Sunnydale, December 2002

Giles spent the days immediately following Christmas in the training room of the Magic Box, interviewing Spike as they had agreed. Anya complained about losing her help for the after-Christmas sales, but Buffy volunteering to fill in while Spike worked with Giles seemed to mollify her. Giles would have preferred she refused the offer; Buffy was clearly motivated not from a desire to help, but to hear what was being said. More than once, he would see Spike's eyes move toward the door and knew Buffy had come in to listen. He knew she couldn't be taking any satisfaction in hearing Spike's description of the trials he'd endured to win his soul; the stories were painful and on more than one occasion Giles found himself regretting his noon meal. All this was told in a very straight-forward manner with what appeared to be remarkably little embellishing.

The motivation behind his decision to fetch the soul was another matter all together.

Based on the conversation he and Buffy had had, Giles expected some reticence on Spike's part; Buffy's presence made it worse. Even when Giles had firmly shooed her away and shut the door, he could see getting the information out of Spike was going to be difficult. "Would you be more comfortable if we were somewhere else?"

"You mean, where you can stake me in private?" Spike asked with a weak grin. "Yeah, I would. And...I know its part of the deal, but I'd rather not have the camera running the first time I told you. I'll do it a second time, but the first...no, that's between you and me."

The watcher in him didn't want to agree, wanted to hold this creature to the contract he'd agreed to...but he also knew it involved his slayer in ways he might not particularly want immortalized in the Council archives. "Tonight, then? We'll do it at my hotel."

It seemed the best compromise, though he wasn't at all surprised when Buffy objected when she heard. Spike did his best to reassure her it was fine, but when she continued to object, they retired to the training room and every so often Giles could hear raised voices as they argued.

"It's standing between them," Anya said quietly, coming to stand beside him as he watched the closed door. "Buffy's forgiven him, but I don't think Spike's forgiven himself. And while she's forgiven him, I don't think Buffy's dealt with her own feelings about things."

Giles was surprised Anya had joined him; the shop wasn't actually busy but there were customers about and those usually occupied her attention. That in and of itself spoke of deeper concerns. "They've argued like this before?"

She shrugged. "Every couple argues. One of the first thing a vengeance demon learns is to distinguish between piddly little every day arguments and the big ones where a woman's ready to call down vengeance. Buffy and Spike do their best to present a united front because Buffy's 'friends'" -- it was impossible for Giles to miss the air quotes -- "would take advantage of any weakness they saw. They've both been on edge for the past week, though."

"Buffy's confided in you?"

Anya laughed. "Only when she's drunk. We had some heart to hearts over the summer, but Buffy maintains a wall between herself and almost everyone. I sometimes wonder if even Spike's been able to fully break through. No, it's isn't anything they've said, but there's a certain feeling, a tickle at the back of my neck that's saying there's some stuff lurking beneath the surface; ugly stuff. If they don't deal with it...I wouldn't get involved in a vengeance wish between the two of them, but I know some who'd happily travel halfway around the globe."

Her words did little to make him happy and gave him much that he needed to think on. "You're a very perceptive woman; I'm sorry I haven't given you credit for that very often."

"Thank you...and I forgive you for thinking of me simply as Xander's girlfriend for most of our acquaintance."

The smile that accompanied those words warmed him and he found himself saying, "I haven't thought of you as Xander's girlfriend for some time."

Both the warmth of his tone and the spark his words provoked in her eyes surprised him. When had he started thinking of Anya as her own person and not simply an extension of one of Buffy's friends? Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, he fumbled for something to say, hoping to turn the conversation in a different direction. "By the way, I do like the slightly darker highlights in your hair."

Giles never claimed to be an expert about women, but he knew that complimenting a change of hair was not the way to direct her attention away from what he'd just said. Before she could reply, though, one of the customers called for her attention and she started away, leaving him to wonder what exactly had just happened. To his surprise, she was back almost immediately, laying a hand on his arm. "If you need to, call me when you're done with Spike. Doesn't matter how late it is; if you need to talk, I'll be there."

