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VI
Buffy didn’t want to go to sleep the next night. The fear of entering the room alone was all consuming, and she didn’t think her heart could survive another devastating plunge. While she remained awake, hope likewise remained alive. Hope that she was wrong. That Spike had either left the dream-room before she arrived, or he’d been knocked unconscious, and therefore unable to reach her. Did it even work that way? Was sleep equitable with unconsciousness, or was she holding out with false hope?
False hope at this point was better than no hope at all. The church had gone up in flames with Spike and Drusilla trapped beneath a pipe organ. He’d told her they would talk. They’d only just discovered, once and for all, the dreams were real—that they were shared and real—and they needed to talk. They needed…
Buffy stayed home from school that day. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing her friends or running into Angel while patrolling alongside Kendra at night. She feared her irrationally unbalanced female emotions would overcome commonsense, and she might do something monumentally stupid like throttle the other slayer until she passed out. And while the thought held more than its fair share of appeal, she couldn’t blame Kendra for what had happened. Unlike Buffy, Kendra had done her job. Spike and Drusilla were two very dangerous vampires, and Kendra had done her job.
Kendra hadn’t known that Buffy was in love with Spike, and even if she had, it didn’t matter. Buffy being in love with Spike didn’t exonerate his sins or make him any less of a monster. Rather, in some way it made her a monster as well, because she didn’t care. She didn’t care what he was. She’d come to know the man inside over the past few weeks, and her tired heart loved the tender creature who resided within an otherwise vicious beast. She loved him without rhyme or reason, and she wasn’t about to deny herself the truth when the truth was all she knew right now.
Of course, rationality prevailed over the inner hysteria. Rationality bogged with fatigue. And since depression kept her pretty much bed-ridden all day, by the time the day-lit sky faded into darkness, Buffy’s heavy eyes conceded the battle to fatigue, and she fell into a deep sleep.
*~*~*
His head jerked up the second she barreled through the dream-motel wall. The second their eyes clashed, the most potent wave of relief she’d ever felt flooded her veins, weighing down her legs and choking her throat with a sob that would have suffocated her had she not gasped his name. In a blink, her body was purged of darkness. For a wondrous second she could pretend nothing else mattered. Not the degrees of separation between them, not the blood in his past or the ghosts in her future; not even Drusilla, whom he’d risked everything to save all the while making love to Buffy’s body with his mouth and hands at night. All that mattered was he was alive. Spike was alive.
“Spike!” Buffy sobbed, missing the torn look on his face—too eager for the security of his embrace. “You’re…you’re here. You’re really here.” She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in the crook of his neck, shaking hard as sobs of pure white relief commanded every cell in her body. “I was so scared. I…I didn’t…I didn’t know. God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”
Spike stood still in her arms, breathing hard as she shuddered against him, though she couldn’t be sure if his trembles were genuine or mere echoes of her own. He had yet to touch her—rather stood there in her awkward embrace, not speaking. Not speaking as she sobbed her weight in tears and silently whispered her gratitude to the stars.
“I didn’t know,” Buffy choked again. God, she couldn’t stop shaking. “I didn’t know. I didn’t…I was there and then Kendra…she…”
“Kendra?” Spike echoed softly, his voice washing over her like the answer to a prayer. “The other one?”
She nodded miserably, unable to meet his eyes. “She didn’t know.”
“An’ that matters, pet? You really believe your chum would’ve given a bleeding rip if she had known?” Spike exhaled slowly and nudged her brow with his. The callousness in his tone was offset by hands that slowly crept up her back. “She’s a slayer.”
“I know. I know. I didn’t…” Buffy shook her head hard; she couldn’t take it anymore. She needed proof he was real. She needed proof she wasn’t hallucinating within a dream. Thus, with conviction, she pulled her head back just slightly and cupped his cheeks, her mouth seeking his with hunger-laced desperation. It was hard to keep herself from dissolving into tears again the second his tongue met hers. The instant his cool, familiar flavor filled her mouth. She whimpered into his kiss, her ravenous mouth trying hard to consume him whole. She wanted to crawl up inside him as he had done with her—she wanted him to feel this. She needed him to feel this. Feel the thundering beat of her heart and taste the tears on her lips and realize how far gone she was. How there was no turning back now. Not for her, and dammit, not for him either. The idea of parting with him now was unbearable. Now since she’d tasted what life without Spike would be like. A fewhours had nearly killed her—to walk away from him entirely would signal her complete undoing. She couldn’t do it.
She loved him too much.
“Buffy…” Spike reached behind his neck, wrapping his hands around her wrists, even as his mouth couldn’t help but steal sweetly soft kisses from hers. “Slayer…stop.”
