CHAPTER 7

“What are you doing with the merchandise?” asked Anya as she hurried through the door of the Magic Box.

Spike jumped, nearly dropping the bowl of candles he was holding. “Just moving these over to the counter, love.”

“But candles don’t belong on the counter. The counter is where we keep the incense and other items to tempt customers to purchase inexpensive and unnecessary high-profit goods.”

Spike grinned. “We’re all out of incense, love. Sold it all this morning while you were out shopping. I figure the customers can set fire to these just as easily.”

She smiled at him proudly. “I knew hiring you was an excellent decision. Just don’t start asking me for a raise.”

“I’d better be pushing off downstairs now though, love. Niblet’s due any minute. At least she’s working to a timetable; I’m not exactly keen to run into Buffy or Xander. I’ve asked Willow not to mention that I’m back.” He paused, looking more closely at her. “Like the new hair colour. That honey colour suits you better than the lighter blonde.”

She reached up, anxiously twisting a lock of hair around one freshly-manicured finger. “It just felt time for a change. The world of vengeance has been pretty quiet lately, and you had everything under control here, so I indulged myself by inappropriately spending large sums of money on excessive personal grooming. It’s surprisingly relaxing.”

Spike shook his head in amusement. “Giles is back tonight,” he reminded her, as though she hadn’t been checking her watch ever since her return.

The hand snuck back to the hair. “That’s right. I have to check the quarterly figures; I don’t want Giles to think I’ve not been taking good care of his money.”

***

“How are you holding up?”

Willow frowned. “I’m kinda nervous, actually.” Afraid to see her friends. Afraid they’d be afraid to see her. Afraid she’d be useless without her powers. Afraid her plans would fail – or, perhaps, afraid that they would succeed. Most of all, afraid of a Tara-less Sunnydale.

Giles smiled reassuringly at her. “They’re all looking forward to seeing you. I had to talk them out of meeting our flight; I thought you might prefer a more gentle introduction.”

Willow nodded. “Thanks. So where are we heading?”

Giles swore under his breath as another driver swerved into his lane. “Why can’t you bloody Americans drive on the left like civilised people?” At Willow’s snigger, he laughed too. It was good to be back in Sunnydale, bloody Americans or no.

Returning to her question, he replied, “There was an apartment available for sub-let in Xander’s building. We’ve taken it for you for the month, so you’ll be somewhere familiar.”

But not too familiar, she thought. She wouldn’t be staying where she and Tara – best not think about that now. Think about the souvenirs she’d brought for the friends she’d tried to kill last time she saw them, about the soda, popcorn and cookies they would share while avoiding the important questions, about anything but her lover’s blood spattered across her chest and Tara’s cold, lifeless body sprawled on the hard wooden floor.

Think about Xander; steady, old faithful, best friend Xander. Xander, who never seemed to worry that he had nothing to offer his friends but himself, who had reached out and stopped her destroying the world. Had reawakened some part of her with the ability to block out what she was doing, to bury her magic so deep that she might never reawaken it.

Think about Buffy, the Slayer. Her best friend. She’d ripped her out of heaven just to prove that she could, never noticed the despair that was consuming her, then kicked every square inch of her ass. She’d only stopped because Giles had arrived, distracting her before she’d destroyed her friend.

Think about Dawn, who she had tried to send back to whatever place she’d come from – or whatever state she’d come from. She’d mocked her, and denied Dawn’s very humanity.

Think about Anya, left at the altar by the man she’d loved. At least that hadn’t been Willow’s fault, although the part where they’d all watched the demon and Spike together had been, kinda. She’d never felt comfortable with Anya – right now, she wondered if she’d ever feel comfortable with any of her Scooby friends. Giles was certainly feeling some constraint, to judge by his demeanour.

“I know this is hard,” the Watcher said, interrupting her thoughts. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re very brave to be returning to Sunnydale. If there’s anything I can do to help, you have only to let me know.”

Willow smiled in acknowledgement. Giles was right. She was brave, and strong too. She could do this.

***

Giles opened his hotel door and greeted them with a handshake for Spike and a brief kiss and awkward hug for Anya that lasted just a second too long. He’d splashed out this time, getting a large room with a living area, so they could sit comfortably on sofas around a small table. A bottle of Californian red wine was a welcome accompaniment to their conversation.

“It’s good to see you both,” he said, looking somewhat rumpled in jeans and a sweatshirt; quite unlike the rather staid Watcher Spike had thought him when they had first met. Clearly, the jetlag of his trans-Atlantic flight was starting to catch up with him.

