Spike was dozing, his eyelids drooping as if they were weighted down.He was knackered after not getting much sleep the night before. Not that vampires needed that much, but he was used to getting a few hours anyway. Spike hadn’t been able to sleep a winkthe night before, what with being in Buffy’s house. He could feel her presence above him, hear her heart beating even from two floors up. Spike knew which heartbeat was hers. He knew the distinct rhythm of it. It was the beat of a Slayer’s heart and wasslightly faster than that of most humans, even at rest.

Spike had spent many a night listening to the beat of Buffy’s heart while she slept, back when she’d been staying in the mansion with him. Spike found that he had missed the comforting melody of it. Which was why he didn’t want to sleep when he was at her house. He didn’t know when he’d get the chance to hear the peaceful sound again,so he wanted to savour it while he could.

On top of that, Spike’s rest had been delayed a few hours more as he spent most of the morning chatting with Joyce. The muscles of his mouth twitched into just a of a smirk when recalling the conversation. The senior Summers lady had a lot more in her than Spike reckoned anyone gave her credit for. He wasrather fond of the woman and he could see that Buffy owed her spunk to her mum.

Spike let out a moan at the thought of the Slayer. Her face flashing behind his heavy-lidded eyes. That sweet smile of hers, that rare smile, curving up her full lips.

"Ah, Buffy," he murmured lazily, tiredness slurring his speech a little.

"Spike?"

The vampire’s eyes snapped open, now alert fromthe sound of her voice. Spikebolted upright, wondering if he had slipped into a dream.

"Spike, are you here?"

He shook himself, knowing now that it hadn’t been a sleep-drunk illusion. If it had been, there wouldn’t be that quivering, upset note in Buffy’s voice.

Concerned for her,Spike was on his feet in an flash, and moving towards carrying the Slayer as quickly as hecould.

"Pet?" Spike said as soon as he came into the foyer and saw Buffy standing there. Her back was to him. "What’s wrong?"

Buffy spun around at the sound of Spike’s voice. Her mouth was open with the intention of saying ‘hello’but the greeting died in her throat as her eyes scanned the vampire’s bare chest. They stayed glued there for a moment too long before flicking up to his dishevelled hair. Buffy redirected her gaze to the floor swiftly.

"O-oh," she stammered, trying to regain her composure. "You were sleeping, weren’t you? Of course you were sleeping," she answered herself before Spike had the chance, "you’re a vampire. Vampire’s plus daytime equals sleeping." She took a break pausefrom her sheepish rambling to sigh. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll go." She spun around on her heels, ready to bolt.

"Oi, don’t be daft, Slayer," Spike called out, stopping Buffy from leaving with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Come on inside," he insisted, ushering her into the sitting room. "Have a seat, yeah?" He waved a hand towards the sofa. Buffy took Spike’s suggestion and sat down. The vampiretook a seat on the coffee table directly in front of her.

"Now, tell me what’s wrong, pet," he urged. "What’s happened that’s got you upset?"

Buffy sighed, rubbing a hand on her forehead. "It’s nothing really," she began, trying to play down whatever it was that was bothering her. But, by the way she was sniffling, Spike could tell it really wasn’t nothing.

"I’m probably making a bigger deal outof it than it really is. I’m being silly."

"Well, why don’t you tell me about it and let me be the judge of that, eh?" Spike offered.

"Okay," Buffy mumbled. She licked her lips anxiously. "Well, uh, do you remember that guy from the other night, the one I danced with?"

How could Spikeforget him? The memory of seeing Buffy in the wanker’s arms, his hands all over her, was permanently ingrained in Spike’s memory. "Er... yeah," he said. "You mean that Scooter chap?"

"Scott," Buffy corrected.

"Right. Scott," Spike repeated, suppressing the impulse to roll his eyes. "What about him?" he prompted. If that boy did anything to Buffy... He flexed his fingers at his sides, trying to keep them from balling into fists.

"He... asked me out," she told him.

