What Was Lost

by SpikesKat

Chapter 1

Three months after the fall of Sunnydale…

Angel descended the stairs and stopped once he reached the bottom. Everyone was gathered in the hotel’s foyer – save Buffy, of course – either conversing in groups or loitering about. Fred, Wesley, and Gunn were clustered together near the front door, apparently waiting for him so they could begin their first official work day at Wolfram & Hart. None of them, himself included, looked eager at the prospect. But, they’d all made deals with the devil and now had to live by them.

It didn’t stop him from wishing he could take it all back, however.

With his own blood used to sign on the dotted line, he’d lost not only his son but his childe as well. The former he’d agreed to willingly, wanting to give Connor a chance at a better life, a normal life. The latter… the latter he’d come to find out, was a harsh blow to the soul perched so precariously inside his chest.

Yet, even while he ached at now being alone in the world once more, he couldn’t help but be filled with pride that the young fledge he’d helped mold into one of the deadliest vampires in recent centuries had been capable of so selfless an act.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Giles asked as he reached Angel’s side, his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.

“We’ve been over this,” Angel practically growled, his voice also barely above a whisper. “I’ve got no choice. We… we’ve got no choice.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gifted the watcher with a glare worthy of Angelus. “We can do some good, Rupert. Where better to beat evil at its own game?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Giles sighed. “Very well… I… uh… that is… have a good day, I mean night, at work.”

“Yeah.”

Angel moved off and joined his team at the door. They left without word a moment later.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles watched the four leave and silently shook his head. The things one did in the fight against evil. He just prayed that Angel and the others hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew.

Still, he had other things to think about, namely the restoration and restructuring of the Watcher’s Council – a daunting task, to say the least, given their extremely limited man-power, and that comprising mostly of a select few men and women that had long since retired and had reluctantly stepped in to fill the void. Angel had graciously donated his hotel to the cause, and Giles had tapped into Council funds to refurbish the top two floors in order to create office space and training rooms. Things were moving along at a rapid pace and coming together quite well; he was no longer buried under mounds of paperwork or constantly dealing with the ever-ringing telephone, allowing him a moment to stop and smell the proverbial flowers.

When he had, he’d been speechless. And consumed with guilt over the state of his slayer… and to some extent, the rest of the team. But it was Buffy who worried him the most. Buffy, who had become but a shadow of her former self. Just going through the motions, just like she’d sung once upon a time.

He’d come to find out that although she’d appeared to have reconciled herself with Spike’s death and taken a small measure of comfort in the diary he’d kept, one that she’d apparently given to him, she rarely spoke to anyone – even her sister, Dawn – and spent a good portion of the daylight hours either wandering the hotel’s courtyard or sitting quietly by herself on one of the stone benches. If anyone dared speak the vampire’s name in her presence, Buffy was quick to leave the room and he’d witnessed in the past several days many occasions upon which his slayer’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears as she walked away.

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he tried to broach the subject of Spike, and to some extent, moving on, he’d been the recipient of her glacial stare. He’d given up finally, resigned to let Buffy be and allow her to work through things on her own, and at her own pace. She’d obviously yet to forgive him for the part he’d played in the aborted attempt on Spike’s life, or his repeated badmouthing of the vampire both before and after the event.

He supposed he deserved her contempt and understood her wanting to avoid him, but she’d forgiven him for other mistakes made in the past. In his mind, mistakes he believed far worse than his treatment of Spike.

Time. Time was what they needed. Time for him to apologize for his actions and for her to let him.

Until then, he’d go about his business. Work on finalizing the details on the new Council headquarters. Work on getting the slayers a place to train and watchers to help guide them in their calling.

“I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me,” he called out to the others still lingering about in the front foyer.

He sighed again at their lack of reply and trudged up the stairs to the top floor. The building crew had gone home for the night and he needed to check on their progress with the remodeling. The contractor had promised him they would be finished inside a week, ahead of schedule and under budget.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy was a wreck and she knew it. Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders, compounded each night by her dreams. Dreams in which Spike mocked her from the shadows.

“You love me, Slayer?” Spike taunted as he pointed to an image of her and Angel, their lips locked together in a heated kiss. “Do you?” 

Then another image.

“He’s in my heart.”

Even then the words still wouldn’t come. Three simple words she’d been too cowardly to voice… not until the bitter end.

And he’d not believed her. Just given her a smirk and—

“No you don’t, but thanks for saying it…”

Her heart ached as she threw back the covers, climbed wearily from bed and stumbled her way into the bathroom. A hot shower would help wake her up and harden the armor that allowed her to function during daylight hours.

“Hey, Buffy,” several people greeted her an hour later as she crossed the foyer on the way to the courtyard. She mumbled a distracted hello to encompass everyone and continued walking.

