Chapter II
Chapter Notes: A/N: There’s every chance I’ll need to make corrections later, as I’m still waiting for my precious elizabuffy. Alas, elizabuffy has gone on holiday (alas for me, so, so good for her…she really needed to get away). And being impatient and antsy, I wanna post. So there it is.
He had stepped into someone else’s life. The second his feet carried him out of the Bronze, his existence merged with the unknown, consumed and driven by powers beyond his reckoning. He became a stranger to himself. He was no longer Spike, William the Bloody, a vampire molded from one of the oldest and most revered Orders in all history. He departed from his body, his reputation, his story, and found himself plotted in a world where the rules he knew by heart were no longer applicable.
After all, there was no way Buffy would be at his side if he was still in his own life. No way her hand would be in his, their fingers entwined, their palms rubbing together in ways which made him tremble to the core.
They walked in companionable silence, sharing few words but somehow reassured by the quiet. It was something she needed. The world was bright and harsh and deafening, a fact not aided by her friends’ constant bloody yammering—constantly demanding if she was all right and flying off the nearest end when she didn’t provide the answer they wanted. Her friends couldn’t understand her need for silence; it was something only accessible to those who had ever been dead.
“I want ice-cream,” Buffy said suddenly. She spoke with distinct authority, lending him to believe she’d mulled this point over with comical seriousness before reaching her decision.
Spike nodded as though they went for ice-cream all the time and this was not at all an unusual occurrence. “The malt shop on the Square should still be open. Point of fact, all the bloody shops downtown have turned into regular demon hangs. Guess the wankers in this pissant town finally caught on that they’ll have jus’ as much clientele at night as—”
His voice cut off abruptly. Buffy was staring at him.
“What?” he asked, feeling at once very self-conscious.
There was a short pause before she found her voice, but nothing could keep disbelief from leaking into her eyes. “We’re…” She pursed her lips, her brow furrowing adorably. “Just like that?”
“Just like what?”
“I say what I want…and it’s…no questions?”
Spike arched a brow. “Don’ tell me your mates would deny you sodding ice-cream.”
“No, I…” Buffy fell silent a minute longer, palpably searching for words. “I guess I’m not used to my every action not being…I dunno, dissected. Ever since I got back, and God, even more so now…it’s like everything I say I want to do comes with a Q&A, free of charge.”
“They’d really grill you on why you want tasty treats?”
She met his eyes and said in a flat deadpan, “We had a meeting after I said I wanted to order a pizza.”
The part of him that wanted to laugh was trampled by astonishment. “Pull the other one.”
“I think when I make a point to mention something I want or want to do, they interpret it as something that would make me happy. They’re trying to figure out what it is that makes me happy about…whatever…so they can recreate it.” She made a face. “Strange in how I thought my wanting a pizza was just because my tummy was making rumblies and Will hadn’t gone to the store this week. As it is, after I’m through playing Twenty Questions…”
“There’s no fun to be had, if there was to begin with.”
Buffy nodded. “Exactly.”
Spike grinned and squeezed her hand, a small thrill racing down his spine when she didn’t pull away. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna assume you’re in the mood for somethin’ cold an’ sugary and leave it at that. Malt shop’s this way.”
The words might as well have been spoken in a different tongue for as well as he understood them. In his many fantasies concerning Buffy and what he’d once felt had to be the inevitable pinnacle of their blossoming relationship, he’d never assumed he would ever take her out on a normal date. One where he held her hand and opened doors for her and paid with money right from his pocket. Like he was a normal bloke and she a normal girl. As though they were two thoroughly ordinary people in an otherwise extraordinary world.
Spike couldn’t help but recall her reaction the first time he’d opened a door for her; something in her eyes betrayed she was recalling it as well. The incident had, of course, precluded the unfortunate episode wherein he’d chained her up and threatened to feed her to his ex. It had also been the night he made his feelings known—the night they officially embarked on this bizarre journey together.
And bitch of a night as it had been, it had done its part to bring him here. To holding her hand and opening doors for her and guiding her to the counter of a normal restaurant.
“Name your pleasure, kitten,” Spike said, nodding to the menu-wall and trying his damndest to keep all irony from his voice.
