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Part 3

Being happy doesn't mean everything is perfect. It means you have decided to look beyond the imperfections. --Unknown

Part 3a. In which Spike comes to terms with his past.

The next few months were more pleasant than the last fifteen years put together for Spike. He felt welcome, forgiven, accepted, in a way he hadn't since the day he'd been turned. So many people had used him as a vampire. Power had been a heady thing, and once he would have accepted that it was really all he needed, but he was discovering that this was better, this sense of family. His mother had meant the world to him, and even as a vampire he had unconsciously latched onto anyone or anything that could provide that illusion, that sense of belonging. It was exhilarating to find it again after so long.

Not that it was a perfect situation. He was still invisible to everyone except Xander. But they acted like he was there, included him in every way that they could. He wanted to say that he was happy, and there were times when he almost believed it. But every time he felt himself getting close, his past would rear its ugly head and the screaming would start. He was beginning to truly want to find some way to come to terms with it; to really make the guilt and the recriminations stop, instead of just suppressing them. He wanted to find peace.

He figured he should talk to Xander about it, but was never quite sure where to start. He knew that the man understood some of the pain he was going through, and it wasn't even as if he would feel uncomfortable discussing it with him. Xander was giving him space, careful not to bring up subjects that might be too upsetting, which he did appreciate. He hadn't forgotten Xander's trick with his eye, how it had quieted the screams for a while, and he wanted that again. He just couldn't get himself to make the first move. So, he fell back on old habits, ignoring what he couldn't deal with, and focusing on the myriad distractions that his existence offered.

He surprised even himself then, when, sometime at the end of November, out of the blue, his mouth took over and started the conversation he had been so diligently avoiding. It had been an unremarkable day, all things considered. There had been a bit of a scare in Japan with a gang of Pavoran demons, and they'd come away with a couple of innocent fatalities, but nothing worse than any other day of the year. He had followed the slayers-in-training in from their nightly patrols, making his way up to Xander's room, as he did nearly every night these days. He was a bit restless, but he hadn't really been thinking of anything other than sitting and relaxing for a few hours. When he didn't find Xander in his room, there was an inexplicable surge of panic, quickly dampened. Xander often wandered around the house these days in between visions, doing odd jobs, working out in the training hall, reading in the library, chatting with any of the slayers who weren't out patrolling that night. Xander hadn't said anything, but Spike knew that in the past, before the spell, he had spent that time trying to get over the pain in his head enough for it to start all over again. Besides, he knew for a fact that nothing had happened. His connection to the Powers would have let him know if something was wrong. So he had simply focused his senses on the man, appearing beside him a moment later.

He looked around for a second, blinking. This was new. 'Xander, why are we on the roof?' The man had placed a thick folded blanket down on the flat concrete roof, and was currently laying back, his hands folded behind his head, ankles crossed, gazing at the stars. His laptop was open beside him, casting an eerie white glow over his features. He looked beautiful, peaceful, and Spike felt his heart flutter a little.

Xander's eyes flicked over to him when he spoke, his whole body tensing, one hand going to a dagger placed strategically by his head, before he recognized who it was. Spike watched as the tension disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Xander gave him a happy smile. 'Spike, hey,' he blinked up at him. Apparently disinclined to get up, Xander reached over and rested a hand on his calf, where it was standing near the man's waist. He tugged on his jeans a little 'till Spike got the hint and folded himself down to sit cross-legged beside him, close enough so that Xander could still rest his hand on Spike's knee. The man smiled warmly at him again, before turning his attention back to the sky.

Spike allowed himself to just sit there for a little while. He glanced up once to see what Xander was gazing at, but he had spent one hundred and twenty years looking at the night sky; it held little interest for him any longer. He gazed, instead, at the man in front of him, illuminated by starlight, moonlight and laptop-light. It might have been quite romantic, in another lifetime. He ignored the part of him that wanted to protest that it could still be romantic, here and now. The thought, however, jolted him out of his absent musings, and he shifted the knee covered by the other man's hand a little.

'Xander, what are you doing out here? It's nearly winter, for Chris'sake. You'll freeze your nuts off.'

Xander grinned at him, this time obviously focusing his attention on Spike. 'Nah, it's a thermal blanket. Could take it to Antarctica and it'd still work. As for what I'm doing out here, I should have thought that'd be fairly obvious, even for you, Blondie. I'm stargazing.' Which was typically unhelpful.

'Ok, mate, little more information. Why are we stargazing?'

Xander shrugged, the grin fading, to be replaced by a slightly melancholy look. 'I used to come out here all the time, back before the headaches got too bad. The visions were so hard to control. There were all these people screaming in my head for me to save them. Up here, at night, it was... I dunno, quiet, I guess. Looking up at the stars made me feel so insignificant. Which, given my previous role in the gang, shouldn't really have been very comforting. But it made me realize that I didn't carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. Don't know why I felt like coming up here tonight. Just seemed like the right thing to do.' He frowned slightly. 'It's been a bit of a weird day all 'round, actually.'

Spike narrowed his eyes and cocked his head sideways. 'Weird how? Did something happen?'

