The deafening blast of the pistol was followed by an equally deafening silence, as the shock slowly made its way through each of the minds of the observers to Xander’s desperate act.

And then – everyone seemed to go into action at once.

As Dawn began to scream in panicked horror at the ghastly sight of her former friend’s demolished face, Buffy instinctively went to her sister, pulling her forcefully into her arms, pressing her face down against her shoulder in an attempt to shield her eyes from the scene that would have been traumatic for an adult, let alone a young, relatively sheltered girl like Dawn.

“No! *Xander*!” Willow sobbed, rushing forward toward her friend, tears streaming from her eyes as she knelt at his side, clutching at his blood-soaked shirt in a vain effort to rouse him. “Xander, no! *No*!”

She had intended to take his life, her rage fueling her dark desires; but now that he had acted to take his own life, Willow remembered the love for him that she had pushed to the back of her mind – and suddenly, terribly, understood what the others had been trying to tell her.

Anya stood rooted to her spot, staring in stunned disbelief at the gory mess that the bullet had left of Xander’s face, silent tears streaming down her face, though she hardly seemed aware of them. Giles cautiously moved toward her, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to soothe her pain – but she hardly seemed aware of *him*, either, her attention riveted on the still, broken form of her ex-fiancee.

She had made such worse messes of other men, who had done far less to deserve it than Xander had.

Still – it was so very different when it was someone she had known -- *loved*.

“He’s dead…oh my God, he’s dead…” she whispered, shaking her head as her mind struggled to process the concept.

“No,” Angel said softly after a long, silent moment. “No…he’s not…”

Startled, Buffy looked up at Angel, a question in her eyes, before following his steady gaze back to Xander.

“Heartbeat’s erratic, but still there,” Spike confirmed Angel’s assessment in a grim, even tone of voice.

Willow stared up at Spike with a wild hope in her eyes – her attitude and manner a complete reversal of what it had been only moments earlier. Her attempt at taking her friend’s life before seemed to have made her all the more passionate about saving it now.

“He’s alive?” she whispered. “Oh, God, he’s *alive*?” She turned toward the others, still standing across the room, none of them having moved. “Call 9-1-1!” she cried out desperately. “Hurry!”

As Giles hurried to obey her request, spurred to action by the revelation that there might still be hope to save the boy’s life, Spike just stared down with sober, pain-filled eyes, at the boy who had wrought such devastation in his life. He had not quite taken time yet to contemplate the amazing strength that he had managed to find in the midst of the crisis, the strength and wisdom that had possibly saved them all; but now that the crisis was over, he found himself once again surrounded and assailed by old doubts and fears.

He now remembered being who he was before Xander had shot him – but he had not forgotten those months of being little more than a toy, a punching bag, a slave.

And now, in this moment – he had no idea which “Spike” he was anymore.

Angel looked up at him sharply, his dark eyes full of concern and compassion for his childe – and not yet emptied of the rage that had filled them for his abuser. Studying the conflicted expression of pain and uncertainty in Spike’s eyes – even as Anya moved forward to assist Willow in trying to control Xander’s bleeding while they waited for help to arrive – Angel remarked quietly,

“You know, that heartbeat – that could be taken care of. Very easily.”

The words were so soft that most of the humans in the room did not hear them. Only Spike, with his enhanced hearing, and Buffy, whose attention was fully focused on the scene, caught the subtle suggestion of Angel’s comment.

“No,” Spike said quietly, his eyes downcast, his expression distant. “Don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Angel asked him, piercing dark eyes seeking his childe’s averted gaze.

“Yes,” Spike whispered, nodding. “I just want – I just…can we just go?” His blue eyes suddenly rose to meet those of his sire, pleading and vulnerable in a way that they had not been in over a century.

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected question – and then a soft, affectionate smile broke slowly over his face as he nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, we can.”

*********************************

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked anxiously, reaching out to touch Spike’s arm as he and Angel moved past her toward the door.

