Chapter 10: Reliving History
“…Just as a pure line describes the dove’s curve,/as the fire honors and nourishes peace,/so you and I made this heavenly outcome./The mind and love live naked in this house./Furious dreams, rivers of bitter certainty,/decisions harder than the dreams of a hammer/flowed into the lovers’ double cup,/until those twins were lifted into balance/on the scale: the mind and love, like two wings./-So this transparency was built.” ~Pablo Neruda, “Sonnet LIV”
“Buffy, were you planning on doing anything for Spike’s birthday?”
The Slayer looked over at her mother, surprised. “Huh?”
“Spike’s birthday,” Joyce said patiently. She was relaxing with a cup of tea, enjoying the domesticity of watching her oldest clean up the kitchen while Dawn worked on homework upstairs. She had been feeling better on and off recently. Sometimes she had no trouble working a full day at the gallery. Other times, Spike ran her off the premises as soon as she arrived. “At least, the birth date that he gave me on his employment records. It’s coming up this week. I had Spike bring some files over so I could work from home even when I wasn’t feeling up to going in to the gallery.”
Buffy blinked, feeling like she’d just been hit over the head with a two-by-four. She was a bad girlfriend. She had no idea when her boyfriend’s birthday was. She hadn’t even bothered to find out. Feeling a flush of shame rise in her face, she gave her mom a panicked look. “Please tell me I didn’t completely miss it.”
Joyce shook her head. “No, we still have a few days. I just wasn’t sure if it was his real birthday or if it had something to do with the date he, you know, became human again. I think it’s been about a year.”
It had been a year, Buffy realized, startled. This time last year she’d been busy with the Initiative, dating Riley, and being a bitch to a newly-human Spike. Of course, the ex-vampire hadn’t actually shown up at Giles’ apartment until after the holidays, but he’d spent weeks in the Initiative labs. This would be his first Christmas since he became human again.
This would be his first birthday in a long time, and Buffy had almost missed it, too caught up in her own life to even think about it.
She was indeed a very bad girlfriend. “I’m glad you remembered, Mom,” Buffy admitted. “It completely slipped my mind.”
Joyce shrugged. “Well, Tara had her birthday last week, and it just reminded me that I should probably check and see what the official date was. I’d planned on doing something for the unofficial date, but it looks like they’re pretty closely connected.” She gave her daughter a warm smile. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I know you’ve been busy recently, trying to get settled back in and with your Slayer obligations. I’m sure I can talk to Giles and we can all figure something out together.”
Buffy nodded, already trying to come up with a plan. What did you get a guy when he turned one hundred and something?
~~~~~
Spike peered out the office door when the bell rang to see who had entered. He smiled at Dawn in greeting. “What brings you by, Niblet? School done for the day?”
“Yes,” she replied sullenly. “It’s so not fair.”
He cocked an eyebrow, turning away from his computer screen. “What’s not fair, pet?”
“Buffy!” Dawn exploded. “She’s all over my case now that she’s at home. She wouldn’t even let me go over to Melissa’s house for dinner! And she lives across the street! It’s not fair!”
Spike could see the exclamation points flying out of her mouth, and he bit back a sigh. It most certainly wasn’t fair, but fairness wasn’t the Slayer’s concern at this point. Keeping her sister safe was. “Bit, you know with this new big bad in town your sister wants to be careful. Your safety is important.”
“Yeah, well what about my social life?” Dawn demanded. “She was always complaining about her lack in that area. You’d think she’d be happy I at least have friends.”
Spike gave her a rueful look. “Buffy’s happy. She just wants to protect you.”
“It sucks to be the sister of the Slayer,” was Dawn’s considered opinion. “I never get to do anything. If Buffy wasn’t my sister, it wouldn’t matter.”
Spike nearly winced. If Buffy wasn’t Dawn’s sister, Dawn wouldn’t exist, but he couldn’t very well tell the girl that. He understood Buffy’s policy on not telling Dawn about her true identity. It would be a lot for the girl to take in, but at the same time, it would help her understand the gravity of the situation. And she needed to understand. Not knowing, Dawn could end up getting herself into some very nasty trouble without even trying.
Besides, when she did find out-and Spike had no doubt that Dawn would-she would probably freak a lot more than if she’d been told under controlled circumstances.
It wasn’t his call to make, though.
