A/N: This is the second to the last chapter.


Angel remained where he stood, letting everything sink in, watching as Gunn, Wesley, Xander, Tara and Willow crowded over Lilah, concern on their faces.

He was amazed, ecstatic, that Buffy was here, alive. But seeing her so violent... It was all too much for him to handle at once.

Tara moved to Lilah's aid, and crouched down beside her. Looking up at Willow, she said worriedly, “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“We got her,” Gunn said, lifting Lilah in his arms. They heard laughter outside, and they all turned to the front door. Cordelia, Anya and Fred walked in, each with a couple of shopping bags in their hands.

“We should get going,” Wesley said. Gunn nodded and followed him, carrying Lilah out of the Hyperion.

Cordelia and Fred gaped at Lilah's unconscious form as the three passed by them. Anya only glanced at her with disinterest. All three girls turned to those still in the lobby as soon as Wesley and Gunn were outside.

“What happened?” Cordelia asked, making her way down the steps. No one dared answer. She looked at Angel with an eyebrow raised. “Angel? What's going on?” Angel lifted his head to face her, slid his hands inside the pockets of his pants, and without a single word, went inside the office. She scoffed and set her shopping bags on the floor. “Someone tell me what the hell just happened here,” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest.

“It's Buffy,” Xander said carefully. “She's... We...” He cleared his throat, finding it hard to say what he needed to say.

“We brought her back,” Willow said, still slightly proud with what she had accomplished.

Fred moved forward, setting her bags beside Cordelia's. “You what?”

“It worked?” Anya titled her head, smiling with pride. She didn’t know they had torn Buffy out of heaven and had led her to her own private hell which Lilah had created. “We did it?”

Cordelia exhaled sharply. “Is that even possible?” The tone of her voice was more baffled than doubtful. But as if to answer her question, Buffy hesitantly walked back inside the Hyperion, with Spike right behind her. Cordelia's mouth hung open as she stared at Buffy.

“If this is Buffy, then I guess it is,” Fred said, eyebrows raised.

“Where's Angel?” Buffy asked suddenly, ignoring all the shock-stricken expressions directed at her.

Tara pointed at the office, and Buffy headed straight for it. She peeked through the window and saw Angel leaning on the desk, eyes downcast. He was deep in thought, and she was scared of what those thoughts could be. She cautiously knocked on the open door, listing in her mind all the things he could possibly say.

Angel looked up and when he saw it was Buffy, blinked at her with surprise for a moment. Looking away, he stood, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

“Hey,” she said, barely lifting her hand in a wave. It may not be the best word to open with, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. She figured they'd gotten past the whole I'm alive concept. “Can I come in?”

“Uhm, sure,” he said, his eyes glancing anywhere but at her, a hand running through his dark hair.

Buffy entered the room and closed the door behind her, taking one deep breath and gripping the knob for a moment. She spun around to face Angel, wringing her hands in nervousness. She stood still and waited for him to ramble, but he didn't. Instead, he sat back down on the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. His baffled stare made her more distressed than she already was.

Buffy took a tentative step forward. “They didn't fill you in on my resurrection, huh?” She forced a chuckle to desperately try and lighten the mood. Angel didn't budge, and the troubled expression on his face drew a sigh from her. “I'm sorry you had to see that. But if you knew what that woman--”

“Lilah,” he said vacantly. He was still too bothered by what he'd seen, and Spike's scent all over her didn't help quell the mixed emotions he was feeling. “Her name's Lilah Morgan. She's a lawyer working for Wolfram and Hart.”

She waited for a moment to continue, and she lowered her tone. “If you knew...” She let her voice trail off, realizing there would be no point in reasoning with him right now.

Angel cast her a quick glance. “I know what she's capable of doing,” he said sharply. “I just didn't know what you were capable of.” He kept his inflection even, though he could barely hide the displeasure simmering just beneath the surface of his strained calm expression.

Buffy gazed at him, wide eyed. “Right.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, composing herself with an effort.