She felt as if she had been slapped in the face, when the blond vampire pulled away from her touch, not quite meeting her eyes as he hesitantly replied, “Just – just going…”

“Back to the house,” Angel filled in for Spike, meeting Buffy’s eyes with calm confidence. “It’s been quite a night, and I don’t think Spike needs to be here right now…”

“We’ll all be leaving in a little bit,” Buffy pointed out. “Just as soon as the ambulance gets here…”

“Yeah, with the cops right behind them,” Angel reminded her without missing a beat. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to try to explain to the nice paramedics, who will most definitely want to check out that gunshot, not to mention all these other marks,” he continued, gesturing toward Spike’s injured shoulder, nodding toward his other injuries in general, “why this particular patient doesn’t have a heartbeat – do you?”

Buffy frowned, obviously not thrilled with the idea of their leaving without her, but having no argument for Angel’s reasoning. It *did* seem best if the vampires were not there whenever the authorities arrived.

“Wait a second,” she decided suddenly. “I’ll go with you…”

One glance at the slight grimace that crossed Spike’s face at her words was all the convincing Angel needed. “No,” he said firmly. “You need to stay here, Buffy. Be sure the cops know what happened.” He shrugged slightly, giving her a disarmingly sad smile. “You know – with the exception of the whole vampire thing. With the exception of mentioning Spike at all, actually. But they’re going to want a statement, and the closer we keep the story to what *actually* happened, the better. You should stay.”

Buffy swallowed hard, feeling her face flush with shame, with was only intensified by the knowledge that both vampires were aware of it.

She was not stupid. She had gathered by this point in the conversation that either Spike, or Angel – or both – did *not* want her around them at the moment.

“Okay,” she relented simply. “Whatever you think is best. You’re just – going back to the house – right?” she asked as an afterthought, a worried frown on her face as she sought Spike’s carefully averted gaze.

“Right,” Angel answered for him again – a habit that was beginning to annoy her.

“Spike,” Buffy persisted gently, reaching out a tentative hand to barely brush against his arm – and rewarded with an upward glance of those wide, painfully expressive blue eyes. “When I come home – we need to talk – okay?” She hesitated, before adding softly, “Please?”

Spike broke eye contact again, nodding his agreement, though he did not say a word.

Words seemed to be coming harder to him than usual at the moment.

Perhaps there were none for the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.

Buffy forced herself not to turn and watch them go, as Angel and Spike made their way out to Angel’s convertible – but she flinched at the sound of the motor starting in the driveway, and made no attempt to stop the tears of frustrated regret, as they began to course down her cheeks.

******************************

By the time the authorities arrived, despite Willow’s panic and the general chaos, the Scoobies had managed to adjust the true story of what had happened so as to make it fit with the “reality” that they knew the police would accept.

Buffy was frighteningly calm – in a state of shock, the paramedics said – as she explained to the police officer how the group of friends had had plans to meet at the Harris home tonight to watch movies and hang out…how they had arrived to find their friend Xander, ranting and raving incoherently about the confused, painful, violent feelings that had led him to kill his own parents…how after a tense few moments spent trying to talk him down, the boy had finally turned the gun on himself in a crazed attempt to end his own life.

It remained to be seen whether or not the attempt would be successful.

Buffy decided to think about the discrepancies between the story they had told, and Xander’s perspective on things, when and if Xander actually woke up.

Within minutes the boy had been rushed away by ambulance to the nearest hospital; but the police statements took quite a bit longer. Buffy began to grow anxious and impatient as it seemed that they asked her the same questions, over and over again.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to talk to Spike.

A nagging part of her mind kept reminding her that at the moment, Spike apparently did not really want to talk to *her* -- that it would be best to allow the vampire some time with his sire, time that might be more beneficial to his healing than her self-serving attempts at apology – an apology which, while it would serve to make *her* feel better, would do little in the way of speeding Spike’s recovery.

She ignored that nagging part of her mind, listening instead to the screaming portion of her brain insisting that she *had* to be with Spike, *now*!

Before the police were finished with Buffy, Giles had managed to convince them to let him leave, taking the shell-shocked Anya, and the traumatized youngest Summers, with him. Dawn’s blank, lost stare as her young mind tried to process the horrors she had just seen, probably served to help his case quite a bit.