“If your sister wasn’t the Slayer, you probably wouldn’t have met me, Niblet,” Spike pointed out, hoping to get a smile. “An’ how sad a life would that have been?”
Dawn rolled her eyes, an unwilling smile playing around the edges of her mouth. “I guess.”
“You want to tell me what you’re doin’ here then?”
She shrugged. “Buffy said I could go straight to the Magic Box to do homework or here, because Mom wasn’t feeling good again this morning. Buffy said I wasn’t supposed to bother her.”
Spike was sure that was true. He also knew that the Slayer wanted someone keeping tabs on Dawn at all times so she didn’t have the chance to run off and get herself into trouble. He’d offered to help with that just the day before. “Be happy to have you here, Niblet. ‘s been slow today. You work on your homework, an’ then maybe later I’ll have you help out with some of the stuff in the back. How’s that?”
Dawn brightened. “Will you help me with my Wordsworth paper? I so totally don’t get what the heck he’s talking about.”
“‘course, luv.” Spike watched the girl for a moment as she unpacked her bag. There were times when she reminded him so much of his sister that he could almost see the image superimposed; the face of the girl who had died so long ago over the one who had been created so recently.
It really didn’t matter to Spike that she wasn’t truly Buffy’s sister. He had accepted his love for Dawn a long time ago, knowing he had no blood tie. That she was an innocent pawn in all of this simply intensified his desire to protect her. To save her.
As he had not been able to save his sister, or his mother, or even himself.
~~~~~
Spike knew what day it was, of course, although he wasn’t sure anyone else understood its significance. He wasn’t altogether sure if Giles’ dating of his identification papers had anything to do with when he was turned human again or if the similarity was by chance alone. It was hard to attribute it to chance when there was only a two-day difference.
He hadn’t said anything about it, not even to Buffy. He wasn’t certain that Buffy remembered when he had shown up at Giles’ door, and he’d been in the Initiative labs for weeks by that time, so it had been later when he’d turned up. Spike didn’t expect her to remember the exact date of his being alive all over again.
Since there really didn’t seem to be any plans in the works to celebrate either his birthday-on-paper or his return-to-life, he was trying hard not to care.
It wasn’t working.
His early morning run took him by the grave this time, and he slowed and stopped to pay his respects. It seemed only right. “H’lo, mum,” he murmured. “Guess you could say it’s my birthday today. ‘s strange, but I don’t even know how old I am. Am I twenty-five or twenty-six? Or maybe ‘m a hundred an’ forty-six. Don’t s’pose it really matters.”
He removed some of the dead leaves from the grave. “You remember how you used to celebrate my birthday? You always made sure there was a gift an’ I got my favorite foods. It wasn’t much, not like the Scoobies do it now, but it was always good.
“I miss you,” he confessed. “Wish you could tell me that you’re okay. Wish you could tell me that ‘m doin’ okay after a year of bein’ human. Some days, it doesn’t seem worth it, an’ then I feel guilty for not bein’ more grateful for the second chance.”
He shivered in the cool air. Even in California, the land of eternal sun, the temperatures started to cool in November. While shorts and a t-shirt were fine for a run, the slight breeze reminded him that he needed to keep moving.
Slowly, Spike stood, remembering briefly stopping here after another run, his mad escape. Things were better now. He had a place.
He just had to keep telling himself that.
~~~~~
“I really appreciate you helping with this, Rupert,” Joyce said. “I don’t think I’m quite up to planning a party on my own.”
Giles looked over at Joyce with concern. “And the doctors still don’t know anything?”
“They’re talking about more tests right now,” she confessed, “but no one seems to know what’s going on. I still wanted to be able to do something for William, though. You don’t mind picking up the cake?”
“Of course not,” Giles replied, putting the bag of party supplies down on the counter. If the truth were to be told, the significance of the date had completely slipped his mind until Joyce reminded him. What with the new menace, discovering Dawn’s real identity, plus the running of the Magic Box-well, Giles would have probably forgotten his own head most days if it wasn’t attached.
Really, it was no excuse. He would have felt simply horrible had Spike’s birthday gone by unnoticed. “I have to admit I hadn’t given it much thought.” Giles gave her a fond kiss. “What would we do without you?”
“Fall apart, probably,” Joyce said lightly, and both of them did their best to ignore the shadow that briefly fell. The possibility that they would have to do without her no longer seemed so unlikely.
