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“Is this Buffy?”

Angel was having trouble telling something was off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.


“This isn’t Buffy.”

The words ran through Spike’s mind over and over. This wasn’t the same Buffy, anyhow. This wasn’t the girl who wore the scars of almost as many apocalypses as years she had lived. This girl seemed lighter, stood up more easily. This wasn’t the girl who had killed her own lover. This wasn’t the girl who had seen her own mother dead.

“It can’t be.”

Angel knew what was different now. This girl was happy, she smiled at strangers.

“It is.”

It had to be. She still glowed.

“It’s always Buffy.”

Was this the same girl who he had loved since he saw her? Was this the same girl he left for L.A.?

“It’s still all about Buffy.”

This wasn’t the same girl he had attacked in the bathroom almost two years ago—the thought made Spike shiver unpleasantly. This wasn’t the girl who kissed him and changed his world. This wasn’t the girl he dreamed about every night he could actually manage to fall asleep. This wasn’t the girl who he told he loved her.

“Always will be.”

Was this the girl who told him she loved him? Was this a girl who told Spike she loved him?

“It always is.”

This wasn’t the girl who told Spike she loved him. Not anymore.
But he could find her.

“So, I hit my head when I slipped on a marble? And my name is Buffy, you’re Willow, Gunn, Angel, Spike…” Buffy’s voice snapped the two vampires out of their reverie. Willow had been presenting a stuttering explanation of what had happened and who she was, trying to keep it as normal as possible as they had agreed. Just until Willow could figure out the rest of the consequences and reverse them.

“Um, Yeah. You got it.” Willow grinned nervously. So Buffy thought she was a kindergarten teacher. So what.

“OK.” Buffy thought for a good while. It was strange how she felt so calm. “So…what was I to you? I mean,” She turned and faced the rest of the room. “All of you.” She turned to Angel. “Friends, lovers--”

“Friends.” Spike interrupted quickly, ignoring the glare he received from Angel. “Not even good friends, really. He’s just a mate you haven’t seen a while. A good, long while.” Buffy stared at him. “Long while.” Angel let loose a low growl only Spike could hear. “You don’t like ‘im that much, really.” He bit back a smirk. Might as well make the poof’s life a bit of miserable while he can, just till Buffy wasn’t out of her gourd anymore.

“What about you?” The blonde girl asked, squinting at him.

“Hm?” Well how the hell should I know? “Well, we um…I guess that we were like, sort of, I--”

“Enemies.”

Spike turned sharply to Angel’s voice. It took every ounce of self-control in him to keep himself for grabbing the nearest piece of pointed wood and lunging at him. And then some. This intense concentration, unfortunately, prevented him from disagreeing.

“You’ve been enemies for a good long, while.” Damn if he wasn’t gonna get back at Spike. “Long while.”

“Oh.” Buffy said. Something in the back of her mind felt like it was protesting, but another part felt like she was angry at him. She would just have to trust her old, old friend. Or whatever. “And um…you two?” She asked turning away from the two men who seemed to be having a staring contest to look inquiringly at the girl, Willow.

“Oh, I’m your best friend of like, 8 years.” The redhead smiled broadly, glancing distractedly at Angel and Spike. Please don’t kill each other.

“And I’ve never met you before. Or seen you. Ever.” Gunn spoke up, speaking towards the wall instead of Buffy. Willow had done a spell under her breath while Angel and Spike were filling in some of the blanks initially, and Gunn was no longer in any pain. She would need more supplies to fix his vision, though.

“Ok. Good.” Buffy looked around. A blind man, a green-eyed woman, a blue-eyed blondie and a dark-eyed brow-full. Ok. I can do this. “I’m…really, really tired right now. I think I’m gonna go try and sleep.” She started for the door, then stopped suddenly. “Um. Do I have a place to sleep?”

“I’ll show you” Willow said quickly, stepping forward.

“I’m gonna go down to the basement.” Angel added, following Buffy and Willow out the door.

“I’m gonna…” Spike dropped his head a sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists. He sat there for a long time.

“Um,” Gunn shifted in his bed. “Is anyone still here?”





Angel paced the basement, having regaled as much as necessary to Illyria so that she would stay out of Buffy’s way. The demoness watched with shards of diamonds for eyes.

“You have done this before.” Angel stopped pacing but didn’t look at her. Illyria tilted her head and raised her eyes, as if searching for something Angel couldn’t see. “A girl. You loved her. And she forgot who she was.” Illyria stepped forward on halting legs. “Fred remembers.” At this Angel turned toward her. “Or…her memories are still here. Why do you repeat mistakes?” Her sneer stung him.

“I--” Angel never got a chance to finish his sentence. Abruptly, he found himself on the other side of the room. In the space between unneeded breaths, Spike’s fists found Angel’s face.