Her eyes flew open, her entire being doused in cold.
Slayer?
“Wh-what is it?” she asked, hating how her voice shook. Hating her heart for adorning her shoulders rather than remaining locked inside her chest. Hating how he could see everything she felt when she saw so little. Even when he whispered small adorations into her skin and told her how beautiful she was, she knew so little of him. He said he was consumed with thoughts of her, but she couldn’t believe it. He said he spent his days thinking about the night—about the few glorious hours they’d be together—but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe anything. Not if he was willing to sacrifice everything to save another woman. Not if he was still sharing Drusilla’s bed.
Spike shook his head, his eyes dropping to the ground. Then almost as an afterthought he glanced up again, looking for all the world as though he’d only just then realized she was in the room with him. A pregnant silence filled the air, fragranced only with their lingering breaths. She felt so open to him—so exposed. He stood there searching her eyes and there was nothing with which she could hide herself. He saw everything.
There was only some gratification when he raised his hand to her wet cheek and she felt how hard he was trembling.
“All this?” he whispered, voice hoarse with amazement. “All this…this is for me?”
Buffy nodded through tears. “I didn’t know, Spike,” she replied. God, she hated the crack in her voice. She felt so wretchedly vulnerable, and there was nothing she could do about it. “I didn’t know what happened. I-if you were alive or…I didn’t know. And when I fell asleep, you weren’t here. You weren’t…I didn’t know what to think.”
“Knocked out, love. That’s all. Bloody large board hit my noggin an’ the lights went out. I’d wager, anyway, if I’d kicked it good an’ proper, you wouldn’t’ve come here at all.”
Her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. “I…I didn’t…”
“Dru’s back to full strength,” he said, his tone low. “She’s…she’s back. Jus’ as she was before the bloody mob got their mitts on her in Prague. I did what I came here for.” He glanced down slowly. “’Sides this thing with you, of course. I’d always reckoned I’d have your head the second Dru was back to…” He trailed off and turned away, jaw clenching. “Your girl put me in a bloody wheelchair.”
Buffy froze. A wheelchair?
“’S nothin’ permanent. Jus’ snapped my back when the ceiling came down. Nothin’ a few months won’t fix.”
She sensed his tone was flippant for the sake of self-preservation, therefore she likely didn’t help by blurting, “Months?” in a tone that was nothing but incredulous. It’d taken two weeks for her first post-calling broken bone to heal. The idea that Spike could be trapped in a wheelchair for months when he was a super-being—when he had strength beyond strength—had her thoroughly stunned.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “It was a bloody big organ.”
“Spike, I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t, love. But Christ, we were both off our bloody game, weren’t we?” He shook his head hard, taking a definitive step away from her. “We haven’t been—”
“What are you saying?”
“You’ve made me lose focus. Everything used to be so clear. So sodding clear, an’ now…” Spike sighed and turned to face her again, evidently comforted by separation, even if it came in the form of only a few feet. “It was simple, yeah? Come to Sunnyhell, drain the Slayer, rip her stuffin’ out for mine an’ Dru’s celebration dinner. Then you start invadin’ my dreams an’ everything becomes muddled. You’vemucked up my life, Slayer. I’m thinkin’ things I…I’m thinkin’…” A near hysterical laugh ripped through his throat. “’m thinkin’ things that’ll drive me as barmy as Dru if I don’ get my head in the clear.”
He might as well have plunged his fist into her chest and ripped her heart out. It would have been less painful. Buffy didn’t know what to do—she was literally paralyzed with agony. Her chest thundered. Her mouth ran dry. Her eyes flooded with tears but she didn’t have the strength to cry. A thousand whispered nothings began a cruel replay through her tortured mind—things he’d said to her, promises he likely hadn’t even realized he’d made. Promises made with his hands. Promises he’d sealed with his mouth. Promises living on action without words.
God, she was such a fool. She hadn’t thought herself gullible enough to hope—she’d thought she’d done a good job in setting herself for the inevitable fall. And yet, for the crushing pain in her chest and the tears stinging her eyes, she witnessed a tower of expectation waver against the strain of cold reality. Spike didn’t want her—not like she wanted him—and he never had.
“I…I thought…” She sniffed pathetically, hating herself more and more as seconds ticked by. “I thought…you said you wanted me.”
Spike offered a stoic nod. “I do, love. That’s the bloody problem.”
“It wasn’t a problem before!”