Spike's insistence that the first time through wasn't for the camera proved a good idea. The talk was both blunt and painful, Giles learning details of what had happened in his absence that he could have happily gone to his grave without knowing. If he'd known then what he'd just learned, he wouldn't have been inclined to laugh when Buffy had classified sleeping with Spike as one of the indicators her life had gone very wrong.

Halfway through, Giles opened the scotch and poured a glass for each of them, noting that Spike's hand was trembling slightly as he took it. Independent of the guilt he admitted to now feeling for his victims over the years and the pleasure he'd taken in their deaths, there was the guilt the demon had known; guilt for failing to stop Doc on tower, which meant Buffy had been faced with the choice that led to her death -- and guilt for an encounter that was nowhere near as brutal as Xander as painted it, but certainly not as easily dismissed as Buffy's "we're dealing." That had been the guilt which had driven him to make what seemed an unimaginable choice and it was frightening how closely it lurked near the surface. Spike never broke down or lapsed into drama, but he damn near started to hyperventilate at one point, a strange sight to see in a creature who supposedly didn't need oxygen to exist.

Finishing his own glass and pouring another, Giles said, "This will sound strange, but you should probably consider discussing this with someone -- a professional, I mean."

"Tell a shrink that I'm a vampire in love with a slayer and I became so crazed with guilt over trying to rape her that I went to get a soul?" Spike held out his glass, then downed what Giles poured in one gulp. "I don't think so."

Spike held out the glass again, but Giles deliberately put the bottle down out of reach. "I'm serious. No, you don't need to tell whomever about being a vampire, but the fact remains that you and Buffy were in what you describe as a mutually self-destructive relationship and are now trying to make a new start. I'd suggest couples therapy as well."

This brought a lifted eyebrow. "You're being awfully supportive. What brought this change on? I mean, I know you prefer me over Angel, but I thought you'd rather Buffy's boyfriend had a pulse."

"I do. But given what you just told me, I think she'll have a better chance emerging unharmed if the two of you had a bit of help." He paused. "I know someone who'd be excellent, but I'm not certain he'd be willing to come to Sunnydale."

"And we're not going anywhere any time soon." Spike looked at the bottle a bit wistfully, then put his glass down. "Mind if we call a halt to it there?" he asked. "It's late, Buffy will be worrying and I'm a bit fagged out. We can do the taping tomorrow."

Giles agreed, relieved to get away from the subject himself. Trouble was, after Spike left, he found himself too keyed up to sleep despite the fact it was well after midnight. He considered reaching for the scotch again, but told himself the temporary numbing wouldn't actually do any good. Television didn't help either, depressing repeats of the afternoon talk shows or infomercials trying to convince you to buy, buy, buy! and all your worries would be solved.

As she'd promised, Anya was still up and answered the door at his knock. He stood there on the threshold for a long moment, unsure of what to say, unsure whether or not he was violating a trust.

The smile she gave him said she understood the twist of emotions inside him. "I'm afraid," he blurted out. "I didn't understand what went on. That he'd be driven to such lengths, that she'd...I can believe it of Spike -- want to believe it of him -- but that she'd...and that they'd just try to pick up the pieces..."

He trailed off, unsure how to express his fears in mere words. Somehow, though, he knew that here was the only other person in the world who understood and when she held out her hand to draw him inside, he had the strangest feeling of being home.

February 2003

It was when he got the glasses that Buffy realized a part of Spike hadn't come back from Africa.

Spike hadn't wanted to get them, but since his original translation had earned him a freelance contract for the Council (and the money was a welcome addition to the household coffers), he was spending a lot of time poring over old books and photocopies with tiny writing and popping aspirin to combat the accompanying eye strain. It took both Buffy and Dawn threatening to bodily carry him to the optometrist to get him to do something about it.

He returned with wire-frame reading glasses that had a tendency to perch on the edge of his nose, lending him a softer, more sensitive appearance when he looked up from his work. Watching him do battle with his latest set of project, pages spread across Joyce's old desk that had become his, Buffy couldn't help but think she was seeing William as he'd been before he'd met Drusilla.

