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

"Yes," Buffy answered. "I'm already late." And when he came back to his apartment hours later she was there again, camped out on the doorstep of his building. Huddled small in a corner, she rose when she saw him approach.

He looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. She rushed to speak before he could.

“I just…I just want to talk to you. Just talk. Like last night. Can I? Please?”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He didn’t hold the door for her as they walked inside. Silence, as they waited for the elevator. Spike gazed impassively at the ceiling.

“Do you like Cleveland?” she asked desperately.

“Don’t plan on being here long enough to form an opinion.”

Another blow. She'd barely absorbed his return; there was no room in her brain for the thought that he might leave again.

"What - why did you come?" Why wasn't it for me?

"Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's just down the road. The Clash were inducted this year, you know." Off her uncomprehending stare, he grinned. "Lost your sense of humor, have you? As it happens, I'm doing a job. For your ex."

She goggled. "Angel? You're working for Angel?"

"Wouldn't say that, exactly. More like we have an arrangement."

He didn't seem inclined to elaborate, and Buffy was already imagining her next conversation with Angel. "Hey, thanks for buying me this cell phone. Hold still while I ram it down your lying, vampire-knows-best throat."

She didn't realize they'd reached Spike's floor until the doors started to close again. He was already halfway down the hallway. Damn it. Remembering her package, she rushed to join him.

She was chattering nervously as he unlocked the door to his apartment. “I, um – I brought some food. A kind of weird spicy onion thing. For...”

He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. The good old days. Already eaten, thanks.”

She followed him into the apartment, deflated. “Oh. Well, you can always put it in the fridge, I’m sure –”

The rest of her words were cut off as a dark blur of motion careened toward them. Buffy dropped the restaurant bag and shoved Spike to the side, meeting the attack head-on. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her and fell to the floor, taking the attacker down with her.

She struggled underneath the crushing weight, until Spike cursed and hauled the thing off of her. Effortlessly. And – Buffy spluttered – was that fur in her mouth? She stayed sprawled on the floor for a long moment, trying to catch her breath.

“Emma,” Spike was saying. “You know better. Run along now.”

At length Buffy sat up, eyeing them both warily and still coughing a bit. “Emma?”

He stood over her now, mildly exasperated. For the first time she noticed the faint creases on his brow. “Yes, Emma. You tackled my dog.”

“That wasn’t a dog, that was a – a –”

“Wolfhound, to be specific.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the animal. “Not a hellhound? Because we had those at my Prom.”

“No. She’s very friendly. Just her way of saying hello. Haven’t you ever had a dog before, Slayer?”

She’d prepared herself to hear that word from him so it didn’t cut her as it once did. “I’m not the Slayer anymore. I thought you would have heard by now.”

He muttered something then that she didn't catch.

"What?"

"I said – I said 'I noticed.'"

“Where did you get her?”

“Found her wandering Hermosa about a year ago. Followed me home.” A year. A year that she’d been weeping, waking up with his name on her lips, cloistering herself because ‘moving on’ was such a very horrifying concept. Apparently Spike didn’t share her unwillingness.

He scratched Emma’s ears but his mocking eyes were on Buffy. “Didn’t know what a kick unconditional love could be. Always being on the other side, you know.”

"I -" But he had already turned his back on her. He'd done that more since last night than he had during the whole of their frantic fucked-up relationship.

She rose slowly, then took a few hesitant steps toward the dog. It was a massive thing, a motley mixture of grey and white with dark eyes that studied her plainly.

“Hi,” she said, and for some reason didn’t feel foolish at all. “I’m Buffy.” She extended a hand and the dog immediately lavished it with sloppy licks, her head butting against Buffy’s palm. Buffy giggled.

She stood there with the dog, enjoying the unfamiliar affection until she heard Spike at the bar. He was slamming glasses and bottles together as he fixed what she had come to presume was his evening drink. Reluctantly she let her hand drop.

“You planning to amuse me with pratfalls every night, or is there a reason for this visit?”

She swallowed. Right. "I love you."

She waited, for what she didn't know. His face remained bland, with the slight air of boredom she was beginning to get used to and how very sad was that? When he didn't answer she continued hurriedly.

"I realized yesterday – I hadn't said it. Stupid, huh? I was distracted, I guess, with seeing you, and the whole human thing –" and the soul-destroying rejection – “and the, um, passing out. I love you, and...I want to love you." God, this sounded so much better in her head. "Because we never got a chance before.”

He laughed at that. “Really? Was that our problem? That our wonderful affair never properly blossomed?”

She took a deep breath. “What I mean is, we were never – free –”

He drained the glass. “You’re right. I was fucking beholden to you for years. And now I’m not. I’ve started over and you ought to do the same.”

“I don’t want to. I can’t.”

“Don’t curse yourself to this – this pining like I did, Buffy. It’s a lonely way to live.”

Yes, she knew all about the loneliness. “It doesn't have to be. We can change, it'll be better. I swear.”

"Thanks, but no. These things never do end well."

"That's not true!"

“Whatever. If Harris were here he’d agree with me."

"What?" Now she stepped closer. "What do you mean?"

"Heard about demon girl. Bet he’s got a good case of the guilts now, hasn’t he? All remorseful and wallowing. Let me guess – took off for parts unknown as soon as the dust had cleared.”

Buffy felt ill. “Willow did a locator spell. We…we think he’s in Mexico.”

“Good. That’s good. Little sun on his face, pretty dark-haired girls serving him cerveza. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“He lost the woman he loved.”

“He’ll get over it.”

She hugged herself, abruptly chilled. “Please,” she whispered.

His sneer disappeared. “Go home, Buffy. I never wanted to see you like this.”

Her eyes swam with tears and he blurred before her. “Like what?”

“Weak.”

And oh, that struck home. "Is that what this is about? If I'm not the Slayer, I'm not worth it?" It had occurred to her last night, as she lay awake and hollow-eyed in her chaste bed.

"No," he said, more sharply than she'd come to expect.

She wanted to tear her hair out in frustration. She wanted to drop-kick him across the room but that wasn’t an option anymore. They were going around in circles, Spike acting like he knew something about her that she didn't know herself but all he'd talk about was 'over now' and laugh at her under his breath.

She wanted to tell herself that this wasn't Spike. It was, though. It was the Spike she'd first seen all those years ago; not hard to recognize if you knew what to look for. At some point, of course, he'd ceased to be Spike in her eyes and had become, instead, the troublesome creature Spike-loves-Buffy. She'd managed him accordingly and with varying degrees of success. Now she was once again faced with Spike - not the demon, but the man. Spike with his orientation changed; compass no longer pointing S for Summers. She could still hear Dawn, imploring her. "Oh, Buffy, you have to fix him" and she didn't know how. Because nothing was broken except his devotion to them.

He had been right; she was weak. She couldn't stand to be here another moment, alone save for Spike's utter apathy.

"Yes," she said. "I should...leave." The words were stilted and foreign on her tongue. She turned quickly so she didn't have to watch him let her go.

"Buffy."

She froze. Hope was stubborn in her heart.

"Don't come back."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. When she heard him move away she risked a glance back. He disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Emma trotting behind.

Part 7: Mining For Gold

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