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Author's Chapter Notes:
I had a hard time getting this one right...Sometimes you can get so caught up in writing a really emotional chapter that it's hard to tell if you've gone overboard. Thanks so very, very much to Flibble for editing this chapter and for all her encouragement!

We are nearing the end of the story...Only a few more chapters to go!
Click. Click. Click. The tapping of her heels sounded confident and sure as she made her way toward the restricted access gate. Maybe, she thought, if she seemed that way to everyone else, somehow it would be true. Because inside, Buffy was a complete mess. Her nerves quivered, she jumped at every sound, and she was absolutely sure that her soul was bleeding through her skin, that any second now she would look down and her pretty green scoop-neck sweater, the one Dru gave her for Christmas last year, would be stained with red. Scarlet for her guilt and her lack of contrition. Because now, in spite of spending her last few waking hours dogged by the reproach in her husband's eyes, and the sleeping ones haunted by her mother's disappointment, here she was, running straight to Spike.

Angel hadn't wanted her to come. Darla hadn't wanted her to come. They had stopped just short of tying her down, and from the look in her husband's eyes, she knew he had at least considered it. She wasn't completely stupid. She knew something was off there. Probably since Angel was footing the bill, Darla had to give his side more consideration. But just because it was shady, didn't mean the therapist was wrong.

Buffy told herself that she was only here because she told him she would come. Had left him a message confirming it, her voice shaking with relief just hearing him on the answering machine. She didn't have any answers for him, didn't know what she was doing, or even where she should sleep tonight, but oh god she just had to see Spike. She wanted him to hold her so much that she ached with it. So here she was, clicking her way toward the backstage area, pumped full of pain killers, makeup hiding the worst of her fading bruises. Trying to get to him as fast as she could.

She spared a small smile for the security guard and started to breeze through the gate when he reached out to bar her way. "Sorry, doll, you can't go back there."

"Excuse me?" Buffy was a little shocked. All of Spike's people knew her on sight and knew she had an all access pass to the band. Spike had made absolutely sure that she could get to him anytime, anyplace. At second glance though, Buffy found that she didn't recognize this particular man. He must work for the club, she realized.

"It's okay." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm a friend of Spike Giles. He's expecting me."

"Right." The guard eyed her appreciatively. "While I'm sure he wouldn't mind a visit from a sweet little piece like yourself, no one said anything to me about letting girls backstage."

Buffy huffed in frustration. She really, really needed to see Spike. "I'll just call him," she mumbled, turning away. She so did not appreciate this man's attitude.....Her frustration mounted as, once again, her call rang through to voice mail. "Hi, Spike. It's me. I'm out front, but the guard won't let me come back. So, I guess call me or just come get me. Bye." With a sigh, she snapped her phone shut and turned pleadingly back to the guard.

"Look, you just saw me call him," she said reasonably. "He really is expecting me, so please, just let me in so I can find him."

"You know." Slowly, the man entered her personal space, his gaze taking in her bare legs and coming to rest somewhere decidedly south of her face. "If you really want to get back there, maybe we could work something out."

Before Buffy could bite out what would surely have been a sharp retort, a hand reached in and sharply jerked the guard backwards. "Hi, Buffy."

"Hi, Xander," she replied gratefully. "He wouldn't let me in, and..." She trailed off, not wanting to repeat the suggestive comments.

"I heard," he said grimly. "You." He addressed the guard sharply. "Are fired. Get out of here."

"You can't fire me! I don't work for you!"

"Tonight, you do. So leave."

"But..." The guard looked decidedly petulant, now that he had been caught out.

Xander turned to him harshly. "Consider yourself lucky that it was me that caught this, and not Spike. If it'd been him, you wouldn't just be fired, you'd be on the floor."

The guard gulped, sensing the truth in that statement, and hastily backed down the hallway.

"Thanks." Buffy gave Spike's friend a warm smile, one that he didn't return.

"Don't thank me," he said flatly, in answer to her quizzical stare. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't come. That maybe you would just disappear off into the sunset with your husband."

"Why would you say that?" she replied plaintively. Buffy was really hurt. She had tried hard not to get in the way of any of the band's activities, and made an extra effort to be nice to Spike's friends.

