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Buffy was kissing him. After more than a year apart, Buffy was kissing him. Not Angelus, not Soldier Boy, not that ponce who called himself "The Immortal," but him. This had to be a dream; he couldn't possibly be this lucky. Spike was absolutely over the moon. If Buffy had asked him to, at that moment, he could bring down the stars for her to pin in her beautiful hair. George Bailey was a lazy lout, giving his ladylove just the moon. Buffy wants the moon? She can have that, and the universe it came in, too. Just keep kissing me like that.

She doesn't love you. What makes you think she could love you? This is just pity. It's just a guilty conscience, she could never love the real you. What? Where did that come from? Don't pay attention; maybe he'll go away. Just concentrate on Buffy. She doesn't know who you really are, doesn't know the things you've done. Right now, Spike wished he could tear the soul right out of him. Stop it, you stupid sod, I spent a year listening to you, and Angelus, tell me how I wasn't good enough for Buffy. Now, here's living, breathing, and, oh God, she's so warm, proof that you both were wrong. She's so warm, and I'm so hungry. It would be so easy to just give in. Just a little nip, she won't even feel it. Do you think she'd love you if she saw your true face, the one you try to hide? She can never love you. No! You're wrong, she told me she loves me, and you're not going to ruin this for me again!

"...William the Bloody, this is Ground Control, come in," Buffy's voice was teasing, Spike tried to focus, just, exactly, when had she stopped kissing him?

Spike was flustered, and more than a bit spun around, by his traitorous, magical whatzit called a soul, "What?" he sputtered.

Buffy smiled warmly, "You okay? You looked like you were a million miles away for a minute there."

He tried to shrug it off, "It's nothing, Pet," he felt his throat tighten a little at the lie he was telling her, "just an old wound. Keeps nagging me, every now and again."

Buffy had noticed his face shift while she'd been kissing him, and thought that maybe, the shifting had hurt him somehow, "Really, where?" Buffy asked, concerned.

"It's not an actual wound, this is more of a metaphysical one."

Buffy's face crinkled in concentration, after all, it had been a while since she had had to use her brain when having a conversation. Spike had always been good at mental calisthenics. Of course, sometimes they didn't talk all that much, but when they had, it felt good. It kept her sharp, and on her toes. Buffy really missed not having Spike to talk to. She took a deep breath, and jumped in, "Are you talking about the soul, Spike?"

"Yes," Spike sighed, "Fought for it so that I'd fit in your world, fit with you, and then it spent two years telling me that I was lower than the dirt under your feet."

Buffy's heart ached for him. She knew what it was like to think that you didn't fit anywhere. Buffy knew that better than anyone. She'd come back from heaven, to a world that didn't need her anymore. And, then, in order to save the world, she not only had to give up Spike, but she had to give up the thing that had defined her, for seven years, being the one, and only, Slayer. Of course she knew how he felt.

"Spike, this might sound funny, coming from me, considering the emphasis I placed on it, in the past, but, the soul didn't make me love you."

His eyes went wide with surprise, "No?"
***********************************

Angel couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the battle again. Saw the look in Spike's eyes as he dove to knock him out of the fire's path. To Spike, Angel was family, warts and all, and to him that meant something. It was what had kept Spike going, when, Angel had to admit, he would have quit.

Quitting just wasn't something Spike did. The words, "It can't be done," were never strung together in his vocabulary, even from the beginning. That was something he never understood about William, and it used to drive him crazy trying to figure Spike out. Still did. Angel couldn't understand why the soul hadn't really changed Spike all that much. At least, not like it had changed him.

"Ah, but, does the soul make the man, or does the man make the soul, Angel?"

Angel wondered how he had gotten in here, the door hadn't opened, "Holland, what are you doing here?" he asked, fully prepared to drop kick him out the nearest window.

Holland looked quizzical, "Oh, I'm just pondering the mysteries of the universe, like you. People in the state you're in now, are prime real estate for the Home Office to set up shop in, and flourish. Don't want to miss the opportunity. This could lead to a promotion for me."