'Well, no, not really. You saw at breakfast that the first vision was early, which was nothing to really worry about. But I've had twelve visions so far tonight. That's like one every half an hour. I barely had time to finish one report before it was time to start another one. I gotta say, I was getting just a little worried, seriously not looking forward to having to do that all the time. But... the last vision I had was at one o'clock,' he glanced at his watch, 'about an hour ago. That was when I suddenly got the urge to come up here. I don't know what's going on,' he shrugged again, 'but it doesn't feel wrong, so I'm just going with it.'

Spike frowned, casting out his senses. Xander was right. It didn't feel wrong. It was odd, certainly, but not wrong. He could usually tell if something was threatening one of the Power's chosen, but there was nothing like that here. Maybe they were just trying to give him an evening off, unlikely though that sounded. Xander had said it himself, once. The Powers always had a reason for the things they did, whether you ever got to understand it or not. With that thought, he felt an inexplicable calm creep over him, his concerns evaporating.

'Fair enough.' Without really thinking about it, he twisted around and stretched his body out beside Xander's, crossing his ankles, but resting his hands on his stomach. He could feel the heat radiating off the man beside him. When Xander shifted slightly so their shoulders touched, then the line of their upper arms, he felt his soul sigh contentedly, soaking up the warmth.

Lying there, looking up at the stars, he thought he could begin to understand what Xander meant. He really was an insignificant part of the grand scheme, whatever that might be. Sure, he'd saved the world, but so had a lot of people, including the man beside him. There would always be champions. And it felt good, really, to know that he was only a part of something. That's why Buffy had survived so long, and been so successful as a slayer. Even before the spell to share the power of the slayer, she had never really been alone in her fight.

It was hard to remember these days that he was still a part of something bigger.

His mind was silent for once. He could feel himself drifting, with an oddly quiescent feeling that went all the way to his soul. When he spoke, it was like an axe falling, irrevocable, terrifying, but strangely freeing at the same time. 'I've been thinking about what you said, about having to deal.' It was said quietly, but Xander shifted beside him, pressing their arms together in silent encouragement. 'I want to. I just don't know how.'
 

Xander closed his eyes and sucked in a silent breath of relief. He'd been waiting for this. Watching Spike the past months, knowing the pain he was in, had been incredibly hard for Xander. He wanted more than anything to help, had seen the positive effect his gaze had had the first time, but knew that if it was ever going to really mean anything, Spike had to get to this point himself. He knew first hand how distracting it was to have memories screaming inside your head. He had never been able to repress them like Spike seemed to be able to, but they had occupied his every waking thought, and then returned in full color to haunt his dreams. Those had been some of the most miserable times of his life, desperately wanting to turn to his family, unable to reach out to them, to take the help they kept trying to offer. It was only when he had started trying to deal with the images, to face up to the memory of all the innocents he failed to save, that he had come to understand that it wasn't his fault. And it was only when he had found some peace within himself that he had truly found his way back to his family.

He gazed up at the stars for a moment longer, but he needed to see Spike's face for this. He sat up slowly, turning around to sit cross-legged by the other man's waist, pulling his blanket more securely around himself. He waited for Spike to meet his eyes before nodding, a small smile quirking his lips.
 

Spike closed his eyes against the panic that suddenly coursed through him. How could he have thought he was ready for this? Xander would want him to remember, to talk about all the horror that he had participated in, had exalted in. He would have to feel the blood on his hands, in his throat, hear the screams of their souls, his soul, he didn't even know anymore, see their faces as he cut them down with no more regret than any animal has for it's food, drown in the loathing, the guilt...

He wasn't even aware of the tear that had escaped when Xander leaned over and brushed a finger down his cheek, but the touch was enough to startle his eyes open. He was immediately caught, his body unresisting as the other man drew him up to a sitting position, his mind unexpectedly still as his soul continued to scream around it. He took a single shuddering breath, but didn't let his eyes waver from the two before him. Xander just looked at him, a question in his eyes, and Spike took a moment before nodding. He was ready.

Immediately, the icy blue eye before him seemed to flare, glowing softly with the promise of peace, and he felt his soul calm a little, experienced that same feeling of distance he had the first time. However, it was the other eye that he felt calling to him, breaking him, even as it promised to put him back together, showing him years of pain and loss, guilt and self-loathing, but also strength, compassion, purpose, love and forgiveness. He wanted that. God, how he wanted that. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He just couldn't do alone. He'd only managed to survive the last fifteen years because his soul cried out for punishment. Even then, if he hadn't been able to at least be with Buffy and Dawn, he knew he would have succumbed to the insanity as he had after first receiving his soul. He fucking hated that now, when he had a chance to be with his family again, some part of him refused to believe he deserved that happiness. And he didn't. He knew that he didn't. But he wanted it. And if he had to live through it all again, all the things he had done... If that was what it was going to take, then that's what he'd do. He'd been given a second chance to find happiness by the soddin' Powers That Be. Surely, that had to count for something.

Whatever he had been expecting, the reality was worse. He looked into Xander's eyes and felt the world fall away, until all that was left was the pictures in his head. And then they weren't pictures any longer, they were real, or close enough that he couldn't tell the difference, and he was once again the monster he had tried so hard to forget, to deny. Except this time he was also William, the innocent soul who had foolishly given his life to a beautiful woman in an alley, a woman he had loved even before knowing, and that his mind, his demon, had continued to love in his place. This time, that soul got to witness first-hand the atrocities that had been committed with it's body, in the name of hate and power and worst of all in the name of love, love that had survived the loss of a soul, but not without price, without perversion.