Xander heaved a sigh and stuck his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Look, Buffy. You're a nice person, and I'm sure under different circumstances..." He trailed off, trying not to let his temper get the best of him. "But what you're doing to Spike is not nice. And he's my friend."

"What am I doing to Spike?" she asked in a small voice.

"You really don't get it?" He released an explosive breath and unintentionally, his voice racketed up a notch. "Do you know why his cell is off?"

Buffy shook her head, suddenly feeling very small and afraid.

"Anya took all of our phones away, because the press keeps calling. They want to know about the married woman Spike is sleeping with. And then there' s the fact that ever since yesterday, he's been drinking like it' s the end of the world."

"Spike's drinking?" she whispered. Theoretically, she knew he did, but he hadn't, never around her, not enough to count.

"Yeah. A lot." Again, he paused, jerking his hands out of his pockets to run tired fingers through his hair. "Your...relationship, whatever it is, is killing him, Buffy. He's miserable, moody all the time, angry..."

By now, tears were leaking out of the corners of Buffy's eyes, trailing down her face, and ruining her careful makeup job. "I'm sorry," Xander said, not really sounding sorry at all. "But it's the truth. The best thing you could do for Spike is leave him alone. He's better off without you.”

With that, he stalked off and left her, standing in the middle of the hallway, shoulders sagging and tears dripping unheeded off her cheeks. Maybe he was right. She had come here, only thinking of herself, only wanting the comfort Spike could give. Drawing a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and approached the dressing room door, shaking, shuddering, but trying to find the courage to give Spike what he needed.

Apprehensively, she opened the door, softly calling his name. "Spike? Are you here?"

"Buffy, luv." The endearment was a sigh of relief as he took her in from across the room.

Weary and resolute, she met his darkened blue eyes. Whatever Xander said, whatever Spike was feeling, his eyes held nothing but love and concern for her. How had they gotten here? Suddenly she just didn't understand it. There was no reason, no way, that they should have found each other. A concert and an impulsive email from a fan, and how the hell did that lead to standing here, in this dressing room, looking at a man who loved her completely, despite everything. Despite the fact that she was tearing his life apart?

"Oh, Spike," she choked out in a small cry, and suddenly, he closed the distance and she was in his arms. He felt the same, smelled the same, and she breathed in deeply, trying to memorize the scent, the feel of his arms around her, his fingers twining in her hair, trying to find the strength to pull away.

"He's better off without you." Xander's words whispered in her ear and quickly, before she could think about it too much, she brought her arms down and tugged away, stepping back out of his reach.

"Sweetheart, are you all right? You've been crying." He reached out to caress her cheek, but she evaded his hand.

"We have to stop this," she said in a shaking voice, not meeting his eyes.

"Stop what? Buffy?" Something deep inside Spike started to tremble. She wouldn't, not now....

"This." She flung her arms out in frustrated explanation. "We can't do this, be this, anymore. It's not... We just can't. I can't..." She trailed off, forcing the words out through a throat filled with thorns. "I can't be with you anymore." The words were forcibly torn from her throat, and it seemed to Buffy that she ought to be able to see them, fully formed letters spilled accusingly on the floor, but when she looked, she saw, only Spike staring at her in disbelief, pain contorting his features.

"Buffy, luv, you don't mean that, you're upset, it's all right, we'll fix it..." he rambled desperately, grabbing her hands, trying to hold her to him. His head ached and his heart lurched into his throat and stuck there. Mind whirling, words jumbled into his head, what could he say...do...

Gently, she squeezed his hands and pulled away. "I do mean it, Spike," she said softly, voice choked with tears. "It's not right, it never has been."

His blood boiled, exploding upwards, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes, and god he hadn't cried in forever. "You don't mean it," he insisted, trying to grab her hands, her wrists, any part of her he could reach and hold onto. "You can't just throw us away like that!"

"Spike," Buffy pleaded, begging for him to understand. "I don't...I just...I have to."

"No," he replied harshly. He would not let her do this. Heart splintering, he finally reached her, put hard hands on her shoulders, to make her look at him. "Do you get what this is?" He shook her slightly, her green eyes overflowing with tears but unafraid. His head was swimming, so crowded with whiskey and anger and hurt, but his brain registered her lack of fear. Good. She shouldn't ever be afraid of him, even when he couldn't breath, couldn't think straight... Swallowing hard, his words a harsh whisper, he said, "Do you get what this is? I. Love. You." Every word was flung fiercely at her, trying to pierce her, make her see. "Do you get what we have? Do you know how rare this is? How hard to find and keep? Do you?" He was yelling now, maybe she can't hear him properly...Shaking her slightly, he came to himself and pulled away, fists clenched, pain and anger warring in his eyes.

