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A/N This chapter summerises and tags along with empty places, so if you haven't seen that you might be a bit confused. Don't worry I won't be writing this kind of chapter again, it was a nightmare. I just needed to get the event's of Empty Places out of the way so I can move on with the story.

April said I got the past perfect tense right, I don't even know what the past perfect tense is, but I got it right. TheBear grins broadly at her wonderful proof reader April, and hold's out her hand for a cookie.

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What a day. Buffy gingerly touched the bruise blossoming on her left cheek as she lay down on the soft double bed in her newly-commandeered house. What a day.

It had started badly. Finally leaving the hospital early that morning, she’d be confronted by the great exodus of Sunnydale. Humans and demons alike making tracks away from the growing malevolence of the hellmouth. She’d seen Clem driving his bright red Beetle out of town and for a moment she’d been able to relax, but his tactless “I don’t think anyone will be able to stop it” had echoed in her mind long after the good-natured demon had driven off.

She was still hearing the words when Willow and Giles returned from their little Interpol charade down at Sunnydale police station with a file full of less-than-appetising facts about Caleb’s colourful past.

But she’d heard them loudest back at the hospital that afternoon, as she’d listened to Xander’s heartbreaking attempts to make light of his situation. God, poor Xander. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good person, brave and loyal; he put it all on the line year after year to fight the forces of darkness with her. He didn’t deserve this. But then neither did Rona, or Molly, or Katie.

Thinking of Katie lying dead in that cursed wine cellar sent her thoughts spinning around to Spike. Evil, soulless Spike, who had known Katie’s name when she hadn’t, who had walked once again into the lion’s den to help her. She’d looked sadly at Xander’s bandaged eye. He’d saved Xander too last night. More than that, he’d practically carried him out of the vineyard, been kind to him when he had no reason to be. Hadn’t Xander insisted Buffy stake him just hours before? She shook her head; it wasn’t the time for recriminations or introspection, so she’d just smiled sadly at her friend and left.

Things hadn’t improved when she got back home. Dawn’s innocent but insistent questioning about Xander had fuelled her guilt and for once she had been grateful to have Faith there to deflect her sister’s concern. Kennedy’s glib comment about Caleb rendering a slayer useless with a single punch had cut to the quick, most of all because it was so patently true.

Caleb at the school, taunting her with her own ineptitude, not to mention cracking her head against a wall so hard she didn’t come to till the evening was just the—the perfect end to a terrible day. She hadn’t believed at that point her day could get any worse, but, hey, there’s always a lower place.

She’d dragged herself home to find the house deserted all but for Giles, studying Caleb’s file in the dining room. He’d spotted the discolouration on her jaw, her desolate look, and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Good lord, Buffy. Are you ok?” he’d asked, his voice full of concern, as he’d stood to help her into a chair.

“Just peachy,” she’d replied with half-hearted sarcasm. “Had me another fun run in with our local big bad. The usual pattern: you know, listen to evil attempt at humour, fight, pretty birdies ‘round my head.”

“Oh, good lord.” Giles had sat next to her and watched her intently as he’d asked, “Did you manage to stake him?”

Too tired to immediately realise that they were talking at cross-purposes, she’d simply shaken her head. “I don’t think that’d work, Giles.” Glancing at the police files, she’d asked, “You find any clues in there about what would?”

There had been a moment of awkward silence as they’d both recognised their misunderstanding. “Oh.” Giles had picked up the file. “I thought you were talking about Spike. I saw him at the car park last night and assumed you were having trouble with him again. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to…”

“What?” she’d cut in, unable to control her annoyance at the assumption. “He was there so he must have been causing trouble, right?” The injustice of it had added to her rancour. Had no one told Giles that Spike had risked his life to fight with them? Had it slipped everyone’s mind that Xander owed the vampire – if not his life, then certainly his sight?

“Buffy, I saw Spike lurking in the car park. You yourself ran over to get rid of him. It’s only natural I assume…”

She hadn’t let him finish; suddenly it had seemed important to defend her vampire, and, yes, as he’d come under attack she had thought of him as hers. “I ran over to thank him.” She’d stood up quickly and her battered body had punished her with a wave of nausea that she’d only been able to ignore by virtue of the intensity of her anger. “I had to thank him. He came to the vineyard, he tried to save Molly, he did save Xander. God, why can’t you people give him a chance?”

