down at the near empty bottle in his hands. Glancing between the two, Buffy wondered if they had slept together. She then flushed again at thinking of the two of them in that way.

“What ‘bout you, B?” Faith asked, “Any sordid stories for us?”

She felt their eyes on her and suddenly fat tears slid down her cheeks. “No,” she answered quietly, eyes trained on her bare toes. “Angel was it. He was the one.”

As Faith’s arms, warm and sticky, wrapped around her, Buffy saw Spike back away and disappear with a light click shut of the apartment door. They sat like that for a while on the couch before pulling away.

“Jesus,” Faith sniffed, “you’re turnin’ me into a wuss.”

Buffy let out a broken laugh. “You? My eyes are dried out from crying.” She wiped at her tears fruitlessly. “I miss him so much it hurts so badly,” she whispered.

“Me too, B. Me too,” Faith murmured, and they slouched, shoulder-to-shoulder on the worn couch until they drifted off, eyes weighed down with sleep and too much to drink.

***********

Spokes of sunlight streamed in through the window, rousing Buffy painfully. She groaned, pressing her palm to her head. Beside her, she heard Faith mumble something before moaning into a pillow.

As Buffy’s eyes adjusted, she saw that the bottle of tequila was sitting on the floor, empty like she suspected.

“Coffee?”

With an agonizing nod, Buffy agreed before shutting her eyes again. The previous night came back to her in blurry bits and pieces, and she sighed long. When was the last time she had gotten this drunk? Had she ever?

Vaguely she remembered Spike leaving, and wondered how he drove home after all that to drink.

Rolling onto her side, Buffy stood up gingerly, holding her head against the wave of pain, her stomach rebelling as she walked towards the kitchen area.

“Here.” Faith pushed a ceramic cup of coffee in front her.

Buffy tried to ignore the smell as she took tiny baby sips. Two tiny pills appeared, and she swallowed them quickly. “Thanks,” she murmured to her sister-in-law.

“No prob,” Faith replied, her voice hoarse. “I gotta get ready for work. Last official day and all.”

At this, Buffy felt her stomach revolt. She gulped to keep from throwing up. “Oh,” she said faintly, “I forgot about that.” Looking around, she noticed that before the drinking began, Faith had packed away most of her things in nondescript boxes.

“Listen, I’m coming home a couple hours early, we’ll do something. TJ’s maybe?” The brunette offered, naming a local diner with the classic fake red leather booths and breakfast all day.

Buffy shrugged as an answer, letting hot coffee slosh in her mouth.

“I gotta go get dressed, dammit,” Faith swore, taking a gulp of coffee and dumping the rest in the sink.

“I think I’m gonna…” Buffy trailed off, half-heartedly pointing to the couch. She took another sip from her cup before stumbling back to the couch and curling up in fetal position. It didn’t take long for her eyes drift shut.

********

“Buffy…Buffy…”

“Hmm…” Buffy stirred, her eyes fluttering open drowsily. A moment went by before she recognized the man who was shaking her shoulder. “Spike?”

“’lo, Faith here?”

Buffy struggled to sit up, sleep still fogging her brain. “Uh…no…what time is it?”

“One, luv.” Spike’s low, accented voice soothed her aching brain.

Blinking, Buffy frowned, looking around. “How’d you get in?” She saw over his shoulder that the door was not busted open.

“Faith told me where the spare key was yesterday,” Spike explained and then added, “you were there.”

“Yeah, well.” She suddenly felt sheepish being so disheveled. “I’m kinda missing some stuff…or it’s all blurry, I can’t really tell yet.”

Spike nodded somewhat sympathetically. “A bottle of tequila will do that. Listen, tell Faith I stopped by and we need to talk, yeah?”

Buffy nodded, and then regretted it. “Ow,” she mumbled, watching him walk back out the door, shutting it softly. She tried to fall back to sleep, but her eyes wouldn’t close. Instead, she stood up and found the Advil, taking two more pills.

She wandered around the apartment, clutching a glass of water. Faith had taken most of her things down, and in her bedroom, the bed was stripped bare. Buffy then stepped into the bathroom and saw Faith’s hair products were still in the shower caddy and located a clean towel easily.

Quickly, Buffy slipped off rumpled and rank clothing and got into the shower, letting the tepid water sluice over her body. She twisted the knob, making the water hot enough to turn her skin pink. Titling her face to the spray, Buffy felt tears trail down her temples and merge with the water.

It felt like it was all she ever did. Cry until her eyes burned.

Angry and frustrated, she slammed her hand on the shower knob, turning the water off. She toweled her hair and body roughly even though it stung. She was running her fingers through her hair as a poor substitute for a brush, when Faith’s voice echoed in the petite apartment.

“I’m in the bathroom!” Buffy yelled back and jumped when the door flew open.

“TJ’s?” Faith questioned, looking wild-eyed.