Angel was in no mood for banter, "To what, pond scum?"

Holland nodded, knowingly, "Keep questioning, Angel, you keep it up, at this rate, I'll be regional director before the month's out."
*******************************************

"No," Buffy said, "it wasn't the soul," she smiled, remembering the exact moment in time that she'd started to feel the feeling that everyone, her Watcher, her friends, Angel, and even she herself, said was impossible. After all, he didn't have a soul. Buffy sighed, "Do you want to know when it was that I knew? When I realized that I loved you, for the first time?"

Spike felt his arms and legs tingle with anticipation, "Yes," his body felt as tight as a spring, "Please, do tell, Slayer. I'm on pins and needles here," he smirked.

"When you held a sword, away from my head, with nothing but your bare hands," Buffy smiled, knowing he knew the moment she was talking about.

But that was back in...that was before the soul. Before that horrible night in her bathroom; before she'd jumped from that blasted tower, and plunged his world into darkness for one hundred forty-seven days, before he'd wanted her to beat him down for all of the terrible things he'd done. That was before the fire, and the burning, before her friends had been so thoughtless, ripping her out of heaven, and tearing her soul to shreds in the process, before his heart was left broken and bleeding because he'd tried to piece her back together.

Spike tried to control the rising tide of anger he felt, at her, at himself, at the world in general, and said, in a slow measured tone, "You never said anything," he looked into her soft gaze, and she was looking back, she hadn't blinked, "Why?"

Buffy could tell by his tone that she'd made him angry, and she didn't blame him at all. She should have said something long before she did. No wonder he hadn't believed her when she finally did say the words. Buffy placed her hand on his cheek, watching as his amber eyes drifted shut with the contact, "Because of the history I have," she said, sheepishly, "Vampires who know I love them, they tend to go," Buffy rolled her eyes up, trying to search for the right words, "a little, let's see, how do I put this, psychotic, and try to kill my friends. The ones without a soul, that is," Buffy paused, and Spike could see the wheels turning in her head, "Now that I think about it, the soulful ones try that too," she smirked at him, her eyes shining, "So, you see my dilemma. To tell, or not to tell, that was the question."

Buffy saw his eyes shift back to the azure hue she'd missed so much, a smirk playing on his lips, "I can see how that might be a problem," he said.
*************************

"You're wondering why she chose him, aren't you," Holland asked, "And, not just Buffy, you're wondering about Drusilla, too. What makes Spike so different? What makes people he's just met, for example, Illyria, want to protect him? Why does he seem to be able to turn enemies into allies, so quickly, while you have, for a trusted associate, an ousted Watcher who would have rather seen your own son grow up with someone who hated you, rather than risk you raising him," Holland shook his head, in pity, "It's sad, really."

"Don't mention Wesley, or Connor. Those subjects are off limits," Angel hissed at Holland, letting his demon show, to punctuate his point, "Ever again. Are we clear?"

"Oh," Holland sneered, "we're clear. Still, it makes you wonder, doesn't it? And, it's not the microchip that made Buffy and Dawn trust him. Riley told you that, if Spike had wanted to, he could have hired someone to kill all the Scoobies if he'd really wanted them dead," he gave a put upon sigh, "Or, he could have just locked them all in a wine cellar with a couple of bloodthirsty vampires, that would have gotten the job done, and no migraine for Spike, so what is it, really," Holland shrugged, "Some things will always remain a mystery, I guess."
***************************

Drusilla looked over the edge of the crater. This was where it had started. She'd seen it, all those years ago. She remembered it like it was yesterday. Her brave knight, the bravest in all the land, she'd told her Daddy so, the night she found him. He was standing down there, with all those burning, baby fish. He'd almost made it back to her, almost made it to heaven, but something pulled him back, right out of her grasp. She'd been so happy, and sad, at the same time. With him there, they could both rest. But now, she was hurting, and she wanted her Daddy to make things right again.
********************************

"What was it Darla said to you once," Holland asked, "Something to the effect of, 'What we were informs what we will become,' wasn't that it? Interesting theory. What was William?"

