Sometimes, in times like these, she wished time would just slow down. Or not move at all. Be still. Because she didn't want to get up right now; she wanted to stay in this exact position and savor the moment. She wanted more time to appreciate this minute, because it would pass too fast. Like those last couple of nights before the battle.

Everything else was much too stressful to deal with--stressful being an understatement, when you had a bunch of potential slayers fighting the biggest battle Sunnydale's ever seen--or even think about. She just wanted to procrastinate for a little bit longer.

Now it was the same feeling. Buffy's hand still rested on the keys of her BlackBerry. She was suddenly glad she wore her aviators that day, because the sun seemed too hot, too bright to stand. Sitting outside at a cafe in a piazza, when it was springtime in Milan, was stifling. But then she realized she wasn't feeling that way at all a minute ago. A minute ago, the May air was warm but breezy, just right. A little bit like California actually. A minute ago, she was just enjoying her minuscule espresso (because those Italians drank nothing else), watching the busy city streets with the tall, model-esque women and men in dark suits on vespas. It was tranquil in a way that calmed her. A minute ago, she was just on a shopping trip with Dawn on via Montenapoleone, in the Prada store to be exact. Buffy was thinking of this season's turbans--which she was not a fan of--and nothing of a dead vampire lover.

Then Angel called. She didn't recognize his number at first, except she could identify the area code as Los Angeles. She had a hint of suspicsion right before her finger pressed the green button. It was a feeling that hadn't plagued her thoughts in almost two years. During the first year after leaving Sunnydale--the crater--every phone call, every person bursting in with news had her heart jumping to thoughts of Spike. Hope was a dangerous--and hurtful thing. She tried to shake the feeling away; after all, she had gotten over it years ago.

"Hello, Buffy."

"Well hello. Long time no talk." She knew from the moment she heard his voice it wasn't good news. And it also wasn't a call for help.

"I have some ahh, news."

"Uh huh."

"Have you talked to Andrew lately?"

She was puzzled. "What's Andrew got to do with this? Of course I talk to him. He lives near us in Rome, helping us with some potentials."

"Has he...mentioned anything about an old friend?"

"...and what old friend is this?"

"One named Spike?"

So it was sort of a shock when Angel told her the story of the other souled vamp, the one who came back from the supposed dead and fought for good again. And died again. Six months ago.

There is still the mystery of Wolfram & Hart, but Angel and his people had adverted another apocalypse, except that Fred and Spike were now dead.

He answered all her questions patiently except for one.

Why didn't anyone tell her? Why didn't he tell her? Could it have killed him to pick up a phone?

"I--" he faltered, "I told him you didn't love him."

Why? Why would you do that? She choked and wanted to cry. But instead she asked, "When?" Like it would've mattered when. The moment he came back? After he was done being a ghost? Before he died? Spike never even believed her in the first place.

He was reluctant. "All the time."

If she listened hard, she could imagine his voice was laced with guilt. Damn you. But she couldn't say that to Angel. She closed her eyes, her heart squeezing hard.

Angel, listening to the beats of silence, continued, "I did what I thought was right. I felt it was right. Maybe I was wrong, Buffy. I know that now. I didn't want Spike for you...though you had better choices in life. Thought it was just a thing. I'm sorry."

Buffy struggled with an answer. "Ok. I understand." But I don't. Now she was getting angry. She shook her head. That was no use. Spike was a long time ago, not worth getting shirty over. Especially on her vacation. Get over it. Got over it. A long time ago.

He had heard the shaking in her voice though. You had no right, you had no right to tell him that. Yeah, he didn't. It was a lie. She didn't have to say it, but he knew it.

"I was sure you'd moved on. You always moved on." He was referring to himself in that particular, that he was once the greatest love of her life, that if she could move on from that, she could move on with anything.


"We went to see you once, you know. In Rome. While you were with the Immortal. Actually, we bumped into Andrew. So he knew all along, but we asked him not to tell you. For good reasons."

Buffy groaned internally, mostly in embarrassment. "That was a decoy Buffy. We have a couple of those now. One partying it up in Rome, and one patrolling demons underground." She explained, exasperated.

"Oh. Right, yeah. You told me about that last night. But neither of us were aware of the situation at the time, and we decided to stop and leave you alone."

He was still fighting over her at that point?

And Spike. Oh Spike. Spike, who thought she had already moved on. (She was trying, but she hadn't at the time. Yet.) Spike, who died again thinking she never loved him. She really did too, but then she got over him. It. "Wait. I can't get over it." Well that was hasty.

