Please note: some brief discussion of consent issues and "glowy aphrodisiacs," if you catch my drift. Buffy’s views on the matter are Buffy’s views, not mine.
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Morning brings new clarity, and not just from waking up stretched out on the couch with Spike’s beloved leather duster wrapped around her- though that does bring a smile to her face. It’s a promise that he’ll be back- a cold comfort in the face of all the conflict they’ve suffered recently, but a comfort nonetheless.

She clutches it closer to her for a moment, inhaling the leather with a twinge of discomfort. Nothing’s changed, though, has it? Spike’s still angry, and it’s only her vulnerability that has brought out his warmth for the time being. They’ll be back to tense conversations and abrupt departures in no time, and she’ll be again devastated in the silent wasteland that is his absence.

How is it possible to feel this much affection for someone so infuriating? She presses her lips to the smooth fabric in her hands, frustration warring with longing until frustration wins out and she drops the duster to the ground and stalks off (returning immediately to smooth out the coat and lay it down neatly on the arm of the couch before she’s off again) to the kitchen to brood over a bowl of cereal. 

She’s sick of being a slave to Spike’s whims when it comes to the tragedy bearing down upon them. Sick of having to spend her days waiting for news from where things are actually happening, while she’s helpless to communicate without a go-between. And now that she’s confronted her fears for the first time, the idea of doing it again isn’t nearly as intimidating, so she digs through old papers shoved deep into a messy kitchen drawer until she finds the scrap with a hastily scrawled note on it. Giles’s phone number, one she’d almost left behind when time had come to move into this apartment. She hadn’t wanted the memories, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to speak to Faith back then, but she’d kept it regardless, mindful that it might come in handy some day.

She leaves the paper on the table before she leaves for work, and when she returns hours later, it beckons still. It’s late, late enough that Spike would ordinarily already be there for dinner and patrol. And judging from the duster still draped over the couch, he’s going to miss it again, and that’s enough to spur her to action. 

She dials the international number, wincing at the thought of the cost of the call. It’s worth it, though, if only to hear from Faith in her own words what’s going on. 

She realizes her mistake only after the other line is picked up. “I am so sorry. I completely forgot the time difference!”

There’s a weighty pause. Then, “…Buffy?”

Mistake number two, because of course Faith isn’t answering phones in her condition. “Oh.” She sinks into the couch, her hand grasping for the duster beside her automatically. “Hi. Angel.”

“Buffy,” he repeats helplessly. “Why are you…Spike left hours ago.”

She licks dry lips. “Right. Um…he’s just not here yet,” she hurries to add, unwilling to share her reservations when it comes to Spike, especially not with Angel. “And I was wondering…uh, how’s Faith doing? Have you found anything?”

Heavy sigh. “They took blood today. There’s something irregular about it, so they’re sending it to a lab better equipped for study. It might just be slayer blood, it might be something else that they can actually help with. They’ll give us the results when they have them.” He growls lowly. “It shouldn’t take this long when she’s so close to…” His voice trails off, and she can hear a low whimper from beside him, a whisper of a voice. Faith. “It shouldn’t take this long,” he says finally, and she can hear him walking, imagine him closing the door with one last glance at the frail figure on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “God, I’m so sorry.”

He barks out something that might be a laugh. “You? You’re telling me that you’re sorry? There is no way you can ever say that to me again, Buffy. Not after what I’ve-” He stops abruptly.

She lays her head against the cool leather beside her. There are words she can say now, reassurance or denial or a thousand insistences that he’s not to blame for last year, but that much she knows he doesn’t merit. “Do you think I did it?”

“What?” He sounds puzzled.

“I broke the scythe. Maybe unleashed something on the slayers.” Why is it so much easier to talk about this to everyone except the one person whose opinion matters most? 

“You broke the scythe because you had to. Because of what I did.”

