Chapter Twenty-One

“Well, this is unexpected,” said Xander dryly. “Last time I heard you on the subject, anyone who touched my closet should have his hand amputated. So has there been a big change of heart, or is there an actual point to this little visit?”

Cordelia froze, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or Xander’s disgustingly messy closet. “Uh … yeah. Well, I … hmm. Well, I was kind of thinking about your little haunting problem, and I thought maybe I’d try to help you out, because your friends aren’t exactly the brightest bulbs on the circuit and you kind of seem like you’re cracking up. So, are you going to help me or are we just going to beat around the bush?”

Xander’s jaw dropped. What did she—she couldn’t know, there was no way she—“How do you know?” he demanded.

“Duh—you’re not exactly good at hiding things.”

“Nobody else noticed!”

“Wow, that’s a shocker,” Cordelia muttered, rolling her eyes. “So, what’s the damage? Is it a ghost? The First? Maybe you’re possessed. I mean, it’s something. Or you’re going insane. Clearly that’s an option too—don’t want to rule that one out.”

“Yeah, uh … thanks.” What should he say? The cat was out of the bag, but … “Look, I don’t, uh, I think you may be mistaken—”

“Oh, please. You can tell me or I can find out for myself. Which will it be?”

He ground his teeth. Maybe it was better to tell her. It would have to be better, right? Anything would.

Panic, irrational and complete, reared up. If he told her, everything would unbalance, and the fragile hold he had on his world would dissolve. What he had was miserable, but he wasn’t sure there was anything else. “There’s nothing going on. Nothing I can’t handle. And I know we haven’t been close for a long time, but—look, if you ever cared about me, just let it alone. Please.”

“Oh,” murmured Cordelia after a moment, and Xander began to exhale. “No, not gonna do that.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. “What? Wait, what? I meant, stop bu—”

“Yeah, I heard you. I mean, hello! Did you really think I’d fall for crap like that? Seriously, maybe you have lost it. The other night you said ‘leave me alone’—so who were you talking to? Is it your parents? It’s not me, is it? Because there’ve been a lot of fake Cordelias going around.”

“No, it’s not you,” he mumbled.

Cordy studied his face. “Is it Anya?”

His stricken look was answer enough.

“Why would Anya haunt you? Willow told me you two were okay before she died.”

He turned away in agitation, shoving his hand through his hair. “She didn’t die, she was killed. Because of me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wow. World revolve around you much? I thought she died in the battle with the First.”

“She wouldn’t have been there if not for me—”

“Uh, excuse me, but I knew Anya, remember? And she wasn’t some delicate little flower trailing after the big strong man. If she was there, it was her decision. Like boning Spike.”

He didn’t ask how she knew. He didn’t even flinch. Once it would have driven him crazy, but that was when things still mattered. “She did that to get back at me.”

“Xander,” she began, but cut herself off. She ran through it in her mind, and there just wasn’t a polite way to say it. “Not everything’s about you.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “You think I don’t know that? Believe me, I learned that a long time ago. But with Anya, it was all about me. That’s what the others don’t understand.”

She was silent for a long moment. “How long has it been going on?”

He tried to think. Since before they’d bought the house? It seemed like it. It seemed like it had been almost from the beginning, but maybe those were dreams. It had been a while before he realized it was really happening. “July?” he offered. “I think that was wh—”

A piercing scream cut through Xander’s explanation. “Jesus, again?” he blurted, plunging through the door after the sound, Cordelia close behind him. Pounding down the hallway, he realized he’d again forgotten to get a weapon, and cursed his stupidity. Of course, there were weapons in just about every room in the house, so that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Xander rounded the turn in the hallway and smashed square into Andrew. “Aaaaggh!” Andrew screamed, hitting the ground and slapping his hand to the spot on his forehead where they’d collided.

“What is it, what is it?” demanded Xander, staggering but keeping his balance.

“Oh my god, it was horrible—horrible,” Andrew exclaimed, shivering.

“What—what?!”

“In Buffy’s room….”

“Buffy….” Xander whispered, lunging forward before Andrew could stop him.

“No, wait, it’s—”

Xander flung open the door to Buffy’s room, then gasped and jumped back, hastily shutting it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said to Andrew.

“I tried!”

“What is it?” demanded Cordy, starting towards the door. Those two needed adult supervision; good thing she was there to take care of the situation. But before she could reach the door it was snatched open and Spike stood there, looking extremely put out. And naked.

“What the hell does a couple have to do to get some privacy around here?” he roared.

~*~*~*~

Buffy poked Spike in the ribs. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet after … well, after. And she was pretty sure he wasn’t still pissed at the others for walking in on them—heck, he didn’t mind if they got a look at his junk. Actually, she was surprised he didn’t ask them to tell their friends, or offer to pose for pictures.

He’d been upset because he thought it would put her off. It would take him awhile to get used to her being okay with it, but she could wait. “What is it?” prompted Buffy, ready to offer some on-the-spot soothing.

