"I can't stand to see her like this."

Giles turned his gaze downwards, knowing that Xander didn't really expect him to answer. He brought a wary hand to his forehead, massaging a sore spot between glazed, bloodshot eyes. He couldn't stand to look at his Slayer either.

He was loosing her today, too.

Buffy had collapsed in a corner of the living room the moment they had entered Angel's apartment. Her huge hazel orbs were dead, unseeing, as she clutched Angel's leather jacket to her chest like some security blanket. Like it was her last tether to this world.

They had given up on trying to coax her out of her frozen state.

She had cried herself out in Spike's arms for what seemed like hours. Then, when there was no tears left, she had struggled to her feet and staggered to what remained of the warehouse. Spike stumbled along with her. They had searched the debris - silent, relentless.

Looking for a body.

Doyle and Cordelia, who had been kept out of the warehouse by the commandos during the battle, had joined in. Grim-faced and shattered.

Giles hadn't found the strength to remind them that nothing would remain of Angel but dust.

As the effects of the counterspell dissipated and the sun threatened to tear away at the clouds, Buffy had forcefully tugged Spike back to the humvee - holding onto him for dear life. The vampire had put up some resistance before seeming to fold in on himself and followed her meekly back to the car.

Which was when they heard the sirens. Police or fire department, it didn't matter. They couldn't stay here. To many questions they did not want to answer. Giles thought there was a good chance Morghane was still alive under all the rubble - but they would have to come back later for the Guardian. If the emergency crew didn't get to her first.

He had a Slayer to attend to.

The drive back to Angel's had been silent and surreal. Spike and Buffy were huddled in the back-seat, her face hidden away in the crook of his shoulder, his lost in the golden mane of her hair.

Once inside, Buffy had collapsed in a corner, and Spike had locked himself up in Angel's study.

They had yet to exchange a word.

Unable to bear watching Buffy, lost and abandoned, a shell of his sparkling best friend, Xander left the couch and walked straight towards her. He knelt by her side and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him.

She didn't even blink.

Frightened and helpless, Xander kissed her forehead, her temples, murmuring sweet nonsense in her ear.

Her petrified form remained still and unyielding in his embrace.

He started to talk.

"At first, I hated him. No big shock there. I didn't try to keep it a secret. You could even say I was quite vocal about it. Even thought about hiring one of those plane thingies to drag a message across the sky of Sunnydale, but it was just too damn expensive."

He picked up on Giles and Willow's twin gasps of disbelief, but his voice never wavered.

"It was jealousy. Nothing more, nothing less. And I hated that too. He made me feel cheap. I wasn't acting out of some sense of higher moral obligation. I was just jealous of him. Plain and simple. He made you come alive in ways I never could. From the first moment I saw you together at the Bronze, I knew. I just couldn't believe you would prefer some undead guy over me. He had to be putting some kind of whammy on you, or something."

Taking a small breath, Xander tightened his hold on the rigid Slayer, caressing the back of her hand absent-mindedly. Lost in the recollection of times long gone.

"Then he saved my life a couple hundred times over, and things became really muddled. I was torn. On one hand I wanted you for myself. I was never really good at sharing things, or people. Maybe 'cos I was an only child. Even sharing Willow with you was hard in the beginning - before we became some kind of three-headed entity. But that's not really the funniest thing. You see, on the other hand, I didn't know how to share him with you too."

Someone gasped, but he couldn't be bothered to investigate.

Buffy blinked slowly, once. And it was all that mattered.

"Like I said, I'm an only child. My relationship with my parents is not the best, it's no big mystery to anyone that they are a bit heavy handed at times and that we don't get along. You guys became all the family I ever wanted in such short time. When I got over my schoolboy infatuation, you and Willow took on the role of my sisters, Giles was the father-figure, and Angel... Angel was like the big brother I had always dreamed of."

Xander sighed.

"I don't think I ever told you that. But one day... it was just after Spike attacked the PTA meeting... my father was drunk, and he was a bit rough with me when I got home after patrolling with you one night. When he was done with me, I snuck out of my room and went out for a walk. Stupid really, 'cos I was bleeding. A limping vamp magnet. Anyway, I was lucky. Angel found me first. He didn't say a word, didn't ask questions. He just took me home with him, let me shower, bandaged my cuts and my bruised ribs, fed me even and offered me his bed. The next morning I left without a word while he slept on the couch. I was too embarrassed.

"He never brought it up. Ever. Even when I was really mean to him, and made comments that were uncalled for... which was pretty much all of the time, I know. He never said a word. And I felt.... I thought.... that's what brothers do for each other. They compete, and they snap at one another, they say things they don't mean, but they are family. When the chips are down, who gets the girl becomes irrelevant. Angel came through for me and I was ready..."

He cleared his throat, not wanting anyone to notice that his voice was a little wet.