“You – sodding – bastard!” Angel pushed him back, but Spike swung his fist and pushed Angel back again with a roundhouse kick to the chest. “You have –NO IDEA – What you did!” Spike balled his fists together and brought them across Angel’s cheek. “I did you a bloody FAVOR, mate! She’s not your friend, she hates you! She HATES you!” Please let me be wrong. Illyria watched silently from the corner. For some reason, Spike’s distress seemed to upset her. She pushed it away quickly. “She HATES you! She hates you!” Spike’s punches were slowing. Angel caught one fist, then the other. “She – hates – you.” Please don’t let it be that way, again. Angel pushed Spike back, where he fell to his knees and blindly swung at the pavement. “She hates…” The concrete was broken, so was the skin on his knuckles. “She…” Please don’t let her hate me. Spike stopped. He stayed there, on his hands and bloody fists. His body shook. Please.

“So much grief.” Illyria sighed softly, almost under her breath.

“She doesn’t hate you.” It came from Angel, who walked to the cot and sat down.

Spike chuckled bitterly, rising his hand to his cheek as if to examine it, trying to covertly wipe away the tear on his face. “Wouldn’t be so sure.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be doing more damage to yourself. You still need that leg fixed.”

Spike sat wearily on the bed. “It’ll mend itself.” He paused, momentarily regretting throwing out his cigarettes. “But you didn’t see how mad she was. Doesn’t matter anyhow. Guess I’ll be asking the lady myself when she’s all back to her possibly-seething self.”

“Guess so.” They sat for a while, deep in thought. Finally, Angel spoke. “What was it like?” Spike turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Getting your soul, I mean.” Spike grinned for a second then looked back down at the broken pavement. For a while he just listened to the sound of blood dripping.

“You know…when something’s so hot, it feels cold?” Angel nodded unnecessarily. “’S like that, I think.”

Angel chuckled. “All these years and you still talk like a poet.” Spike batted him idly on the shoulder. Angel mouthed ‘Ow’ at the opposite wall. “You know, we still have to figure out the Senior Partner’s plan--”

“Oh, Lord, I don’t ever wanna hear ‘bout the sodding ‘Senior Partners’ for a good, long while without a bottle of tequila around.” He turned to Angel hopefully. “You don’t have any do you?”

Angel ignored his question. “They must be planning something. Maybe they just wanted to weaken us?” He rested his head on his hand, deep in thought. “Gotta figure that out.”

There was a pause. “Well, good luck with that, your poofness. I’ll be trying to find some Weetabix round these parts. Probably futile, but a fella’s gotta try.” He slapped Angel on the back and stood up. “Good luck, mate. Sorry bout the bit of bruise.”

Illyria finally spoke up, startling the blonde vampire. “I don’t understand. How quickly you oscillate from hate and anger to comraderie and understanding.”

Spike shrugged. “You wouldn’t. ‘S a guy thing, luv.” And with that he went up the stairs.



There was a knock on Buffy’s door. She was sitting, fully clothed, staring at the moon trying to pry its way into her room. At the second knock, she started and opened the door.

“Oh. You.” Buffy hesitated. He didn’t look dangerous. Strong, certainly. And if they were enemies, why had they been in the same room? “Come in.”

“Thanks.” Spike walked in uneasily and sat where Buffy had been. She stayed standing, watching him. “I just, um. There’s something you should know. What Angel said? ‘S not true.”

Buffy still hesitated. “Why would he lie?”

“Guess it was just his inner ponce coming out to play.” Spike shrugged.

Buffy slowly sat down next to him. She still didn’t entirely trust him. Then she saw his hands. “You’re hurt.” She stated simply.

“Well, you certainly didn’t lose Buffy’s keen powers of observa--” Spike was cut short by Buffy’s hands drawing his own into her lap. She didn’t seem to notice how cold they were. Spike nearly choked on his own sob, or was it a laugh?

“358 days.” Buffy said abruptly. Spike stared at her eyes, still watching their hands. She absently drew her thumb over the back of his hand. It felt right. “It came to my head, when I was drifting off. I think maybe I was thinking it before.” He was frozen. Buffy continued toying with his hand. “Do you know what it means?” She brought up his right hand, watching it as she entwined the fingers of her left with his. And it felt the most right of all. Finally she looked him in the eye.

To me? More than I can ever say. Spike’s memories were flooding through him, memories he couldn’t share with Buffy now. Not without spooking you. The memories were so strong they were painful. Wait. No. They were painful. Dammit. Ow. OW.

And then Buffy knew they weren’t enemies. Cuz why else would she want to know the answer so bad it chilled her?

Why else would her breath catch when Spike arched backward in pain, before collapsing onto the floor?

And why else would she dive to the floor with him, and take his unconscious head in her lap, and shake him and plead for him to wake up, and he won’t wake up, he won’t wake up, he won’t. Please.




A/N: Sorry this chappy took so long. Again. I STILL haven’t found my comp buried somewhere in the unholy mountain that is the boxes stacked in our garage. Moving’s a bitch. So, extra long chappy to make up for it. Oh, stop pouting.

Anywhore, please, pretty please gimme a review? I didn’t get any for the last chappy and now I’m in withdrawal. Feedback = Writer crack. Many thanks.





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