He didn't seem to have that dangerous edge anymore...and she missed it. She loved falling asleep with him and waking up with him and all the things they did together...but she missed the times when he'd turned to her with fire and desire in his eyes. He was still there to watch her back, still good in a fight, but he didn't take the joy in it that used to drive her so insane. It was if that part had somehow gone missing when he'd gained his soul.

She kept her thoughts to herself, unsure of how to broach the subject or even if it would do any good. Spike had suffered a resurgence of nightmares following his sessions with Giles and she worried that telling him she missed that part of him might only trigger another round.

They'd find a way to work it out; she was sure of it. After everything they'd gone through to get to this place, she wasn't going to mess it up by telling him she'd like a little more demon in her man.

Late December 2002 -- Late February 2003

They'd talked through the night. When he'd shown up at her apartment, restless and unhappy after hearing Spike's side of the story, Anya had intended to simply listen and let Giles tell her of his worries. Being a good listener was an important talent for a vengeance demon, shifting through half-wishes and regrets to find the precise core of anger that would fuel the wish. There were ways to draw out the speaker, get them to unburden things they'd never tell another living soul and she'd had a millennium to refine them all.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, however, she began to talk as well. At first it was simply to tell him of what Buffy had confessed to her over the summer and what Spike had been willing to say when he'd first returned. Then, though, she found herself speaking of her own frustrations, how the Scoobies treated their significant others rather poorly in general and the demons rather badly in specific. Buffy was doing her best to change that, but given what Anya had heard Xander say about his continued efforts to convince her to "come to her senses," it was going to be an uphill battle.

"I'm surprised Xander would talk about that in front of you," Giles said, shaking his head.

"Xander tends to forget I have opinions of my own and believes I'm in perfect harmony with his. He still comes into the shop because Willow can't be trusted to be there on her own and Buffy's often too busy these days to play chaperone. They talk. Rather, Xander blows hot air and believes I'm listening."

"Buffy said he was still angry with her over Spike, but it sounded like he wasn't actively trying to get them to separate anymore."

"He'd settle for separation; what Xander really wants is for Buffy to stake Spike."

The look of horror on Giles' face warned that she'd unwittingly touched a nerve, most likely one of those Angel landmines that littered the landscape of the Scoobies' collective psyche. She didn't like causing him distress, but she needed him to understand what was happening despite the good face everyone put on. "I didn't realize quite the depth of it," Giles said quietly.

Turning away, Anya noticed the sun was beginning to come up. She really should suggest Giles go back to his hotel and get some sleep so she could grab an hour or two herself. The post-holiday sales were still in full swing and there would be customers at the store requiring her attention.

"Let's go grab some breakfast," she told him. "Talk about something cheerful."

Breakfast consisted of more conversation, some about Buffy and her friends, but drifting more and more toward their shared interests. When she realized she could delay no longer, Anya reluctantly rose to head for the shop...only to find herself asking him to join her for dinner somewhere they weren't likely to run into the gang, which meant cloth napkins and a decent wine list. The pleasure she saw in his eyes as he accepted was enough to get her through the morning.

One dinner turned into two and a decision to attend the New Year's Eve party of a mutual business acquaintance together. When the clock turned to midnight and 2002 became 2003, he gave her a light kiss in keeping with tradition that she found herself wishing was more.

The Scooby-free dinners continued until he had to return to London the second week in January. They spent a fine time discussing business and magic and the trade, arguing over some of the more outlandish theories out there...and he'd told her about his home and how being a watcher had been something his family had viewed as his responsibility rather than a choice, while she'd shared the story of her marriage to Olaf and the decision to accept D'Hoffryn's offer.

By the time he left, seen off by his slayer, her family and friends, Anya realized they were dancing around something, desperately trying to ignore its existence. There were a hundred reasons for him to hesitate, she told herself and really the last thing she needed was another romantic entanglement. It hadn't been quite a year since Xander had left her standing broken and humiliated before their guests and that was a wound that still ached. No, better that they keep it professional. Besides, his primary place was in London and she had the shop here.