His cheeks, too.

"Then he... turned. And that was the end of that. I lost a brother that day. In some ways, I lost you too. You were never the same again, and I was torn apart. I reacted badly. I know that now, and I'm sorry. I couldn't seem to think past my pain, and I hurt you a lot. When Angel got back from Hell... I don't adjust very well to new parameters like that. I don't think I could take yet another fundamental revision of the nature of friendship. I refused to take a chance, didn't want to get hurt again and I dug my heels into the ground.

"My heart was never as brave as yours, Buffy. I know we drove Angel away from you as much as the curse did. If we had explained, listened, forgiven and accepted, he would have stayed. It doesn't help you much to hear that now. But I wanted to apologize anyway. I don't expect that you will ever forgive me. I know that you're not really the one I should have said this to. It's too late now for me to tell him the truth. That in the end, I was honored to call him my friend. So if I can't tell him, I guess the next best thing is to let you know."

Xander felt Buffy's strong fingers tightly gripping his biceps. He peered at her face.

Her eyes had lost their glassy haze, and now there was sorrow. Anguish so overwhelming he wondered why or how she still breathed.

Slow and deliberate, she deposited a small, cool kiss on his damp cheek. And that was all.

It was more than he had dared hope for.

 

 

 

Buffy pulled away from Xander and closed her eyes.

Angel was dead.

Angel was gone. Dusted. Her Angel was dead. She had lost him.

Her soulmate was never coming back.

The bottomless abyss at the core of her would never be filled again, sucking everything dry until there was nothing left.

She rocked slowly back and forth, not aware of her own body but for her hollowness.

The grief, this living beast, was going to kill her. And she didn't care.

She let the feeling, the knowledge wash over her, through her, wiping her clean and bare. Leaving numbness in its wake.

Angel was dead.

Angel was never coming back.

 

 

 

The crash roused them out of their apathy and Buffy began to shake again.

Standing away from Xander, she tottered on weak legs towards Angel's study and fumbled with the knob. Nothing happened.

Another violent crack shook the sturdy oak door. And another. Then the strident squeal of breaking glass.

Gnawing at her lip, Buffy grabbed the doorjamb with one hand and the handle with the other, her expression blank.

She pulled and almost fell backwards when it gave way.

A vase - < an expensive vase > she noted distractedly - landed at her feet but she did not flinch, ignoring the sting of the shards as they stung her bare ankles. She took a few steps inside the ravaged room and stopped, her head slightly cocked to the side.

Spike was in the process of ripping away a painting, snapping the frame in two. When he felt the foreign presence he whipped around, in full game face and snarling, his movements almost frenzied. His yellow eyes flared with rage.

Then he saw her, and the growl died in his throat.

Unsteady, he made his way to her, wading through the wreckage.

When he reached her, he extended a trembling hand towards her face. Buffy did not cringe or attempt to draw back. She leaned into the touch, as Spike traced the outline of her brow, the curve of a cheekbone, the contour of her nose and the shape of moist, parted lips.

He drew her closer and she allowed the invasion of her space. He nudged her head to the left, and she closed her eyes, granting him access to the junction between her neck and shoulder.

She thought she heard a strangled "Buffy..." from behind her, but she disregarded the interruption.

Craning her head back a little, she closed her hand around the nape of Spike's neck, threading her fingers through the short, silky hair, and pulled his face against her skin.

With a moan, his lips trailed over the scarred, raised flesh.

Over Angel's brand.

She remembered whose mouth Spike had last kissed, whose body the vampire's hands had last worshipped and she brought herself even closer to the hard coolness embracing her with such reverence. Spike's cool tongue tentatively licked the scar, triggering the fiery somatic memory of Angel's fangs embedded in her neck. Her nipples sprang to attention, moisture pooled at her core, and she heard Spike groan against her throat. The vampire slipped one lean, muscled leg between her parted knees, pressing forward until his thigh nestled against her wetness. Gifting her clit with the pressure she craved there.

Spike grazed a fang across the length of her scar, raising blood. He nursed the small wound.

And she moaned.

The vampire dropped to his knees with a whimper and Buffy felt the hard ridges of his vampiric face pressing against her stomach.

She caressed his hair, tenderly.

Spike lifted his head away from her middle and tightened his hold around her waist.

His eyes shone with despair.

"I..." He swallowed. "I can still feel... him. He's still... still inside of you."

Buffy released a soft gasp.

"I... I would have thought.... I don't know. He's still here, coursing through your blood. And I..."

Spike's game face faded away.

"Something... something's wrong. The feeling... it's too strong."

The vampire's voice shook with wonder and painfully repressed hope.

Buffy's mouth tightened. She pushed away the grief, ruthless.

And she felt it, too.

"Tonight. We're going back."

Spike nodded. "We need to be sure."