Quickly changing the subject, Giles asked, “And where is Spike? I would have thought he’d be here.”
Joyce frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. I know he was at the gallery earlier this evening, since he called to ask a question, but Buffy said she hadn’t seen him since she went by to pick up Dawn. I’m not sure if he was planning on coming by tonight or not.”
“And Buffy’s out on patrol,” Giles stated, concerned. With this new Glory problem, he hated having the Slayer patrolling by herself. Even though there would be little Spike could do with mere his human strength against such a formidable foe, his presence might be all that was needed. Giles sighed. “Well, perhaps I’ll ring Spike a little later and make certain he’s alright. He’s seemed a bit withdrawn lately.”
Joyce nodded, concern shading her eyes. “I hope he’s not doing too much. I wouldn’t be able to keep the gallery open without him, but…” She trailed off. “I’m sure I worry too much.”
“I believe that’s what mothers do,” Giles said lightly. He could see Joyce’s point, but Spike had seemed much more cheerful since the run-in with Tara’s family. Spike was busy, but so were they all.
~~~~~
It had been a strange day, Spike thought as he twirled his stake. Not that anything completely out of the ordinary had happened, except maybe for that short stop in the church on his way home. But it had been a normal day, really.
The feeling of the day had been different, however. Like it wasn’t quite all real; it had almost a dream-like quality. Maybe it was just the strange realization that he had spent the last year as a human, when it both felt like forever and no time at all.
There were days he wished he was still cutting a swathe of destruction across the continent of his choice and days that the idea made him nauseous.
Maybe it was that feeling which had prompted him to stop inside the church on his way back to his apartment. He’d planned on changing his clothes and then finding Buffy on patrol, but the lights inside the building had drawn him.
Or maybe it was ancient habit, left over from his human days when his mother had been ill. Perhaps his prayers had done nothing, but there was a saying about finding God in a foxhole he’d heard. You had a tendency to pray in a crisis, and Joyce could use something, even if he had doubts about its efficacy.
The sanctuary was empty when he entered, and Spike walked up the aisle toward the altar hesitantly. The last church he’d been in had been the one he’d used to cure Drusilla, and that ritual had been unholy indeed. Even now that the crosses and holy water held no danger for him, Spike still didn’t feel as though he belonged. As though it wasn’t right for him to be present.
Besides, what could a man such as he say to God? Sorry?
“Can I help you?”
Spike whirled to face an older man in a clerical collar. The minister was probably close to sixty, and his faded blue eyes were open and warm. “No, don’t think so.” He hesitated, then shook his head more firmly. “I should go, I don’t-“
The minister stepped aside as Spike hurried towards the door. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” he called out. “It’s what I’m here for.”
Spike paused in his flight. Perhaps prayers didn’t do any good at all, but he supposed they didn’t do any harm. “I-” He turned to face the man. “I have a friend who’s sick. It’s-maybe you could pray for her? She’s-she’s been like my own mum, and…”
“You know, just because I wear a clerical collar doesn’t make my prayers more potent,” the minister said gently. “Perhaps you would feel better if you prayed.”
Spike shook his head. “Don’t know whether I believe in God anymore. An’ even if I did, ‘m not sure he’d listen to me, not after the things I’ve done.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” When he saw Spike hesitate and inch towards the door again, he offered, “It would be between the two of us. My name is Michael.”
Spike had no intention of telling this man anything at all. Yet, he had questions. He’d seen so much, done so much, been drenched in so much blood, that he had difficulty holding onto his childhood belief in a good God. Surely a good God would not have allowed a creature such as himself to exist, let alone wreak havoc.
His mother had believed, however, and he had turned her. He rather wanted an expert opinion on whether or not he’d damned her for eternity. “D’you believe in evil?”
Michael watched him for a moment, and then said quietly, “I assume you’re talking about vampires, in which case, I think this calls for a drink.”
He’d known about vampires and demons. Michael had even aided a few exorcisms in his day. As he explained, “Once you’ve presided over the burial of a young man who returns to visit a few days later with the face of a demon-well, it’s difficult not to believe. I typically try and convince people to cremate their loved ones these days.”
He’d been fascinated by Spike’s story of returning to humanity, and had been sympathetic to his struggles with guilt. When Spike had finally gotten up the nerve to ask about the destination of a vampire’s soul, the minister had been forthright. “Honestly, I don’t know, William.” Like Joyce, he’d preferred to use Spike’s human name. “Not many people who know about the existence of vampires can agree on the eternal destination of the soul. You seem to have regained your soul with your humanity, so apparently it can be recalled, but we know little more than that for certain.”