The police let them go, warning them that they would need to come in to give their statements at a later time.

Finally, the police officer who had taken Buffy’s statement drove her home in his squad car.

She could easily have run the distance, for all the speed with which he was driving – but she was grateful, sure that at the moment, she did *not* want to be alone.

“You’re sure you’re going to be all right, Miss Summers?” the officer asked her as she started up the walkway to her house.

She stopped when he spoke to her, but just nodded silently without turning around.

After a moment’s hesitation, the officer relented, “Okay. Just – call us if you remember anything else.”

Buffy nodded again as she started back up the sidewalk, and made her way through the front door.

She glanced around the living room, noting with some relief the sleeping form of her little sister, practically passed out on the living room sofa. Apparently, the trauma of the evening had been too much for her entirely, and she had succumbed to that blessed defense mechanism of childhood that brings about the blissful oblivion of sleep, when a certain occurrence is just too painful to be faced.

From the kitchen, she could hear soft voices in serious conversation – Anya and Giles, it sounded like.

There was no sign of Spike or Angel.

She stopped in the kitchen doorway, not looking up at her Watcher or his new lover – but aware by the sudden silence that they knew she was there. She raised her hollow, grief-stricken gaze to meet her Watcher’s crystal blue eyes – and the compassion and concern she saw there tore the hard, defensive wall to rubble around her bruised, betrayed heart.

The tears came fast and hard and sudden, as Giles swiftly made his way around the counter to her, wrapping his arms around her in a fatherly embrace, as the deep sobs of loss engulfed his Slayer, drowning her in her own tears – tears for Spike, for all that he had endured – for her friends, for the trauma and hurt and betrayal that had torn into the tight-knit shelter of their circle, leaving it irreparably changed – for herself, and the loss of all that was dear and safe and cherished in her life, over the course of the past few months.

When her tears finally ebbed, she pulled awkwardly out of Giles’ embrace, looking up at him sheepishly through red-rimmed eyes still glistening with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be silly, Buffy, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Giles brushed away her apology with a wave of his hand. “After a night like tonight a few tears are nothing to be…”

“No,” Buffy stopped him, shaking her head and glancing down for a moment, before looking up at him with an apologetic grimace. “Not that. I – I’m sorry I messed everything up so badly.”

Before the Watcher could voice the protest that was obviously building in his mouth, Buffy rushed on, “If I hadn’t been so stupid – the Harrises might still be alive right now. Spike wouldn’t have had to go through all that. Even Xander – Xander might not have…”

She stopped, swallowing back a sob, unable to go on for the emotion that choked her.

“Buffy,” Giles firmly stated. “You do not have to apologize to me. You meant well. Yes, you made some mistakes – but that doesn’t mean that you…”

“It was more than a few mistakes, Giles.” Buffy shook her head sadly, her wide eyes downcast as they welled with tears again. “I – I have to talk to Spike. I have to make this right somehow…”

The awkward silence that followed that statement drew her eyes back up to her Watcher’s face – and wrinkled her brow in a frown when he avoided her eyes.

“What – what is it?” she asked, a defensive note beginning in her voice.

If Giles was going to start down the whole “Spike is evil” road again, he had chosen the absolute worst possible time to do it.

“Um – that’s going to be a little hard right now, Buffy,” Anya spoke up slowly and cautiously, when Giles did not seem inclined to answer her question.

Confused, Buffy looked at the vengeance demon, whose expression was guarded, concerned, as she met her eyes reluctantly. “Why? What are you talking about?”

Anya hesitated, drawing in a deep breath, before suddenly letting it out, shaking her head in defeat. “Oh, I give up. I’ll just say it. It’s going to be hard for you to apologize to Spike because he’s not here.”

Alarm filled Buffy’s eyes as she demanded, “Where is he, then?”

Anya’s expression was matter-of-fact, but sympathetic, as she answered without hesitation, “He’s gone. He left. He went back to L.A. with Angel.”