Anya smiled at him.

“How is Willow?” she asked a little nervously. “It must have been hard to return to Sunnydale. Since you’re here, I’m assuming she didn’t immediately go insane and try to kill everyone again.”

Giles frowned. “She seems to be fine, although it’s always hard to tell what Willow is thinking. I know she was very anxious about seeing Buffy and Dawn again, but that seemed to go relatively smoothly. They’re both very focussed on helping her to heal.”

Spike rubbed his head wearily. He’d never had a chance at that sort of acceptance from any of the Scoobies (present company and Dawn excluded, of course). Sometimes he wondered why he’d stuck it out for so long.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked. “Willow said she’d try to get by when she could, so I guess I’ll see her tomorrow or Friday. Can you two keep an eye on her till then?”

Giles nodded, and threw a quick look at Anya. “Xander said he’d taken the rest of the week off work, so I imagine he’ll be with her most of the next few days.”

“What?” Anya looked annoyed. “Stop looking at me. Xander means nothing to me anymore. A bad decision and a few years of stagnation.” She tossed her head and reached into her bag for a mirror and lipstick, which she applied slowly and with exaggerated care.

“I’m sorry,” Giles said. “I thought that you and he were working things out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” she responded. “He realised he wanted us to be together, and I realised I didn’t. End of story.”

Giles looked searchingly at her. It was clear that she meant it, and even clearer that she had accepted it and was no longer mourning the end of the relationship. For some reason, that felt good.

“Well I’d best be off,” said Spike, standing, wondering whether he should simply slink out before they remembered he was there. “Still trying to get a handle on what the latest grand scheme involves.”

“Ah yes,” said Giles, moving to his bags. “I have a little information on the Grshnit culture as you requested. I’m not sure how much it will help, though.” He passed Spike a sheaf of papers, then paused before adding a small white envelope to the pile. Addressed to Giles in England, it was postmarked Sunnydale and dated about a week before. “I think you should probably know what’s in that letter, too,” he explained with a troubled look that suggested he might not be quite as sure of that as he sounded. Spike frowned, and turned the letter over in his hands. It felt familiar, somehow. He pushed it carefully into his pocket. This felt like something he’d want to save to read in private.

As Spike left, Anya took a long sip from her glass.

“How does it feel to be back in Sunnydale?” she asked.

“Rather odd, actually,” Giles replied. “It’s good to be back, of course, although it’s strange to leave England; I’m settled there now, as you have seen. At the same time, I can’t help but notice how much has changed. Tara’s gone, of course, and Dawn’s growing up so fast, she hardly seems like the girl I remember. Buffy seems so much more settled, and Xander – I’d become used to thinking of you and Xander as a couple. He seems much younger now; less sure of himself.”

Anya shrugged, not unkindly. “I don’t blame Xander, at least not anymore. I probably should thank him really.” She paused, collecting her thoughts.

“Initiating a sexual relationship with Xander helped me to adjust to mortal life and brought us much happiness and many orgasms. Unfortunately, Xander was never comfortable with my Vengeance Demon past." Anya paused, collecting her thoughts. "Remember those fertility amulets I foolishly placed too close to Herbs and Incense? The scent of the herbs changed them somehow--they still worked but had strange side effects. I had to reduce the price by thirty percent! That's how Xander looks at Buffy now — like she's tainted goods. I could never be with someone like that again."

She shook her head as if to clear out those thoughts.

“Spike’s working at the Magic Box tomorrow from eleven. I need to be there to open up, but I’m free afterwards if you’d like to go over the ledgers. Our sales are continuing to increase, and Spike is proving a most satisfactory employee. He has an excellent understanding of the product range, and he charms the customers into making additional, discretionary purchases. Most of them are quite expensive.”

Giles wasn’t convinced he wanted to think about Spike being charming in the Magic Box right now, given the history between Anya and the vampire. “I should catch up with Willow in the morning,” he said, “but I can be at the shop by eleven.”

“Great,” smiled Anya. “Perhaps we can eat lunch together. While we discuss the business.” She fiddled with her hair, tucking several strands behind one ear.

Giles nodded. “I’d like that.”

