All around them, there was nothing but darkness, stretching on as far as Spike could see. The dark leather seats beneath and beside him inside the black convertible offered little contrast to the expanse of charcoal gray that was the empty, open desert on either side of the highway, as they made their way further and further from Sunnydale, toward Angel’s domain – which was yet another mystery which was, to Spike, shrouded in darkness.

The mood inside the convertible was very much the same.

As Sunnydale – and the Slayer – fell farther and farther behind them, Spike found himself wondering if he had made an enormous mistake.

Already he missed her.

He had regained almost the totality of his lost memories, in the space of the past few hours; and now, he remembered not only the hurt of her ambivalence toward his abuser, her apparent intention to somehow reconcile her feelings for both him and Xander – but also the devastation of hurt that had come *before*…before the bullet had shattered his mind, and left him little more than a needy child, crawling at the feet of…well, everyone.

*She never loved you before, mate,* he reminded himself with a dull sort of resignation that was gradually coming to equal the pain of those words. *Why should she start now? Now, when you’ve been more trouble than ever to her? She’s the Slayer – not some sort of wet nurse. No wonder when it came down to a choice – she’d choose the whelp who’s been her best friend for six years over the brain-damaged vampire she hated to begin with. What more did you expect?*

“You okay?”

Angel’s too-cautious, too-calm voice from beside him seemed an unwelcome intrusion to his troubled thoughts; and he found himself biting back a sarcastic response of annoyance, forcing himself to remember that in all of this, so far anyway, his sire had been remarkably generous and compassionate – especially considering the last circumstances under which they had met.

Even so, he could not help calling Angel on his weak attempt. “Silly question, in’nit, Sire?” he pointed out in a slightly biting tone of voice.

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise – at the same moment that Spike cringed with embarrassment, as both realized what he had just said.

It was the first time that Spike had called Angel “Sire” in over a hundred years.

Well – his recent bout of brain damage not considered, that was.

Angel let it pass, aware that mentioning it would only serve to increase Spike’s embarrassment; and the younger vampire was struggling enough as it was, to somehow find a way to resolve the recent traumatic events with who he had been before. Spike was dealing with a sudden torrential invasion of hundreds of lost memories, and the last thing he needed was to deal with the mockery of his sire on top of it.

And besides – Angel sort of liked hearing the word from his childe’s lips, and didn’t really want to do anything to keep him from saying it again.

“Yeah,” he conceded quietly. “I guess it is.” He paused a moment, before adding a bit awkwardly, “If there’s anything – anything I can do to help you get through this…” He let his words trail off, the offer hanging there between them, waiting for Spike to accept or reject it.

Spike wanted to do both.

A part of him longed to fall into his sire’s arms like the childe he felt like now, and allow the older vampire to protect him, to soothe and comfort him – to be the father to him that Angel had really never been, but that he needed so badly in this moment. But another part of him that was just coming into his own again demanded that he reject Angel’s offer – preferably with a generous helping of mockery and derision. There was too much bad history between the two of them for Spike’s pride to allow him to surrender to Angel’s position as sire – not without a fight, anyway.

And after all – he knew it now – Buffy was not the only one who had failed him.

“Well, there *was*,” Spike began, his voice soft and cold in the stillness that was broken only by the soft purr of the car’s engine. He did not look away from the window he was staring out, as he finished, “about three months ago. But then – you already knew that…didn’t you, *Sire*?” This time, the word was spoken with bitter contempt.

Angel was struck speechless with surprise, and a little fear, as the feeling of being caught in some wrong that he had thought he had already gotten away with came over him with a hot flush of shame and regret.

But he had *not* gotten away with it. With the return of Spike’s other memories, had come his memory of his time in captivity – his memories of crying out in desperation across the bond that joined them, crying out for his sire to come and rescue him – and receiving only silence for a response.

Angel had let him down – had allowed his childe to suffer unspeakable torment, because of his own pride and bitterness.

And now, Spike *knew* he had let him down.

There was nothing for it but to face it.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, not looking away from the road. “Yeah, I did.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, neither really knowing what to say.

Words did not seem sufficient.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Angel felt compelled to say, although the words sounded hollow and meaningless to his own ears. It was not that he didn’t mean them – because he did, more than he thought he had meant them in the past hundred years; it was the fact that he *knew* how little his apology meant to Spike, *now*, after all he had been through.