Michael frowned, shaking his head. “If you want a concrete answer, I can’t give you one. What I do believe is that neither you nor your mother are responsible for the demon’s actions or your own turning. From what you’ve said, you didn’t have much of a choice, nor did you give her one. A pious, God-fearing woman like your mother will not likely spend an eternity in torment.”
Spike searched the other man’s face to gauge his sincerity. “Really?”
“Really,” Michael replied. “As for yourself, I understand why you might feel guilt and remorse, William, but you are not the demon.”
Spike shook his head. “You don’t understand. ‘m still-it’s still there. I could-“
“You could,” Michael agreed. “Perhaps more than when you were human the first time, but that is true of anyone. Instead, you are doing your best by your friends and family. And I cannot say that of every man.”
Spike nodded shakily, then stood, looking at his watch. “I should be goin’. My girl will be wonderin’ where I’m at.”
Michael stood as well, offering his hand. “Come by and we’ll chat again. Whatever your beliefs might be now, if I can be of any help at all, it would be my pleasure.” He smiled slightly. “You know, you are every minister’s dream of a success story: a man snatched from darkness who desires to do good. It is rare and wonderful indeed.”
With those words echoing in his ears, Spike had left to find his Slayer. Oddly enough, he did feel better. Michael had reminded him of the old minister in charge of his parish some hundred-odd years before. That man had greeted him every Sunday that he’d gone to church, assuring the young William that he would be praying for his mother. At the time, it had been a comfort.
Hearing those same words now brought a similar comfort, almost in spite of himself.
Spike sighed, looking around. He’d been to the typical haunts and hadn’t seen Buffy. It was late, and he had another early day at the gallery. Since Dawn was spending the bulk of her afternoons with him, he hadn’t nearly as much time to do paperwork other than in the hours before he opened. He should just go back to his apartment and-
A sharp cry broke his train of thought, and Spike started running towards the sound. He didn’t have a clue how it had happened, but seeing Buffy impaled by her own stake galvanized him to action. Reacting on instinct, Spike plunged his own weapon into the vampire’s back, sending its dust floating over the stunned Slayer.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Spike murmured, assessing the wound.
Buffy shook her head. “No hospitals.” At Spike’s look of protest, she set her jaw. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t want to worry Mom right now.”
It was a winning argument, and Spike nodded tightly, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Can you make it back to my place?”
“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy said, struggling for levity. “Of course I can make it.”
They walked back to Spike’s place in grim silence, both understanding how close of a call she’d just had. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you sooner,” Spike murmured as they reached his door.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” Buffy snapped. “It was not your fault. He was-” She broke off. He was just a random vampire, like a thousand others she’d staked with no problem. The last time she’d come this close to death was when she’d lost her Slayer-powers. Not even Sunday had posed such a challenge. This particular vampire should have been as easily defeated.
Spike unlocked the door and supported her inside, too caught up in his own self-recriminations to pay attention to Buffy’s incomplete thought. “We’ll get you cleaned up, an’ then I’ll give Joyce a call.”
Buffy looked at him, alarmed. “Spike, the whole reason I didn’t go to the hospital was because I didn’t want to worry my mom.”
“You’re not goin’ back home tonight,” Spike said firmly. “It’s late, an’ you’re tired. I’ll just tell her you got a bit banged up on patrol an’ that I’m lookin’ after you.” He sat her down on his couch. “You want to worry her by not comin’ home and not callin’?”
She rolled her eyes at his high-handedness. “No. Fine.” In silence, Buffy watched as Spike expertly bandaged the wound with gentle hands. Despite the pain, the feel of skin on skin sent shivers through her body.
A bolt of heat went through her when Spike gave her a knowing look. “You’ll need to avoid strenuous activity for the next few days, luv. It’ll take some time even for Slayer-healing to work on this.”
“Too bad,” she murmured. “I guess you’ll have to wait for your birthday present then.” At his surprised look, Buffy smiled, mentally thanking her mom. “What? Did you think I’d forgotten?”
He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “No. Well, maybe, but it doesn’t matter.”