Spike nearly laughed. He couldn’t decide if the boy had stones or was just an idiot for pursuing Buffy after the other night. Spike thought that the Slayer had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in the boy, especially after the way she’d brushed him off in favour to dance with Spike.

"He asked me to a Buster Keaton festival – as friends," Buffy continued. "And I... said yes."

"Oh." Spike was surprised, but he tried not to let it show. "Okay," he said, keeping his voice neutral, "so?"

"Oh, um," Buffy stammered. She had expected him react a little more strongly to her news of making plans with another guy. SheBuffy shook the thought away. Making Spike jealous was not her purpose for coming here – though, it might have been a perk and maybe would’ve made her feel better.

Buffy cleared her throat, "Anyway, he gave me something. A ring, to symbolize friendship, he said," she went on, hiding her dejection. "It sort of freaked me out."

A ring, huh? Well, that Scott sure does move quickly; . He was already doling out the gifts before the first date.

"And what’s the problem with it, then?" Spike asked. "It clash with your outfit or somethin’?"

Buffy looked up at him, her big puppy-dog eyes full of hurt, and not a bit of amusement. Spike immediately felt guilty for making the joke; he was letting his jealousy cloud his judgement.

"I’m sorry, pet," Spike said, he and sighed. "I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinkin’. Hell," he chuckled, "if I thought before speaking I might never say anything at all."

At that, Buffy did crack a tiny smile.

"So, what is it then?" Spike prodded, his tone gentle. "Why does’s this ring have you so upset?"

Buffy slowly opened her right hand - it had been held in a tight fist since she’d walked inside. She held her hand open to Spike. Carefully, he took up the ring and asked, "So, this it?"

"It’s, um, just like it," Buffy murmured, not looking at him. "But, Scott didn’t give me this one."

Spike narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the vaguely familiar symbol on the silver band;. itIt seemed vaguely familiar. Then he remembered. It was a Claddagh ring, an old Celtic token.

"Oh," Spike observed, and that was all he had to say. Buffy knew that he now understood.

She took the ring back from Spike and stared down at it as she said, "I had a dream about him last night – it was horrible. It was the first I’ve had in a while, actually." She snickered caustically. "You know, I had actually started to think that they’d stopped completely. Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Not stupid, pet," Spike assured. "Just hopeful. I get it. I know how much the dreams can hurt."

"Do you still dream about her?" Buffy wondered. "About Drusilla?"

Spike nodded slowly. "Yeah. Sometimes."

Buffy took a breath and let it out on a sigh. "When I opened that little pink box and saw that ring," she shook her head. "I totally wigged. I’m sure Scott thinks I’m a complete wacko now."

Oh. So that’s what this is about then. "Well, I’m sure if you explain to him about the significance of the ring – not the details of course – he’ll still want to take you out. He’d be a bloody idiot if he didn’t."

"I don’t care about that," Buffy said.

"You don’t?" Spike held back his excitement.

"No," she insisted. "The only reason I said yes to Scott was because... I saw Faith flirting with him the other day, and well, he liked me first!"

Spike couldn’t help but smirk.

"It isn’t about Scott," Buffy went on. "It’s just that seeing the ring and having that dream... it’s brought up a lot of stuff. It’s made me realize that I haven’t really been dealing with things the way I need to."

Spike nodded his head, coming to an internal understanding. He wasn’t competing with a school boy after all.; Hhe was competing with a ghost. and Tthat was much worse.

Buffy closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "I also said yes because I’m trying to move on," she continued quietly. "Like everyone keeps saying I should do. That it’s what I need to do."

Spike’s brow pulled together in a frown. "But, you don’t want to move on?"

Buffy sighed and licked her lips. She stared down at the Claddagh ring, rubbing it between her fingers. "It’s not that I don’t want to," she murmured. "I’m afraid to."

Buffy cleared her throat against a lump forming there. "Sometimes I think that maybe you and Drusilla weren’t the only ones cursed that day," she went on quietly."I think maybe I got cursed too."

Spike cocked his head to the side., A furrow pulling between his brows and an eyebrow raising in question as to Buffy’s meaning.

