When It Don't Come Easy

Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG-13

Archive: If you already have my stuff, if not please ask.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I'm certainly not making any money off them, more's the pity.

Summary: Going rapidly AU during the events of Entropy in BtVS S6, Spike makes a couple of wishes that will change everything. What is Buffy going to do when presented with a very different Spike—who doesn't feel quite the same way about her anymore?

A/N: This fic presupposes my short stories, The Lonely Hearts Club and The Way to a Poet's Heart. You don't have to have read those; just know that in this 'verse Spike and Tara have become pretty good friends.

Chapter 8: Finding Purpose

"Open the curtain/Let some light in,/I feel so gray,/The world got smashed to pieces,/And put back together/The wrong way...Open the window,/Let some air in,/I feel so old/ There—where we were happy,/Long ago/Yesterday/Why you leaving me now?/There must be some doubt in your mind,/Can't you open your heart?/Don't want to be left behind." ~Aqualung, "Left Behind"

Tara knew that something was off; Willow was acting like she did when she was trying to hide something. She kept talking about how well she was doing, and how she was really trying to prevent the magic from taking over again.

Tara honestly wasn't worried about the magic taking over; it was Willow herself who concerned her.

"What's going on, Willow?" Tara finally asked, determined to end the charade that everything was okay. She wasn't going to avoid talking about things in their relationship; the first time around, Tara had worried about Willow's dependence on magic for quite a while before she'd said anything, and she wasn't doing that again.

Willow looked away, unable to meet Tara's eyes. "I slipped the other night," she admitted in a low voice.

Tara pulled back, sitting up straighter in her chair. They had met for coffee again; it was becoming something of a ritual, one that she enjoyed. She didn't want to lose this relationship. "What happened?"

"It was when we went after that demon," Willow explained. "I thought it was going to hurt Xander, so I froze it."

Tara took a deep breath. "Willow, you doing magic isn't what worries me; you using it to protect Xander or Buffy isn't wrong."

"But I slipped," Willow protested. "I thought you'd be angry."

Tara didn't know how to get her point across. "It's not the magic, it's how you were using it. Not doing magic for ordinary routine things that you could do yourself is great. Not using it while you're in the middle of a fight might get someone hurt."

Willow heaved a sigh of relief. "So you're saying that you trust me again?"

"I'm saying that in a situation like that, you should use every weapon you have to protect people," Tara corrected gently. "I still don't know that you won't use magic to get your way the next time we fight. That's just going to take time."

From the look on Willow's face, it was time that she didn't particularly want to take. "But—"

"You took control of my mind and my feelings, Willow," Tara said. "You tried to control me, because you didn't want to do the hard work. I need to know that you won't do that again."

"I won't!" Willow said. "I know better."

Tara bit back a sigh. She understood why Willow was so reluctant to sit back and wait. Willow wanted things to be better, and she wanted them to be better now.

That she understood didn't mean that Tara was ready to leap in with both feet, however.

"I'm sorry," Tara apologized; she didn't feel sorry, but she wanted to say something to make Willow feel better. She honestly wasn't trying to punish Willow, but Tara needed to protect herself.

Willow nodded. "It's fine; I know you need time," she said unhappily.

Tara wondered if this was ever going to get easier, and if their relationship could ever recover.

~~~~~

William wandered down the street aimlessly, having no particular place to be and nothing to do with his time. This was how he spent his days now—either sitting in his apartment or walking the streets of Sunnydale, appreciating the sunshine. It was the best part of being human, but he wished he had some purpose.

When he'd been a vampire, his main purpose had been getting as close to Buffy as possible; now, however, he had no desire to do anything of the sort.

He couldn't pretend that he wasn't still attracted to her on a physical level. Buffy was a beautiful woman, and he'd found himself reacting to her in much the same way that Spike always had when she'd come by to ask him if he'd look after Dawn for the evening. William had given himself a long lecture on the idiocy of being attracted to the Slayer, but it hadn't done much good; when she'd come by later to pick Dawn up, he'd had the same physical reaction.

William kept telling himself that it was only to be expected. There was still a lot of Spike left in him, so it was natural that he would still feel some pull towards Buffy. That didn't mean that he was in love with her, because he wasn't. Lust and love were two completely different things.

Besides, he'd promised himself that he wasn't going to be Love's Bitch anymore; William was done with that.

What he needed was something to take his mind off of Buffy, something to do with his time.

William frowned as he passed a small bookstore; the legend on the door proclaimed it a shop for both new and used volumes, and a small hand-lettered sign with the words "Help Wanted" was taped up just below. He liked books; being surrounded by them all day wouldn't be so bad.

He pushed the door open, hearing soft chimes as he did so. Seeing no one at first, William called out, "Hello?"

An elderly man came out of the back of the shop and peered at William through rheumy eyes. "Can I help you?"

"I saw your sign on the door," William explained. "I thought I might be of some assistance."

The man seemed to consider that for a moment. "So you need a job?"

"I'd like one," William replied.

"Huh." The man gave him another searching look. "My name's Daniel. Why don't you come on back?"

William followed him into the back room, which appeared to serve as an office. The shop itself was small, although the number of books stacked anywhere there was a level surface probably caused it to look smaller than it actually was. "William," he introduced himself.

"I can't pay much," Daniel warned. "But my kids have been getting on my case for a while now, telling me I ought to have help. I'd like to be able to visit them when I want, so I'll need someone I can rely on."

William smiled, the expression tinged with irony. "I think you'll find me reliable."

Daniel didn't look convinced. "Why would you want to work here?" he asked. "Suits me, but it's quiet, and it's not an exciting job."

"I've had quite enough excitement," William replied.

"It won't be full time," Daniel said. "Not unless I'm out of town."

"That doesn't concern me," William assured him.

Daniel still didn't appear persuaded. "You a student?" he asked.

"No," William replied. "There have been a number of changes in my life recently." The explanation was purposefully vague. "I need something to do while I figure out what my next step might be."

"You got any references?"

"Not as such," William admitted. "But there are those who will vouch for me."

"Yeah, alright," Daniel said abruptly. "We'll give it a try."

William nodded. "Thank you."

Daniel shrugged. "Thank me later once we've figured out if we can stand each other's company."