It was a lie, and Buffy knew it. Her guy was so transparent sometimes, and no one liked to have their birthday forgotten. “We’re celebrating on the day. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I didn’t want you to think we’d just forgotten.”
Spike smiled slightly, looking away. “Today’s the anniversary of-“
“I know.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Spike replied.
He got her settled into his bed, relishing the opportunity to take care of her, and still feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there to prevent her injury in the first place. Moreover, it gave him pleasure, and a sense of satisfaction, to be the one she was relying upon. A pleasure to be her strength when he sometimes felt so superfluous.
Dialing the familiar number, Spike was somehow not surprised when Giles answered. “‘s Spike. Just wanted to let you know I ran into Buffy on patrol, an’ she got a bit banged up. ‘m keepin’ her here tonight.”
Giles voice was concerned. “Is she alright?”
“She will be,” Spike replied evasively. “You’ll tell Joyce?”
The Watcher sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything more out of Spike. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll stop by the shop,” Spike replied. “Joyce said somethin’ about closin’ early tomorrow.” They said their goodbyes, and then Spike hung up the phone, looking towards his room where Buffy lay waiting.
He felt a stab of fear as he realized that he might be mortal, but Buffy was the Slayer, and Slayer life-expectancies were relatively short. He’d almost lost her tonight. It was too close.
~~~~~
“I just don’t get it, Giles.” Buffy and her Watcher were going through the Watchers’ diaries, trying to find something about the previous Slayers’ last battles. “I’m in the best shape of my life, I don’t think I could train harder if I wanted to, and that vamp almost had me last night. If Spike hadn’t been there…”
Giles cleared his throat. “Well, we can be grateful that Spike found you in time, then.”
Buffy tossed down another book, sending a puff of dust up. It had been a quiet morning in the shop. Spike had dropped her off on his way to the gallery, assuring her that he would meet her there later. “None of these have anything about the Slayer’s last battle, Giles. There’s nothing in here that can help me.”
“Yes, well, since no one was left to talk about the last battles, it’s no wonder there isn’t any information,” he replied, his tone slightly sharp.
Buffy gave him a dirty look. “Well, what about the Watchers? If you guys weren’t so-I don’t know, maybe we’d have more information.”
“I imagine they felt it too painful to talk about,” Giles said. He met his Slayer’s eyes in a moment of solidarity and understanding. A thought struck him. “Buffy, there is someone who has been with two Slayers at their ends.”
Buffy frowned, and then her eyes widened. “Spike. But Giles…” she trailed off, knowing that asking Spike to recount the battles risked re-opening fresh wounds. The Slayer didn’t much like asking her ex-vampire boyfriend for details about his past. It seemed like rubbing salt into the wound. “I guess I’ll talk to him tonight.”
~~~~~
She bided her time, waiting until Spike had finished going over Dawn’s English paper to approach him. He was spending most of his evenings at the Summers’ residence now, helping with homework, making dinner, and just generally making himself indispensable. There were times that Buffy looked at him and wondered when she could do without him.
She watched as Spike finished proofreading Dawn’s paper, giving the girl a fond smile as he returned it to her. “‘s good, Bit. There were just a couple places where you could improve it. You’re developin’ into quite the writer.”
“Thanks, Spike,” Dawn said, beaming, and giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs. As she passed Buffy, they exchanged a knowing look. Buffy had enlisted Dawn in the cover-up of her wound, and the girl had seemed excited to be in on the Slayer-action, as she put it. Actually, Buffy had a feeling that her sister just enjoyed being included even peripherally, and she made herself a mental note to try that tactic more often. She liked it when Dawn was actually cooperative.
“How you feelin’, luv?” Spike asked quietly, his strong hands starting to knead her shoulders.
She sighed in contentment. “A lot better, especially with you doing the magic fingers routine.”
“Anything for my girl.” They stood in silence for a while, Buffy just basking in the sensation of Spike’s hands on her, before she decided it was time to bite the bullet.
“I need a favor.”
“Anything, Buffy.” His tone was fervent, and she knew he meant it. He really would do anything for her, and sometimes that fact was frightening.
She sighed, turning to face him. “I need you to tell me how you killed those Slayers.”