“I'm sorry,” he said abruptly and met her gaze. “I... What did she do?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Well,” she began, inhaling deeply. “The gist of it is she kept me in an underground cave, drugged me everyday, barely fed me, and oh, yeah, had a demon copy of me trying to kill my sister.” She chuckled bitterly. Pausing for a moment, she gulped down her tears before speaking up again. “I know it doesn't justify what I did. But it was something I needed to do or...” She fisted her hands and clenched her jaw tightly against every emotion that tugged at her heart. “I just needed it out of my system,” she said, gazing up into Angel's face and his sympathetic gaze.

Angel fell silent. Lilah was a coward. Willow was, too, for keeping something so important from them. If she had told them what was going on, if he'd been there, he would have found Buffy.

“I'm exhausted.” Buffy broke the silence that filled the office.

“Right,” he said, and stood up. “I'll tell Cordy to give you a room.”

She smiled wanly at him. “Thanks.”

“Buffy?” he said, just as she was about to leave the office. When she spun around to face him, he added, “I'm really glad you're back.”




“I hope this is okay.” Cordelia led Buffy inside the room adjoining Dawn's. Buffy remained silent for the most part, and her friends seemed to respect that. Surprisingly enough, even Cordelia managed to keep her thoughts to herself and Anya managed to refrain from any unnecessary comments.

Carrying Buffy's things, Xander trailed behind the two girls. “Anya and I are just across the hall.”

After he had put her box of things down by the bed, Buffy turned to them, her lips tight in a strained grin. “Thank you.” She held the door open, wordlessly urging them to leave.

Nodding, Xander made his way out of the room.

Cordelia walked after him, but halted in front of Buffy. She turned to face her. “If you need anything...”

Buffy's face softened. “Thanks, Cordy.”

With a small smile on her face, Cordelia left the room.

Finally, she was alone again. Buffy relaxed her shoulders. Drawing in a heavy breath, she closed the door.

She found she didn't like being alone.




Angel sat in his office, trying to distract himself with the papers laid out on top of the desk, when he heard familiar footsteps approaching. It was Spike, who was most likely going to defend his new obsession. He could already catch a whiff of his scent.

Spike was only fooling himself, thinking that what he felt for Buffy could be love, thinking that she might actually love him back.

Vampires could never love, not without a soul.

Sensing that Spike was now standing before his desk, Angel lifted his eyes from the paper he was reading. “What?” he asked peevishly.

With his hands on his hips pulling his coat back, Spike glared at Angel. “You self-righteous son of a bitch.” The muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Let me guess,” Angel said, leaning back on his chair. “You eavesdropped on our conversation.”

“It's not exactly eavesdropping, is it?” Spike snorted. “Not with our vampire hearing.”

“First, eavesdrop better.” Angel stood up, moving to the front of the desk. “Second, it's good that you still know what you are. I thought you'd forgotten.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Spike squinted at him beneath furrowed eyebrows.

Furious eyes boring into Spike, Angel inched forward. “Do you really think she'll ever have feelings for you?”

A pensive stare crossed Spike's face. “No.” He knew Buffy would never love him. He'd already told her that.

Surprised by the finality in Spike's voice, Angel yielded.

A few seconds later, Spike added, smirking, “But it's good to know that you see me as a threat.” He patted Angel on the shoulder and, still wearing an amused grin, walked away.




Spike had a room. His own room. His own place. One that didn’t specifically cater to the dead.

It had been a while since he'd had a place all to himself. Privacy in the Summers’ basement was non-existent.

He was grateful to Angel’s friends for giving him a room, and even more grateful that cute little Fred had put him where he wouldn’t be able to hear Xander and Anya.

He lay on the bed, his eyes set on the ceiling above, when he heard the door creak open.

Buffy locked the door behind her and glanced around the room. “Looks a little bigger than mine.”

“I'm sure it isn't.” Spike heaved himself up on his elbows, worry sweeping over his features.

