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Author's Chapter Notes:
Big *hugs* to Nic for betaing this in light speed. :D

Just a reminder, go check out Btvs Holiday Fics for all your holiday fic needs! :D Plenty of Spuffy !!
The normalcy disrupted by Tara’s death and Willow’s descent into darkness had returned. Laughter echoed through the rooms again, vampires turned to dust, and every morning like clockwork the sun would rise. It had been six days; six days of trudging through each day in a methodical fashion, six days devoid of any major disasters or rumblings of an apocalypse.

Six days Spike had been missing.

Only Dawn could fathom the reasons behind her perpetual apprehension, and why she charged for the phone every time it rang. In a different time this whole scenario might be considered outrageously funny, but not now.

Not at this moment.

At the top of Buffy’s list of things that were bad and needed to be fixed was Spike’s unwarranted and unwanted disappearance. Spike was gone; scouring the town had given her nothing except Spike’s precious duster. She had physically dragged it off some unsuspecting fledgling. He’d found it on the ground in the cemetery, and knew nothing of its previous owner.

The subsequent fight was sparked by Buffy’s inability to prevent herself from telling the vamp just whose coat he’d been wearing. She’d had to kick his ass to claim ownership over Spike’s duster, because “…William the Bloody’s jacket must be worth millions man!” according to the soon to be pile of dust.

Picturing Spike’s face if he heard his coat was deemed almost priceless threatened to make her laugh. But she couldn’t, not until she found him.

The black leather duster hung over the back of a chair in her room now. There was no mistaking who it belonged to. Laying her cheek on the cold, worn leather assaulted her senses with the smell of liquor, cigarettes and Spike.

The origins behind his acquisition of the coat were not lost on her. She knew who its previous owner had been, and she was aware of her connection to the aging piece of leather. The day he’d told her the story of how he’d taken the duster off of Nikki Wood’s dead body she’d been disgusted, appalled that the vampire before her could be so callous about the death of a Slayer, because she was a Slayer. She’d never stopped to ponder why.

Now, with a little maturity, and some insight into the past, things were becoming clearer. Spike was a vampire, clean and simple. He had no soul, and spent 100 plus years being evil and treacherous. Killing a Slayer was the ultimate goal, and he shouldn’t have been expected to feel bad about it. She was naïve to think he would. But it wasn’t about being evil, and having no morals; dying at the hand of a vampire was a hero’s death to a Slayer. He wore the coat in honor of Nikki, in remembrance of their fight, not to defame her memory.

The coat was priceless.

***

The crypt felt cold and unfamiliar, like walking into a house from childhood, and everything being different, smaller than the memories. The contents weren’t smaller, but they gave off dark shadows and unwelcome feelings.

Removing himself from the new high school’s basement hadn’t been as challenging as he’d assumed it would be. Despite the voice in his head telling him it was safer there, he’d managed to get up, and walk out. The voices’ had quieted almost immediately upon exiting, and now, standing in his crypt they were gone completely.

The pain, and guilt burning a hole in his chest remained; that was not something that could be dispersed so easily. He had a century of sin to redeem himself for. But, for the first time, in he didn’t know how long, his thoughts were no longer buzzing in erratic circles. There was one voice, and it was his. It was repeating one word over and over again.

Buffy

***

She dragged her feet through the thick grass. Warm air tickled the back of her neck, and she absently pushed the hair from her eyes. It was too quiet to patrol, and it was hard to concentrate. How warped was she? She was missing the incessant chatter of Spike during patrol, rather than enjoying peace and quiet.

There was no action, only crickets chirping. Damn crickets.

She paused outside Spike’s crypt, her casual stance suggested maybe she was just resting, or happened to pass by it. But her path through the graveyard had let her straight here. Every night it was the same routine, and every night held a little hope that maybe, just maybe, he had come back on his own.

Tonight was different, and she had no hope left. Her gaze sadly drifted over the cracked stone and cement. Not another night of disappointment.

She was angry with herself, for wishing she were angry at Spike. He should be here, but instead the crypt was empty, and she had no one to blame but herself, yet again.

It was almost irrational how she had come to reprimand herself for everything that went wrong around her. Spike being the most offbeat. She missed him, is that why she blamed herself? Or was it because she had asked him to do a job that was obviously more dangerous than they originally thought?

There was no rationalizing it, and no going back. Tragedy, well more tragedy had been averted, and the world had been saved yet again. She turned on her heel to walk away, and that’s when she heard it.

“Hello and goodbye in a run around sue
You follow me around like a pretty pot of glue
I kick you in the head you got nothing to say
Get out of the way 'cause I gotta get away
You never realize I take the piss out of you
You come up and see me and I'll beat you black and blue
One day I'll send you away

I got no feelings
A no feelings
A no feelings
For anybody else
Except for myself, my beautiful selfish…”

Her reaction was immediate, and she slammed open his crypt door nearly falling down the stone steps in her haste.

He was there, staring at her, one eyebrow raised and his head cocked to the side. He looked, normal, uninjured. Black shirt, black jeans, and his hair was slicked a back per norm. He wasn’t hurt, he didn’t look possessed, and he definitely wasn’t dust.

“You son of a bitch…”

***

Her hand was shaking as she dragged the pen across the paper. She had to stop and wipe a tear from her eye before continuing. Her whole world was gone, crushed by a silly boy and her desire for vengeance.

Looking back now, the steps leading up to her complete destruction were obvious. She remembered feeling doubt, but had squashed it along with her morals and any fear remaining in her heart.

Tara was gone, and she had killed Warren. She’d almost destroyed the world, and killed Anya, Buffy, Xander, Dawn, Giles, Spike….

“Oh Goddess…”

Spike

Buffy didn’t know what she'd done...

Dropping the pen and paper she scrambled to her feet, and took off in a sprint toward the cottage.

A/N: Song lyrics from "No Feelings" by the Sex Pistols.

Someone mentioned that this chapter was confusing, and I really hadn't meant it to be. If anyone else finds it, confusing or hard to understand, I would love to know so I can make some changes and adjust the way I am explaining things!





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