Her angry couldn't handle being repressed anymore. She could tell he was going to say more so she interrupted. "I don't understand. Never mind. I don't understand. Let's get back to your earlier point. What the fuck gives you the right to tell him that?" She hissed quietly into the phone, not wanting to attract the attention of the current server hovering over her.

Angel got defensive. "When does he fucking listen to me anyway? He trailed around you like a sick little puppy begging to be kicked for years and died before he gave up. You had told him you couldn't love him, could never love him--that's gotta hurt more than anything I ever told him. But he takes my words to heart?" He spat out.

He knew his words hit home. Her silence was answer enough.

Because he was right. He wasn't responsible for pushing Spike away; she was. Her. Only her. But she didn't know what to say, because it wasn't okay, and because she didn't have a right--or a reason, to be mad...right?

"Listen, I'm truly sorry, alright? Whatever you and Spike had...I guess it was more than I imagined. I guess he was important to you. Anyways, I just thought I should let you know. Even after six months...alright. Take care, Buffy."

Yeah he was important. More than important.

And she couldn't believe it happened again. To lose him again...even though she didn't know he had been alive (or undead) for a while.

So she imagined it not happening at all, that instead Spike came to her a year and a half ago instead of Angel. And she told him she loved him over and over again until he believed her--then they were together. She could imagine him being with her, here in Italy. And she wished time could just slow down, let her cherish the fantasy in her head, let her pretend for an instant.

------------------------------------------------------------------

When Dawn came back to the hotel that night, it was almost four in the morning. She was giddy and drunk, but at least she was alone.

Buffy was cleaning up some of her clothes, strewn around the room.

“Whatcha doing that for? We have room service.” Dawn giggled, coming over and flopping down on her kind-sized bed. The room was part of a two-bedroom suite in an old rustic-Victorian hotel--a gift from Giles as a much needed vacation for the girls.

Buffy shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”

“Oh?”

Should she tell her? She deserved the right to know. Aside from herself, Dawn was probably the closest friend to him before he died.

She fluffed the blankets on her bed once more as she said, “I got a call from Angel today.”

“Errr, bad news? Another apocalypse slash end-of-the-world-coming?”

“No.” Pause. “It was about Spike.”

Dawn sat up quickly. Her giggles faded and her face wrinkled in curiosity--or was it grief? Was it too soon to bring him up? Buffy knew it was too soon for her, but how long had Dawn mourned him--it couldn’t have been as long as Buffy had.

She recounted the details of the final battle Angel had told her. Dawn, emotions flying across her face, gasped and cried at the right intervals. And then she wanted to go to LA

"What for, Dawnie? Spike's long gone..and they never found any remains."

"Well duh! He's dust! But we have to do something, go pay our respects or some other shit to remember him by. I mean, this is Spike we're talking about...he died twice to save the world. He died a hero. And--and"

"Ok, ok. We'll go home. We'll go to LA."

“Take me to the alley.” Buffy appeared at the door of his office. It was late at night, and although he thought she had already gone to bed, here she was again.

Angel shouldn’t have been surprised at her request, but he hesitated. Did she know the dark forces that lurked behind the hotel? Although the demons had been beaten back and the dimensions closed, the evil energy was still there, and it was hard, even for a vampire, to stand being in its presence.

She had only been in LA for a couple of days, catching up with him and Gunn. They filled her in on the year Spike had spent with them as much as possible. Everything from his early days as a ghost, to the fight for the Shanshu prophecy, was told to her and Dawn.

Perhaps it was time, he knew she would have to visit eventually, if not for slayer duties. But he was determined to delay that for as long as possible.

“Buffy, there’s nothing. To say it’s not a pleasant place is an understatement; there’s despair in that place--”

"I know."

"You know? If you know, you know you shouldn't go. There's nothing you can do without Willow or Giles or somebody with magic experience."

"You know it's not even about that."

"Then what is it about?" Angel spread his arms. "If it's not about your slayer duties, is it

“Please, Angel. I don’t care. I just want to see.”

Sigh. “See what, Buffy? Mounds of ruble and destroyed chaos?”

“No.” She lifted her head and at once she looked like the young, innocent Buffy he first met. The one who was so susceptible to love and naïve about its notions. He knew then she only revealed this face to him because he was someone she trusted, someone she trusted to understand her and her pain. “I want to see the place Spike last fought. I want to picture him riding into battle, fists full of big manly weapons and that wonderful mouth roaring profanities. I want to imagine him brave and rash, throwing his entire being into saving the world.”