~~~~~

Giles put down the phone wearily. He had been trying to convince the Council that they ought to be paying the Slayer a salary; Giles knew that Buffy could only do so much for so long. There was no doubt that the combination of a full time job and Slaying, not to mention taking care of Dawn, was taking its toll on Buffy, and he feared that she could not last much longer under the weight of her responsibilities.

There might not be much that he could do, but he would help in whatever way he could.

So far, Giles had been able to make some progress; they were at least listening to his arguments, rather than dismissing him out of hand.

"Hello, Rupert."

Anya's voice broke him out of his melancholy thoughts. "Anya!" he said, surprised by her sudden appearance. "What are you doing here?"

Her bright smile dimmed, and she took a step back. "You said to pop in, and I was in the neighborhood. If this is a bad time..."

Giles cursed himself silently; he didn't mind Anya's arrival in the least, but seeing her suddenly had startled him out of his good manners. "No, it's not a bad time at all. You startled me, that's all."

"Oh, that's all right then," Anya said with a smile. "What were you working on?"

"I'm trying to get the Council to pay Buffy a pension," Giles replied. "So far, my success has been limited."

"Have you pointed out that the only other Slayer is in prison, and that it would save them money to take care of the Slayer that they have rather than paying to train a new one?" Anya asked, practical as always. "An effective tactic in getting people to spend money is to point out that it will save them money in the long run."

Anya would know, but Giles hadn't been born yesterday. That had been one of the first things he'd pointed out to the Council, but they were still stalling. "I have tried that tactic, but they have never paid a Slayer before, and tradition seems to be stronger."

Anya snorted. "Just because you've always done something one way doesn't mean you can't do things a different way. I had to change the way I did vengeance over the centuries; you'd be surprised at how few people wish for disembowelment these days."

Giles cleared his throat, unwilling to think about the implications of that statement. The idea of embarking on a relationship—if that's what was truly going on—with a vengeance demon was a little frightening, particularly when she was still engaged in vengeance. He knew that he had no right to ask Anya to give it up, however; he had no hold over her, and no right to make ultimatums.

Figuring out the ethics of their whatever-it-was could wait until later.

"Would you like a cup of tea while you're here?" he asked, wanting to get off the subjects of vengeance and evisceration.

"That would be nice," Anya said brightly.

Giles wondered how to broach the subject without the question seeming strange. "I was wondering if you'd seen Spike lately."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "You mean William?"

He covered his confusion by pouring the tea. "Yes, of course."

"Not that there's much difference," Anya continued. "About the only thing that changes when you go back to being human is that your purpose is gone."

Giles frowned. "I don't think I understand."

Anya gave him a look that said she thought he was being purposely obtuse. "How did you feel when you weren't a Watcher anymore?"

"I see." Giles considered that for a moment. "Then you don't believe that Spike—excuse me—William has a soul?"

"What does a soul have to do with anything?" Anya asked. "Demons have souls."

Giles blinked. "What?"

"Demons have souls," Anya said patiently. "What do you think makes a demon, a demon?"

"I don't think I understand," Giles said. "I was under the impression..."

Anya rolled her eyes expressively. "Oh, your Council, always thinking that they know all the metaphysical answers. Human souls might be different than demon souls, but it's the same principle."

"But what about vampires?" Giles asked. "Angel and Angelus were two very different creatures."

"Vampires are weird," Anya admitted. "They're a mix of demon and human, and no one really knows where the human part goes when the demon takes over. Most demons suspect that it stays put, which is why no one really likes vampires."

"Oh." Giles sat back in his chair, trying to digest that bit of information. The possibility that there might be a black and white answer to the question of what constituted a demon seemed faint.

Anya sighed. "Really, you humans make such a big deal out of a soul when that has so little to do with anything."