If anyone knew, Angel did – sometimes sorry just wasn’t enough.

“You could have stopped it,” Spike said after a long silence, his voice flat and defeated. “You could have kept it from happening. At least – the way it did, anyway.”

Angel could not deny his words, and there was no need to confirm them – so he said nothing, just allowed his childe to find the words he needed to say. Finally, Spike turned to glare at his sire with an expression of hurt and betrayal in his glittering blue eyes.

“I was there for over three months, Angel,” he reminded him pointedly. “Three bleedin’ months of torture and degradation and abuse – and you could have stopped it before it ever got that bloody far! Do you know how long it took me to get my memories back, once I was actually soddin’ *feeding* for a change?” His voice softened with anguished regret, as he shook his head and answered his own question. “Three or four *days*, Angel. That’s all. Three or four bloody days.”

The point was painfully clear to Angel.

Had he taken the responsibility that was his, and gone to his childe’s aid the moment he had heard his cry, he could have kept Spike from being as broken as he had eventually been. Had he found him when Xander had had him for only a week or so, and given him the blood he needed to heal, Spike could have recovered from the brain damage with very little of the agonizing trauma that had resulted from months of torture at his enemy’s hands.

“Spike – there’s nothing I can say but that I’m sorry,” Angel finally spoke up, when it seemed that Spike did not intend to go on anytime soon. “And I know that’s not enough – but – but I’m here now. And I want to help you. I really do – if you’ll accept my help.”

Spike was silent for a long moment, staring off through the windshield as the road whipped by them, before turning back toward his sire with a sort of sad, ironic smile of self-mockery.

“Looks like I already have, doesn’t it?” he remarked quietly.

Angel smiled grimly, glancing at his childe out of the corner of his eye before returning his eyes to the road. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah – I’m here,” Spike muttered, in a good-natured tone of resignation.

A moment passed before Angel asked with mild curiosity, “Why?”

Spike merely looked at him, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Angel shrugged. “I mean – yeah, Buffy messed up. You need to get away from there, get a little distance from that whole situation for a while – I get that. But you didn’t have to come with *me*.” He glanced at Spike again, and the younger vampire looked away thoughtfully as he continued, “I mean – I messed up just as bad. We both let you get hurt, when we didn’t have to.”

Spike was quiet for a moment, considering. “I once told someone,” he began in a slow, thoughtful voice after a moment, “it seems to me, it doesn’t so much matter the things you do – the way you are – to start with, as the way you end up.”

Angel tilted his head slightly, a silent indication that he didn’t quite get what Spike was getting at.

“She – she told me she’d protect me – wouldn’t – wouldn’t let that wanker get to me…” Spike looked away, an expression of pain crossing his face at the memory, as he swallowed back the emotion that filled his voice before going on. “…but in the end – she did. Good intentions – not enough bloody follow-through, yeah?”

Angel nodded slowly, a sad smile beginning to come over his face, as he began to put together what Spike was saying, even before he went on.

“You – you heard me calling out – and you ignored it. Said to yourself, you did, ‘I’m not gonna lift a finger to help that useless, no-good excuse for a vampire that my childe turned out to be – ‘specially after last time we met he got his jollies off watching me turned into a bloody pincushion’.”

Angel could not suppress a soft huffing laugh at the image of himself, using such Spike-isms; and Spike laughed with him for a moment before looking at him and concluding in a soft, serious voice.

“She made a promise – and in the end, she didn’t keep it. You didn’t wanna help me – can’t say as I blame you, either, really, all things considered – but in the end…you came through.”

Angel nodded slowly. He couldn’t deny that it made sense, when Spike put it that way.

“You know – she didn’t mean it to come out the way it did.”

Spike grimaced slightly at the words, though he nodded his acceptance of them. “I know it,” he said. “In a way – I can’t really blame her. She is who she is – and her friends are a part of her – and that’s just always going to be.”

Angel said nothing. He was fairly certain that Buffy deserved more of a chance than Spike seemed willing to give her at the moment – but even more certain that now was not the time to press the issue.

After all – it had only been a few short hours.

“And besides,” Spike went on, in a voice of quiet determination and strength that made Angel feel a sense of relief just to hear it, “this isn’t really about her.”

“It isn’t?” Angel questioned, one brow raised as he glanced at his childe again.

“No,” Spike shook his head, the beginnings of a hesitant smile forming on his lips. “No, for once – it’s about *me*.”