“Buff, wait up,” Xander called out and left one of the young slayer’s side to jog after her.

Buffy ignored him and kept moving. She needed the peace the courtyard afforded her before she could face anyone; last night’s dreams had been particularly brutal. Then there was the added bonus that sitting in the sunlight kept Angel away from her. It was probably very childish on her part, but every time she laid eyes on him was like a knife to her heart. That he had lived yet Spike had—

Spike was gone… and it was her fault. She’d given him the amulet, made him her champion. And in doing so, she’d handed him a death sentence.

“Buffy… hey.”

“Oh! Hey, Xander.” She swiped at a tear while her back was turned before reluctantly taking a seat on one of the stone benches.

“How you doin’?” Xander asked as he joined her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Good. I’m good. Better…” She gave him a half-hearted smile.

“That’s… uh… that’s good. Dawn was asking about you yesterday. She was wondering how you were. Now I can tell her. That you’re uh… good and all…”

“Yeah.”

“Buffy—”

“Xander, don’t start. Please? I said I’m fine. Can we just… just not, alright?”

“It’s been three months, Buffy. Don’t you think—?”

“I know how long it’s been,” Buffy snapped, pulled her hand away and stood. She didn’t look at Xander as she added, “Believe me, I know.”

“Look. I’m sorry, Buffy,” Xander apologized as he walked up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “But Spike would have wanted you to move on.”

Buffy saw red at his words, turned around and blasted her long-time friend.

“How would you know what Spike would have wanted?” she demanded furiously. “It wasn’t like you were the best of friends. You barely spoke to him, and when you did it was only to belittle him. Or throw his past back in his face. ‘His chip is gone, let’s stake him.’ Isn’t that what you said? Well, isn’t it, Xander?”

“We all make mistakes, Buffy.” His own voice rose to match hers. “Yeah, I probably let my past history with Spike cloud my judgment, but can you blame me? All you or Giles ever told us was that vampires were soulless unfeeling things… only good for a stake.”

“He had a soul.”

“Yeah? So? He still killed people with it. Fat lot of good—”

“That was different,” Buffy interrupted. “He was being manipulated by the First. He wasn’t even aware… Look… I don’t want to talk about Spike. I don’t want to talk. Period. Just leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t mean— I don’t want to argue with you,” he sighed. “I’m just worried about you. We all are. You barely eat; you hardly speak to anyone. You avoid Angel like he has the plague… not that that’s not a good thing… because I’m all with the Angel hate-age. But, Buffy…”

“I said I’m fine,” Buffy replied wearily.

“Yeah. Okay. Can’t say I didn’t try,” he muttered the last to himself, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. The same one he got every other time he tried to bring the subject up. “I’ll… uh… leave you alone then.”

Buffy didn’t answer, and after another minute, Xander turned away. He had his hand on the door leading back into the lobby when he tossed out over his shoulder, “You weren’t the only one that lost someone that day, you know.” Then he stepped inside and closed the door.

~*~*~*~*~

Words couldn’t describe how Spike felt to go from feeling the eternal flame of damnation flaying his skin alive in a Hell of his own making to suddenly having his booted feet on solid ground in an unknown laboratory, several spots on his flesh melted through to the bone… the agony of which nearly brought him to his knees. He barely noticed the subtle shift of bones and tissue give way as his demon came to the forefront to help him function through the worst of the pain, until his senses sharpened perceptibly.

Senses that told him he was not alone – the telltale racing heart, a soundless feminine gasp, the unmistakable scent of fear.

His gaze zeroed in on the human – a tall, willowy woman with expressive brown eyes – and he practically salivated when her heart rate kicked up another notch.

“Are you… are you alright?” she stuttered, the concern in her Texan drawl momentarily eclipsing her fear.

For a second, Spike didn’t know what to think. The woman was food, nothing more. That she seemed worried on his behalf was what made him pause.

And as he did so, memories resurfaced: him standing alone deep within the Hellmouth, his soul harnessing the sun to burn the Turok-Han to ash; he and Buffy, their hands clasped together and consumed by flames; Buffy and Angel kissing passionately, no matter that she’d just spent the previous night – however platonically – with him.

“No!” he cried, oblivious to his audience. “No!”

His eyes darted around the room for a means of escape. Spying the double doors, Spike ran towards them, ignoring the girl’s attempts to get him to stop.

“Wait! Don’t—”

But Spike was already gone. Adrenaline and rage made it easy for him to push through the pain. Until he was at the end of the hall, then at the bottom of the stairwell, then out of the building entirely.

He had no destination in mind as he raced through the night. His only desire was to get far away from the painful images locked in his mind.

But no matter how long he ran, or how far, he couldn’t escape the image of the Slayer betraying him with his grandsire.

The words of love she expressed too little too late.

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