“I'm kidding.” She giggled softly at his reaction. “You didn't swing by my room. I thought you would have,” she said, her cheeks slightly flushed.

He moved himself to the end of the bed and sat there as she walked up to him. “Figured your friends would be there.”

“They weren't.” She sat down beside him, close enough to inhale the familiar smell of tobacco. “I don't think things will ever be the same between us.” She stared at her hands clasped on her lap.

“You'll get past this,” he tried to assure her.

She smiled doubtfully. “Thanks again, for everything.” Eyes glistening, as if she might burst into tears again, she gazed at him. The strength and power she'd just gotten back went flying out the window. Giving in to her emotions, she delicately brushed her hand against his cheek. He leaned into the palm of her hand, and she stood up.

The glow from the street light filtered through the curtains of the window. Most of the room was hidden in shadows, but he could clearly see her. In the semi-darkness, he watched in silence as she lifted her white tank top off at a painfully slow pace and slid her sweats down until they pooled around her ankles on the carpeted floor. She stepped forward and knelt on the bed, straddling his thigh, now dressed only in her panties. Leaning closer, she rested her hands on his bare chest.

“Buffy, we can't,” he whispered as he tried to pull away from her.

“Shh...” She placed a finger over his lips, silencing protests she would only remain impervious to. “Just kiss me.” Her voice was soft, but so needy and desperate that shivers ran through him. She lowered her face to his, and gently yet hungrily melded her mouth to his in a deep kiss. Her tongue moved slowly, barely grazing the tip of his.

Passion consumed Spike with the sensual caress of her tongue, and all his concerns were forgotten. He groaned into her mouth as his hands roamed her bare back, never resting in one place, taunting her with the tingling sensations his touch left.

Breathing heavily, she pulled away from his mouth.

He blinked at her.

Their mouths crashed together again, and he held her tight against him, pulling her impossibly closer. Her trembling hands linked around his neck greedily as he continued to plunder her mouth with devastating skill. She gasped when he brought his possessive hands over her pert breasts and gave them a slight squeeze. Unable to take it any more, Buffy pushed him down onto the bed and moved to straddle his hips.

Spike could smell her arousal, could feel the crazed pounding of her heart, the damp heat pulsing between her thighs as her hips ground against him of their own volition. Cupping one of her breasts, he flicked her nipple with his thumb as his other hand stroked one slender thigh.

At the surge of sensations that shot through her entire body, Buffy let out a loud moan that ripped through the silence of the room. Still sharing a frenzied kiss, she hastily tore her white underwear off and, reaching between them, she unsnapped the button of Spike's jeans. She undid the zipper, and pushed his pants down until his erect cock sprang free.

Spike's closed eyes shot open when Buffy slid herself onto his erection, a look of pure ecstasy on her face as she began to move her hips in a rhythm. His eyes darted between her face and her bouncing breasts.

Groaning at the sheer pleasure of her wet flesh sheathing his, he jerked his hips up to meet hers. Buffy grunted and bent over him, joining their lips again, her hair draping over his shoulders and chest, her warm, wet body surrounding him.

Buffy's breath came in fast little pants, and he knew she was close. He continued to thrust, harder, deeper, and her nails dug into his chest. She pressed her lips against his throat, sucking on the soft flesh she'd found.

Then he felt her teeth sink into his skin and her body spasm. “Spike,” she hissed, sitting up abruptly and arching her back. Joining her in her orgasm, Spike growled a guttural cry as he spilled his seed into her.

Eyes screwed shut, Buffy panted for breath. She remained unmoving for a few moments, letting her breathing and heartbeat slow slightly. When the long stillness of the room turned awkward, she fluttered her eyes open and looked at him, drowning him with her dark eyes. Red-faced, she lifted herself up, letting him slip out of her. She gathered her clothes on the floor and got dressed.

Spike sat up and watched her, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what this all meant.

Without a word, she walked away. She stopped by the door and turned to him, giving him a small, abashed smile.

In reply, Spike gave her a confused stare.

A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. Eyes lowered, she headed out of the room.