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"No, I don't want to battle
From beginning to end.
I don't want to cycle,
Recycle revenge.
I don't want to follow
Death and all his friends."
- Coldplay, "Death & All His Friends"

* * *

It was a strange thing, this promise of happiness that began to flower within her. A week had passed since she'd taken Spike into her home and it had done so as slowly as a delicious summer dream. It was too good to last; experience had taught her that she would be wise to distance herself from this, but buoyed by the unfamiliar emotion she ignored her better sense and threw herself headfirst into it. She had made a promise, after all, that things would be different this time.

I am different.

She was tired of not feeling like herself; tired, finally, of the depression and the regret, sickened on recrimination and rage. Most of all she was disgusted with the person she had finally become that night in the alley. She had lived steeped in violence and death for so long that she had almost forgotten that she was more, that she had more to offer. She had been teetering on the brink, so close to destroying the one person who had stood by her, determined to destroy herself in the process. Only chance had saved her, caused the veil to be lifted at that crucial moment long enough for her to see the blood that stained her hands, to finally hear and comprehend the broken moans of her name. It had snapped her back into herself in a jarring instant.

She might not be human any more, but she had realized in that moment that she didn't have to be a monster either.

Next to her on the couch Dawn sighed, a sound replete with happiness, as she snuggled in closer between Buffy and Spike. She had taken it all much better than Buffy had thought, happiness quickly replacing the confusion and worry she had first felt when she discovered them sleeping on the couch. She'd immediately latched onto the idea of them, becoming sly and self-satisfied as only a teenager could as she proudly proclaimed that of course she knew that they were perfect for each other all along. Neither of them felt the need to correct her.

Instead, they concentrated on enduring her knowing looks and innuendos. She was as determined to give them time to themselves as she was to spend time with them, delighting in having a semblance of a family again. Unsurprisingly to Buffy, Spike was her clear favorite and Dawn sided with him in every matter. For his part, Spike treated her with a friendliness and consideration which surprised Buffy despite herself. She had known that they had become close during the past summer, but it had always been a thought which existed in the abstract. Now, presented with a living tableau she found herself more than a little amused with how good naturedly Spike was managed by, and subsequently managed, her little sister.

The sullen teenage ball of hormones who Buffy could barely get to go to school, let alone do her homework or even talk to her was more than willing to do what she was told, as long as it was Spike doing the telling. True, she never obeyed without engaging a snarky back talk which smacked more of sisterly affection than any real insolence, but there was a distinctive lack of foot stomping, door slamming and icy silences. It was a technique Buffy couldn’t seem to similarly master and she was beginning to suspect that it had something to do with actually being Dawn’s sister and not a centuries older vampire.

It doesn’t help that he’s all kinds of yummy.

For the first time since her return she felt softened enough to begin to make peace with her new existence. It helped that he was there for her to watch him, to finally fully observe and absorb the myriad little things that made Spike human despite his demonic nature. He, who had always been an alluring and strange puzzle to her, one which was never to be much thought of or resolved, was finally becoming a clear picture in her mind. It was a discovery which delighted her, surprising her at times and disappointing her at others, but always drawing her into a little deeper into his complication. She knew that by observing Spike blend both his selves together she would gain an insight in how to do the same.

She could be whole again.

I could be me.

She awoke with a start. The movie had ended some time again and she found herself alone on the couch covered in one of her mother’s afghans. The house had settled into a deep contented stillness around her and for a moment she considered snuggling deeper into the couch and sleep. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she began to extricate herself from the softness, determined to find her missing lover.

He stood on the back porch, smoking silently as he stared up at the stars above. She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to let her eyes rove over the clean lines of his back and neck, his pale skin taking an unearthly cast in the cool moonlight. She closed the distance between them on silent feet, coming to stand beside him in the night air. He was extraordinarily beautiful for a man; she might have even described him as unearthly if it wouldn’t have been a horrible cliché. Everything about him was deceptively delicate, a fine boned alabaster covering for steel. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, the red tip a glowing bud for a brief moment before he callously snuffed it.

He turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers easily, unreadable as always. She had always thought it unfair that he was able to see through her with so little trouble while she had to carefully peel back the layers of his character. Despite their growing closeness she had very limited knowledge of him, just innuendo and half-truths which made much of his legend and little of the actual man. In moments like this though, wrapped in companionable silence, the air thick with mutual desire, she felt that the minutiae mattered very little. The important thing, the only thing, was the wonderful feeling that flowed between them. Past experience had taught her that knowledge of her partner’s past didn’t negate the depths of her feeling. She had known Angel even less and had still tumbled head long into love with him once upon a time.

All that mattered was the man she was faced with in the here and now. And she thought very much that she could love him and the way he pulled her roughly against him only to kiss her tenderly. She could love the look in his eyes afterwards, the half-smirk that ghosted across his mouth, the fear which warred with the certainty in his eyes. She would be a fool if she didn’t fall for the sharp azure eyes, the full mouth, the angles of his face. She was a fool who saw both the demon and the man and couldn’t care any more about which aspect of him was the predominant one.

She loved him already, too much and to assuredly to care.

He pulled away from her in a burst of energy, bounding down the stairs before turning to smile up at her. He extended one hand in a graceful invitation, the smile back on his lips as he guided her away from the house and out towards the street, “Ready for the hunt?”





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