"But," Buffy continued, "since I already have a soul, maybe I just got stuck with the other part - not being able to ever truly be happy. Because if I let myself be happy for even a moment, then that means I’ve stopped feeling guilty, and I shouldn’t be allowed to ever not feel guilty for what I’ve done. I deserve to be punished."

Spike sat silently as he contemplated the Slayer’s words. He pursed his lips as he thought of the right response. After a moment, he clucked his tongue into the silence and said, "You’re not cursed, Buffy." His tone was steady and gentle. "And as for you deserving to be punished, you’re the only one that sees it that way. And if anybody’s punishin’ you, it’s you doin’ it yourself," he affirmed.

Buffy looked up at him, a crinkle between her eyes. The green of her irises shining brightly with her tears. Buffy licked her lips and wiped a stray drop from her cheek. "You don’t understand," she wailed, her voice low and fierce.

"Don’t understand what?" Spike shot back. "Guilt?" he scoffed. "Trust me, Slayer, if there’s one thing I’ve come to know well in these last few months of soul havin’, it’s how to feel guilty."

"It’s not the same," Buffy argued. "You killed because you didn’t have a soul. Because you were being controlled by a demon. You didn’t know better, you didn’t have a choice!"

Spike looked down at the ground. "Wouldn’t be too sure about that one, pet," he whispered. It had all seemed like such fun at the time…could he really have enjoyed the killing so much if he wasn’t choosing to do it? Spike sniffed, shaking off his own existential crisis. It wasn’t about him at the moment.

"And while we’re on the subject of choices," Spike forged on, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "What exactly was yours again? Kill Angelus or the let the entire world be sucked into hell? One monster for billions of innocents," he scoffed. "Oh yeah, a real toss up there. Regular ‘Sophie’s choice, that is."

Buffy tried not to get distracted by Spike’s apparent knowledge of the Meryl Streep oeuvre and shook her head hard against his reasoning. "No. You don’t understand," she told him again.

"Yeah, well, I’m starting to agree with you on that end, pet," Spike replied. He sighed. "Look, Buffy. I’m trying here, yeah. But, you’re not making it easy on a bloke. Where’s all this comin’ from all of a sudden? ‘Cause I thought we’d already covered this ground. You did what you had to do. And, yeah, it’s perfectly reasonable for you to feel bad over it – you loved Angel. But you gotta remember that the part of him that you loved was long gone before you sent him to hell. He wasn’t coming back."

"But what if he was?," Buffy whispered.

Spike blew out a breath. "Is that what this is all about then?" he asked. "The ‘what ifs’s? You can’t let yourself wonder on them too heavily, love. You’ll drive yourself batty thinkin’ about what could have been. ‘Specially since you can’t change it."

"What if it wasn’t a ‘what if’?" Buffy cried, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of her phrasing.

Spike’s brow furrowed. "Losing me again, love," he told her.

Buffy swallowed thickly and took a breath. "Angel’s soul," she began, keeping her voice low so that it would come out steady, "it was restored. I saw it. Right before the portal closed, his soul was returned. Angel was back."

Spike’s just stared at her for a moment. For perhaps the first time in his existence, he was at a loss for words. His head was spinning with too many of them to choose. Spike opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. He swallowed thickly and coughed to clear his throat before finally speaking.

"Why didn’t you ever tell me?" he wondered.

Buffy’s shoulders lifted briefly in a small shrug. "I guess I was just trying to pretend that it wasn’t real. That I had just imagined it."

Spike licked his lips, latching on to Buffy’s words. "Well, maybe that was it then. Maybe you were–"

"No,." Buffy’s voice, low and firm, cut him off. She could remember the look in Angel’s eyes just before he was taken away. The confusion, the hurt, the betrayal. And that vital spark deep within their depths; his soul. She closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "No, it was real. I know it."

Spike was silent for a moment. He looked at Buffy and saw seeing the pain she was felt. Spike hated that. He dithered about taking her in his arms, rubbing his hands on his thighs to busy them.