It started with impressions, flashes of memory, meaningless acts of violence to a vampire that translated into unforgivable sins to the soul. The first person he had killed, the first person he had tortured, the unbelievable rush of power that came from the screams of the dying, drinking the blood of the slayer, fear, despair, pain, and joy, abandon, the knowledge of the demon, that life was death, and death was life, and whether they were innocent and undeserving or criminal and condemned to the same hell he came from, it didn't matter, because he was power, and they were his to do with as he pleased.

And he could only watch in horror, impotent, crying for the lives that he cut short, unable to do anything, change anything, because this was only a memory, and he hadn't been there the first time around.

The demon didn't care about its victims, would not have thought to recall their faces, but nothing is ever really lost, and he knew suddenly that they shouldn't be forgotten. However painful and humiliating their deaths had been, he owed it to them to keep their memory at least alive for as long as he was able. Xander was right, you never forgot, but maybe you weren't supposed to.

Spike was too lost within his own head to notice, but something changed with that realization, as Xander's eyes started suddenly to swirl over white. And for the first time, Spike heard the other man's voice inside his head. It was calm, deep, but unobtrusive, like the pull of the tide. 'Start at the beginning, Spike. Tell me what you remember.'

So he did. He lost himself in the memory of that first night. Every detail became suddenly clear, sounds were sharp, colors were vivid, the scent of blood thick in his nose, the urge to feed, the desire to kill heavy in his mind. The words tumbled out, as he described looking up into the face of his dark princess, how she had led him to the young woman walking home alone from a party much like the one he had so hastily left himself. And even as it watched the life drain from her to feed the demon that possessed his body, the soul shuddered, and Spike studied her face, the anguish in her brown eyes, the tear that streaked down a pale cheek towards a thin mouth. Memorized the soft fall of her dark hair, the shape of her face, her body, despaired that this was all he had of this girl, this innocent, all he could preserve of her. He didn't even know her name.

'Her name was Sarah. Sarah Forsythe.' He closed his eyes as Xander started to speak. And this time it really was Xander, not some higher power working through him. The pictures swam before him, but he couldn't open his eyes, couldn't risk losing them. 'She was seventeen. She dreamed of traveling to Italy, meeting a Roman prince, being swept off her feet. She wanted to see the Vatican, take mass within the halls of the chapel. She loved her family, her mother and father, her baby brother, wanted to see the man he would become. She was never meant to live, though. Everything happens for a reason.' It felt like his heart should break, but his soul was quiet. As much as it was tearing him apart to know this, at the same time it was a gift. She had given him a part of herself, given him life, willingly or not, and although he night never worship at a shrine to her memory, neither would he ever forget her, ever cease to be grateful or mourn for her loss. And with this silent promise, her felt one tiny pair of the claws ripping through his soul loosen and disappear, one of the hundreds of screaming voices fall silent, and he was amazed, hoping for the first time that maybe the promise in Xander's eyes had been true, that after all this he really would be put back together.

It didn't stop. For every memory that he recounted, Xander would give him back a small piece of the person's soul, and every time his own would feel a little more whole. After that first one, his soul skipped through visions, finding those most painful and reliving them with a kind of savage joy, knowing that he was finally finding a way to lay some of his ghosts to rest. It wasn't an end. Hell, it was barely a beginning. But it was hope, and a promise of peace, which was more than Spike had ever thought he would deserve, let alone find.

Eventually the sun came up over horizon, and the white cloud lifted from Xander's eyes. Spike opened his own only when he felt Xander's fingers trace a line from his forehead down to his chin, before tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He felt tired, mentally exhausted, as he never had before. But he also felt better, quieter than he had in a long time.

He raised his eyes to meet Xander's again, and saw that the power was still thrumming there. Shaking his head slightly, he said, 'That was...' God, he didn't even know. Wonderful, painful. He didn't know whether to say thank you or fuck you. He would never be able to forget now, to repress it, but maybe he wouldn't have to anyway, anymore. '...different,' he settled on.

Xander gave a short bark of what sounded like slightly hysterical laughter. 'Yeah, different.'

Spike focused on him for the first time. God, he thought, the man looked even worse than he felt. 'You saw all that,' he said slowly. 'Your eyes were white. Was it just like having a vision? Did you experience all that like I did?'

Xander took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them Spike could see that the shields were back up. 'Yeah, like a vision.'

Xander hated him. He had to. His past wasn't just a nebulous concept any more, he had actually seen every detail, knew just exactly how much he had reveled in the death and destruction he had caused. He despaired to think that he had gained a measure of peace at the cost of the only friend he had. He drew away from Xander, his face shutting down. 'I'm sorry.' It wasn't enough, but it was far too late for anything else.

Xander's blue eye flared for a moment, then faster than he could follow, Xander reached out to take both his hands in a crushing grip. 'No. No, Spike, I don't hate you. I told you that before. This doesn't change that. Yes, it's a little overwhelming, but that wasn't you. I felt each and every one of them die, but I also felt everything that the demon did.'

Spike was angry all of a sudden. He looked up, his eyes flashing. He could remember everything it felt, everything it did. 'I am the fucking demon, mate. Soul or not, I was there, which means some part of me must have wanted all that.'