Then there were the e-mails. Giles wasn't as technologically inept as he claimed, but the computer and he were not natural allies, so it'd been a surprise to open her e-mail one morning before going into work and find a letter. She responded promptly and the correspondence began. Some of it kept him abreast of the happenings in Sunnydale, but most of it continued in the same vein as their dinner conversations. Anya found herself looking forward to his letters, checking her mail several times a day at work, even when she knew it was the middle of the night in England and it was highly unlikely that he'd even be up at that hour.

When he asked her to pick him up at the Sunnydale airport, the day couldn't come soon enough. For once, she didn't give a damn about the customers and left the store in Spike's care well before Giles' flight was due in, not caring that she would end up paying extra in the overpriced lot at the airport.

It seemed like an eternity between the time the flight status showed "Arrived" and the door to the gate opened to disgorge the passengers. Even then, Anya had to wait through far too many people before he appeared at last, looking a bit rumpled from the long trip, a tweed suit jacket thrown casually over a sweatshirt and jeans, most likely substituting for the heavier coat he might need in London but not here.

He was scanning the crowd and when his eyes finally settled on her, a smile crossed his face that had her throwing all thoughts of weighing the pros and cons, different locations and keeping thing professional to the wind. In a moment, she was across the waiting area and into his arms. Underneath the faintly metallic tang of recycled airplane air, she could smell the soap and aftershave she still remembered from Willow's ill-considered spell where they'd thought themselves an engaged couple. It was a pleasure to breathe it in once more as he returned her kiss without hesitation and with much thoroughness.

They were drawing hoots of laughter and applause from the others in the terminal, but Anya didn't give a damn. Right here, right now, all the hurt and anger she'd been nursing for nearly a year suddenly washed away as he held her tight and she was filled with renewed hope and a desire that most definitely did not include vengeance.

When they both came up for air, he smiled down at her. "Funny, but I was thinking the same thing myself."

Sunnydale, March 2003

"Buffy! Watch out!"

Xander's cry came almost too late and Spike found himself sprinting across the graveyard toward where a rather large and ugly creature was bearing down on his slayer with frightening speed. Why weren't you watching? his mind screamed. Why weren't you at her side?

He didn't have time to answer any of those questions as Buffy turned and brought her sword sweeping across the creature's middle in a smooth stroke, slicing it in half. A final scream and the night air was suddenly silent except for the sound of the creature toppling to the ground. Spike found himself stopped, rooted to one spot as he watched Xander move quickly to Buffy's side, asking if she was alright. Why hadn't he been with Buffy instead of halfway across the graveyard?

Answer: He'd picked the easier fight and left her to the more difficult one.

He'd been doing that a lot lately, he realized. It was one thing when just the two of them patrolled together, but Xander had been tagging along recently, as had Willow, and Spike had found himself growing more and more reticent. He wasn't certain if it was the presence of the others or if he'd lost his taste for the fight; whichever the reason, Buffy had actually had to drag him away from the books that night, growing a bit snappish at the way he'd dragged his feet.

Grimly, he shoved the thoughts away and headed toward her. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, but she drew in her breath with a hiss when his hand brushed a cut along her cheek.

Spike didn't mean to draw back sharply; he knew the reaction annoyed her and he'd been doing his best to control it. But when he was distracted, instincts he was struggling to deal with came to the fore. The big one was not to hurt her again in any way, shape or form.

"I'm not made of glass," she snapped as she turned away. "Can you stop acting like I am?"

"I'm sorry..." he began, then stopped. There was no mistaking the smile that was creeping onto Xander's face. He was not going to get into an argument with Buffy in front of the Whelp. Taking a deep breath, he tried to keep his voice as calm as he could. "We should get you home and get that cut cleaned out."

For a moment it looked like she was about to argue with him or, worse, ignore him completely, but Buffy nodded and headed for the graveyard entrance. Xander, not bothering to hide his smile, broke into a trot to catch up with her. Willow patted Spike on the arm as if she was trying to comfort him and then quickly moved to join the others.

He watched the three friends walk away and wondered how they'd come to this situation. Five months. He and Buffy had been together five months and she was walking away with her friends instead of him. What's more, he'd let her because he hadn't known how to react to her anger.

