“Giles,” Buffy said softly, never taking her eyes from Spike’s face, “if you can spare Spike just a few more minutes. We need to have a little talk. And, could you do something for me?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I know there has to be a butcher or a fishmonger somewhere in Devon. You know what it is Spike needs…”

“…Slayer,” he interrupted, his tone low and measured, “I already told you…”

She saw the warning in his eyes and knew she was treading in things he didn’t want her anywhere near, but she also knew, that she had so much to make up for, that this was the best place to start.

I’m not letting you do this Spike. I’m not letting you kill yourself, not because of me.

Buffy hoped that he could see, as she looked into his eyes and saw the mixture of anger, sadness, and trepidation that warred in them, that she was just as serious as he was. She was not going to back down, and that was that, “And,” she continued, “I know he won’t ask. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I know of a place,” Giles said, “It will be done, within the hour, I should think.”

What Giles had said made Buffy’s eyes flutter toward the window, which was covered in blinds that were letting small slivers of late-afternoon light into the room. And although Spike’s back was turned away from the light, and he had the back of the chair and his duster to protect him, she had absolutely no way of knowing how long he’d been sitting there, or even if he had the strength, or the will, to move away if he were in danger. The thought made her sick to her stomach, “And Giles,” she ground out harshly, her jaw clenching in anger, “Tell Dawn to tear apart Althenea’s linen closet. We came to her for help. She doesn’t need to help him like this! Something has to be done about those windows!”

“Slayer,” Spike interrupted, sensing where her thoughts were headed. He shook his head, “that isn’t what I was trying…”

Buffy’s green eyes flashed at him, “You didn’t let me,” she lowered her eyes, “…When I came to you…” she felt the prickling of tears, “so, I’m not going to let you. And,” she continued, looking back up into his face. Buffy couldn’t help but feel a rush go through her when she saw Spike’s dumbfounded look, “tell that twit in Los Angeles to stop preening in the mirror, looking for his lost reflection, long enough to get over here,” the sound that hit her ears next sounded like a gasp that was caught somewhere between indignation and choked laughter, but she still went on, “His family needs him right now!”

Giles was suddenly thrown back in time. He was looking into his Grandmother Rachel’s pleading eyes. Eyes that begged him not to do what he knew had to be done- and he knew he was finally making his grandmother proud, even if the eyes that looked at him now didn’t know it, “It will be my pleasure,” he said as he left the doorway.

Buffy sighed with relief as she watched him go, and was proud that he didn’t argue with her. One down, she thought, as she looked back at Spike, Now for the * bigger* battle.

Buffy saw the pain in his eyes. But pain was easier to deal with than not having him around at all. She was only now beginning to understand why Spike had allowed her to treat him like she did last year.

He allowed it because anything was better than not having her there. She understood that now. But, that didn’t make what she did to him right, in fact, his need for her made what she did to him just that much more wrong.

His eyes shone at her with barely contained anger and hurt, and at this moment, if he wanted to hit her once for every time she thoughtlessly hit him in the nose, she wouldn’t blame him one bit.

Spike’s voice quivered with months of repressed emotion as he spoke, “Slayer, this is my fight. I don’t need him…or you…looking down your nose at me. Pitying me because I’m a pathetic…broken,” his voice broke, and he spit the word out of his mouth as if it tasted rancid, “…monster!”

“Spike,” Buffy gasped, in shock, “I love you. You’re not a monster!” she tried to continue, forcing her voice to rise beyond the hurt she felt at his words. This is what you did to him. And, you will listen to what you did. You have to, or you can never begin to try to fix it, “Not anymore,” she tried to breathe as the anger she felt at herself squeezed the air out of her chest, “If you ever were. You loved me, and I took advantage of that. I did things to you that I should never have done. Things that I can’t even begin to apologize for,” she sniffed, looking up at his shining, softening eyes, “ But I’m trying. This is part of that. If you need Angel, so be it. I’ll get him here. Even if I have to drag him by his bloody stupid, spiked hair! You won’t be crawling to him. He owes me. He left Dawn and me when Mom died. You didn’t. You are so much better than he will ever be! And, it’s time he knew it.”

Buffy stopped to catch her breath. Bowing her head, she waited for his verbal volley. The one she knew was sure to follow. The one that said that this little tirade was too little, too late.

She waited for it. But, there was nothing. The silence was first a second, then two, and then three- it stretched into a full minute, and still there was nothing.

She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the hate.

His voice was low and controlled. The tone took her breath away, “You love me?” his voice quivered with awe, and she looked up to see the shining blue eyes of a little boy, “Really?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry for all the horrible things I did to you…”

Spike smirked, “And,” he asked, leaning forward in his chair with anticipation, his eyes twinkling with a secret glee, “did you just say that Angel’s hair was, ‘bloody stupid’?”

“Yeah,” she smiled a little, “I guess I did. Is that good?”

He chuckled from deep within his chest. It was a sound Buffy had missed very much, “Yeah,” he said, “It’s good,” he leaned over to take her lips in a gentle, passionate kiss, “It’s very good.”