“Um…hi.” Anya finally spoke in a falsely bright tone. She stood there, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other, in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before Buffy finally remembered herself.

“A-anya!” she said with a forced smile. “Wow, it’s been…forever!”

It was not that she had any problem with the girl, but the timing could have been a little better, and it *was* quite simply very surprising to see her. Anya had left town just a few days after she and Spike had their little “indiscretion”, and none of them had heard from her since then. Buffy had assumed that the embarrassment of the incident had simply been too much for her, and she was gone for good.

Now, five months later, she had simply turned up out of nowhere.

“Not really. Not even close,” Anya corrected matter-of-factly, her characteristic unnatural smile in place. “Can I come in?” she asked after a moment, when neither of the two standing there staring at her seemed inclined to move.

“Oh! Oh, of course!” Buffy finally responded, as she remembered herself and stepped away from the door to allow her entrance.

But Xander still did not move. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring at her in stunned silence.

The time had been when Anya would have looked back at him with sorrow and longing, still hoping in some part of her that they would somehow find their way back to each other.

Now, her look held only annoyance at him, as nothing more than the obstacle in her path. She looked expectantly at him for a moment before turning to Buffy and asking, “Can you move him? He’s in the way.”

The derisive comment seemed to snap Xander out of his trance, because he suddenly stepped back, repeating nervously, “Anya!” and then adding, “W-what are you doing here?” He quickly backpedaled, “I mean, not that it’s not okay for you to be here, because it is, but…”

“Not coming to see you, Xander Harris,” she was quick to clarify as she entered the house. “Otherwise I would have come to *your* house. But I didn’t, I came to Buffy’s. So don’t add to this very uncomfortable situation by trying to make polite conversation with me.”

“Anya, it’s not…I mean…wow…um…God, this is awkward!” he finally admitted. Taken aback as much by her abrupt, dismissive manner as by her sudden appearance, he left the foyer and went to sit down in the living room, placing a little bit of distance between himself and the accusing eyes of his ex-fiance.

“So, Anya,” Buffy said, mostly just trying to fill the uncomfortable, empty silence. Anya’s words had surprised her as well; if she wasn’t here to see Xander, then why *was* she here exactly? “Um…what’s up? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but usually when someone shows up here after a long time away it means something extra Hellmouthy is about to happen.”

“Nothing I’m aware of,” Anya shrugged. “No, I just…was in town, and…thought I’d stop by to…see how you were doing.” She paused, just looking at Buffy blankly. “So…how are you doing?” she asked with obviously feigned concern.

“Um…fine…”

As Buffy uncomfortably responded, Xander smiled to himself. *Not here to see me… yeah, right!* Her story was so obviously fake; his ex was just trying to spare her pride, but it was clear that she had missed him and wanted to see him again.

And the truth was, though he had tried to avoid admitting it since she had left – he missed her, too. He glanced up at her speculatively as she and Buffy came into the living room and sat down on the sofa, both girls sitting on the edge of their seats, as if afraid to get too comfortable.

“So,” Anya asked Buffy with feigned innocence. “How’s…everyone else?”

Xander’s secret smile widened as he glanced downward to hide it. Clearly by “everyone else” she really meant him. The girl was so obvious it was almost embarrassing.


“Ok, time to go greet the rest of the world,” Dawn said brightly, as she reached to gently help Spike to his feet, both of them still blissfully unaware of the conversations taking place downstairs.

He didn’t reply, only nodded with grim determination, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs as he braced himself on Dawn’s arm to rise. He had a moment’s concern as to whether or not the girl could support him, before remembering with a sense of disgust for his own weakness – it was not like his slight weight was anything even resembling a burden for the girl at the moment.

Dawn was concerned by his silence. He had barely said two words that morning. At first she had thought that he was nervous as to what she thought of him, now that she knew the truth about what had happened between him and Buffy. But she had quickly reassured him of her continued friendship, and he had seemed to accept it. Come to think of it, she realized, he really hadn’t said much since they had brought him home.

“You’re so quiet,” she commented softly as she helped him toward the bedroom door.

He shrugged without looking at her. “Not much to say, I s’pose,” he replied, his voice low and quiet.