“We did,” she corrects, and then there’s awkward silence as she struggles to think of anything but that day. Anything but that elation, soaring through the sky and unimaginable heights of pleasure that are still blurry in her mind. Anything but being in Angel’s arms and it feeling so right that it could only be magic causing it.

“No, not we!” And he sounds genuinely annoyed at that. “Buffy, you’d spent the minutes before that shouting at me and throwing me into trees! You weren’t planning on…you know. You were violated!”

Violated. Spike had said that once before, too, but she’d brushed it off. It had made her feel wrong, dirty, even, in ways that she hadn’t wanted to think about, especially when it had come to a conversation with Spike. It hadn’t felt like violation, even if it was fuzzy in her mind. Not with that much love behind it. “No. I was…we were both under that glow.”

“I knew- well, suspected what was coming.” Angel’s breathing, and it unnerves her. He isn’t supposed to seem so human. She tightens her grip on Spike’s coat and waits. “I was prepared for it. I didn’t think about what it really was that we were doing until a few months ago. And Buffy,” he murmurs. “Oh god, Buffy, what I did to you- before and after- it was-“

He sounds weak, broken in ways that she hasn’t heard from him since Christmas Eve nearly a decade ago, and there’s a part of her that longs to wrap her arms around him and comfort him, cry with him as they both share pain that’s always been unique to their relationship. She loves him even now, unlikely as it may seem after all these years; and forgiveness has never been a question, even during the anguish following Giles’s death. 

“I don’t hate you.” The words escape her lips so quietly that she barely hears them herself. “Not now. You were doing what you thought was necessary.” Her voice strengthens. “It was wrong.”

“Yes.”

“It was stupid, and evil, and you killed so many people that I cared about…but you didn’t kill Giles. Not directly. I blame you for a lot that went wrong- the parts that I don’t blame myself for,” she adds wryly. “But I can’t hate you for killing Giles when it wasn’t you.” Angel starts to object, but she cuts him off. “I looked into your eyes and I saw Twilight. And…and being around you, I still see it happening, see something that looks like you…with Giles, and…” She’s talking through tears and she can’t remember when they started, spilling down her face and along the leather of the duster she’s clinging onto like a lifeline. “It wasn’t you, but it still hurts like it was! And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, because I couldn’t even look at you for a year, but this is going to hurt forever. And it hurts even more when I think about how much my fault it is, and how if it isn’t you, then it’s both of us, and I can’t just move to a different country to escape me!”

“Buffy…” His voice is just as strained as hers, struggling for equanimity when she’s completely broken down on the other line. “Please, don’t.”

She stares blankly at the black TV screen in front of her. “I can’t let more people die. I can’t lose Faith. It’s so utterly selfish, but if I lose anyone else I care about, I’m not going to be able to live with myself. I can’t watch it happen again.”

“It might,” Angel acknowledges mournfully. “And if you think that isn’t killing me, too…Faith’s given me more than I deserve. And if this is something we can’t stop…”

She lets out a laugh that sounds nearly hysterical through her tears.

He pauses. “What?”

“It’s just…” She closes her eyes, feeling the pain overwhelm her again. “I’ve been spending too much time with... He’d tell me that we could do this. And you give me the truth. It’s strange.”

“Yeah.” And Angel suddenly sounds disconsolate. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. But you guys tend to win your battles. It never worked like that in LA.” She wipes away her tears, breathing evenly again as he continues. “But maybe the idiot’s got a point. We’ve got to keep fighting, right? It’s the only way to make amends.”

She nods slowly. “Especially if this slayer-virus is something I caused.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and she’s about to check if he’s still there when his voice comes back, tentative and slow. “This might be- is- completely out of line, but I do still love you. Probably always will, no matter what happens next. And I know it doesn’t mean anything anymore, but…”

“I know.” There’s no future with Angel, she knows that, but he’ll always have a place in her heart, no matter how far apart they’ve grown. “I love you, too, Angel.” The words seem almost sweet instead of troubled this time, sentiment alone, free of any expectations.