Giles had watched her outburst with the same unnerving calmness that had so often left her feeling uncertain and defensive in the past. “A chance?” he had asked, letting his tone imply all that was needed about the imprudence of giving a soulless vampire a chance. “Need I remind you he has no soul? And the chip that would have restrained him was removed at your insistence.” That accusation had hung in the tense silence for a long frosty moment before he’d continued. “Need I remind you that Spike is a monster, the same monster that has killed hundreds if not thousands of innocents, a monster that you yourself have been a victim of not that long ago?”

And there it was: attempted rape, a personal violation too heinous to be forgiven. Her mind had reeled with the memory, her watcher’s words spinning in her head: “the same monster.” Her mind had supplied two images of him: his cruel demonic visage as he’d advanced on her in the school the first time they’d fought all those years ago, and his pained and haunted eyes as he’d pushed open her robe in the bathroom. She had tried to reconcile the two, to see the same creature in each image, but had found she couldn’t. A third image rose, his face bruised almost beyond recognition, a soft brush of lips, her own voice soft and sincere “that was real. I won’t forget it.” But she had; she’d forgotten, somewhere amongst all the screwing, all the fighting and abuse, she had completely forgotten. She wouldn’t forget again.

“The same monster that let Glory torture him half to death?” the evenness of her voice had surprised her, the strength of her conviction making her calm.

“Buffy.” He’d frowned and looked at her with disapproving eyes. “That’s hardly relevant now…”

“It’s relevant,” she’d insisted hotly. “He’s almost died for me so many times, put up with so much for me. I think he deserves a chance and I’m going to give him one. You want someone to stake him, you send Faith, because I won’t do it.”

They’d stared at each other, neither able to find anything to say, until the uncharacteristic silence of the house had finally registered with her. “Giles, where is everyone?”

And hadn’t her little trip to retrieve Faith and the potentials from the Bronze been a bundle of laughs? Just as she’d begun to feel grateful for the dark-haired slayer’s presence, Faith had to go and pull a stunt like that. Blowing off steam was one thing, but drinking and fights with the police were something else. Faith had said she needed to let the girls make mistakes so they could learn. Didn’t she see they just didn’t have time? In retrospect, hitting Faith had probably been a mistake, but after hearing Faith’s accusation, she’d snapped.

Things hadn’t improved when Xander had finally gotten home, bravely going along with Dawn and the potentials’ sorry attempt at a welcome home celebration.

Once Xander and Willow were back, there hadn’t seemed any point in delaying, so she’d outlined her plan. She’d told them how she’d found out. How Caleb had tried to distract her with the seal, how her instincts told her he was hiding something in the vineyard. She told them they would have to go back in, and that was when everything had gone to hell.

Faith had challenged her. Rona had called her reckless. Even Willow had questioned her judgement. Xander’s sad “I’m trying to see your point here, Buff, but I think it must be a little to my left” had shaken her, but she’d ploughed on. She was sure about this. No, she hadn’t had proof, but her slayer instinct had to count for something. She’d raised the stakes, given them the ultimatum: “We have to be together on this,” and they’d called her bluff.

It hadn’t been Faith’s fault, not really. She’d just been there, a convenient alternative for the mutinous troops. She’d lashed out at the dark slayer all the same; old rivalries and mistrust had made her channel her hurt, her frustrated anger, in Faith’s direction. It hadn’t been Faith’s suggestion that she be usurped – it had been the others, including Willow and Giles and Xander, and, God, even Dawn.

She felt tears prick her eyes at the memory of her sister calmly telling her to leave, and buried her head in the pillow. She’d done enough crying for one day. Now she just wanted to rest. A part – a small but quickly growing part – of her was relieved, glad even: she was out of it all and it wasn’t her fault. She was blameless. She wasn’t turning her back on her duty, she’d been removed from it. She wasn’t ducking her responsibility, she was stepping aside for the greater good, and now she could rest, just lay down here and rest. She’d find out soon enough if they failed.

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Hey Chynera - Glad you like and sorry about the wait

Thanks Rana, you're right of course but in the show Spike's actions often spoke loudly, only to be ignored by the scoobies, in their black and white soul is all world.





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