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Much to her surprise, the effects of the Slayer blood lasted well into the next day, giving her a first proper glimpse at this post-soul Spike. He was quieter than usual, almost timid at times, but there was still some of the old attitude there in his dry humour. What really stunned her though was his behaviour – polite, courteous, gentle: all things that she struggled to reconcile in her mind with the image of William the Bloody. He was, well for want of a better word, kind of a gentleman. The way he was around her mother was particularly astounding: he asked her about the gallery, talked to her about art, even joked with her, even if his laugh was weak from apparent lack of use.

As the day progressed though, he grew quieter, more withdrawn and she worried that the potency of her blood was starting to wear off. He ate dinner with them but excused himself shortly afterwards – after a grateful ‘thank you’ to her mother – and disappeared up to his room. Her mother turned to her with a worried look and she shrugged.

“He’s been so well today,” Joyce whispered.

“Yeah,” she answered absentmindedly, helping her mother to clear the table, “I think the blood might be wearing off though.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, erm, when he has blood it seems to make him better. But he’s never been… not for this long before.”

“Maybe the change of scenery did him good.”

“Maybe,” Buffy answered quietly, following her mother through to the kitchen, lost in thought.




Spike made no sign of returning to join them for the evening and so she went about preparing blood for him, heating it in the microwave and pouring it – nose carefully pinched against the smell – into a flask. With a grim smile, she closed the lid and threw the packet into the bin. She picked up the flask and was headed for the stairs when there came a quiet knock at the door. She turned to the door and froze, the small windows in it clearly showing who was on the other side.

“Buffy?”

She threw a quick glance at her mother and placed the flask of blood down on a side table as she approached the door slowly, heart pounding in her chest. She opened it and just stood there in silence for a moment, taking in the figure on the other side.

“Buffy.”

“Angel,” she got out shakily, holding the doorknob tightly, ready to shut the door on him at the first sign of anything she didn’t like.

“Angel!”

She jumped slightly at her mother’s voice and turned just as she appeared next to her.

“Have you come to ask about Spike?” her mother asked and when Buffy glanced at her, she noted a gleam in her mother’s eyes that belied the cluelessness of her question.

“Erm, no. I came to talk to Buffy,” Angel explained awkwardly.

She couldn’t help being a tiny bit amused by the fact that one quarter of the Scourge of Europe, a vampire over two hundred years old, was seemingly nervous around her mother. Afraid, even. Her mother slanted a look at her and then looked back at Angel, her expression carefully blank.

“Well, he’s doing a lot better,” she commented, “Buffy says the blood he had yesterday seems to be helping him. Along with the change of scenery, of course.”

She didn’t miss the flash of golden in his eyes and knew he knew exactly what blood she was talking about.

“That’s good,” he said weakly.



Joyce looked between them once more and smiled softly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to talk.”

Her mother disappeared into the kitchen but instead of beckoning the vampire in, Buffy stepped out onto the porch with him, crossing her arms as she shut the door behind her. Angel was silent for a long pause, looking her over with those sad eyes, until he finally spoke up.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Seem to be hearing that a lot lately,” she muttered bitterly and she saw the look of shock on his face. He continued though, dark eyes watching her.

“I don’t know what happened. I just… I saw you and… and I couldn’t control myself.”

She fidgeted nervously, her whole body tense, eyes watching him with a coldness that was completely at odds with her inner confusion.

“I just saw red.”

“I noticed.”

“I’ve never… I never meant to hurt you, Buffy. I don’t know what made me act like that. It… it must be something left over from… from before.”

“Don’t you even dare!” she burst out before she could stop herself and think it through, “Don’t even try to claim that it was Angelus making you do that. It was you, Angel!”

He looked suitably abashed but she couldn’t stop herself.

“You hit me and you were ready to kill Spike. And why?! Because I feel sorry for him. Because I want to help him and for some reason you can’t stand it!”

“You let him bite you!”

“Actually, if you look properly,” she retorted, tilting her neck, “You’ll see… no bite marks! It was actually Drusilla who cut me. Which you probably knew already, huh?”

“I- I didn’t-“

“Don’t lie to me. You smelled her, didn’t you? You knew she’d been there but you just decided to ignore that little fact so you could have your little jealous rampage!”



She had run out of steam and she turned her face away from him, unable to bear the sight of him.

“Buffy, please,” he pleaded softly, reaching out for her.

“Don’t!” she got out, “Don’t touch me.”

She turned her angry eyes on him and saw him recoil.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Problem is, I think you did,” she whispered.

“Buffy, no-“

“You think if you kill Spike, that would actually make me happier with you?”

“I wasn’t going to. I-“

“I can’t do this,” she whispered tearfully, turning to the door, “I can’t stand here and listen to your lies.”

“Buffy, please,” he whispered, catching her arm but pulling back when she jerked her arm away as she turned back to him reluctantly.

“I… I need time away from you, Angel.”

He looked stunned at her pronouncement and took a shaky step backwards.

“If I want to talk to you, I’ll come to you.”

Before he could say anything else, she quickly opened the door and went into her house, shutting the door on his stunned face.



“Buffy?” her mother called out.

“I’m just bringing Spike his blood,” she called back, knowing she couldn’t face her mother right now.

She grabbed the flask she had set down and rushed up the stairs, slowing her steps as she approached the spare room. She opened the door in a daze and looked to the bed, finding Spike asleep. She gave a sigh of relief and went over to the window, placing the flask down beside it and peeking out behind the blackout curtains. She could just make out Angel’s retreating form further along the street and she quickly replaced the curtain, sinking into the chair next to her and burying her head on her knees.

Her anger had completely disappeared now, replaced with a deep, hollow pain that quickly prompted bitter tears that she couldn’t hold back. What was happening to her life? Getting Angel back had been all she wanted for those long weeks when he had been lost to her but now he was back, the reality was a lot less happy than she had imagined. The tears were coming in floods now and it took all of her effort to keep her sobs to a low, muffled volume.

“Buffy?”

Her head snapped up and she quickly wiped her eyes, jumping to her feet and trying to pretend nothing was wrong at Spike’s concerned look.

“I’m fine,” she got out shakily, “Here’s your blood.”

He took the flask from her but when she went to pull back, he caught her hand, preventing her from moving away. Those bright blue eyes fixed on hers, searching hers as if for some explanation.

“Please,” she whispered, tugging slightly against his grip.



“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t planned on telling him but the next minute, she sank to the bed and laid her head on the bedcovers beside him, her tears returning anew, ripped from her painfully.

“Angel,” she sobbed helplessly.

Spike said nothing but the next second, she felt his hand against her hair, stroking over it gently as she cried and cried.

“I think… it’s over… between us,” she choked out, burying her head in the soft covers.

“Shh, it’s alright, pet,” was Spike’s reply, his hand still passing softly over her hair, “You cry it all out. It’ll make you feel better.”

Through her misery, she vaguely noted that he was still lucid but it meant nothing as she curled up further, all of the pain in her heart flowing out in a never-ending stream of tears.





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