His response did not make her feel any better about it. It just seemed odd. One of the things she remembered the most about Spike was his absolute inability to shut up. Not having much to say did not usually stop him.

But she didn’t push it. And after a moment or two, as they reached the door, he continued in a soft, carefully controlled voice, “S’pose I just…got used to not talking. Wasn’t allowed, you know.”

Dawn stopped their slow journey, but did not respond for a moment as the words sank in. “You weren’t *allowed* to *talk*?” she finally spoke, her voice low and trembling with outrage.

He swallowed hard, and shook his head. He wanted her to understand, to know why he was not the same person she had known before, but it was just so difficult to put it all into words. And here he had buggered it up again.

*Shouldn’t have said anything. Stupid. Pathetic. And now she knows just how pathetic you really are.* “Well, sometimes,” he amended, feeling embarrassed by his revelation, wanting to diminish it somehow. “but…not without permission.”

Dawn’s gazed down at his hand in hers, up the exposed part of his arm, displaying the evidence of the savagery that had been inflicted on him, and felt her fury growing in her at the thought of the monster that had done it.

“Jail’s too easy for him,” she muttered.

Uncomfortable with her protective anger over him, still hardly daring to show anger toward his abuser himself, he did not respond, his eyes focused on the floor.

Sensing that the conversation was making him uncomfortable, Dawn did not say anything else. They had reached the stairs, and all her attention was focused on helping him make it down them.

But her mind was still working, smoldering thoughts of fury, fervently wishing that her sister had not left Warren to the police. She had some ideas of her own as to what sort of punishment would be more fitting for his crimes.

If only she could make it happen.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were both distracted from their grim musings by the sight of Anya sitting on the couch with Buffy, across from Xander.

The first thought that occurred to Spike was surprise at the realization that the girl was a vengeance demon again. He could tell it just by looking at her, though he doubted that the humans could. Not sure if they knew yet, or how they would react, he decided not to say anything about it just yet.

The next thought that came to him was utter and complete shame. It was not enough that the last few months of his life had been an exercise in humiliation and degradation; and he had been rescued by the woman he loved, whom he had assaulted in her own home. The fates saw fit to lay yet another reminder of his dismal failures upon him, in the form of Anya.

All he thought of when he saw her was the last time he had seen her, at the Magic Box that night, the night he had paid Buffy back for breaking his heart by breaking hers in turn. He wondered, heartsick, if Buffy could think of anything else, either.

And why was the girl staring at him like that? Anya’s eyes were wide, focused on him the moment she spotted him, her attention immediately torn from whatever it was Buffy was saying to her. There was a sort of stricken expression of pain and…and pity, he realized, feeling sick…as she looked at him.

“Anya!” Dawn exclaimed, then paused, unsure what to say. Finally, she settled on, “Hey!”

“Hey,” Anya repeated, still focused on Spike.

“Hello, Anya,” Spike forced himself to speak, deliberately avoiding the use of words like “love” or “pet” that came so naturally to his lips. There were at least two humans in this room that could be quite offended by such innocent terms of endearment between the two of them.

“Hi, Spike,” Anya said softly.

There was a moment of awkward silence in which no one spoke, before Anya continued, “Um…could I talk to you?” She glanced pointedly at the others in the room before adding in an irritable tone, “*Alone*?”

He was taken aback by the request. He really hadn’t spent much time around Anya prior to the disastrous mistake they had made last fall. He glanced self-consciously toward Buffy, who looked just as surprised…and a little displeased…by her words.

He didn’t dare look at Xander.

“Um…I don’t know, pet,” he replied in a near-whisper, not meeting her eyes, forgetting himself in his nervousness and then immediately cringing when he realized what he’d said. “I mean…um…”

“It’s okay, Spike,” Buffy said suddenly, a decisive look on her face as she caught his eye. “Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry,” Anya said, still staring at him. “But it’s really important.”

“Well…okay, then,” he mumbled, looking at the floor.

He had no idea what she would want to talk to him about after all this time, but knew that neither Buffy or Xander could possibly be comfortable with the situation. He hated the idea of drawing more of Xander’s hatred onto himself, but mostly he was terribly afraid of upsetting Buffy.