For a long moment he didn’t answer, and she wondered if he was going to pretend to be asleep. Finally he whispered into her hair, “I’m not like I used to be.”

“Neither am I,” she returned softly. “I used to be normal.”

“Sweetheart, you are normal. There’s nothing about you that’s not normal—except for the superstrength and the being resurrected and fine, lots of things about you aren’t normal. But it’s you.”

Buffy chuckled. He could be so sweet, so insightful. And sometimes just completely wrong. “I used to be the Slayer, and now I’m just a Slayer—there are a million girls like me out there, and if I can’t handle something they can take care of it, and I can’t even relax and go back to being the girl I used to be, because what with the dying and the resurrecting and the mystical sister and the vampire boyfriends, I don’t even remember what she looks like anymore.”

“Why would you want to be her again?”

She stilled. “What do you mean?”

“A teenager … overdramatic, everything life or death. No sense at all.”

“Sounds a lot like you,” she pointed out.

“And you’re telling me you want to be like me?” he challenged.

“I’ve wanted to be normal for so long….”

Spike snorted. “Trust me, I remember normal. Normal’s overrated.”

Buffy turned to him suddenly. “Why do you love me?”

He was taken aback. Spike studied her face, seeing the uncertainty and the hope. Cursing everyone who’d put that uncertainty there. How could he explain it? He didn’t have the words to describe his love for her, and he couldn’t give form to something beyond his ken. But for her, he’d try. “You’re a habit. A refuge. An addiction. A virus. A parasite that’s burrowed its way into my heart without invitation, a monster, an occupying army, my light, my hope, my reason for living, my reason for dying. I’ve tried to hate you. Hell, I’ve tried to kill you. Couldn’t do it. And I’ve had, I’ve been told, plenty of chances. I told you before, Buffy—you’re it. For me, you’re it. There isn’t any other. There can’t be.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “That’s the—wait, did you call me a parasite?”

Spike laughed. “You ever read Congreve?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a who, not a what. Writer. Really knew his stuff. Wrote a little play called The Way of the World, about a pair of lovers. Millamant and Mirabell.”

“What and who?”

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” he shushed. “Anyway, Mirabell didn’t want to love her, because it—”

“Mirabell’s the guy?”

“Because it was hopeless. So he decided to make himself fall out of love with her. He looked at her objectively, took note of all of her flaws, studied them—and grew to love them as much as he loved her virtues. He’d tried his damnedest, and he loved her even more than before.”

Buffy smiled and nuzzled his chest. “That sounds nice,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I did, love. You just didn’t hear it.”

“And I don’t need to hide my strength to make you feel like a man?”

“I don’t need to be able to beat you up to feel like a man, baby. The way you wrap your legs around my head takes care of that one.” She socked him, and he chuckled. “’Sides, I knew you were the Slayer going in, didn’t I? Nobody stronger. Nobody more likely to stake my ass.”

“Damn right.”

~*~*~*~

Conversation between Xander, Dawn, and Andrew stopped the moment Buffy and Spike walked into the kitchen. For a few moments everyone stared at each other as if they were waiting for somebody to pull their guns and start shooting, then Dawn turned away and made a big production of searching through the cabinets, muttering about Funyuns.

“Anyone got anything to say?” invited Buffy, sticking her chin out. Spike dragged a chair around and straddled it, trying not to laugh. Buffy took this seriously. He wasn’t going to laugh.

God, he was going to try not to laugh.

“You know, Buff, anything you want to do is fine with me,” offered Xander cautiously. “I just don’t want to see it. And Cordelia’s giving herself a ‘healing cucumber eye mask,’ so I don’t think she wanted to see it either. In fact, I think she may be trying to wipe it out of her memory.”

“Yes, it was horrible!” agreed Andrew with a shudder. Mostly to himself he mumbled, “in a wonderful, wonderful way.”

“What?” demanded Buffy.

“Nothing!” Andrew assured her hastily. “Look, I’m really sorry about, um, walking in on you two earlier.”

Her scowl wasn’t encouraging.

“I knocked,” he defended weakly. “I heard ‘come in’—well, that’s what it sounded like….I mean, it’s not like I’ve never seen you two do it before….”

Dawn dropped her Vanilla Coke.

“What?” said Buffy dangerously.

“You know, we had spycams all over the place,” reminded Andrew helpfully. “There was one in your front yard. In this great gnome that I made in pottery class when I was a sophomore.”

“In the front yard?” gasped Dawn, making gagging noises as Spike began to howl with laughter.

“My god, didn’t you two ever keep your pants up?” demanded Xander, shuddering.

“No!” said Buffy. “—I mean yes! I mean … I kicked the crap out of that gnome, and now I’m extra glad I broke it,” she finished, salvaging a measure of triumph out of the humiliating exchange.

“You broke Filbert?” Andrew gasped, looking ridiculously hurt. He’d been spying on them—and it wasn’t like he didn’t know the gnome was gone; Sunnydale was a fricking hole in the ground.

