Chapter 3: The Ex Girlfriend

Spike dropped his car keys on the foyer table, tossed his duster onto a coat hook, and made it as far as the living room before he was forced to pause to take in the scene. The picture window's frame was filled with glass, not plywood. The furniture was arranged for conversation, not for maximizing floor space. And there wasn't a single bedroll, gym bag, or wounded teen-aged girl in sight. In fact, there was only one heartbeat in the whole place, and it was approaching him from behind.

“You came back. Alone?”

“She'll be home later,” he replied without turning around. “Had some business to talk through with Angel. If it's alright with you, I'm gonna set up one of your camp cots downstairs.”

“How do you know I--?” Joyce glanced toward the foyer, noticing his coat and keys had been dropped off in the casual way of a long time resident. “You've lived here.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask... Spike, how old is my daughter?”

He slowly turned around to stare at her. “How'd you know?”

“I saw the way she looked at you after that flash of light. My Buffy is a teenager, prone to teen-aged infatuations and teen-aged depths of grief. That woman who appeared in her place...” She shook her head, declining to finish her thought. “My Buffy also doesn't like you enough to push you up against a wall to kiss you in my upstairs hallway.”

“Saw that, did you?”

“It's mutual, I hope.”

“Very.”

She waved toward the basement stairs. “I assume you know where the cots are stored. And that you'll both tell me more about what's going on tomorrow?”

“As much as we can.” He started out of the room, bound for the basement, but stopped beside her. “Coming up on twenty-three. And earned every bit of those looks of grief and world weariness getting there.”

She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “I was hoping her SAT scores were her ticket out of this life. I guess she didn't get to go away to college.”

Across town, Buffy and Angel stood in silence in the walled garden of the old mansion, staring up at the night sky together to avoid the awkwardness of looking at each other.

He finally broke the ice. “You didn't get to go to Northwestern, did you?”

“It wasn't an option. Long story.”

“And Spike?”

“He's been dodging questions about where he went to college for years. You probably have a better idea than I do.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“His soul... Did he do that for you?”

“Less than he'd probably be willing to admit. I think it was more for himself than he's ready to say.”

“He thinks you see it as a mistake.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn't have been able to hand him the mystical equivalent of a suicide vest if he didn't have it, among other reasons.” She finally looked from the sky to him. “It would've been you or me, otherwise. Possibly Faith, but not as likely as us.”

Angel studied her in the moonlight for a long time, taking in the mismatch of youthful appearance and eyes that had seen enough to feel old. “How long since...?”

“He's been dead six months.” She forced a thin smile. “Until tonight, apparently. And until whatever dumped us here gets undone.”

“Do you wish it was you?”

“Most nights, at least for a little while.” She moved to sit at the base of the stairs. “But these aren't the questions you really want to ask.”

He sighed and leaned up against the garden wall opposite. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“Try the beginning. Which is now, I guess, from your perspective.”

“When did Spike and Drusilla break up?”

“About a week ago. Why did you think he rolled into town drunk and stupid?”

“Is she...? I mean, will she...?”

“She's fine.”

“Are you sure? When did you last see her?”

Buffy leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You don't want the answer to that question.”

“Why wouldn't I? What has she done?”

She hesitated.

“Just tell me, Buffy. Whatever she's done... Trust me, I can take it.”

“A couple of months ago. She showed up at my apartment with two bottles of bourbon. I invited her in, and we drank until it was gone. It was nearly morning by the time I passed out. So she stayed for the day, and left at dusk.”

“You invited her into your home?!” he shouted. “And then let your guard down?!”

“I told you you didn't want to know.”

“I've never known you to be so reckless. But especially after Kendra...”

“There was nothing she could do to hurt me, and we both knew it.”

Angel sat with the implications of those words for a long time. When he spoke again, his volume was much lower. “Did she at least warn you this was coming? What did you talk about? ...Besides the obvious.”

“Nothing. We drank in silence all night. There was nothing to say.” She looked down at the garden steps between her feet. “You have to understand her point of view, Angel. To her mind, she lost him as soon as he met me. By the time she dumped him last week, she'd made some level of peace with it, although she's still going to swing by in a couple of years, to test the waters. But by the time she knocked on my front door, she'd had enough time and distance to get me drunk and let me cry on her shoulder.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to imagine what that looked like.

“That visit wasn't a threat, Angel.” She looked up at him. “It was a gift. A gift from the only other person who had done what I did, who understood better than anyone else could. We didn't need to talk.”

“Done what you did?”

“Killed him.” Buffy abruptly stood up. “I should get home. We can talk about something else tomorrow, if you want.”

He straightened his stance and fought the urge to approach her for a goodbye hug. “Uh, yeah. That sounds like a good idea. But before you go... What happened to us?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Angel, there hasn't been an 'us' since the morning I woke up alone in your bed. We wasted a lot of time pretending really hard that wasn't the case, but it was. It is. The sooner we stop lying to ourselves -and each other- the better off we'll both be.”

She was halfway up the garden stairs before he was able to give voice to the thought he'd been trying to ignore for hours. “You don't love me anymore.”

She paused and turned just far enough to say, “A part of me always will. But it isn't enough. It never really was.”

She was almost out of earshot when he gave her a parting gift. “Don't tell him I told you this, but... Oxford.”

“Ha! I knew it!”