Comprehension dawned on him. Buffy wanted her last memories of Spike as a hero, wanted to remind herself that he had died again for a reason, and that the Powers That Be weren’t simply killing off her lovers to ensure she never found rest.

Not that he would deny her anything, not in such clear, miserable agony.

It was Spike’s final resting place and she wanted to make her peace--he could understand.

She could see him giving in and her expression became stronger and determined.

“Ahem. I come too.” Dawn appeared at her sister’s side, arms folded across her chest and giving Angel the defiant look she had been giving him since she was little.

"Ok, Dawn, what are you doing here and how long have you been eavesdropping?" Buffy crossed her arms and gave her sister a pointed look.

"Ok, Mom, I am an a-dult. Which means I really shouldn't have to answer to you right? Plus, you think you're the only one with demons?"

"I don't have demons, I just want to say my goodbyes."

"Bullshit. You're so full of denial. But it's okay...I'll leave you alone. I have my own to deal with."

"Spike loved you, what do you have to be sorry for?"

Dawn hesitated, her eyes dropping. "Buffy, I was angry with Spike for what he did to you before he left. I told him horrible, unforgivable things. And I never got a chance to say sorry. I thought we would all make it, you know?"

Buffy closed her eyes, a headache coming on.

"Yeah, Dawnie, I know. Come with me, we'll make our amends." She wrapped an arm around her younger sister.

The tense atmosphere dropped immediately. Instead, the emotions surrounding Spike's death rose again, and even Angel felt their sadness.

They turned towards him, lifting their eyebrows in unison. They looked like a ridiculous pair, menacing expressions but dressed in flannel pajamas.

He rolled his eyes. “God damn Summers women…” He muttered, but obediently turned around, leading the way.
----------------------------------------

Dawn had just left. They were in the back of the Hyperion now, Buffy and Angel standing silent. Buffy carefully walked over every inch of the area as she waited for Dawn to have her moment. Her sister had stood at a far corner, and although Buffy hadn’t heard any words, she saw Dawn’s lips moving several times. Maybe even a few tears at the end, as she saw her sister wipe her cheeks.

Then she passed by Buffy, hugged her and said she was going to bed.

Now Angel watched Buffy as she inspected a pile of rubble, a million thoughts running through his mind. What happened next shook him out of his daze.

It was a wonder that Buffy’s slayer senses didn’t pick him up until it was too late. He had leapt at her out of the shadows, in full game face and his pose dangerous. He went straight for her throat, gripping her and pinning her down as they fell to the ground. He smiled a wicked smile and let out a slow chuckle before releasing one of his hands and striking a blow to her head,, her gutted cry caught in her throat in surprise.

She barely had time to recover before he struck again from the other side. The pain was getting to her and she was getting dizzy from the raining blows. Buffy was reminded of how she beat Spike in that alley long ago--and how his actions mimicked her cruelty. What was wrong? Did he remember? Hot tears flooded her eyes as she tried to understand what was happening. She fought back, kicked at him and struggled to pry his hands off, but he was stronger--much stronger than she remembered.

Angel came over and hit him. He threw the larger vamp off easily and continued his assailant of her.

When he decided she was weak enough, he leaned into her neck, pausing just to lick a throbbing vein. He chuckled low in his throat. Buffy started sobbing at this point.

“Spike, Spike--please! It’s me, it’s Buffy! Spike, oh god--” But nothing seemed to register with him. Dangerous growls and chuckles erupted from his throat at her pleading.

She squeezed her eyes and continued to cry when suddenly his weight lifted. She sprang up immediately and saw him slumped against the opposite wall. And Angel was here, glancing from him to her.

Concerned, he went to her first. “You okay?”

Buffy shuddered at just what had almost occurred. She drew in a shaky breath, but nodded.

"God damnit, Spike!" Angel breathed out.

"No, don't. It's not him. It's not Spike. He doesn't seem to recognize us. Spike--Spike would recognize me."

Shaking his head at her defense of the vamp, he decided to let it go.

Angel was about give her a hand when she noticed Spike getting up. She stopped reaching for his hand. Angel looked at her for a moment before his gaze turned to Spike, now in a crouching position by the wall. Buffy stared, holding her breathe. His head was still bowed so she couldn’t see his face, but a second later, she heard his maniac laugh.

He lifted his head up as soon as he was standing again. His vampire face was still on, just as menacing and full of hate.

He snarled, “Oh, I recognize you fine, Slayer.”