“Filbert’s not the only thing I can kick,” she pointed out, and Andrew decided to cut his losses and shut up. He could always install a pottery shed in the yard, or just order more from Gnomes-R-Us.com or something.

Buffy grabbed a beer for Spike and a diet Dr. Pepper for herself and took the chair next to Spike. Dawn giggled but didn’t flee. Andrew carefully stared at the ceiling and hummed a little. Xander actually smiled at her.

Spike looked at her with a half-smile playing at his mouth. She smiled back serenely as she slid into her seat.

All things considered, not a bad day.

~*~*~*~

Giles gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on his research. It was of utmost importance that the demon threatening them be identified, as their situation seemed to be worsening by the moment. And the others were not taking it as seriously as they should; even after the earlier excitement, they were now gathered in the kitchen laughing and joking as if things were perfectly normal. They seemed more preoccupied by their visitors than by the very real danger they were facing.

And as for Buffy.…When she’d let Xander deal with the children’s miscreance instead of handling it herself, Giles had been unhappily reminded of her indifference to responsibility when she’d first returned, when she’d expected him to handle everything while she acted as if she were still a carefree teen. He’d thought, finally, that she was beyond that.

Of course, that was before Spike had returned.

A discreet knock at the door did nothing to draw Giles from his gray mood. “Enter.”

Wood slipped into the room, thoughtfully shutting the door behind him. If it were one of the others, they probably would have left it open. And possibly tracked in mud.

Yes, it was good to have another adult around.

“A fruitful afternoon?” queried Giles. Perhaps Wood had had better luck.

Wood grimaced. “Not particularly. I keep waiting for things to slide into place, but nothing does. I was thinking maybe it would help to review the basics of shape-shifting demons. Anything you’d recommend?”

Giles turned and surveyed his collection, rubbing his hand across the bridge of his nose, a typical gesture for him when tired. “Nay’s Compendium is good for the more fanciful demons. And in the chest over there I’ve got a Maleficus Circumundi—careful, it’s old and rather crumbly. I believe we’ve checked everything that’s applicable, though.”

“A fresh set of eyes never hurt,” said Wood prosaically, moving to the nearest bookcase and running a hand over the ancient texts.

“Indeed.”

“You know, Faith thought maybe an incubus, but incubi don’t—”

“Of course,” cut off Giles a little bitterly, almost to himself. “Of course Faith came up with incubus—that’s what Spike thought as well. Not surprising that they think along the same lines, don’t you think? Peas in a pod.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” said Wood slowly.

“I mean they’re exactly alike. As horrified as I am by Spike’s relationship with Buffy, I have the comfort of knowing it’s temporary. He won’t stay with her forever—she wouldn’t be able to stomach it, and neither would he. Eventually he’ll find someone more like him. More like Faith.”

The fine hairs on the back of Wood’s neck rose; he felt the first chill of warning, but forced it down. Everything in L.A., particularly with the gang at Wolfram & Hart, was so maybe-evil, maybe-good that he was losing his radar. But this was Giles, and he’d always gotten along well with him. He was the most practical of Buffy’s circle. They both took the long view on things.

“It really is too bad that our attempt to take care of Spike was unsuccessful,” Giles added idly.

Wood ground his teeth. He’d lived that night again and again, and occasionally thought he’d made his peace about it. Mostly he tried not to think about it, because he didn’t want to relive how he’d failed.

She’d had a job, and she’d done it. She’d protected him and loved him, but had done her job. She’d worked, every day and every night, to save the world. And as bitter as it felt, he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of regretting his failure to kill Spike. His mother had been more devoted to her duty than to anything else, and he couldn’t betray her that way. “If it had worked, the First would have won,” he reminded Giles. Wasn’t like he didn’t have to remind himself occasionally. “We would have been defeated if Spike’s amulet hadn’t activated. If he hadn’t been there, we all would have been killed, and the world would have been overrun.”

“But you didn’t succeed, and we won. It’s no longer an issue,” said Giles neutrally. “And you know what they say. Third time’s the charm.”

Wood stopped breathing for a moment. Sure, Giles knew about the second time, when Giles’d distracted Buffy, but Wood had damn well never told him about the incident at the high school when the seal had been activated and was driving the students mad, and in the middle of fighting them off he’d seen his chance and tried to stake Spike—would have, if a crazed student hadn’t knocked into him.

He hadn’t even told Faith.

“Yeah,” Wood said about nothing, turning towards the door. “You know, I think I’m gonna try to catch a shower before din—”

Then Giles’s hands were on the back of his neck, the fingers cool and firm, his grip unyielding. Before Wood could make a sound the hands slipped around throat and began to squeeze. “It was worth a try,” Giles said pragmatically, his fingers tightening until Wood could only gasp and struggle hopelessly for breath. “Isn’t that what humans value? The effort? It doesn’t matter, you’ve always been expendable.

“It will still work out in the end.”