“Are you going to get anything?”
The question took him by surprise. None of her little Scooby pals, aside from the Slayer’s kid sister, ever offered him solid food. As it was, Spike hadn’t had ice-cream since the ’50s. He liked it enough, but his affinity for human food typically leaned toward whatever was the spiciest or whatever provided the best texture for blood.
Tonight was certainly a page from someone else’s life; he was still racing to reconcile fact and accept it. Buffy was here—she was with him and she wasn’t turning away. He was so bloody hopeful it was a date he nearly feared opening his mouth, lest he scream the word at her with a big question mark tacked on the end.
“Oh,” Buffy said, tugging on his arm. “The chunky monkey looks good.”
A peal of laughter rolled off his lips. “Whatever you want, love.”
“I meant for you.”
“’m not eating anything called ‘chunky monkey.’”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she retorted dryly. “Whatever bad ass reputation you had has been completely destroyed. You know this.”
“There are still limits.”
“Pansy.”
The look in her eyes was so wonderfully bright, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Right,” he said, puffing out his chest and stepping up to the counter, where some bite-sized teen not-so-patiently awaited their orders. “One…an’ I can’t believe I’m gonna say this…chunky monkey. An’ whatever the lady wants.”
Ten minutes later, they were seated at opposite ends of a rather cozy two-person booth, Spike inspecting his concoction of ice-cream, cookie-dough, and chocolate chunks with his spoon. Buffy hadn’t waited; the second they claimed their seats, she’d dived headfirst into her chocolate monstrosity. A towering brownie fudge sundae, topped with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. She attacked it with gusto.
“No way you’re eatin’ all of that.”
She perked a brow. “That a challenge or a statement?”
“’S as big as you are!”
“Yes, and I’m hungry.” Buffy poked her tongue out at him before treating herself to another bite. Then, almost placidly, she lowered her fork and folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”
“For what, sweetness?”
“Not…I dunno…for…” She licked her lips, her chest heaving with a long sigh. “For…so many…so many things…”
And just like that, he felt the shift. The change. The return to the not-so-pleasant but sorely needed words they’d traded under the stairs at the Bronze. There were things she needed to say, if only to hear the words take shape. If only to speak her feelings this once. She was owed it. God, she was owed it and so much more.
“For the longest time, I didn’t think…I…I didn’t think it’d…I felt like I was living in a nightmare, you know? Where everyone’s wearing a mask and…” Buffy broke off, probing her brownie with her fork. “They want me to be so normal.”
“You’re not built for normal,” Spike said absently. “You never were.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
“I stand by it.”
Buffy nodded, though whether or not in agreement he did not know. For a long minute she said nothing at all. Just sat, her beautiful eyes drawn and detached, searching aimlessly for a nameless something.
“You’re right,” she whispered, and had he not been sitting, Spike would have fallen arse backwards on the floor. These weren’t words the Slayer said often, and never to him. She continued, “I’m not. And I haven’t been for…I knew it. I knew it when I met with Angel.”
A frozen hand clamped around Spike’s unbeating heart, draining all warmth from his unliving body.
Buffy caught her words the second they left her lips. “Oh, I didn’t—”
“Slayer—”
“It was boring. Really, really boring.”
He was glad for her haphazard attempt to reassure him—if she hadn’t said anything, he would have; something harsh, molded out of wounded pride and a breaking heart. Something which would have rendered the night immediately over and sent them back to wherever they’d been before. Buffy’s apology, no matter that she couldn’t possibly mean it, calmed the raging demon within and gave him a small measure of peace.
It still hurt like a bitch, but her words implied she cared. And that was all he could truly ask.
“You don’ have to say—”
“I’m not just saying it.”
A dry, incredulous smile tugged on his lips. “Buffy, it’s…” He couldn’t quite force the words ‘all right’ into the air, because it wasn’t. And to him, with him, it never would be. But she had to know she didn’t need to walk on eggshells around him. He was a big boy. He could stomach the details if it meant looking at her.
“I mean it. I was bored stiff. It was awkward and…and when the hell have I ever said something just to spare your feelings?”
Her brows arched. She had a point.