There’s nothing left to say then other than goodbye, and she hangs up the phone with a heart both heavier and lighter and stands, moving to put it back in the receiver…

…And there’s Spike in the kitchen, a plastic cup shredded beyond recognition in his hands and a thunderous look on his face.

Oh. Oh god. If he’d been angry about her confiding in Xander…

“Y-Your coat’s on the couch,” she says quickly, her heart shriveling up into nothingness at his expression. “You left it behind yesterday, but I didn’t ruin it or anything. I know how protective you are over that thing. Uh…I haven’t gone on patrol yet.” She checks the oven clock. “Which makes sense, because this is the usual time when I leave. And hey, you’re on time! No air traffic today?” She’s fully aware that she’s babbling, but her mouth stubbornly refuses to stop. “This is the first time in a week, I think, if you count the day that we both missed patrol because we were in-“ Do not mention England! her brain screams, and then she’s left without anything else to say without word vomit escaping.

Spike doesn’t smile. “We should go patrol,” he says shortly, pausing to frown at her for a moment. “Have you eaten yet?” His face is tight, whatever concern might be in his words lacking in his eyes.

She nods quickly, eager to get out of the apartment and this situation. He just keeps staring. “No,” she finally admits under his steady gaze. “But I can get something afterward. I’m not hungry,” she says truthfully. Whatever appetite she might have summoned after her talk with Angel is gone since Spike first stared at her the way he is now. “Can we just go kill things?”

He doesn’t answer, and she can see his fists clenching and unclenching around the last remains of the cup he’d torn apart.

“Fine. I’m going,” she says sourly, her good mood from her talk with Angel gone and replaced with irritation and uneasy guilt that she knows isn’t rational. “Feel free to stay behind and sulk on the couch.” 

He scowls at her, but she can hear his footsteps behind her as she stalks toward the door. She doesn’t look back, annoyance building. He has no right to be this angry with her. He doesn’t own her. He doesn’t even love her. He has no say in who she chooses to talk to, and he definitely doesn’t get to make her feel guilty about it!

They’re already in a cemetery, the dust of the first vampire of the night settling around her, when she’s finally had enough and whirls around. “What’s your problem?” she snaps. “What gives you the right to dictate my life?”

He looks so deer-in-the-headlights stunned that she’d laugh if she weren’t so furious. “You go visiting there every day! And I make a phone call and you’re all huffy?” She charges forward, stake in hand, and there’s a twisted sort of satisfaction at the way his eyes widen before he notices the vampire rising behind him. “Maybe if you’d start showing up and giving me more than one-sentence information, I wouldn’t have to go out of my way to find other people to talk to.”

He’s speechless in the face of her righteous fury, and she spins again, heading down the cemetery path. She stops short as another thought occurs to her, turning to face the swiftly angering vampire. “And…god, Spike, I couldn’t even say his name a few weeks ago, and now I finally feel like I’ve resolved some of that, and I thought that that at least would mean something good to you. But no, you’re too busy being angry that I-“ She throws up her hands. “Is this still about Xander?”

“I don’t care about that wanker,” Spike snarls, and she can see fires of rage and lust burning in tandem in his eyes. He likes her worked up, and right now, she finds that more infuriating than ever before. “I care about you! And ‘f there’s one of us who isn’t talking, love, that’d be you. You’re the one who won’ tell me what’s going on in that warped little brain of yours.”

“You’re not my exclusive confidant!” she retorts, the guilt creeping back up. He isn’t the first one to hold back, and it’s harder to be angry with him when reminded that she’d been the one to initiate the silence. But she had reasons. He just has…jealousy? 

“Clearly,” he snaps back, stung. Definitely jealousy. “Since you’d rather share with Angel than tell me what’s bothering you.”