“Yeah…” Buffy wrapped her towel around her tighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Faith said too quickly. “You can borrow my clothes if you want, B. They’re in the box by the closet.” She spun on her heel and vanished out the door.

Buffy frowned but followed her sister-in-law’s instructions. She managed to find a pair of dressy black pants and then slipped her shirt on again. Tying her back in a neat bun at the base of her neck, Buffy stared hard at her reflection. Her face was too thin and wan, like the life had been sucked out. And it had, hadn’t it?

“You ready?” Faith asked, her head poking around the door.

“Yep, let’s go,” Buffy answered and then remembered, “Oh, um, Spike stopped by earlier. I guess he was looking for you.”

“Right, yeah. I talked to him just before I got here. It’s cool,” Faith told her, already out the front door.

Buffy grabbed her tiny purse as they walked out into the vivid sunlight, two pale women dressed in all black.

Thankfully, TJ’s was only a block down and across and vacant at two o’clock in the afternoon. They found their favorite booth and slid in, the plastic leather cracking.

“Jesus, when was the last time we came here?” Faith wondered out loud, shrugging off her blazer.

Buffy picked up the menu, holding it high. “It was you, me and…and Angel. I think we were celebrating a case of his.” Her voice cracked agonizingly. “I can’t remember which one.”

Faith let out a shaky exhale. “Suddenly I’m not so fuckin’ hungry anymore,” she mumbled, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

As if a magic trick, the waitress appeared and told her in monotone, “You can’t smoke in here.”

With a snarling smirk, Faith responded, “I wasn’t gonna.” She turned to Buffy. “B, you know what you want?”

“Um…just a coffee and a piece of toast, lightly buttered,” Buffy replied to the waitress and set her menu down.

“That’s it?” Faith asked with a skeptical look and let it go after Buffy nodded. “Fine. Then, I’ll have the blueberry pancakes, syrup on the side.”

“Blueberry or regular?” the waitress asked, tapping her pad.

“Blueberry,” Faith answered easily. “Thanks…Mary Alice.” She read of the nametag slowly.

The waitress ignored her and said to Buffy, “Your food’ll be out in a coupla minutes.”

Once the waitress was occupied with next table, Buffy said, “Kinda bitchy much?” Her tone was light enough so Faith wouldn’t be overly offended.

“Shitty day,” was Faith’s retort as she emptied a sugar packet in her cup. As soon as she did so, the waitress returned and silently poured them full cups of coffee.

Buffy dumped cream and two packets of Equal in hers before taking a sip. “What happened? I thought with the whole last day thing it would’ve been…”

“Yeah,” Faith muttered, “you’d think.” She drummed the unlit cigarette against the rim of her cup. Their silence drew out for another minute before Faith spoke again, “I think…we need to meet with the lawyer before I leave.”

Buffy swallowed, her coffee tasting bitter in her mouth. “The will.”

“Yeah,” Faith said and added, “sorry. It sucks but we gotta get it over with. I figure most goes to you. A little to me, maybe.”

“We should go to the house,” Buffy announced, surprised that she was the one to bring up the dreaded task. “We should go, and I should get my stuff. If there’s anything you want, take it. I know we have—“ she stopped cold feeling tears clog her throat again.

“B, it’s cool, we don’t have to do it now if you’re not five by five,” Faith reassured her, patting her limp hand.

“I meant had,” Buffy said, drawing up from strength she didn’t know she had. “We had a lot of stuff in the attic and some in the basement. I don’t even know half of what all that crap is.”

The waitress returned and dropped their plates of food in front of them, and they clattered slightly. Buffy nibbled on her toast, watching Faith cut her pancakes into tiny pieces, the blueberries bleeding dark indigo juice.

“Okay,” Faith replied, breaking the long pause. “We’ll go on Sunday.”

Chapter Five: Empty

“You sure you’re ready?” Faith whispered as if she might jinx Buffy’s courage.

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, toying with a strand of her hair. “I have to do this and honestly, I’m not sure I could, you know, without you.”

Faith’s warm hand squeezed hers briefly before she unlocked the white front door. It swung open revealing everything exactly the way Buffy had left it.

“No one’s been here?” Buffy asked, hesitantly taking a step forward.

“Hell no,” Faith answered. “I told you I’d keep my promise. But his firm said that they need some files that are in Angel’s office. And some stuff off the computer.”

“Right, of course.” Buffy nodded rapidly. “It’s stuff they need to work and…do cases.” She took another step closer to the entryway.

“B,” Faith began, “it’ll be okay. Let’s just…” she reached out to guide Buffy in, “go in and get your clothes and shit.”

They took the final step inside the foyer together, and Buffy inhaled sharply at the sight of her home. She sniffled as they walked into the kitchen where Buffy’s running jacket was casually thrown over one of the stools.

Everything was exactly the same as she had left it: her jacket, the banana on the counter, the radio playing quietly.

Buffy half-expected Angel to barrel around the corner or come in through garage door. In this dead house, he was a ghost she couldn’t shake off.