“You and I don’t have that kind of relationship, Spike,” Buffy said, softer. “The kind where we say things to…and I don’t know what I would do if we did. You’re always…I count on you to be honest with me.”
“I am,” he said reflexively. As though it was the answer to a question.
She nodded. “When I say Angel was boring, I mean he was boring. The entire night was boring. It was awkward and forced and he kept checking his watch and he talked about Cordelia all night, if you can believe that.”
Spike blinked. “Angel an’ the cheerleader?”
“Apparently,” Buffy agreed with a shrug, her eyes growing distant again. “But I did…I did feel…in weird ways…like I stepped out of a fog. Talking with him brought me clarity. About him. About…about me. And…it’s so stupid. All of it. Him. My listening to him. All this…the past three years…”
“Slayer?”
“I keep listening to him. He called just to see how high I’d jump.” A harsh, unforgiving laugh rushed through her throat. “And I did. I jumped.”
“Buffy—”
“Because we’re not friends, right? We’ll either hate or love each other.” She shook her head. “We’re so different now. Different people. Different worlds. I think in my mind I’d always thought we’d…” Buffy pursed her lips self-consciously and glanced down. “But we won’t. Because we’re not…and I don’t want that anymore. I stopped wanting it and I didn’t know how or when…but…”
Spike drew in a breath and held it. He didn’t know what to say—if there was anything to say. The components of his brain were racing with both hope and incredulity, reminding him still that this wasn’t really his life. No, his life had stopped the second their lips parted at the Bronze. He was borrowing time. He was living in something else. Any second now, Buffy would return to herself. Any second now, he was going to find himself staring at an empty chair with only a whiff of her scent to tell him she’d been there at all.
But Buffy didn’t run. She sat. And slowly, she met his eyes.
“I only feel alive now,” she whispered, “when you look at me.”
Spike’s throat tightened and his eyes grew misty. Something swelled within his chest, expanding and threatening to burst.
If Buffy was aware she was in the process of changing his universe, she made no sign of it. Instead, she continued as though nothing extraordinary had happened. “You have such life,” she continued. “And when you look at me, you fill me with it.”
Somehow, he managed to find his voice. “And it scares you.”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s me.”
“Yes.”
She offered no apologies, and he was glad for it. It just proved what she’d already promised—that no matter what, he would have her honesty.
“There are things you need to hear,” Buffy continued cautiously. “Things you won’t like, but…things you need to hear. Things I need to say. If this is something you really want to work toward—”
“It is,” Spike insisted. “Christ, Slayer…”
“You’re not gonna like it all.”
“Try me.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re gonna tell me why it’s so bad it’s me, right? Is that it? The rot I won’t like?”
There wasn’t an immediate reply, and when she did speak, her words alluded to something else entirely. As though she hadn’t heard him at all. “I don’t wanna feel guilty every time I go to see you. You give me such…quiet, and…” She licked her lips, trembling. “All I can think about is how my friends would react if they knew you’re what I…because they won’t understand. And then I don’t think it matters because of what they’ve done.” Buffy met his eyes tentatively. “And you’ve done so much for me.”
He was struck inexplicably by the desperate urge to interject, but somehow managed to hold his tongue. This was her time to talk—to say what was needed. Everything else could wait.
“And I don’t just mean last year,” she continued. “With Glory. Tara told me what happened this summer. I…I think she was talking to fill silence, but she eventually got onto the subject of you and…and everything that happened while I was…gone. Patrolling. Watching Dawn. And—”
“The promise,” he said before he could help himself. “To protect her.”
“You did.”
“Not as well as—”
“You did more than they did,” Buffy said firmly. “It’s the sort of thing I knew but wanted to ignore.”
Spike waited, but pressed when she didn’t clarify. “And now you don’t?”
“Things are different.” A significant pause. “You didn’t know anything about yourself earlier tonight. And you didn’t…your blank state was still—”
“Yours.”
Her cheeks flushed prettily, as though he’d said something that had never occurred to her. “You were still…your instinct wasn’t geared toward blood and violence. It was—”
“Yours,” he said again. “Everything I am is yours, Buffy.”