He could scarcely believe the kindness and affection she had shown him in the past twenty-four hours, and the last thing he wanted to do was anything to spoil it.

With a forced smile, Buffy stood up, as Dawn helped Spike to sit down on the couch. “Well, we’ll be upstairs if you need us.” She glanced anxiously at Xander.

He had not moved.

“Um, Xander, if you want to come upstairs with me,” Buffy said pointedly, trying to catch his eye. “We can finish our conversation.”

Xander still did not move.

In the awkward silence that followed, Spike could feel Xander’s eyes boring into him, and chanced a brief glance across the coffee table at the boy.

He wished he hadn’t.

Xander’s dark eyes locked onto his, holding his gaze, blazing with fury. There was a menacing hatred in them that nearly took his breath with fear. Slowly, not taking his eyes off Spike, Xander rose from the chair and walked toward the door.

“No thanks, Buffy,” he said without looking at her, maintaining the wordless threat of his gaze on Spike. “I think we’re done here.”

“Xander,” Buffy began, concerned by his tone, though she was behind him and couldn’t see the look in his eyes. She just didn’t want for him to leave in this sort of mood; no matter how angry she was with him, she had been friends with Xander for years, and didn’t want that to change now.

“No, really, Buff. I’m through talking,” he bit off the words before finally turning his furious eyes on her and stalking out the front door.

“Ok, well he’s in a really bad mood,” Anya pointed out unnecessarily to anyone who was listening.

“Um…like I said,” Buffy repeated softly, trying to catch Spike’s eyes from where she stood on the stairway, though he wouldn’t look at her. “we’ll be upstairs. Anya, if you could just let us know when you’re done.”

Anya nodded, looking at Spike again…who was looking at the floor.

As soon as the girls disappeared up the stairs, Anya spoke quietly, “What happened?”

Spike was a little confused, glancing up at her uncertainly, his mind still focused on the frightening anger he had seen on Xander’s face. She must mean his obvious injured state.

“Ah, got in a tangle with a nasty just a bit bigger than I was,” he replied, trying for a casual, easy tone she would remember, that didn’t quite come out right.

“Spike,” Anya continued in the same quiet tone. “Really…”

“So!” he broke in, trying desperately to shift the conversation, to put *her* on the defensive. “You’re a vengeance demon again. When’d that happen?”

“A long time ago. That’s why I’m here, actually,” Anya pointed out. “I – I’m here for – I’m here on business.”

“Would have thought you’d wanted to steer clear of Sunnydale, pet,” he said softly, looking at the floor again. “I did.”

“I did, too,” Anya admitted quietly. She paused before going on, “I tried to stay away. I did for a long time. But – I could hear you. Miles and miles away.”

His eyes shot up to hers, frowning in confusion and alarm. “What do you mean, you could hear me?”

“It’s how we know when someone needs vengeance,” she explained. “It’s like if someone is being wronged, their spirit is crying out, even though they can’t hear it. No one around them can hear it. But we can.”

“What’s it sound like?” he asked softly, staring at the floor at his feet.

“Usually…it’s kind of a faint cry…like…a soft, moaning sort of sound…that you don’t really hear, you more…*feel* it,” she tried to explain, obviously frustrated with the human words that didn’t really convey her meaning.

He had slowly looked up again, his eyes remaining on her face when he saw that her eyes were focused away from him as she tried to find the right words. Suddenly, her green eyes shot back to his and held them with a serious, wide-eyed look.

“But you,” she began, shaking her head slowly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You – you were *screaming*. I – I couldn’t block it out. I knew it was coming from Sunnydale, and I didn’t want to come, but…but I couldn’t get it out of my head. And then the closer I got…I could tell…that it was you.”

His gaze fell again, disconcerted by the knowledge she shouldn’t have had, as well as by the pity in her eyes. “You’re a bit late, pet,” he muttered. “Slayer and her sis got me out, and the bloke what done it’s headed to jail.” He paused before adding bitterly, “Justice served.”

“I’m not talking about justice,” Anya shook her head. “I’m talking about vengeance. And it’s yours.”