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Chapter Nine

A meal of pancakes and sausage at an all night diner later, and Spike had talked Buffy into letting him go back to the shelter so that he could talk to Anne and figure out how to move out without leaving her in the lurch for help. He walked her back to the hotel, kissing her at the door in spite of her unsubtle hints that he should come back to the room with her.

“Ah, Slayer. You know if I go back up there with you, I’ll never make it out before dawn. You go get some more sleep, love, and unpack those bags. I’ll be back as soon as the sun goes down.”

Buffy tried her best pout on him, but when it didn’t work, she shrugged and kissed him quickly.

“Okay,” she grumbled. “But you’d better be back here before dinner time or I’m going to come looking for you.”

Another quick kiss and he was gone in a swirl of black leather. As she went into the hotel and headed for the elevators, Buffy tried to smother the jealousy that made her want to follow him back to the home he shared with Anne. She told herself she had no reason not to trust him now that her Spike was back, and reluctantly went to her room as he’d asked.

Instead of sleeping, though, she called Dawn to share the happy news. After suitable squealing and crying, they finished the conversation with Buffy promising to call again as soon as she had some idea when they were coming back to Europe and she hung up smiling. She spent some time picking her spilled luggage off the floor and putting things back in drawers, then decided a nap was the most useful way to spend the morning.



Spike walked into the shelter just as the sun was lightening the horizon, cringing inwardly at the pain he knew he was going to be causing to someone who had never done anything but accept and love him. For a brief moment he compared Anne’s treatment of him the past six months with Buffy’s now-remembered cruelty through their early years and felt a small sliver of doubt slide through his determination.

He slipped into the apartment and moved silently to the bedroom door, watching Anne toss in her troubled sleep. Guilt hit his gut like a hammer as he remembered promising he wouldn’t leave her for Buffy.

(But that was before! I didn’t know. She can’t hold me to a promise that I made without having my full memories. She’ll understand. It’s Anne. She loves me and she’ll want me to be happy.)

Rather than getting into the bed that now seemed like the last place he should be, he went back into the kitchen and pulled out his remaining blood. He wasn’t really hungry, having taken in small amounts of Buffy’s rich slayer blood during the night, but he thought he ought to use it up before he had to leave.

When the microwave beeped, he heard Anne stir and he carried the cup to the table and sat down to wait for her. His heart ached when she came out of the bedroom, the night’s dried tears still evident on her thin face. She just stood in the doorway, looking at him until he dropped his eyes with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, pet,” he said simply, knowing she’d seen the truth on his face.

She nodded silently and came to sit at the table.

“You got your memories back, huh?” Her voice was flat and uninflected, as though she had left all her emotions on the tear-soaked pillow in the bedroom.

“I did. My demon got them first. He remembered her. Remembered everything about her, including what she means to me.” Anne’s flinch made his chest hurt, but he forced the words out. “Eventually, my brain caught up and I think I’ve pretty much got my whole life back now. I’m truly sorry, love, but—“

“But she means more to you than I do,” she finished for him, standing up and walking over to the sink.

“I’m sorry, Anne,” he repeated helplessly. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Are you sure?” she demanded. “Have you given this the thought you should? Maybe you just think you love her more because she’s prettier. Maybe it’s a more even contest than you thi—“

Spike gave another sigh and interrupted, “There is no contest, pet.”

She gasped at the finality of his statement, then grabbed the nearest knife and sliced across her wrist. She turned back to him, the blood flowing freely as she offered her arm to him.

“Will she give you this?” she asked desperately. “I would feed you every day. You would never have to drink pig’s blood again.”

“Bloody hell!” he leapt across the few feet separating them and immediately applied pressure to the deep cut. “You stupid bint!”

Without thinking about how she might take his action, he pulled her arm to his mouth and quickly licked the wound, effectively stopping the flow of blood and closing the gash. He grabbed a clean dish towel and tore off strips to make a bandage around her wrist before looking up into her hopeful eyes.

“That was a very foolish thing to do, love,” he said gently, leading her to a chair. “You could have bled to death.”

“You wouldn’t let me die,” she said confidently. “You would have turned me if you had to.”

She gazed at him with the confident eyes of a zealot, and he suddenly wondered if the love she’d given him so freely, the love he’d been treasuring, was based as much on his being a vampire as it was on any appreciation of him as a man. The idea of walking away from her suddenly became much less disturbing and he determined to make her understand him.

“No, Anne,” he tipped her chin up to be sure she was seeing the truth in his eyes. “I wouldn’t. I would have grieved, but I would have let you die.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, trying to maintain her confidence. “You’ve tasted me twice now. You won’t be able to walk away.”

He growled and stood up abruptly. “I AM walking away, pet. Not right this second – I want to help you here until we get somebody to replace me. But I am not going to be living here with you anymore. And if you pull another stupid trick like that, I’ll…”

He threw up his hands in disgust and headed for the bathroom, growling, “I’m going to get cleaned up and start packing. I’ll be down to help you around lunchtime and we’ll suss out how long I need to stay around.”

Telling herself that her vampire book was right and Spike would not be able to leave her after tasting her blood more than once, Anne confidently got dressed and went down to begin the day by serving breakfast to LA’s poor and homeless.

She paid no more attention than usual to a new arrival; a small, skinny, pale man who got his tray and then sat at a table far away from the door pretending to eat, but really just pushing his food around. She missed the amber flash of his eyes when she passed by with her still oozing wrist soaking through the bandages.

When the meal was over and the other volunteers were cleaning up and giving out chores to those homeless who did not immediately leave to begin panhandling, she went back up stairs to re-wrap her wrist. Spike was in the bedroom, stuffing jeans and tee shirts into a weathered duffle bag he’d picked up at the Salvation Army store, but he paused when he saw her fumbling with her wrist and grudgingly came out to re-bandage it for her.

“There you go, pet,” he said gruffly but not unkindly. “I’ll be down in a few to finish clearing out that basement.”

“You’re really leaving?” Her voice shook with disbelief.

“Told you I was. I can’t live here with you while I’m—“

“While you’re fucking the Slayer,” she finished for him coldly.

Biting back his retort and reminding himself that she had every reason to be hurt and angry, Spike just said mildly, “I was going to say, while I’m in love with another woman.”

With an angry “hmmmph!” she walked out and went back to work supervising the volunteers downstairs. Spike finished packing his few possessions and placed the bag by the door with his duster on top of it, then went down to the basement to finish moving the furniture. He worked until his senses told him the sun was down, then ran back up to the apartment to get his bag and coat.

He saw Anne talking earnestly with one of the homeless men that had spent the day inside the shelter, and he hesitated briefly before approaching her to tell her he was leaving. The man she’d been talking to scuttled out the door at his approach and he frowned, wondering what he’d done to inspire such fear in someone who didn’t even know him.

He shrugged if off and, being careful not to get too close or touch her in any way, he told Anne he was leaving for the night and told her to be sure she locked the apartment door when she went to bed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, love. I should have that basement finished and ready for you to use by lunchtime.”

“I don’t understand how you can leave me,” she said plaintively, touching the scars on her neck. “You shouldn’t be able to.”

Deciding not to get into another argument about vampires, blood, claiming and other things she didn’t understand nearly as well as she thought she did, he just shrugged and bid her “good-night” as he went out the door, anxious to get back to Buffy.





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