Xander narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a long moment. His voice was harsh when he finally spoke. 'Yeah? All right then, Spike, let's pick a day, any day.'  Then he quite deliberately allowed his eyes to defocus, and Spike knew he was reliving a vision. He ignored the heat that suddenly rushed over the back of his neck, focusing instead on his anger. Mere seconds later Xander was back, his eyes hard. 'There we go. March 10, 1886. You and Drusilla find a family living in a cottage outside of a small English town and decide to work on earning you a name for yourself. So tell me, look back and tell me what you felt when you pinned that little girl to the floor with a railroad spike. Well?'

What the hell was this? 'You want to know how it felt?' He narrowed his eyes dangerously, glaring at the man sitting across from him.

'No, I wanna know how you felt.'

His eyes flashed, and he wanted nothing more than to leave, forget this conversation had ever happened, but Xander wasn't letting him go, with his hands or with his eyes, and after a moment he gave up, the truth sounding like a curse as he spat it out. 'Fine. I loved it. The demon fucking gloried in the pain, the fear and the blood. Is that what you wanted to hear, you bastard?'

'You're missing the point, Spike.' His voice was softer, but Spike could still hear the sharp edge of anger. 'That's not what you felt; it's what the demon felt. I know, 'cause I felt that too. But that's not what I felt. Those emotions weren't mine. What did you feel?' He paused for a moment, continuing ruthlessly. 'Think about this then... what did you feel reliving it just now? Did you enjoy it? Did it make you want to go out and brush up on your skills?'

'How can even fucking suggest that, you fucking wanker,' he hissed.

'Answer the question, Spike.'

'No, I didn't enjoy it. Of course I didn't fucking enjoy it. It rips me up on the inside to know I've done those things. I feel horrified, guilty, I wish I could go back and change everything, but I can't. That's how I goddamned feel.'

'And the first time? What did you feel then? What would you have done differently? You, William, not the demon.'

'What the bloody hell are you talking about? I wasn't fucking there, was I?' There was nothing he could have done differently.

And that was it, wasn't it? The point Xander had been trying to shove down his throat for months. It didn't change the fact that terrible things had been done with his body, and a part of him had been there to witness all of it. But it wasn't him. They might have been his thoughts, but they weren't his feelings. He hadn't been there to stop it, and he knew, because he had lived with a soul for over a year as a vampire, that he if he could have, he would have. He let the realization wash over him for a moment, but it wasn't enough.

'The worst thing?' he said bleakly. 'It wasn't even all bad. I loved Dru, and there were times when we were just happy, just to be together. Even when there were people dying all around us, I didn't care. No, worse than that, it made me feel good, because it made her happy. It wasn't even about them. It feels so wrong to have to regret loving someone. There was so much of me in what I felt for her. I wanted to give her everything she'd ever desired, and the demon knew exactly how to do that.' He let the images run through his mind, astonished at how painless it suddenly was to relive this, now that he had something else to focus on. But he still didn't know how he was supposed to just dismiss the actions of the demon. He looked up to find Xander watching him grimly. 'And what about after the chip, huh? Did all that mean nothing? I helped you,' he said fiercely. 'God, I even liked you. I would have died to protect Dawn and Buffy. Was all that just the demon? If it was, what excuse is there for all the things I did before that?'

Xander just looked at him for a moment, the anger falling away. 'You think that you should have been able to control the demon even without the chip. That if there was enough of you in the demon to love Drusilla and Buffy and Dawn, even Angelus, to want to help us, protect us, then you must have also wanted everything else it did.' Spike flinched at the cold assessment, unable to deny it, and Xander sighed, looking down. After a moment, Xander looked up again, catching his eyes, his own still glowing with power, although he when he spoke the voice was entirely his own. 'I don't have all the answers, Spike. It's true that even before the soul I thought, or can see in hindsight at least, that you had the potential to be a good person. But you went through some pretty goddamned remarkable crap those couple'a years. I don't know, maybe losing Dru, falling in love with Buffy, being a part of something again, you just changed. You and the demon. I do know that if we liked you, it was because you were forced for the first time in one hundred and twenty years to suppress the demon. You said it yourself, Spike, you lost your soul, not your mind. With your demon caged, it seems to me we got to know the real you. Before that, yes, your mind was there for all those deaths, but you weren't in control then. You probably wouldn't have been able to control the demon without the chip anyway, and why would you have even tried? There was nothing you could have done differently.'

'But all those people... If only I'd... God, how can they ever forgive me,' he murmured.

Xander's eyes were sympathetic, but his voice was hard. 'You've been redeemed, Spike. That didn't happen just 'cause the Powers felt like it. You were broken and tortured. You lost all the people you loved, but you still fought and suffered. You loved and despaired. You helped us, and all we did was hate you. You gave up everything you were, everything you knew, for love. All this while you were still a demon, before the soul. If they wanted vengeance, they found it. If they wanted you to change, you did. If that wasn't enough, you were driven insane by your soul, used by the first evil. You suffered for what you did, Spike, and then you gave up life and peace to save the world. You have been forgiven, or you wouldn't have been given this second chance. More importantly, you deserved to be forgiven, and I think you know that.'

The anger drained out of him, and he lowered his head, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. The sound that escaped was a desperate mix of the two, and it was only when he got the urge to bury his face in his hands that he realized they were still being tightly held. He gazed at the large, sun-darkened fingers for a moment, before gently extricating one hand, running it through his hair as he lifted his head.