He turned to her sharply at that, arching a brow. “You really think that?” he demanded. “Are you daft? It’s a bloody miracle I haven’ staked myself for wantin’ you as badly as I do. For thinkin’ of you like I do. For lyin’ awake, wishing myself asleep jus’ so I can touch you. You’re everywhere. You’re in everything I do. Everythin’ I say. Every sodding thought that crosses my buggered brain is consumed with you.” He broke off and shook his head with a humorless laugh. “I oughta jus’ get it over with. Snap your neck, drink my fill, an’ get the bleeding fuck outta Dodge before you wiggle any further into my head. Maybe then I’d get a moment’s peace.”
“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, pleading. “You told me—”
“Oh, I’d feel right bad about it. Don’ get me wrong, love, you’re gonna be a bloody hard bird to get over no matter which way the pendulum swings. I’ll prob’ly dream of you for centuries.” Spike paused and motioned between them. “But this? This’ll only get one of us axed in the end, an’ it damn sure isn’t gonna be me.”
“But you told me…you told me…” She didn’t care that she was crying now. She didn’t care that her broken heart was on display. That he saw just how lost in him she was. He was gutting her, and she couldn’t stop the bleeding. “Y-you told…”
“Slayer—”
“If it means nothing to you, then why—”
“Because it does mean something!” he roared, provoked—suddenly—over the edge of something monumental. His eyes blazed with outrage, every tick in his body a testament for his failing patience. He looked at once like he wanted to both strangle her and kiss her lips off, and visibly hated himself for even wavering with indecision. “That’s the sodding problem, or haven’t you been listening at all, you deaf bint? It means something. How in God’s name did you get in?” He slapped a hand over his heart. “Fucking you should’ve been easy. Should’ve been a bloody cake walk. Hell, should’ve been a bloody riot. I din’t ask for this! For all these…” Spike broke off again. “I wake up a half-man in my sire’s arms, an’ whose name do I say? Who do I ask for? Who do I want there? You’re ruining me—you’re ruiningeverything—an’ it ends now. It all ends now.”
Her vision drowned in an unforgiving ocean of tears, her wobbling legs fighting to maintain balance. There was nothing to say—what couldshe say? Her nights had thrived on the promise of Spike’s every touch, every kiss, and she’d lost herself without realizing the battle was over. How could she hope to remain so distant when he’d refused her the right? How could she hope to preserve herself from heartache when he’d claimed a right on her above all others? He’d ruined her, slowly and deliberately, and now he was furious with her for what she’d done to him.
And all she’d done was love him.
How long they stood like that she didn’t know. The air was cold against her skin. Her cheeks were stained with tears her sore eyes couldn’t stop shedding. She was barren and exposed—virtually naked in front of him. Naked in ways she hadn’t been before. He’d finally unveiled the last part of herself that she’d tried to keep secret. To keep hidden from ridicule. It was her fault for falling in love with him, but it was his for allowing it to happen. For being so wonderful in their sanctuary—for making her believe, even reluctantly, she had reason to hope beyond dreaming.
Then something changed. At the drop of a pin, something changed. Anger melted from the room—the cruel face of Real Spike replaced with the tender touch of her dream lover. And when he said her name, when his lips parted with a small, reverent, “Buffy…” it took all she was to keep the pieces of herself from shattering all over again.
The sudden softness in his voice was an illusion, she knew, but it didn’t make her shiver any less.
“Buffy…” He was right in front of her before she could blink, taking her face into his hands, his lips kissing her tears away. “Buffy…God, please don’t cry.”
If anything, his plea only made her tears come harder. “What do you expect?” she demanded indignantly, trying hard to make out the contours of his face through the blur. “You…every night in here…what…I don’t know. I don’t…I didn’t mean to mess up your life, Spike, I really didn’t. I don’t…you told me just…I don’t understand what’s happened!”
Spike shivered and sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t make heads or tails of it either, love,” he replied softly.
“You said you couldn’t kill me now. You told me—”
“An’ that’s s’posed to make it better, then? You’re the sodding Slayer an’ I…” He broke off with a heavy sigh, his eyes worn and tired. “I asked for you, Buffy. In her arms, you were who I called out for. I don’ want this! I don’t want to…God, do you have any idea how easy it’d make things for me if I could kill you? Do you have any idea how much I want to want to…” Spike tore away again with a sardonic chuckle—a chuckle which quickly melted into something sounding suspiciously like a sob. “I din’t ask for this.”