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

“What do you mean, he *left*?”

“Buffy,” Giles began in a cautioning tone, though he did release his gentle hold on the suddenly volatile Slayer, stepping back a bit, “perhaps Spike just needs a little – time, to process everything that’s happened…”

“What he *needs* is to *listen* to me so we can get this straightened out!” Buffy objected, her voice trembling with urgency, her eyes wide with a fear that was more emotional than physical. “I mean – we have to talk this out, or…”

“What you mean is *you* have to talk this out,” Anya remarked matter-of-factly.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she turned to face the vengeance demon. “What?” she snapped, in no mood to deal with Anya’s arguments.

But Anya felt the need to express them.

“You mean it’s what *you* need, Buffy,” Anya clarified, her tone calm and even, knowing. “To feel better about what happened. You need to talk it out, grovel for forgiveness, get him to say ‘I forgive you, Buffy, and you’re still my bloody reason for living’ so that you can get over the guilt you’re feeling right now.”

Buffy was too stunned by Anya’s blunt words to respond, as Anya shrugged and finished, “But what if that’s not what *Spike* needs right now?”

“But,” Buffy sputtered, shaking her head almost frantically, “he has to be so upset! I mean – he has to wonder why I did…”

“Actually,” Anya broke in softly, “I don’t think he’s wondering at all. I think – he probably thinks he knows.”

Buffy’s eyes widened further with dismay as she realized what Anya was saying. “I have to talk to him,” she insisted in a slow, soft voice, staring off into space. “I have to go to L.A., and…”

“Buffy, what you ‘have to do’ is to give the man some bloody space!” Giles interrupted, his sudden exasperation taking Buffy off guard. “Well, what do you expect, Buffy?” he continued, rolling his eyes at her bewildered look before meeting her eyes a bit more patiently. “He’s got an awful lot to process at the moment – and so do you.”

Buffy was silent, considering her Watcher’s words, waiting dubiously for him to go on.

“It’s quite possible,” Giles went on slowly, his voice quieter now, as he held his Slayer’s gaze, “That Spike has made the best possible decision for *both* of you at the moment. There’s going to be much to be dealt with over the next few weeks. Police statements and – and final arrangements for Xander’s family – and the fate of Xander himself is still uncertain…”

Buffy lowered her gaze, as the impact of what he was saying, combined with Spike’s leaving, began to weigh her down, dampening her fiery determination to chase after “her” vampire.

“You have a little sister in there on the couch – who’s going to need you very much over the next few weeks. Not to mention Willow, and…well, I suspect we’re *all* going to need each other very much during this time. It’s going to be very hard on all of us.”

Buffy looked up at him in sudden surprise, her expression softening when she saw the tears glistening in her Watcher’s eyes, and realized that it was likely as close as he would come to admitting that *he* would be in need of a bit of support himself.

He was right. They *all* would.

“Dawnie,” Buffy whispered, realization coming to her slowly. “She’s gonna be so hurt when she finds out he…”

“She knows,” Giles informed her gently, earning another startled look. “He spoke to her just before he left. She was still a bit – out of sorts…and very sleepy…but she seemed to understand that – well, this is probably what he *needs* right now…”

“The last thing Spike needs,” Anya broke in sympathetically, “is to have to be around to hear us all bawling and reminiscing about – Xander…” She hesitated, and her voice broke slightly over her ex-fiancee’s name. “See?” she said, sniffing back tears past a too-bright smile as she met Buffy’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done – he’s still Xander – and there’s still gonna be all these annoying, confusing feelings, no matter how hard I -- *we* -- try not to have them anymore, because we somehow think we shouldn’t. But, I kind of think maybe if we really *shouldn’t* feel anything for him, then we wouldn’t? Right? I mean – maybe this is how it’s supposed to be?”

Giles gently put his arm around her, offering his silent support, where no words would suffice to help ease her confusion, and the powerful emotions which Anya still was so awkward at understanding, let alone expressing.

“Spike may be just where he needs to be right now,” Giles finished softly for her, looking at Buffy with tender compassion in his eyes. “And you most definitely are. Once things are settled a bit here – perhaps then you could contact him. See where you stand at that point.”

Buffy nodded slowly, feeling suddenly exhausted as everything seemed to catch up with her at once, leaving her feeling numb and completely drained.

“It’ll all turn out, dear,” Giles assured her softly, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “All things do, with time.”