Xander's eyes were normal now, the power dissipated. He looked tired, worn, but a small, wry smirk had settled around his mouth, and his eyes were open, smoldering with friendship and hope. When Spike offered a tentative smile of his own, Xander's whole body seemed to relax slightly. 'Okay?'

And that was it. End of painful conversation and generally soul-destroying experience. Letting out a tired puff of laughter, he allowed his smile to reach his eyes. 'Yeah, actually. Thank you.' And there was more in those two words than Spike could ever hope to express, but he had a feeling that Xander got that.

Xander lifted his free hand, resting the tips of his fingers on Spike's cheek and gazed at him for a long moment. There was so much intensity there, and even through his exhaustion, Spike thought he saw something that drew his mind back to the kiss all those months ago, and caused a faint fluttering in the pit of his stomach. But before he could react, it was gone, and Xander was grinning, his hand dropping away. 'No problem. Let's hope we don't have to do that again anytime too soon, whaddaya say?'

'Shit, yeah. Gonna need some serious recovery time.'

'Do you even sleep?' Xander asked curiously as he levered himself up off the ground and started to collect his things.

'Not usually, but I might be prepared to make an exception.' He groaned as he stumbled to his feet. His head was pounding, and he doubted he could raise a hand to protect anyone at the moment. He supposed it was only to be expected. His soul had taken a beating tonight, and given his nature, it was only natural his psychological pain would manifest physically. Which was all very well, but wasn't stopping him from quietly toppling over as his legs refused to admit they had to support him any longer.

Xander's eyes widened in amusement as he turned around to see Spike sitting on the ground again. 'Would you like me to get you a pillow?'

Spike just shook his head in confusion. 'What?'

Xander chuckled. 'Oh, yeah, seriously knowing how that feels. Well, I guess I should return the favor. Up we get, Casper.' He grunted slightly as he snaked an arm around Spike's waist and hauled him to his feet. 'I am not carrying you,' he warned. 'Don't fall asleep just yet.''

Spike leaned further into the solid wall of heat that Xander presented, one arm reaching around his waist, his head resting on the other man's shoulder. It felt like his body was just shutting down, taking his brain along for the ride. He smiled languidly, finding it very difficult to work up enough energy to care. Xander was just exactly the right height to act as a pillow. At the moment, that seemed like the single most important fact of his existence. 'But you're all warm and toasty like a pillow,' he protested, distantly aware that they had been moving for the past couple of minutes.

He came back to himself a little when he felt himself lowered onto a bed. Xander had taken off his boots for him and was unbuttoning his shirt. 'Xander?' he asked in confusion.

'Hey, there you are,' he said softly, smiling. 'Any other time, I might be offended. You falling asleep in my arms and all.'

'What...?'

'Relax, Spike. Like I said, just returning the favor.'

Xander had, by this time, managed to remove his shirt, and was pushing him back onto the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow his eyes closed and he started to drift off. But there was something bugging him. Something about a favor...

His eyes opened suddenly, his hand reaching out to grab Xander just as he was getting up to move away. 'I'm me,' he stated fairly incoherently.

Xander regarded him curiously for a moment, before a smirk appeared and he nodded. 'Can't argue with that. All right, Spike. It's only fair, I guess.' Then he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. Spike sighed and smiled, his eyes drifting shut once again.

'Mmm, s'right,' he murmured.

He drifted off to the sound of a warm chuckle and the feel of strong, gentle fingers tracing though his hair. It made him feel happy. And his last thought as sleep claimed him was that for the first time, that didn't sound like a lie, and it didn't make him afraid, it just felt undeniably, wonderfully right.

******

Part 3b. In which Buffy and Dawn give Xander a nudge in the right direction.
 

Xander exhaled heavily as he closed the bedroom door behind him. On top of everything else that had happened tonight, it was just too much. His head was pounding, and more than anything else, he just wanted to fall into bed, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not like this.

Detouring via the bathroom for aspirin, he made his way down the hall to Buffy's room. He knocked once and was slightly surprised to hear someone call 'come in'. He hadn't really expected her to be up yet, although he hadn't quite decided if he wanted to wake her up or just sit on her couch and wait. Shrugging, he opened the door and stepped into the small sitting room. He was even more surprised to see Buffy and Dawn sitting together on the couch drinking coffee and chatting quietly. They looked up as he came in, getting to their feet immediately as they took in his worn expression.

He glanced down and attempted a smile. 'Hey, guys, what's up?'

'Xander! We've been worried sick about you!' Dawn exclaimed. 'Marissa called us a couple of hours ago, frantic that she hadn't heard from you since one o'clock.'

Xander groaned. 'Oh guys, I'm so sorry. I was up on the roof. There's nothing wrong. I guess I just got a little... caught up. Marissa is never going to forgive me.'

Buffy moved over quietly and placed a hand on his arm. 'Hey, don't worry about it,' she said soothingly, 'we found you up there. It looked like you were having some sort of a vision. Your eyes were white, and we couldn't get you to respond to us, but I couldn't feel that anything was threatening, and neither could Dawn. We've been checking up on you every half-hour or so, although we were going to call Willow if it went on for too much longer. We let Marissa know what was going on.' She paused for a moment, glancing over to her sister. 'We wondered, what with how you were sitting, if Spike was there with you.'