“And I did?” Buffy demanded. “I’ve tried so hard to give you space. I’ve let you rant about owning me and I’ve…I’ve given you more than I’ve ever given anyone. I’ve shared with you more than I’ve ever shared with anyone. And—”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Slayer—”
“You told me…I’ve done everything you wanted me to do, Spike. Everything. And—and you have the audacity to think it’s all about you? That this hasn’t been killing me?” She jerked her head hard, another flood of tears raining down her cheeks. “It’s destroyed me. Knowing that it was all from my side. That coming here was just another option for you in case your real girlfriend didn’t put out. Knowing I was endangering the lives of everyone I know because I couldn’t…I couldn’t kill you. Hell, I couldn’t even fight you. And I wanted to hurt Kendra so bad the other night for doing what she did…and the kicker is, she was right! She was right to do it! You’re…you’re evil and a killer and it’s killing me!”
The fire died in his eyes a bit, but she couldn’t stand the sight of compassion. She truly couldn’t. Not when she knew there was nothing behind it. “Buffy—”
“So don’t…how dare you come in here and tell me I’m ruining your life! That I’m the one confusing things for you. I didn’t ask for this, either. But I’ve let you rule me. I let you make me yours. I let you…I did everything you wanted and somehow I’m the reason…” Buffy turned away, shaking hard. “Don’t pretend it’s been just hard on you, Spike. I’ve sacrificed everything for this…for whatever you’re willing to give me. And I died the other night when the organ fell.”
She honestly didn’t know what happened. One second she was standing there talking to him—saying things she shouldn’t, admitting all her secrets—and the next, Spike’s hands clamped hard around her forearms and his mouth was ravaging hers. And that was it. The last part of her clinging to sanity died. He couldn’t keep doing this to her. He couldn’t keep hating her with words and loving her with his body. She tasted none of his previous outrage. Nothing of the hatred he’d so eagerly strewn across the room at the expense of her wounded heart. She tasted only Spike—only his sinful lips and silken tongue. She tasted desperation and despair, heartache and hope. She tasted her tears and swallowed his whimpers with hunger she couldn’t deny, even as every inch of her crumbled.
He was going to kill her. Perhaps not the way he’d intended, but he was. He was going to kill her by making her love him. Her love for him was going to kill her.
“Slayer,” he gasped between kisses, sucking greedily at her tongue. “Buffy. What have you done to me? God, what have you done? Whatwould you do to me if I let you?”
She was so tired of crying. So wretchedly tired. She hated the sting in her eyes and the exhausted scent of tears tainting the air. She was so sick of crying. So damned sick.
And she was tired of running. She was tired of dancing around this issue. Around him. Around everything. Perhaps—just perhaps—if he knew how she felt things would change. Perhaps he would realize just how lost she was. How much this was costing her. How his kisses broke her apart while attempting to piece her together. Perhaps.
It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more. But she had to see.
There couldn’t be anything left to lose.
“I’d love you, Spike,” she whispered, forcing herself to hold herself upright, even as his mouth froze against hers in shock. Then she couldn’t look at him—couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t be held when he knew. The last boundary was crossed; it was out now and there was no getting it back.
His answer lived in one word. One word.
“Slayer—”
Slayer.
The final piece of her chipped away. Buffy dissolved in pain, and jerked herself awake the next second with a crushing sob.
There it was. It was all out there. He knew. He knew.
And he’d use his knowledge to destroy her.
*~*~*
Buffy didn’t want to know what she looked like approaching Giles the next morning. Her eyes were raw and red, and fatigue claimed every muscle in her body. She was jittery from the coffee she’d forced herself to drink and so exhausted from avoiding sleep she feared she might collapse.
But she couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not when Spike knew. She couldn’t face him again.
“Buffy?” Giles asked, setting his reading glasses atop the ancient volume of text he was studying, his eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong?”
A painfully humorless smile stretched her face, making her lips ache. “Wrong?” she repeated. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“School doesn’t start for another ninety minutes, and I know you’re not here for training.” He paused meaningfully. “Is it Spike?”
Giles didn’t need an answer—merely mentioning the vampire’s name had her exhausted eyes watering all over again. God, if she cried one more damn tear…
“I need something,” she said, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “I need…I need something that’ll keep dreams away.”
“Away?”
Buffy bit her lip and nodded, praying he didn’t delve. Praying he didn’t ask questions. Admitting her feelings to Spike had cost her everything—admitting them to Giles, beyond what he already knew, would render her completely alone. “I just…I need something…that will let me sleep without dreaming.” She shivered hard, fighting for control. “Help me?”
“Of course.”
It was his eyes that did it. His eyes had her deteriorating all over again. The kindness. The compassion. The love. Giles loved her. He was her surrogate father, and he loved her. Of course he would help.
It felt so good to know she was loved that there was nothing left to do but cry.