No Hero

Author's Notes: Due to the annoyance that is known as the real world... You know the drill. I'm back again.


The Arrival

The journey from Maine to California was long and uneventful, and when the exhausted group finally arrived at the Hyperion, their individual complaints – the seats were sticky, there was a screaming baby behind my chair, the food was horrid, it was stuff – had melded into one concise statement: plane rides sucked.

“What time is it?” inquired Xander for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.

“Do you own a watch or not?” Giles answered the question with one of his own.

Grumbling under his breath, the dark-haired man began to push the sleeve of his shirt up when Willow indicated the nearby clock, which stated that it was a little past one in the morning.

The diminutive blonde glanced around anxiously when the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and the barest of tingles began in her slayer senses. A vampire was nearby, and it wasn’t just any vampire; it was Spike… and Angel was with him. She was overwhelmed by the thought of seeing them both again after so long. It had been five years since she had seen Spike, and almost that long since she had seen Angel. So long…

Giles settled a hand on his slayer’s back protectively, sensing her apprehension as thought it were his own. “You’re tired, Buffy,” said the man gently. “I-if you wished to postpone this, I’m sure that they, um, would both understand.”

“No,” she replied with a calm she didn’t feel. “I want to see them now.” Even as she spoke the words, the vampires came into view, Angel at the forefront and dressed impeccably as ever, Spike following on his heels, worn leather duster and indifferent smirk firmly in place.

“My God, Xander…” the Wicca murmured, turning to study the pair. There was Angel, as solid and brooding as he always was, and then Spike. Spike!

“He’s actually alive… or undead,” Xander spoke the witch’s thoughts aloud. Hearing his voice on the phone, knowing he was back, they were wholly different from seeing him in person. The demon hunter felt a twinge of pain at the thought that Spike and not Anya had been given a second chance.

“Buffy…” Angel began warmly, holding out one of his hands for the slayer’s.

Spike remained silent, instead inclining his head in greeting. All he wanted to do was push his sire out of the way and draw Buffy – his Buffy – into his arms where she belonged and never let go of her again. Still, he should have known that she would turn to Angel first, even if they had both offered their hands. Angel would always come first.

Buffy glanced back and forth between the pair and finally took Angel’s outstretched hand, squeezing it gently. Out of habit, she craned her neck and placed a gentle kiss upon the former love of her life’s lips. She felt a pang of guilt when the statuesque vampire closed his eyes and dropped his head slightly, a sign of wistful happiness.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” said the slayer after reassuring herself that he was indeed well.

And all the while, Spike watched in silence, his blue eyes clouded with a myriad of emotions he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on. At length, he took in Buffy’s appearance, the nearly white-blonde of her hair, the dark bronze of her skin, the sadness in her eyes that was disappearing even now. It was a startling realization that her green eyes had remained locked with his even while she had kissed Angel. Without warning, he found his arms full of the blonde hair and bronze skin he’d been admiring, and he instinctively closed his arms around her.

“Spike,” she whispered softly, weariness, relief, and a hint of anger filling her voice in turn. “You didn’t tell me… I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” In spite of her anger, she couldn’t bring herself to release him.

“I’m so bloody sorry.” Spike buried his face against Buffy’s throat, inhaling deeply to memorize her scent again. She smelled, as she always had, of vanilla and lilacs.

“Angel,” Giles intervened by thrusting his hand out toward the vampire when he noticed his mixed expression of contempt and contentment as he watched Buffy and Spike. The former watcher doubted he would interrupt the pair, but Angel’s obvious suffering would be disturbance enough if Buffy noticed it.

“Rupert,” the brunette answered pleasantly, shaking his hand firmly. With another glance at his childe and his love, he added, “I’ll show you to your rooms. I’m sure Buffy will find her way later on.”

“Hey, Angel,” the redhead commented off-handedly as she gathered her luggage. She was glad to see that he was well, that was true, but silently, she commended Giles for his ability to diffuse what could have potentially become a disruptive situation. Had she been reunited with Tara, she knew that it would have been nothing short of a crime punishable by death to be interrupted.

Xander also took note of the man’s dedication to his slayer, and he respected Giles’ capacity to tolerate Angel’s presence after what had happened with Jenny so long ago. He had foolishly believed that since Giles had been involved with another woman that he had moved on, yet the former watcher had been forgetting things about her. Giles, like he and Willow, knew how it felt to lose their soul mate forever. Selflessly, he was grateful that Buffy was no longer a member of that club.

Buffy and Spike, meanwhile, remained completely oblivious to the departure of the rest of their group, both absently tracing familiar lines of muscle and bone through cloth barriers and stroking varying shades of blonde hair. It was Spike who finally consented to relinquish the pillow of Buffy’s shoulder to meet her gaze, and he grinned rakishly.

“You look older, somehow,” commented the blonde slayer, absently stroking his cheek. In truth, she wasn’t entirely certain if he looked older, or if her mind had just conjured an image of him so flawless and gleaming that his skin seemed a bit more worn, his eyes a bit sadder.

“‘S the soul and all this fighting, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug. “That, and comin’ back from ghost world. I really wouldn’t know, pet, seein’ as how they’ve yet to invent a mirror for vampires. You look… God, Buffy.”

“Is there somewhere else we could go,” she questioned suddenly, ignoring his comment on her appearance for the time being, “so we’re not standing here in the lobby all night long?”

With a slight nod, the blonde vampire curled an arm around his former enemy’s shoulders and led her away.