It was just way too much. Visions were bad enough on a normal day, but having to see Spike's past had been worse than anything he had ever had to do before. Not because it was particularly gruesome, and not because he'd had to feel everything that the victims had. But he'd had to watch this thing that looked so much like his friend, and yet felt nothing like the man he knew, do all these terrible things, and know that this was the past Spike had to live with. Even though he wasn't responsible for the actions of the demon, a part of him was there, the same part that had been able to surface when a tiny metal implant effectively caged his demon, that had shared hot chocolate with Joyce, that had endured torture at the hands of a God to save Dawn. As much blood as Xander himself had on his hands, he couldn't even begin to comprehend the pain the other man had to be feeling, had felt for the past sixteen years, the strength it must have taken to finally decide to face up to it. Honestly, Xander didn't know if he could have done the same, were their positions reversed. He felt tears pricking the back of his eyes and looked down at the floor. He had no idea if anything he had done tonight had helped, but honestly believed what he'd said, that Spike had been redeemed.

He gave a hollow kind of laugh, running one hand through his hair. 'Yeah, Spike. Buffy...' He looked up finally, and whatever she saw in his eyes, he suddenly found himself whisked over to the couch and wrapped in strong, tiny arms. 'No, no,' he protested half-heartedly, 'I'm cool, really. Just doing what needed to be done.'

'Xander, what happened?' she asked quietly.

And so he told them. Not the details. They were not his secrets to reveal, but the gist of the thing, and how much it had hurt him to know that Spike was in so much pain.

Dawn sat down on the end on the couch and started rubbing gentle circles over his back. 'That must have been awful. Are you alright?'

He glanced over, surprised at the question. He'd been so wrapped up in everything that had happened, he'd hardly given a thought to himself. 'Sure. I'm a bit tired, I guess. It was... hard.' Which was possibly the understatement of the decade. 'To see what the demon did with his body, from his point and from the people who were killed, but I'll be alright. I kind of think I was almost beside the point. This was about Spike. Me... I'm just the messenger.'

'And what about Spike?' Dawn continued seriously. 'Is he ok?'

Xander sighed, shaking his head. 'I just don't know Dawn. I think so. I want to believe that it helped. I guess we'll have to wait and see. He's actually sleeping now, or whatever the equivalent is. He's never done that before. He told me he doesn't usually sleep, so whatever he went through must have been really draining. He's been keeping this inside for so long... And I know he deserves to find some peace. I wish there was more I could do.'

Buffy smiled at him fondly. 'Hey, I know you, Xan. You'll do everything in your power and then some. He couldn't ask for a better person, a better friend, to help him.'

He leant into her a little and gave her a tired smile. 'Thanks, Buff.'

She smiled at him, before asking hesitantly, 'Xander, don't take this the wrong way, but... what's going on between the two of you?'

'What do you mean?'

She glanced nervously at her sister, before turning back resolutely. 'Well, you're friends, right?'

'Well, yeah, sure. I mean, he's not nearly as irritating as he used to be, and we seem to have a few things in common. I like having him around.'

She looked at him searchingly, and he knew trying to keep anything from her was an exercise in futility. 'Is that all it is?'

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'Ok, I can admit I seem to like him a little more than I should.'

'Should?' Buffy narrowed her eyes and shook her head, not understanding.

He glanced at her in confusion. 'Well, yeah. Buffy, this is Spike. You know, Spike who hated me for a good six years before getting dead. I mean, I know things are different now, but I haven't changed that much, and it's not like he could just forget all of that.'

She was looking at him incredulously, and he squirmed a little in his seat. He was sure it all made perfect sense. She shook her head once, glancing over at Dawn, who was looking amused. 'Xander... I can't believe you just said that,' she said, half to herself. Before he could start to get really annoyed, she pinned him with a glare. 'Ok, I guess you can be forgiven for thinking that Spike hated you.' Her pursed lips told another story, but she continued. 'So I'm telling you that he didn't. It might have started out that way, but it seems to me, once he understood you were both fighting for the same thing, he pretty much gave up on that. Besides, knowing Spike, putting all that effort into hating you probably just seemed like too much work. You also might remember, he not only agreed to live with you after we got him out of the school basement, but he didn't kill you on one of his evil sprees. Not to mention the fact he helped to save you from demon-date lady and stopped Caleb from poking out your other eye. You don't do that for people that you hate.' She continued to glare at him while he digested this.

Dawn laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'You know she's right, Xander. Think about it. When did you stop hating Spike? And no, you haven't changed much, personality-wise, but I think we've just established that that's probably part of the appeal. I always thought you two could be friends, given a little peace and quiet. And let's face it, oh 'normal one', the visions have given you a whole new perspective on the demon-world. Is it so hard to believe that Spike might have learned to like a thing or two about you in the last fifteen years of watching all of us?'

Fair enough, he could... accept that. It was true enough that he hadn't hated Spike for a long time. Sure, he hadn't exactly liked him, but he had accepted him, respected him even. He couldn't quite wrap his head around why Spike might have done the same for him, but if Buffy and Dawn agreed it was true, then he would take them at their word. 'What about you, then, Buffy? Spike was in love with you. I do know that. I could see it.'

He saw the pain wash over her face and cursed himself. 'Buff, I'm sorry...'