The effect on him was immediate; Spike’s face closed down, and he retreated behind a stiff mask. “Buffy-“
“I need to know, Spike,” Buffy insisted. “I promise, I’m not trying to hurt you, but that vampire almost got me last night. I should have been able to dust him, no problem, and he beat me. If you hadn’t come by-“
“I should’ve been there sooner,” Spike said harshly. “I should’ve-“
“I’m the Slayer, Spike,” she reminded him. “This is my job. I need to know why I couldn’t do it last night. The Watchers’ diaries don’t say anything about the Slayers’ final battles. You’re the only one who can give me that kind of information.”
That fact didn’t make him feel any better. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “Where do you want to do this?”
“Does it matter?” Buffy countered, knowing he was uncomfortable, but not knowing how to comfort him. She wasn’t happy with the subject matter herself.
“Here, then.” Spike sat back down at the dining room table where he’d been sitting earlier. “First Slayer I killed was in China, durin’ the Boxer Rebellion. We fought with swords, an’ she was good.” He touched his scarred eyebrow. “That’s where I got this. She cut me, an’ I killed her.”
It wasn’t enough. The dry account left everything to be desired, and Buffy shook her head impatiently. “I need it all, Spike. A full account. Don’t try and spare my feelings.”
Spike wanted to yell at her, to reply that it wasn’t her feelings he was trying to spare, but instead he complied. He described the fight in all its gory details, warming to the tale as he remembered what that battle had been like. That had been one of the best nights of his existence, and it still was. The exhilaration, the beauty of the Chinese Slayer’s movements, the victory as sweet as her blood-he remembered it vividly and with less remorse than was proper.
He did leave out the bit about he and Dru getting it on right next to the dead body, however. Spike knew without being told that it wasn’t something his present girlfriend needed to know.
Buffy sensed something in the tale, however. She knew that he had enjoyed it; the emotion was still readable in his eyes. “And the other one?”
Spike ignored the touch of ice in her tone, incapable of looking her in the eye. He had changed, had come so far to be thrust back into the mind of his vampire-self. What hurt the most was how easy it was to go back, to recall the exact emotions, the movements, the power. “Was 1977,” he said slowly. “She was-she was a lot like you. The Chinese girl, she was precise, technically perfect, but there wasn’t any fire in her eyes. The New York Slayer, though, now she was bloody incredible. You remind me of her,” he said, looking at her suddenly, the past reflected in his eyes.
His tone almost reverent, Spike told of the battle on the subway, told of snapping her neck and taking her coat. It was, perhaps, his tone that gave him away. “You got off on it.”
The accusation in her tone made him angry. “You asked, Buffy,” he replied. “An’ yeah, I did. I was a vampire. What did you expect?” At the look on her face, his breath huffed out in disgust. “Look, Slayer, you’re askin’ the wrong question. You’re askin’ why they died. Right question is what makes you different? I said it the first time I fought you, when your mum hit me over the head with an ax. Slayers don’t have friends and family, but you do. You got people that tie you to the world-your friends, your mum, your Watcher, your sister.”
He stood, impatience written in every line of his stance. “Every Slayer is a little bit in love with death, every Slayer gets to a point where they want it. That’s when someone-or something-like me steps in an’ gives it to ’em.”
“You’re proud of it,” Buffy murmured, recognizing the vampire she’d known in the man in front of her. She had thought she knew him, and now all that knowledge was called into question. “You’re still proud of it.”
Spike smiled. “I cared, Slayer. I had a bit of a death-wish myself; they just wanted it more than me. Of all the kills I made, an’ there were many, those Slayers were the fairest. We fought as equals, an’ they had just as much chance to win as I did. So yeah, I still am a bit proud of it. I still remember how it felt. I felt better at those moments than I ever had. Probably than I ever will.”
Buffy shook her head. “You’re still not telling me-“
“You’re worried ’bout your mum,” Spike said, cutting her off. “You’re worried, an’ your mind’s not completely focused on your work. But Joyce’ll get better, an’ you’ll be fine. You haven’t found your death-wish yet, luv. Maybe you never will. You got enough people holdin’ you here.”
Buffy swallowed. “You didn’t include yourself in the list.”
Spike gave her a hard look, seeing the distaste still strong in her expression. “You includin’ me, Slayer? Best get used to what I was, what I still am. ‘m not a saint, an’ I never will be. Got too much blood on my hands, I remember too much. Maybe I got a second chance, but you’ve got to be able to deal with it. Let me know, pet. I’ll be around.”
Buffy watched him walk away, and she didn’t know if she wanted to call him back.