The confirmation made her tremble. “That terrifies me.” She took a nervous bite of brownie, chewing slowly to buy time. “Angel tore my heart out. Not only that, he gave me a how-to guide on how to keep it from happening again. Normal boy. Pulse. Not allergic to sunlight. And I listened to him. First with Parker and again with Riley…everything I’ve done since Angel left me has been to make him proud of me in some incredibly sick way. I wanted Angel’s approval so much that I came this close to ditching Riley after I discovered he was a demon hunter, because that made him not normal.” She rolled her eyes. “And the only reason I wanted to date him in the first place was because he was a sort of human incarnation of Angel. Take away the broodiness and the constant glowering, they’re the same height, they look a lot alike, and their body types are incredibly similar. Riley was Angel…only human and without the guilt.”
Spike shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t say she hadn’t warned him; there was nothing she’d said thus far that he wanted to consider. It made her seem further from him. Untouchable. Her mind warped and shaped by his prat of a sire—the wanker who had the stones not only to walk out on the closest thing to perfection anyone could ever hope to touch, but tell her what to expect in her future relationships. Angel had poisoned her against her nature. He’d set her up, silently pressuring her into a relationship with Riley the Gormless Wonder. And Riley had left her because of a truth Buffy had buried deep within herself, but somehow known all along. Normal wasn’t good enough for her. The supernormal couldn’t be satisfied with the mundane. It wasn’t a fault of hers—her nature in itself demanded violence and passion, and love beyond all. But she needed all of it. The heat. The dance. The fervor. The hunger. She needed it, and ignoring her needs had done little than make her feel deficient. Broken. As though love was something she was no longer capable of feeling.
Next time Spike found himself in Angel’s company, he was going to tear his lungs out. Angel had left Buffy, and he’d made bloody well sure she never found anyone to replace his magnanimous forehead in her heart. He’d told her to move on by steering her away from what her nature demanded. What she needed.
He’d all but ruined her.
All but.
Buffy wasn’t ruined, just cracked. And Spike was determined to heal her. To become someone who wouldn’t try to bottle her up. Who wouldn’t give her a label and place her high on a shelf. She was larger than life. She superceded convention. To try and contain her would lead to her suffocation. It would be, in essence, killing a mockingbird.
“I wanted it to be right with Riley,” she continued softly.
“I noticed.”
The sharpness in his voice was achingly blatant. Buffy smiled sympathetically. “I said there’d be things you wouldn’t like.”
Understatement of the bloody year.
“It’s all right,” Spike said, waving evasively. “Go on.”
Incredulity lingered a minute longer, but she didn’t do more to call him on his discomfort. It was palpably more important to her to get the words out than worry with how uneasy they made him—and that was fine. He could survive the sting; he’d survived worse. Tonight, after all, was all hers.
“There’s a part of me detached from others,” Buffy said. “I really don’t think…no, I know normal…well, what you said is true.”
“You’re not built for it.”
She nodded. “No, I’m not. And Riley knew it. It’s why he left. He knew I was just trying to make him my human Angel…and when I admitted to myself he never could be, I began pushing him away.”
It must have been building for minutes. His determination to do what she asked—to listen, no matter how much he admittedly hated what he heard—had completely overridden the agonizing of the lovesick poet. Spike wasn’t aware of the growing roar in his chest until it snapped, deafening his insides with a blistering, thunderous crash. And no matter the warning sirens, no matter how desperately he knew he would regret it, the beast within could no longer be contained. Sitting here. Listening to her philosophize over her sodding perfect Angel. How wondrously perfect he was in contrast to the lesser men diseasing the planet. There was only so much a bloke could take.
“Well, if that’s the case, pet,” he drawled acidly, “why the buggering hell aren’t you off makin’ merry with dear ol’ granddad? As long as your lips don’ wander too far south—”
“Stop it.”
The short command only strengthened his anger. “Are you doin’ this to torture me?”
Her eyes were desperate. “Spike, please,” she pleaded. “I know this is hard—”
“Yeah. I’m getting the full of your understanding.”
“I said this wouldn’t be easy!” she barked, her voice breaking loud enough to draw the attention of the pair of Ty’rlik demons who were currently debating over chocolate mint or nutty caramel at the counter. It was fleeting at best, but it made Spike achingly aware of how private their conversation was not.