She gave him a wry smile, shaking her head. 'No, it's ok. I wish... I wish I could talk to him about this myself,' she said quietly. 'But the fact is, I'm not in love with him. I never really was. I could have loved him... I did, in the end, like I do you and Willow. I wish... I wish that had been enough. You said was. Is he... does he still...?' She trailed off, unwilling to end that sentence.

Xander picked up both her hands, stroking them gently as he tried to figure out how to answer this. In all honesty, he'd been expecting the question for months, had been trying to figure out the answer for almost as long. 'Buffy, he does love you. You should have seen the way he looked at you that first morning, when you told him you'd missed him. But I don't know... I don't think...' He didn't think Spike was still in love with her, but he really wasn't sure enough to say it, to make it real, because what if he was wrong?

She squeezed his hands. 'Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Not an easy conversation to have with a third party translating, I guess.'

She looked so discouraged that before he knew it he was speaking. 'Do you want me to ask him?'

She didn't even hesitate as she shook her head, giving him a smile. 'No, it's ok. What would it change, anyway?' She shook her head resolutely, then, her smile becoming mischievous. 'Ok, I grant you that Spike being in love with me still might just make it a little harder for you two to get together, but that's a big if at the moment. I can't see that anything else is standing in your way. I know I wouldn't mind. Spike deserves a little happiness, and God knows so do you. And we've both seen how much more relaxed you've been recently. Right, Dawnie?'

Dawn nodded decisively. 'Absolutely. He's been good for you, and from what you've told us, you've been good for him, too.'

Xander looked between the two enthusiastic faces dazedly. He couldn't believe they'd gone from Spike being in love with Buffy to both of them trying to set him up with said ex-vampire in such a short space of time. He hadn't really even thought that far ahead. Sure he had felt something when he kissed him, both times, and he was a good companion, fun to have around, but a relationship? 'Guys, he's not even real,' he tried to protest.

Buffy frowned, while Dawn waved her hand dismissively, answering, 'Of course he is. Weren't you paying any attention when Willow explained all that?'

'But he hasn't said anything, or done anything...' He bit down on the urge to tell them about the kiss, tonight and the one a couple of months ago. It would only encourage them, and he was certain he didn't want that. Fairly certain anyway. He sighed to himself, admitting that he wasn't actually certain at all any more. 'I just... I don't know. I wouldn't want to risk it. I'm good with what we've got now, and until he says otherwise I reckon Spike is too. I've only been able to see him for the last few months, and he's only just tonight started talking about his past. It's too much right now. I don't think it'd be all that good for him, for either of us, to try to start anything yet.'

Buffy sighed in disappointment, but seemed to give in with good grace. 'Fair enough, I get where you're coming from. Just... don't rule it out completely, and don't wait too long just 'cause you're afraid you might get hurt, like I almost did with Angel. Spike's a good person, and if he makes you happy, nothing else matters.' She grinned suddenly, 'You of all people should know that.'

'Hey! No fair bringing up my sordid past.' She was right, though. He did have a way of forgetting about the problems if a person made him happy. He and Cordelia had been snubbed by most of their friends, hell he'd been snubbed by Cordelia even while they were dating. The love of his life had been a former vengeance demon, with a track record that not even Spike could hope to compete with. But he'd loved them, so it didn't matter what the rest of the world thought. He didn't love Spike, not like that at least, but he was no longer sure that he couldn't, and if that was the case, then Buffy was right, nothing else did matter. He grimaced, dropping the hand he was holding to run his hands over his face. 'You are right, though, I guess. I'll think about it.'

******

He didn't see as much of Spike over the next couple of weeks, understanding that the man would need some time to come to grips with everything that had happened that night. He was slightly disturbed to notice just how much he missed his company.

Even when he was around, Xander couldn't bring himself to raise the issue of their 'relationship', whatever that meant at the moment. Still, he had promised, so he watched, and he thought about it. And now that he was actively paying attention, he couldn't help but feel that Dawn was right. They could have been friends, if circumstances had thrown them together a little differently twenty years ago. Maybe not immediately, he had, after all, been very young, but they had more in common then he would ever have wanted to admit.

Fifteen years was a long time, by his standards at least, but he hadn't spent all this time as a seer without learning a thing or two about memory. He found himself sinking into the meditation he usually only used to recall past visions, and instead pulling up memories of his own past, of Spike. He needed to know that this wasn't just a knee-jerk reaction to suddenly having the man back, being the only one able to see him, and, of course, his own much discussed inclination towards those of the demon or ex-demon variety.

He couldn't deny that Spike had been an asshole, but he could also see now what being chipped must have done to the vampire. If he himself had been a little less indignant about the whole kidnapping/trying to kill them thing, a little less wrapped up in Anya, if Spike had been slightly less angry, resentful and abrasive, perhaps he could have been more sympathetic, less ready to hurt the vampire in any way he could. On the other hand, back then he had no idea how it felt to lose someone you'd dedicated your life to, to lose everything you thought made you who you were, trapped inside a body you could no longer even control. His problems paled in comparison to Spike's, he could admit that now, though it hadn't felt like it at the time. Even if he had wanted to offer his sympathy to the vampire, it would have been hollow, and Spike would have been more than justified in dismissing it and him.

