Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER PAIRING: Buffy/Spike

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just fixing their mistakes! Ha!

CHAPTER CREDITS: Some lyrics to "In Heaven" from Eraserhead and a reference to that fabulous episode where Buffy reveals where she was before she was resurrected (you'll see how clever I was, just you wait!)

AUTHOR'S CHAPTER NOTES: I struggled with the Giles section, so I apologize ahead of time if you notice that. I have definite feelings of what was going on in Giles' mind regarding Spike during the series, only it was very hard to translate that to words. Lots more angst in this one, plus my take on what happened in that basement scene during "Chosen". Yay! :D
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"I knew you'd be the death of him. Burned him all up, you did. But he's mummy's shining boy. Both of us..." Drusilla's long nails ran over Anne Pratt's gravestone. She stopped then to look at the Slayer with glittering yellow eyes, the visage of the demon. "Like a phoenix, he comes back for princess. Not for me, but for thee."

Was that anger or hurt that flickered across her face? Buffy wondered this in the second it took the vampire to pounce.

Drusilla's kiss was just as sudden, telling the demon all she needed to know to confirm her visions. "Yes, you love him, you dreadful girl."

...

Buffy's eyes opened painfully to the morning sun. Was that a Slayer dream, or had Drusilla left Buffy a parting gift to remind her why she was not yet dead?

Her body ached the way it did after the intense battle at the Hellmouth, yet she hadn't even landed or taken a punch. Leaning against Spike's gravestone, she was exhausted- mentally, physically, and emotionally. But there was one place left she needed to go.




Giles had been writing a lot lately. His Watcher journal didn't get much use these days, but his personal one—it could probably be considered a new psychological treatise by now. Freud and Lacan had nothing on him. It was true he'd had no idea what being Buffy's Watcher would really put him through, but this latest stage of their relationship was the one he found the worst. It was marked by her loss of trust and confidence in him, his need to keep secrets, and an overwhelming emptiness that pervaded both of their lives.

This latest drama with Angel had filled pages upon pages of his diary and had Giles so torn he could barely sleep. He hated, first and foremost, having any dealings whatsoever with Angel. He hated it back when Buffy loved the vampire, but he was willing to tolerate it for her sake as well as for the potential information such a partnership could glean. Now, having known the evil that this vampire could unleash, he hated it even more. But, still, he did it for Buffy's sake. This thing with Spike—it was built on an unhealthy obsession with the Slayer, then her unhealthy obsession with him. Angel reminded Giles of this at every opportunity, and it merely kept the fires of the Watcher's distrust of Spike well-stoked.

He had been surprised that Spike had actually gone through with his Hellmouth sacrifice. What the vampire had gotten from it at the time, he didn't pretend to know. And Buffy gave him only a one-sentence explanation of what actually happened down there. But when Angel informed him that Spike had returned, Giles was even more surprised to find that the blond pest hadn't come for Buffy. What game was he up to now? It couldn't be that he had honestly changed. That would throw out everything the Watcher ever studied, learned, and believed in. (That's what he reminded himself each and every time Spike violated the unspoken "rules".) No, Giles had to believe that it was another of the vampire's twisted plans, sacrificing himself when Buffy thought she could love him, hiding himself away so as to keep her pining for him forever, making sure she would always be his. To ultimately have his third Slayer.

The Watcher poured himself another Scotch. So many years on, Giles didn't think he would still be losing sleep because of Spike, especially not after having the vampire disappear from their lives for such an extended amount of time. He had been so relieved to hear that Spike had gone down in that final battle. Certainly, he wouldn't show that to a mourning Buffy; he was man enough to know that he ought to respect the fact that she, at least in her mind, had lost someone important. But, ultimately, he found much comfort in the knowledge that the source of Buffy's distraction and unhealthy reliance was now gone. She could move on, as she did when she killed Angel, and perhaps have finally learned the futility of a relationship with the enemy. Giles had looked forward to the day when Buffy would take a suitable suitor, and he could walk her down the aisle to her happy future. Yes, the Watcher's Council was right that he loved Buffy with a father's love. That's why he grit his teeth and listened to Angel when the vampire had told him to keep Spike's return a secret. No good could come of it.




Spike looked at the still-sleeping Willow. "Where is that bloody Empath already?" he growled.

"Well, it is pretty late," Tara offered. She was buried under a blanket, clinging to Spike's side through another movie. First Blue Velvet, now Eraserhead. She hoped he had something different in mind for the next one because she was pretty sure her nightmares would be filled to overflowing from these picks. Was it too far-fetched to hope that he had some good ol' Scooby-Doo cartoons lying around?

"Oh! Here now, it's my favorite bit." Spike pulled her attention back to the screen, resting his face against her hair. The chunky-cheeked lady in the radiator began to sing: "In heaven, everything is fine..."

Over and over, the woman's soft voice sang those words. Tara closed her eyes and thought back, once more with feeling, to Buffy—not noticing the tears that began to well up.




Giles dropped his pen on the desk and rubbed his eyes. Buffy relied on Spike time after time because she felt she could count on him. He didn't leave. No, he bloody well didn't. Not even when he should. Spike was reckless, throwing all caution to the wind. Giles felt a pain in his heart as youthful memories surfaced. That's it, isn't it? That's what this was all about. Giles didn't like Spike because he reminded him too much of his younger self, the brash, risky Ripper. He'd been paying his entire life now for that rebel. So much pain he caused. The deaths of his friends were on his head after that whole Eyghon period, and for Buffy to have seen that side of him... How could he let her get involved with another 'Ripper,' knowing how painfully short her life was already doomed to be. How could he let her be haunted by the vampire's past the way he was haunted by his own? He hissed, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"Oh, give it up already, you ponce," Ripper spat at him in his head. "What else does the bloke have to do to prove to you he's not a wanker?"