Apparently, it did the same for Buffy. Her tone was soft and tempered when she continued. “I’m…these are things I’m still trying to figure out. I’ve been fighting for this thing I’ve wanted ever since Angel left me. I kept fighting and kept plugging along…and I eventually forgot why it was so important. Until I…and I’m now seeing the things I thought I wanted are things I haven’t wanted for a long time. Do you have any idea how…God, my head hurts…”
“I know what it’s like,” Spike said, his jaw clenched. “I fought loving you with everything I am.”
Every fiber of his being screamed in protest, divided with the need to both comfort her and wring her neck. To pepper her face with soft, tender kisses and shake her until she told him what she was getting at. If there was truly a point to this verbal torment—to the aching knowledge that he wasn’t and never would be what she wanted. What she needed, perhaps, but what she wanted? She hated needing him as it was; to actually want him would go against every natural inclination in her soft, perfect body.
A flat, broken laugh bubbled off her lips. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
His nostrils flared. “You—”
“I just got through telling you that I don’t…that I went to see Angel because you terrify me.”
The reminder placated him. He was effectively floored.
“You terrify me,” Buffy whispered again, trying and failing to hide how hard she was shaking. Her eyes were large, imploring his but similarly unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. “I thought maybe it was the vampire thing that made me feel close to you. The having-been-dead thing that we suddenly had in common. But it wasn’t.” She glanced down suddenly as red-hot shame flooded her cheeks. “You’d been with me the night before…when Giles and Willow fought and that demon burst in. The one I drowned? But it was what happened on the porch with you that scared me. We didn’t do anything…’course you know that, but what you don’t know is everything I’d tried to suppress suddenly didn’t matter when you were there. I didn’t have to plaster on a fake smile or make myself care about things. When I’m with you I feel…I feel. Period. And that terrifies me. So when Angel called, I jumped on the chance to see if it was a vampire thing or a you thing.” A pause. “And yes, I needed to see him for other reasons. Whatever we are to each other now doesn’t matter—we were something once. He was once a big part of my life. He’s not now…I went hoping that the dead feeling I carry with me would go away. It didn’t. I got there and I wanted you.” She inhaled sharply and forced herself to meet his eyes for real—meet his eyes and hold. “He didn’t give me anything. It’s just you, Spike.”
The part of him overwhelmed with her confession and the part of him which remained desperate to hold onto his anger exploded into furious battle. His mind rattled with his heart, wrestling over what she had said versus what he’d wanted to hear. The part where he brought her peace—where it was only him who brought her peace—that much was more than he could have ever wished. But it didn’t take back the rest of what she’d said. The part where she didn’t want it to be him; where the very idea that it could have been him had driven her away—out of Sunnydale, even, and straight to the one vamp on this miserable planet Spike was determined to dust before he took his own final bow. And in the end, it was this sentiment which won out. Bitterness was easier for him; the concept of true bliss too foreign. “Glad to be of service,” he heard himself saying. “Jus’ make sure to tip your waiter.”
She looked stricken at that, as though his words had materialized into a slap. And the stab of regret which followed made him wish for dust. “It’s not only that,” she gasped, surprising him with her insight. “God, I don’t say anything right.”
“’S a bloody dream come true,” he continued dryly, unable to stop himself. “You wanna hang around me ‘cause of what I do for you. Told you, pet…point of fact, I think I sang it to you. I can’t…I can’t just be your sodding form of Ch’i. I love you. Being close to you without touching you—”
“I like you.”
Words were ripped from his throat and his jaw fell slack. His brain shattered and his ears burned with hysteric shrieking.
“I like you, and that’s…I’m trying to be okay with it.” Buffy pursed her lips. “I’m trying to get over what I’ve been taught. I want to be okay with liking you.”
The rage in his veins was immediately humbled with the baptism offered in her sweet voice. At once, the blurred colors swarming around his eyes solidified again and the pain in his chest calmed into a warm, gentle rumble. Selfish desire warred still with the overwhelming need to be whatever she wanted. To make it easy as bloody pie to like him and be all kinds of okay with it. To mold himself, twist himself, perfect the things that made it hard for her and become the kind of man she could…
Only there were basic fundamentals about himself he couldn’t betray. Couldn’t deny. Things he needed her to love just as much as he loved her. And he knew then that whatever she was going through would be worth the wait. If they continued this—this soft conversation, this gentle understanding, even if it took fifty sodding years, the pay-off would be all the reward he’d ever need. Because he had his crumb. After so much, after so bloody much, he had his crumb. The one thing he’d ever asked of her, he finally had.