Even if his break-up with Anya had given them something in common, it was too late. Spike had hurt Buffy so much, and if he felt a twinge of sympathy for the way she had treated him back, it had been easy enough to dismiss, and go back to the dislike that had been almost second nature before Glory.

When Spike had slept with Anya, he had raged at him, instead of looking towards himself, once again finding it easier to blame the evil vampire than the people he knew he loved. It appalled him now to realize just how often he had refused to see the guilt within himself or his family, how quick he was to make excuses for them, and how adamant he was about never forgiving Spike, whether he was guilty or not.

The whole soul bit had seriously screwed with his world, melting the last vestiges of Black and White that he had been clinging on to, and forcing him to see all the shades of gray. Not that he'd ever been naïve enough to believe that there was only good and bad in the world, with nothing in between, but he had clung to the idea that there were truly good people like Buffy who destroyed all the things that were evil in the world. Sure, there were things out there that were only slightly evil, or a little less than good, but they were beside the point.

Of course, it had been more than just the soul. It might have started with Anya, maybe even with Oz, and with Willow trying to destroy the world, but when the one man he knew, knew, was evil, was still a demon, despite everything he had done, could feel enough remorse, enough love, to sacrifice everything he was, any peace he could ever have, righteousness had just kind of faded away. He had finally admitted to himself that there was no black and white, no perfect hero and no ultimate evil to vanquish. Which had, of course, been the final irony. Because he finally understood that it wasn't about killing the bad guy, it was about protecting the people you loved and the people who couldn't protect themselves. He couldn't hate Spike, any more than he could hate Willow or Anya or Buffy. He didn't have the right, and Spike didn't deserve it.

If they hadn't become friends then, it was only because once again circumstances intervened. For some reason it made him feel better about what they had now to know that it wasn't just the new and improved Spike he liked, it was all of him.

******

Christmas eve, the gang were sprawled in the library, drinking hot chocolate and passing the occasional comment, but mostly just relaxing, being together. The few slayers and watchers in training who hadn't gone home for the holidays had gone to their rooms, probably not to get any sleep, but that was something none of them were really worried about. Buffy was curled up on one of the couches with Angel, lazy smiles playing over both their faces as they occasionally gazed into each others eyes. Wesley and Dawn were sitting over at the table, arguing good-naturedly about the origins of the Santa Clause myth, while Gunn and Cordelia sprawled on the rug in front of the fireplace, making occasional loud pointed comments about working on Christmas eve. Willow and Fred were also sitting at the table, hunched over a laptop and various other technological-type implements whose function generally had Xander completely mystified, and giggling in a way that he was sure could have nothing to do with science. Although maybe with biology, given the lingering looks they periodically exchanged. Giles was simply sitting by himself in the large armchair beside the couch where he and Spike were lounging, watching the people in the room, a content smile on his face. Xander understood the look, had a feeling his own mirrored it. The peace in the room was almost palpable, and he felt a great surge of affection for these people, his family.

He glanced over and caught the older man's eye, his smile widening into a grin. He leaned over the armrest to whisper theatrically, 'Spike says he senses sparks between those two,' he glanced over to where Wesley and Dawn were ignoring them at the table. His eyes twinkled. 'What do you think?' Wesley could be a tough bastard these days, but whenever he was around Dawn Xander could almost see the geeky Watcher he had first known rising to the surface.

Giles regarded him for a moment too long, and Xander was just about to say something else, when he winked suddenly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 'I should certainly hope so,' he said, sounding slightly aggrieved, 'I spent long enough planting the suggestion.'

Xander's eyes widened, and he had to force himself not to laugh out loud. 'You go, G-man. Didn't know you had it in you.' Xander grinned, and Giles continued to look pleased with himself.

He turned back to Spike, who was propped up against the other end of the couch, his unshod feet in Xander's lap. The blond was looking at him knowingly, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. He could see that the peace in the room was wrapping itself around the man just as effectively as the rest of them. He had never seen Spike so honestly relaxed, happy. It was beautiful. He felt an affectionate smile inching up the corners of his own mouth.
 

Spike found himself caught once again. He couldn't help the wry thought that those eyes would be the death of him. He didn't think he'd ever been looked at like that; like falling into pure, untainted warmth. He knew he should be moving, tensing, saying something, anything, but the atmosphere and that smile were combining to make movement impossible, but unnecessary, so it didn't really matter. When Xander's hand came up to take his own where it was resting on the back of the couch, he felt the little sparks of electricity, and tightened his fingers automatically, never once taking his eyes off Xander's face. It was nothing new, they touched all the time, but this time it felt different, more... significant. Xander blinked and Spike knew he felt it too.

With a burst of clarity, he realized he wanted more than just affection. He wanted all of it, the mind, the heart, the body and the soul. He would never have imagined himself looking twice at Xander Harris, but it would seem forced intimacy had its advantages, because it had required him to keep looking, finding new layers, until he now couldn't imagine wanting to look at anything, or anyone, else.

And then he wanted to move, needed to move, needed to kiss that smile, touch it, claim it, take it into himself, because what did he ever do to deserve it, and who was to say it would still be there tomorrow? Xander hadn't moved, but neither had the smile, and his thumb was making small circles against Spike's skin, and Spike was leaning forward, through the impossibly thick air, slowly, too slowly...

Because Xander was tensing, the smile falling from his face, his eyes becoming distant, then a brief, wry twitch of his lips as they filmed over white.
 

******

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