For Angel, examining Spike's psyche was like walking in the sun, not something he wanted to do. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, and Holland was preventing that from happening. If this is what it took to get Holland out, so he could get some rest, so be it. Angel sighed, Will this get you out of here any faster, me telling you about William?"

"Yes," Holland said.

"Fine. William was a weakling. He was never good with girls, tripped over his tongue trying to talk to them. He was the kind of person you never would notice, not in polite society. He was a wallflower, really, "Angel mused," But there was a spark of something; something that was too stubborn to die, when Drusilla made him."

Now we're getting somewhere, Holland thought, "And, what was that?"

Angel heaved an unneeded sigh, "He could love. Even with the soul gone, he could love. He wasn't empty."

"Like you are?" he asked.

"Like me," Angel said.
**************************

Buffy was pacing in the little apartment, "Spike, she can have whatever she wants. I'd give her anything she wanted, if it would help you."

Spike's muscles screamed as he struggled to push himself against the mound of pillows behind him. Buffy saw him struggling, and, after Spike collapsed halfway up, she helped him the rest of the way, hoping that her touch was gentle enough. Sometimes, when she was frightened, like she was now, she didn't know her own strength.

Spike was grateful for the help. He really didn't have it in him to handle a strategy session right now, but it couldn't be helped. Buffy needed information about Drusilla. Information not even her sire knew, information only he could give, "Buffy," Spike croaked, "with Drusilla, logic doesn't enter the picture. She doesn't know what she wants half of the time. When I took care of her," he cast his eyes down, away from Buffy's gaze, as if his next words were a shame to him, "When I loved her, I only paid attention to half of what she said. The other half, that was just gibberish."

"So, which half do I listen to?"

"If Dru starts going on about Miss Edith, that's when you listen."

"Why?"

Spike rolled his eyes, "Oh, Rupert, didn't you tell your girl anything," he looked at Buffy's confused face, "Look Pet, when a vampire gets changed, the soul leaves the house and goes into the ether, somewhere, for good or ill, wherever it is that souls go, but, even though the body's resident has vacated, and the vampire's set up in his old digs, there's always something left behind."

"What?" Buffy wondered why Giles, or Angel had never told her this. She supposed that this would make it harder for her to do her job. The Council was always a secretive bunch of morons.

"It's a bit like moving into an already furnished flat," Spike continued, "It is empty, yes. And, you bump around in it, but, there's always a reminder that someone was there first. You live there, but the walls aren't painted with colors that you're entirely fond of. Understand?"

Buffy nodded, "Why Miss Edith?"

"Miss Edith is her magical whatzit, the leftover from her life, before."

"Huh?"

"Buffy," Spike said patiently, "Drusilla was a nun before Angelus turned her. Nuns don't start out with names like, 'Sister Mary Michael,' they chose them, as part of their devotion to their new lives as nuns," he stopped; reliving the pain Angelus had caused Dru, before he'd turned her. Before, he'd admired Angelus for his inventive cruelty. But now, it just seemed over the top, "Buffy, in life, Drusilla was Edith Christine Hillary. Miss Edith."

Buffy was confused, "But you don't have a third name."

"No," Spike snapped, annoyed, "My mother named her bouncing bundle of joy, 'Spike' because she wanted to impress her biker friends!" he took a breath to calm himself, "Buffy, in your heart you know that I'm right."

Buffy looked at the sadness on his face, and wanted to comfort him, she walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, and asked, "So, what's your leftover?"

He smirked at her, "I think you know that, Pet."

"Yeah, I think I do," she said, as she leaned over to kiss him.
***********************

Angel heard a knock at his door. He had just fallen to sleep, and was angered by the interruption. Pulling his robe over his shoulders, he pulled the door open with a jerk, "Holland, I thought I told you to..."

"Daddy," the voice behind the door said.

"Drusilla," Angel whispered, in shock.
****************************





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