“You good?” Faith questioned, touching her shoulder lightly.

“No,” Buffy replied with a shaky, bitter bark of a laugh. She sat down in the stool, fingering the material of her running jacket. Faith sat down in the other stool uncharacteristically quiet. For a long time they sat there as Buffy tried not to burst into endless sobs.

“Anything you want me to do, B?” Faith asked finally.

“Um…” Buffy looked around. “The garbage needs to be taken out,” she began slowly, “and emptied around the house. Tomorrow’s garbage day. And there’s laundry in the washer, I should probably finish it. And someone has to call Maria and tell her… what h-happened, but I think she should continuing coming to keep the place clean.” As Buffy listed her chores, she felt a little of the unbearable sadness melt away.

Faith nodded. “I’ll do laundry, you do garbage.”

Buffy smiled a little at that. “Figures,” she said pointedly and stood up, tying her hair back.

After a half an hour, Buffy stood in front her bedroom with a large trash bag. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. She spotted her robe in a puddle on the floor where she left. She picked it up and set it on her bed.

Their bed.

Sitting down on the soft comforter, Buffy smoothed her fingers over the material as sorrow crashed back down like hammer. She pressed her hands to her face and gave into great heaving sobs.

Faith must have heard her, because she walked in cautiously. “B…” she said sympathetically, taking the garbage bag away. “I’ll do this one.”

Buffy stopped her, straightening her spine. “No,” she said slowly. “I have to do this.” And with deliberate movements, she went through all three garbage cans in both the master bedroom and bathroom.

“Now all that’s left is his office,” Buffy said wearily.

“Need help?” Faith offered unnecessarily, already heading back to the laundry room.

“Nope, I got it,” Buffy answered, gathering her strength. As she entered the office, she was struck again by how masculine it was. The dark, solid wood desk and matching shelves with all its smooth lines and the dark navy rug seamlessly flowed together.

Buffy’s hand skimmed over the antique globe that Angel had once told her had belonged to his estranged parents. She emptied the small wastebasket by the desk that had piles of crumpled paper.

In fact, the desk was also littered with paper, and with a heavy exhale, Buffy started putting them into her trash bag as well. Underneath, she found stacks of manila folders from the firm, and Buffy placed them carefully by the door.

She choked on a sob as she touched the suit jacket he had unusually left on the back of his chair. Buffy set her trash bag down, tightening the strings, and then slipped the too large jacket on.

It faintly smelled of him, the whiff of his cologne and the scent of him…Angel. Inhaling deeply, Buffy slipped her fingers into the pockets to enfold herself in the jacket and frowned as her hand caught on a piece of paper.

She pulled it out, examining the cryptic message.

‘D. 1-312-489-9038—'

The end of the note was a smear of ink.

“B, you in here?” Faith called out, poking her head into the room.

Buffy shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. “Yeah…” she gestured lamely to the coat. “Just taking a break.” She shrugged out of the suit jacket, placing it back in its spot on the chair.

She felt numb and shaky as she picked up the trash bag. “I should take this outside.” Brushing past Faith, Buffy tried not to dwell on the slip of paper too much. It’s just a client, she told herself. Or an expert for a case. Angel always tried to find the best in the country.

Dragging the trash cans to the curb, Buffy stopped and stared out at the rows and rows of houses. Across the street the two little girls, Megan and Jessie, were playing on the sidewalk.

They had talked about children sometimes, but only in an abstract way because Angel wanted to wait until his job was secure, and Buffy had readily agreed.

But now they would never have kids, Buffy realized and her heart splintered once again.

Faith came up from behind her and said, “Laundry’s all done now, and I got the pants and clothes you wanted.” She held up the small duffle as evidence.

Her newfound sense of loss seemed too personal to say out loud, even to Faith. “Garbage is done. I guess we can get going,” Buffy said instead and then asked impulsively, “Why didn’t you or Angel tell me about the Giles family?”

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Faith shrugged. “Wasn’t my thing to tell, you know? And I think they had a little falling out or something after high school.”

“Really?” Buffy asked, genuinely surprised. “Angel and Spike?”

Again, Faith shrugged. “Listen, when Angel an’ I were kids, it was different.” She kicked a rock, sending it bouncing across the pavement. “In high school, three years is a big diff, ya know? I didn’t hang with them much, and Angel and I didn’t talk much ‘bout it.”

“You knew Giles though,” Buffy reminded her as they closed the garage and headed back to Faith’s car.

“Of course, but we didn’t all spend time together like one big happy family,” Faith answered as she backed out of the driveway before adding, “Spike and I still talk from time to time, and he told me he was comin’ for the funeral.”

“Spike called,” Buffy finally told the brunette. “That night. It was supposed to be a message for Angel...for when he came home.” It took Buffy a second to catch her breath after saying that.

“Yeah?” Faith’s gaze stayed on the road. “Maybe they were patching shit up.”

“I guess so.” Buffy leaned back her seat, trying to ignore the press of the paper against her hip.