And he had to be fair. Spike had had more than enough time to reconcile his nature with his feelings. He still recalled the morning after the life-changing dream; the panic and self-loathing which had twisted his stomach, the chilling echo of Dru’s I told you so haunting his every step. It had taken weeks to accept the weight of loving Buffy. To prepare himself for the most profound change of his or any vampire’s existence. It was awareness a chip couldn’t procure; love and knowledge no gypsy curse could buy. Loving Buffy wasn’t something forced on him—it was something into which he’d fallen. And at some point, he’d stopped fighting it and allowed her warmth to absorb him, even if he got nothing back. He’d welcomed the change. He’d wanted to become something for her…and the desire hadn’t stopped with her death.
It didn’t stop now. He wanted to become.
But he also wanted blatant acceptance as he was.
God, he was a selfish prat.
“Spike?” Buffy whispered, her voice naked and vulnerable. “Say something?”
He glanced up, wiser. “I want it, too,” he said.
“Want it?”
“I want you to be okay with liking me. Whatever it means. Whatever it takes.” The words were ridiculously redundant but as heartfelt as they came. “’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you. You warned me, right? I jus’…I go a li’l dumb when Angel’s tossed in. Best you staple my lips together if you bring him up again…I don’ wanna bollocks the chance of your liking me by flapping my trap.”
Buffy giggled and his heart sang. “I think I am,” she said.
“Huh’s that?”
“Okay…with liking you. I think I am.” The soft smile on her lips would be his undoing. “Only…I’m not okay with being okay…does that make sense? There’s this part of my brain that keeps screaming it’s not right…even though the rest of me is very adamant on telling it to shut the heck up.”
Spike grinned and glanced down. His ice-cream had melted.
“God,” Buffy muttered. “Why do you bother with me? I’m a complete wreck.”
“Sweetheart, we all are.”
She snorted. “I think it’s safe to say I have the claim on issue overload.”
“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
“It would most people.”
His hand moved before his mind could okay the action, settling over hers with gentle understanding. “Buffy…I am not most people.”
“I know,” she replied, the smile on her face growing shy.
“An’ I never have been with you.”
“I know.”
There was no way any man could look into those emerald depths without losing his footing. He was holding her hand in public and she was smiling at him. Smiling.
Because she liked him.
He hoped to God the night wouldn’t end here. It couldn’t.
He couldn’t let her go just yet. Not when he felt they had only now found each other.
“I don’t want to go home,” she whispered. “They’ll…Willow and…I just don’t want to go home.”
Spike squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to.”
The tears which filled her eyes tore him to bits, but did so while simultaneously piecing the crucial parts of him back together. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Buffy. I’ve…I don’ think I’ve loved anyone but you in all my bloody life.” He coughed and glanced down, feeling terribly self-conscious. “I don’ expect anything…’f you wanna crash at my crypt, you can. No pressure. I’ll take the floor, even. You can stay as long as you want.”
The second the offer rolled off his lips, he slumped and berated himself. Right. Tell the goddess of light to sleep in a tomb. Help her feel alive by taking her to the garden of the dead. He was a regular Dr. Phil.
“Let me call Dawn. She’ll wanna know what’s going on.”
It took a beat for the words to sink in. And when they did, she was already moving. Rising to her feet to search out a pay-phone, but not before brushing a soft kiss across his lips. It was too brief to be passionate, too passionate to be chaste. It was unlike any kiss they’d ever shared.
It made him feel loved.
And it was all he could do to keep from dissolving when she turned away.
She’d given him more than a crumb. Christ…
He just didn’t know if she knew it. If she knew what she’d done. If she knew how much feeling went into something so simple.
Though for the way her eyes caught his as she raised the phone to her ear, something told him the significance was not lost on her.
In fact…she’d meant every word. Every syllable. Every caress.
And she was coming home with him tonight.