“So this is about Angel then.” Her eyes narrow, her mouth opens-

“Maybe this time you’ll wait until you’re off the planet to start the shagging? Save us the sonic boom before-” He chokes back the last word, his eyes widening with belated horror as he sees her face pale. “Buffy, I didn’t-“

She doesn’t have time to think before her fists are out, punching his face with newfound fury and shame and shock and internalized hate that she’s never felt quite so acutely as she does now. And Spike returns it, because they’re far from a time where she needs to hit and he readily accepts. He slaps her hard, sending her careening backwards into a grave marker, and she uses that momentum to push off of it and head-butt him in the chest.

And okay, she feels a little warmth when he’s too distracted making sure she isn’t badly hurt by the tombstone to defend himself. “I can’t believe that you’re so fixated on the fact that I spoke to Angel!” she snaps, breathless.

“I can’t believe that you’d come to him instead of me!” Spike growls, regaining his balance and charging at her again. “So you think you did this? That’s what you’ve been moping about?” 

She parries his blows, ducks and throws him by the legs over her shoulder, sending him careening headfirst into the side of a crypt. “How long were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”

“As long as you didn’t notice the vampire in your apartment!” Spike shoots back, climbing to his feet and rubbing his head gingerly.

She takes a few steps forward, suddenly worried at the speed by which he’d hurled into the stone wall. “You okay?” 

His response is a faster-than-sight strike to her head. “Had yourself a pity party? Talked about destroying the world?” He sneers distastefully. “Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’ begin and end with Buffy Summers.”

She stares at him, blocking a half-hearted swipe and giving him one of her own. “What are you talking about?”

“You!” He wheels around, throws up his arms, and moves in a frustrated circle. “So convinced that you’re the be-all, end-all cause of all evil in the world! Yeah, you fucked up last year. Doesn’t mean this is your fault. Doesn’t mean this is your problem! Maybe s’time you stopped blaming yourself and started being useful!”

She punches him. Hard. He slides down against the back of the crypt wall, his arm hanging on to hers and pulling her down with him until she slips unintentionally into his lap. “S’not always your fault, or your responsibility, pet,” he says softly, holding her in place with a hand sliding up against the skin of her back.

She can’t breathe, not this close to him, his hardness pressing into her and her hand unconsciously smoothing down his hair. This isn’t like other times, when heat of the moment is an easy scapegoat. Her rage is all but abated, the violence of before enough to relieve their frustrations.

Well, some of their frustrations, anyway.

His eyes are soft but shielded, raw lust the only emotion that she can see, even millimeters away from him. All she needs to do- all either one of them needs to do- is to tilt forward, letting their lips meet. Change everything. Give them what they crave. 

Would it be so bad? A stubborn part of her libido demands. Giving in to this? She’s been studiously careful not to get too close to Spike, not to repeat old mistakes. But would it be a mistake? They’re different now. And why would it be so awful to be together until feelings develop?

“Buffy?” Spike whispers, his voice ragged and needy. 

Her palm moves downward to trace his cheekbone. And in that moment, she thinks that she’s never understood his position during their relationship better. This is different than a burgeoning relationship with some random guy. It’s Spike, who doesn’t love her anymore. And nothing’s worse than being in a relationship when the love is one-sided.

She shivers against his cool hand, suddenly terrified that her eyes are going to give her away. Are going to give away something she’s kept so precious that she’s only just now beginning to comprehend it. And with a sinking heart, she realizes that the distance between them is insurmountable. 

She leans forward to brush a kiss against his forehead, lacing their free hands together. “I was afraid,” she confessed.

“Eh?” he says unintelligently.

“Why I didn’t tell you.” She flushes a little, pulling away from him. Her hand doesn’t leave his. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed with me. You mean…” She can’t finish the sentence, to bare so much of her heart to the man who doesn’t want it. “You’re my best friend.”

He doesn’t respond, just rises unsteadily and pulls her up, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist in silent affection. She rests her head against his shoulder. “Patrol?”

“Burgers.” His voice is rough with emotion that she can’t quite identify, but he’s gentle and smiling for the rest of the night and she’s finally beginning to think that things might begin to be okay again, at least for the two of them.