"I know," she said brokenly, hugging herself, trying to remember why this was best.

"Then what the bloody hell are you so afraid of?" he roared suddenly, finally making her flinch.

"Hurting you more." Her voice was so small, barely whispered into the air, but he heard it, and paused, then dropped his head into his hand with a bitter, choked laugh.

"So you're ending things with me, fucking knowing exactly how I feel about you, so that you won't hurt me more." He didn't even look up for her response. "And you're going to throw what we have away, to stay with your fucking bastard husband. That," he bit off sharply, "is fucking rich. Just bloody fucking perfect."

Suddenly he looked up at her, and for the first time ever, his eyes were cold. "Well, then," he said, and now his voice was remote, completely unfamiliar. "Since it's what you want, I guess you'd better be on your way."

He surveyed her one more time, blue eyes shaded with impassiveness, almost hiding the spark of pain. She wanted to hide, but even more she wanted to hurl herself into his arms, say she didn't mean it, beg for forgiveness. Her body shook with the effort it took to restrain herself and as he brushed past her to leave the room, she nearly fell over with the effort it took to stop her fingers from clutching him. Automatically, he reached out to steady her, but stopped short, letting her stumble, and with a last searching look, was out the door and gone.

She trailed him out into the corridor, with no conscious thought, simply not knowing where to go now. She could hear the roar of the crowd and dimly thought that Spike was probably headed straight to the stage. Sure enough, she stopped short in the wings to watch as he strode out to join his already assembled band. Raucous cheers swelled as he grabbed his guitar and turned to face the audience, anger and angst warring on his face. Striking a dissonant chord, he paused, tension radiating off of him in waves, waiting for the band to catch up. This was not the way they had planned to open, hadn't even really rehearsed this song, but rapidly they switched gears, fell into the rhythm, and soon, hard, pulsing music blared out, angry and hard.

Here come the monsters Making trouble in my headache again Hallucinations of a nature making me wanna scream aloud Wakeup love your blind eyes are dripping hope and sex The other night I couldn’t fight youAnd now I want revenge

I just don’t need it Can’t stop bleeding You’re throwing it all away I want another life to begin again I want another life to begin again

Tears falling thick and fast, Buffy blindly turned away. She couldn't listen to anymore. Had to get out of there. Nearly falling over Anya, ignoring the concerned call of the other woman, she fled.

******************************************************************* By the time she made it home, the painful, gut wrenching sobs had mostly stopped, and the tears were gone, but only because she had no more left. Her eyes felt raw and tender, her chest hurt, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and try to make sense of what she had just done. Try to figure out what she had left.

She fumbled at the front door, hands shaking so hard she couldn't get the key in right. Finally she managed and the lock tumbled, the door falling open with her weight against it. Voices, murmurs of sounds, coming from the living room, and a strange smoky smell hung in the air, so thick and pungent it could almost be seen. Suddenly, Buffy was afraid. What else had happened, while she was busy ripping out her own heart?

Hurrying on unsteady feet through the kitchen to the living room, she stopped short in the doorway, almost toppling over headfirst at the abruptness with which her feet had stopped, unable to move anymore. For the millionth time today, her breath strangled in her throat as she took in the scene she had unwittingly walked in on. Angel standing, pants down, behind Darla, who was bent over the couch with her skirt hiked up to her waist, and still not a single hair out of place. Suddenly Buffy got the urge to laugh hysterically. Of course. What else? A stray giggle actually bubbled up into her throat when she caught sight of what had caused the odd smell. Hanging half out of the fireplace, a stray spark zipping up to lead to a still smoldering pile, were her jeans, the ones Spike had signed when this whole mess started.

Her mind went absolutely blank, simply unable to handle any more, and she felt completely numb as mechanically, she turned around and started walking."Buffy!" Angel called, desperately trying to pull up his pants. "Wait!"She didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't even increase her speed. She simply walked carefully through the kitchen and out the door.





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