"Who are you to talk, mate?" Giles replied aloud, coughing as he downed the rest of his Scotch.

"I'm the one of us who's not blind! You're a useless codger. You leave her 'for her own good' every time she needs you. So, who's left behind for her, eh? HIM, ya berk."

Giles shook his head violently, the alcohol settling uneasily. "No. Don't you blame that on me, you bastard."

Ripper cackled. "Truth hurts, mate. God, look at you. If I'd known I'd turn out like this, I'd have conjured something stronger and gone to Hell with it. I fucking HATE you!"

"Yeah? Well, I hate you too!" Giles yelled in pathetic defense, his voice echoing through his apartment. He gripped his glass tightly, trying to hold himself back from hurling it at the wall.




She didn't know how she made it to his door. She didn't know how she was still standing. She didn't know how she'd last the next few moments. So many thoughts were going through her head that it was like the static on TV when you got the wrong channel.

Giles was yelling at someone. That was the only thing her ears could pick up on. But she had come too far to turn back now.

She knocked on the door weakly for what seemed like minutes. When that did no good, she smacked at the wood with the flat of her hand, leaning her body against the door to keep upright.

...

"Dear Lord!" Giles gasped when he saw her. He had finally ascertained that the odd thwapping sound was coming from outside, but he hadn't expected to find a girl slumped over at his feet.

"Buffy! What happened?"

She moaned softly, reaching out to prop herself up. Giles gathered her in his arms, his heart rate increasing when he discovered how light she felt.

Before she had time to respond, he carried her into his apartment, placing her on the sofa. He scanned her for injuries but found nothing external. It was obvious, though, that she hadn't eaten much since he last saw her. Or slept. Her skin looked painfully delicate, like antique lace. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Dawn had not exaggerated when she said that Buffy was a wreck.

Giles was too busy trying to make sure she wasn't hurt to see that she mouthed "where is he?". But Buffy was no match for her exhaustion and dehydration. She succumbed to some real sleep finally while Giles sat on the floor next to her, keeping a tense vigil with the remainder of his bottle of Scotch.




She saw him then, on that final night in Sunnydale. She had been on the porch, trying to gather her thoughts and push down her fear. From above she could hear the sounds of Willow and Kennedy, Faith and Robin. In the dining room, Giles played a game with the others who couldn't sleep. Spike had respectfully given her space to deal with what would come next. For years she had wanted that from him. But tonight?

When she moved down the steps to the basement, Spike rose from the cot. He had the gaudy amulet in his hands, so she knew what he was doing. Tomorrow was going to be the end of something.

"Slayer?"

He looked at her with those crystal azure eyes, so full of hope and pain all at once.

Buffy said nothing. She locked her eyes with his, making sure he knew she saw him. Really saw him. Her footsteps echoed against the concrete as she approached him.

He stood still, nervous momentarily for what would happen next. A stake? A punch for old time's sake?

Instead, not breaking her gaze, she took the amulet from his shaking hands and tossed it on his duster, which lay in a heap on the floor. He was about to say something when she grasped his arms and leaned in to kiss him.

The kiss was incredible. It was the kiss of a person who had nothing left to lose and who meant it as surely as that.

Spike wanted to give into it, but after a few moments he broke away, gasping for air—the irony of their role reversal not lost on him.

"Slayer, what is this?"

Buffy didn't stop to think about what to say, as she usually would. There was no time for that. "This is you and me, right here, right now."

Spike softened a bit, thinking he understood. "All right, Slayer. I can do cold comfort. I won't...expect anything from it." His breath would have hitched if he kept speaking, so he stopped.

She undressed him before she undressed herself. He made no move, simply let her remain in control of the moment. If this was what she needed, he would deny her nothing. As always.

They coupled slowly, wordlessly, for a good hour, the only sound emanating from them being soft gasps and creaks from the old cot.

Finally, Buffy rested her forehead against Spike's. "This isn't cold comfort, Spike. This is... what we should have had."

Spike looked up at her then, his eyes daring to glaze over. "Buffy..."

But she wasn't done yet. "Please... if I don't make it..."

He clutched her arms tight at that, stilling her. "You'll make it." His eyes glowed the angry yellow of the demon then. "You'll make it, even if I have to move Heaven, Earth, and bloody Hell."

At that, he rolled over, pulling her with him so that he was on top. She reached for his face, the face that would be her savior's, and he thrust into her with a passion borne of his burning soul.

Those still awake in the house bit their tongues and said nothing of the moans that rose from the basement during those few final hours before dawn.




The tear that rolled down past her ear and onto the sofa woke her.

Giles watched its trail, already pained from seeing her in such a wasted state. He didn't know how much longer he could take this.

"Where is he?" she rasped, eyes still closed.

"What? I don't..."

She cut him off. "Spike. Where is he?"

Giles sighed, reaching for her. "He's dead, Buffy."

The Slayer did not relent. "I know he's dead." She turned her head towards her Watcher and opened her eyes then. "Where is he?"

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