"Really?" Giles asked, suddenly itching to know Anya's opinion on the subject. It had been easy to forget that she had seen nearly twelve centuries before she'd become human again. Now, however, she was Anyanka again, and it was impossible not to recognize her expertise in this sort of area. "What is the important thing, then?"

"That depends on your point of view," Anya replied. "But from your perspective, I suppose it boils down to what someone does. You don't know what kind of a person someone is until you've seen them in action." Her brow furrowed and she cocked her head to the side, as though hearing something. "I should go. I've got work to do." She stood, smiling at him. "Thank you for the tea," Anya said politely. "I enjoyed our conversation."

She was gone in the next moment, leaving Giles to puzzle over the information she'd given him. While he wasn't sure yet what difference it would make, he had the feeling that what she'd said could change everything.

~~~~~

The improvement in his mood could be measured in millimeters—assuming that a mood could be measured in length. Xander still thought that death would probably be an improvement over his depression, but he could now make it through a day of work without breaking down, and he'd cut back to five beers a night, rather than six.

Five just took the edge off.

Xander didn't drink every night; that would mean that he had a problem. Every night that either Willow or Buffy didn't show up, however, his only respite was in a bottle or a can; it didn't really matter, as long as the pain was dulled a bit.

There was no way he could keep this up for long, but Xander wasn't planning on drinking every night for the rest of his life. He wasn't going to become his father.

But he didn't know any other way to get over Anya.

He had decided to get out for the evening and take his drinking somewhere else; the Bronze seemed the only alternative to an empty apartment.

The club was crowded, and he looked over the teenagers that filled the place, remembering when that had been him. When his highest goal was to get laid.

Yeah, that had turned out to be so much fun.

At least he could buy his own beer these days; that was about the only thing he could say for getting older. "Can I get a Bud?"

Xander took the bottle with a nod of thanks, remembering to leave a tip; although his days as a bartender had been short-lived, he still remembered how much that job had sucked. He wondered what it said that no one asked for his I.D. these days.

"One beer, and a Diet Coke, please."

He turned at the familiar voice, surprised to see Spike there. Xander could taste the hot rage that rose up, sharp and bitter.

"Spike."

William turned to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"You're the one that did this to me."

Recognition dawned in William's eyes. "Xander." He raised an eyebrow, his expression sardonic. "If you'll remember, I wasn't the man who left his bride at the altar."

"You're the one who made the wish," Xander replied, taking a step closer.

"William? Is anything wrong?"

Tara's presence cooled Xander's ire. Even if he'd been inclined to beat the newly-human Spike to a bloody pulp, he wasn't going to do it in front of Tara.

Hell, he probably wouldn't have done it anyway.

"Xander was just reintroducing himself," William said evenly, meeting Xander's eyes with a steady gaze.

Tara looked between the two men, and Xander found himself unable to meet her eyes.

"Do you want to come sit with us?" she asked, motioning behind her. "We're at that table over there. It's just the two of us, if you do."

Tara led William away with a hand on his arm, leaving Xander to stare after them. Although he had no hard feelings against Tara, there was no way he was going to drink with Spike.

He glanced around the crowded club, seeing groups and couples, but no one was drinking alone tonight. Xander stared at his bottle of beer; he didn't particularly want to be drinking alone, either.

Winding his way through the bodies and tables, he found Tara and Spike sitting at a table for two, with a third chair already pulled up for a very tight fit. After a moment's hesitation, Xander sat down.

"How are you?" Tara asked him.

Xander shrugged. "Fine. I'm fine." It was a lie, but he didn't want to spill the truth. "So, what are you guys doing here?"

"We just thought it would be nice to get a drink," Tara replied.

Xander frowned suspiciously. "What? You and Spike are together now?"

Both of them started laughing at the same time. "Xander, I'm gay," Tara said. "I think you already know that."

Xander shifted uncomfortably. "Willow said you guys are living together now."

"We're sharing expenses," William corrected him.

Xander couldn't fight back the sneer. "So you're going to have to join the working world, huh, Spike? No more stealing money from me or Buffy."

The other man drew himself up. "It's William, and Buffy paid me for my help; I never stole money from her." William smirked. "And stealing money from you is one of the few things I don't feel sorry about."

Xander's face darkened. "I can't believe you can sit there and look smug. You're a murderer. If Buffy had been smart, she would have dusted you a long time ago."

"Xander, that's enough." Tara's sharp voice cut through his tirade; he'd never heard her use that tone before. "You have no idea what you're talking about. If you can't be civil, you don't have to sit here."

There was a moment when Xander actually considered apologizing; the side of him that recognized when he was screwing things up royally knew that he ought to apologize, that Spike or William or whatever the hell he wanted to be called wasn't responsible for the state of his life.

That side of him wasn't currently in control, however.

"You're always going to be a monster," Xander said, wanting to strike out from his own pain, to make someone else hurt as much as he did. "It doesn't matter if you have a heartbeat or not, or if you have a soul or not. You're always going to be worthless."

Leaving his beer on the table, he left the Bronze, stopping outside the doors.

Funny, but he didn't feel any better.