“I’d better be going then,” she said, reaching for her bag. Giles agreed absently, escorting her to the door, one hand resting in the small of her back. He stood for a few moments, staring at the door after it closed behind her, then shrugged and rubbed one hand across his eyes before pulling off his jeans and sweatshirt and lying down on the bed to try to get some sleep. He had a lot to think about, but it would be easier if he was rested.

***

SLAYER – WHY WOULD A VAMPIRE BE PATROLLING OUTSIDE THE MALL EACH NIGHT BETWEEN 10 AND 11?

NICE RIGHT HOOK LAST NIGHT, BY THE WAY. YOU MIGHT NEED TO PRACTISE WITH THAT LEFT LEG, THOUGH – IT ISN’T KICKING SO WELL.

He left the note in the usual place, undisturbed – looked like they were still out catching up with Willow. He went past Xander and Willow’s apartment block, taking a somewhat roundabout detour on his way back to the Magic Box. The lights were still on, and he thought he could hear the Slayer’s laughter. He was tempted to stay and listen for a while, but remembered the pile of papers Giles had given him and hurried home.

To say that the information on Grshnit demons was sketchy would be doing it a kindness. Essentially, it boiled down to:

·          They existed.

·          They probably had horns on their shoulders, possibly had tails, and were believed to be a greyish colour, at least at certain times of the day.

There were a couple of references that were worth following up, but nothing with any substance. He turned instead to the envelope, turning it over in his hands before reaching in to remove the letter. Settling himself on the sofa, he read:

Dear Giles,

I know I’m not usually a lettery kind of person, but I don’t know how to ask you this in person. I don’t really know how to ask in a letter either, but here goes.

For the past few days, I’ve had this strange feeling. Then I started getting these weird anonymous notes. No, not the sick and pervy kind – at least, I don’t think they are – these are almost like the things you would say to me when I first started out. There’s information about places I should check out, and feedback on my fighting – and whoever is writing them knows what they’re talking about.

I’ve looked to see if anyone is following me and I haven’t seen anyone, although I get this weird feeling sometimes.

You’re going to think I’m crazy for asking, but do you know what happened to Spike? When we were together, last year, I could sort of sense him – I knew when he was around, and could ‘feel’ him when he was near. I haven’t seen him since he left Sunnydale, but that’s the same as the feeling I have now, although his friend Clem tells me he hasn’t been back.

Anyway, it got me thinking about everything that happened last year. The me and Spike thing, I mean. It’s funny, but before it got complicated – before we started sleeping together, I mean (I can hear you cleaning your glasses from here), we were on the way to being friends. Real friends, I mean. And I kind of miss that – miss him, really.

It’s all so messed up. I mean, I told you I slept with him, but I never told you what he did to me, or what I did to him. I guess Xander filled you in on the first one, but I wasn’t exactly a shining example of goodness and virtue. I thought I couldn’t love him because he didn’t have a soul, because he was an evil, unclean thing, but the truth is I couldn’t love him because I was afraid of what he might do. And then, after all that, it was Willow who tried to end the world. Souled-up, old friend, safe and reliable Willow. I’m still not exactly sure how all that happened, but I realise now that I was judging by the wrong criteria.

Don’t get me wrong. What Spike and I had wasn’t up there with the great romances of our time. It was messy and ugly – but I realise now that a lot of the messiness and ugliness was my fault. I was so focused on reminding myself why we couldn’t be together, I forgot to notice the ways he had changed. When I let him be a lover (sorry, I know you really don’t want to know this stuff. Trust me, I don’t want to know details of your love life either!), I forgot to let him be a friend as well; not that I’ve ever really been a friend to him. And while that doesn’t excuse what he nearly did to me, I think it can help to explain how he came to it.

Anyway, I’ve babbled enough. I just want to know whether there’s any chance Spike might be here, or at least if you know where he is. If you can get a message to him, tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined our friendship, I’m sorry I couldn’t let him be good for me. I’m sorry I couldn’t help him to be a better man.

I’ll see you next week, apparently. It’s easier to mail this to you, though. I’m still not too big with the whole emotional chat-it-out thing. I’m really looking forward to seeing you, though.

Love,

Buffy.

He smoothed the corner where he’d gripped the letter too tightly. Folded it and returned it to the envelope, then removed it and unfolded it to read the words once again. He ran one hand through his hair, lost in thought and unsure of his next move.

It was an apology, of sorts. Unheard of from the Slayer. She’d always been so secure in her moral righteousness that this was as unlikely and as unprecedented as anything that had already happened between them.

He wondered what he’d have to do to get that apology in person.