Realizing the longer he waited, the more embarrassing it would be when he walked into the house after them, Spike decided to catch up. It wasn't difficult; Buffy might have been moving pretty quickly when she started, but she'd slowed down when Xander and Willow joined her. A slight burst of vampire speed and he was slipping in between Buffy and Xander, pulling her arm through his. Buffy's initial expression when she looked up at him was one of annoyance, but then it softened a bit and her fingers curled around his arm. She was still his girl.

He didn't sleep well that night -- again -- his dreams restless and disturbed. They never quite reached nightmare stage, but by the time the alarm went off in the morning, he didn't feel like he'd slept at all. "Maybe you should try to get a bit more sleep," Buffy said as he struggled to sit up. "You were tossing all night."

"Didn't mean to disturb you," he managed, then bit his lip, wondering if he'd just put his foot in his mouth again.

Buffy sat next to him on the bed, brushing his hair off his forehead, almost as if she was feeling for a fever. The only thing in her eyes at that moment was concern. "I'm more worried about the dreams. They're bad, aren't they? It's not just nightmares anymore."

He caught her hand and placed a kiss in the palm. "I don't want to worry you but...yeah, they're bad. Things I've done, people I killed. I sometimes think I don't deserve what I've got now, don't deserve the right to be happy."

"Is there anything you can do? I don't know...anyone you can talk to?"

"Funny, but Giles suggested the same thing. Problem is, the only person he can think of is in England and associated with the Council."

"Which means...

"Aside from the distance factor, I doubt a Council shrink will want anything to do with a vampire...even one who's a translator for them. Just means I need to try to work it out on my own."

"Not on your own," Buffy insisted. "We'll work it out together."

Spike couldn't help smiling at that. They'd made up last night before going to bed, but it helped to hear her speak of them as a couple. "That we will, luv. I should call Anya, let her know I won't be in."

"I'll call her. You try to get some sleep."

She kissed him and made sure he was tucked back under the covers before she started her own morning routine. Listening to the sound of the shower running and Buffy puttering around the room, he slowly drifted back into what was actually a restful sleep.

The day passed peacefully enough. Spike slept until almost noon and awoke feeling much better than he had that morning. With the house empty, he grabbed himself a cup of blood and settled down to work on his translations, the Ramones playing on the stereo. By the time Dawn arrived home from school, he was in a reasonably good mood.

"Is everything okay between you and Buffy?" were the first words out of Dawn's mouth.

Spike felt his good mood begin to crumble. "I thought so. Seemed okay this morning."

"Was that before or after Xander came to breakfast?"

Good mood gone. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Dawn definitely didn't look happy. "Buffy...she was worried about you. I don't know if she actually meant to say anything in front of him, but she said you hadn't been sleeping well."

Buffy must be seriously worried if she mentioned that when Xander was there. "It's the dreams, Niblet," he admitted. "They're back again."

She nodded sagely. "I thought that might be why you've been looking so ragged in the morning. That wasn't all, though. Xander suggested that if you were having trouble, maybe you shouldn't come out on patrol anymore because you might not be up to it."

Damn. "And Buffy?"

Dawn hesitated. "Buffy's worried that you aren't. She's worried...she's worried about a lot of things."

"You sister has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Doesn't mean there's anything wrong between us."

She didn't look convinced, though, and Spike had to wonder what else Xander had said that Dawn wasn't repeating. When she wandered off to do her homework, he stared at the papers spread out before him. He had been reluctant to go out on patrol lately, finding more comfort in his books than in the violence he'd reveled in before. Some of that had to be the soul, William rearing his head. The rest was retreating from anything that might set the dreams off.

But if he couldn't patrol with Buffy, watch her back, what good was he? He'd always been convinced that one of the reasons he was a match for her was that if he wasn't her equal, he could be her lieutenant. If she didn't think he was up to the job, what was he supposed do? Stand by and watch Harris take his place?

Realizing he'd be unable to get any more work done on his translations at the moment, Spike pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto the desk. He'd been wearing those a lot lately, too, another aspect of William come to the fore.

Only, William wasn't what Buffy needed, wasn't why Spike had made the journey to Africa. Like it or not, the girl needed a little demon in her man and he was going to do his best to give it to her, no matter how much it hurt.

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