"God, I’m so sorry, love," Spike murmured. "I had no idea. I mean, I knew you were goin’ through hell with all of this. But, knowing that Angel was..." his sentence drifted off. He was still having trouble getting a grip on this new information.

"Well, given that it’s a wonder how you’re still standin’ upright, you’re an even stronger person than I ever thought." A small smile made the corner of his mouth twitched at the corner of his mouth. "An’ that’s saying something ‘cause I’ve always thought you were the strongest person I’ve ever met."

Instead of getting the smile Spike had hoped for, Buffy’s face crumbled at his words.

"Don’t," she choked, shaking her head. "Don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t deserve to feel better!" She shot to her feet and started pacing the room.

Spike rose to his feet as well, and gently grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, halting her.

"Oi!" he said, as she fought against him. "Easy, pet."

Buffy stilled. She kept her eyes fixed on the hard surface of Spike’s chest. She remained quietly seething quietly, her jaw flexing.

"Hey," Spike murmured, "look at me." He crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head up.

Buffy allowed Spike to lift her head, but turned it to the side when he did.

Spike sighed. "Angel wouldn’t want this for you," he told her.

Buffy scoffed. "How would you know what Angel would want?" she countered. "You never knew him – not the way I did. You only ever knew the worst of him."

Spike pursed his lips and nodded. "Right about that, love," he conceded. "I only ever had the displeasure of knowing the bastard without a soul. But it, doesn’t really matter. I know well enough to know that he loved you. And being someone who knows what it’s like to love, I can say with some authority that he wouldn’t want to see you punishing yourself like this. He’d want you to be able to be happy."

Buffy sniffed. Her lips remained sealed in a thin, stubborn line.

"Well, think about it this way," Spike tried again, "if the roles were reversed, would you want Angel to go through the rest of his miserable existence miserably.? If there was a chance he could be happy, wouldn’t you want it for him.?"

Buffy’s face softened. "Well, no," she admitted after a moment. "I mean, maybe after a century or two of mourning me, if somehow someone came along that could make him happy..."

Spike smiled.

Finally, Buffy turned her eyes to his and smiled back. Spike’s hand was on her cheek, and Buffy reached up to covered it with her own.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I don’t know how you do it, but you always seem to be able to make me feel better."

Spike’s thumb stroked Buffy’s cheekbone. "It’s my pleasure."

They stood there a moment, just staring at each other, until finally, Buffy stepped back and looked away.

She cleared her throat. "Well, uh, sorry I talked your ear off there," she said lightly, dispelling the tension that always seemed to build between them whenever they’d looked into each other’s eyes for too long.

Spike chuckled, shaking himself. "Er, no problem," he assured. "I’ve got another one if you need to vent anything else."

Buffy chuckled. "Rain cheque," she told him. "I should probably get going, now though. Faith and I are supposed to do some recon on this hoof-handed Khaki trousers guy," she explained.

Spike nodded in understanding. "Right. Well, good luck with that."

Buffy turned to go, but spun back a second later.

"So, do you think I should tell Giles?" she asked. "About Angel, I mean. Do you think maybe that’s why the binding spell for Acathala isn’t working?"

Spike nodded thoughtfully. "Could be. ," he reckoned. "Either way, it couldn’t hurt for you to let the Watcher in on the secret. Might be good for you to talk to him about it."

Buffy nodded, looking contemplative. "Right," she murmured. "Well, I guess I better..." she hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the door.

"Uh, yeah," Spike replied. "I’ll see ya later, pet."

"Bye, Spike," Buffy returned with a smile. "And, um, thanks again, for everything."

"Anytime."

Spike watched her go. A pain twisted in his chest for what she must be going through. He also felt a small twinge of sympathy for his grandsire currently residing in hell.

Poor sod, he thought. Ah, hell, now I’m feelin’ bad for the great poof! What’s next? Lousy, ruddin’ soul.

Spike let out a groan and turned to head back to his bed. He paused, a wrinkle forming in his brow as something Buffy said just penetrated his mind.

Hold on a tick... Who the hell’s Khaki Trousers?