Part Eight: Heart of Darkness
“I still don’t see how Marcus Aurelius stands as one of the Five Good Emperors with his track record,” Buffy argued, dropping her house key into her pocket after double-checking the front was locked. “His rule was plagued with disaster and he killed a bunch of people. Not exactly a good check in the Buffy Book of Etiquette.”
“So the test didn’t go well?”
“I imparted my personal opinions, so I’m guessing no.” She scowled. “It’s just a stupid final anyway. What’s it really matter?”
“How your grades look on your transcript for one.” Spike chuckled. “So, you started arguing with the bloke right in the middle of the essay? Smooth move, Slayer.”
“I know you told me not to, but it bothered me!”
She turned to meet Spike’s amused eyes just as he shook his head and took her hand. “The why’s not really important,” he explained as they set out “Just that he was. And as much as you might not fancy it, he didn’t exactly reinvent the wheel with the people he offed. Aurelius is no different than Augustus or Vespasian or Hadrian or any of the others that came before him. He just knew what to stay out of.”
“He persecuted Christians!”
“And I suppose the Christians never persecuted anyone.” He chuckled at the dirty look she gave him. “Someone’s always persecuting someone else, pet. It’s the order of the bloody universe. You can’t change that. Whether it be Marcus Aurelius or the Spanish Inquisition or the sodding Holocaust. Everywhere you look, you see another human monster.”
“Love how you snuck the human part in there.”
“Just putting things in perspective, is all.”
“Uh huh.”
Spike sighed as they turned the corner toward the side of town where the professor had been murdered. “It’s not so important that you understand why he was but know that he was, or so I’m guessin’.” He grinned wider when she bristled and couldn’t help himself from brushing a kiss across her cheek. “You’re lovely when you’re confused.”
“Get on with it, Bleach Boy.”
He chuckled. “To me, seems like your teacher shoulda spent more time tryin’ to explain the bloke’s philosophies. That’s where the studying bit comes in. Marcus Aurelius was a Stoic.”
“A what-ic?”
“A Stoic. Part of the stoicism movement. It was one of the philosophical movements of the Hellenistic period.” His grin faded when he saw the look on her face. “What?”
“My boyfriend’s a brain. Who would’ve thought?”
He scoffed and ignored the way his heart nearly skipped. Rarely did anyone ever compliment his intelligence—namely because he often went to great extents to conceal he had any. There was so much he had spent years repressing. His childhood. The severe teachings of a sadistic schoolmaster who enjoyed punishing the students more than educating them. Never had he thought the outcome of such rigorous schooling could be rewarding.
Then again, never had any woman been attracted to him for his intelligence, which had led to the need to feign he had any. “I can stop if you like.”
“No! No.” A shy smile crossed her face. “I like you all brainy. It’s sexy.”
Warmth split his insides. The other night, Buffy had something about how he let her be herself. He hadn’t really understood what that meant, but maybe this was it.
“Sexy, huh?”
Buffy blushed, nodding. “Oh yeah.”
“Is it sexy to know that stoicism was taught at the Porch—Stoa Poikilê—in the Agora at Athens decorated with mural paintings, where the members of the school congregated and their lectures were held?”
“Okay…who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”
“Thought my encyclopedic knowledge was sexy.”
“It is. It’s also kinda wiggy.”
Spike chuckled and kissed her cheek again, squeezing her hand. “Guess I can give you the Cliff Note’s run through, then,” he said. “Stoicism’s basically the belief that focuses on the good and purging all other impulses from your system to achieve enlightenment…or what all.” He frowned. “At least I think so.”
“Oh, so you don’t know as much as you thought?”
“Gotta remember, it’s been over a century, sweetheart. Quite literally. And I used to confuse bits of it with Calvinism. Guess losing my pulse didn’t change that.” He smiled when she frowned. “Predestination, that is. But he didn’t come till centuries later. Just my rotten luck that I learned this at the same time. Gets a bit jumbled.”
“He’s the one that thought people were marked from birth on whether or not they got into Heaven, right?”
“Score one for the little lady.”
“Still say it’s a stupid philosophy. What if a murderer was ‘predestined’ to go to Heaven? So he can go out and kill all those people and still get in?”
“Think the Almighty Wanker’d know it if a bloke was gonna turn into a murderer, love—at least according to what your Good Book says.”
“But if it’s predestined, and the person who got in goes bad, there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
He pressed his eyes closed. “I think we’re getting off topic here.”
“That’s basically saying that a person could sit down and just let everything happen to them from where they’re sitting. Like, say I was predestined to save a busload of kids from going off the edge of a cliff.” Spike simply stared at her. God, she could make the smallest issue exhausting, and he loved her for it. “So,” Buffy continued, “if I’m predestined to it, does that mean I don’t have to do it and yet since it’s written in the Big Book Of Things That Will Happen, it happens anyway? I could sit down and watch Jeopardy and somehow save the kids, too?” She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Think I lost you.”
She pouted. “Predestination sucks.”
“Then don’t believe in it. Problem solved.”
Buffy shook her head with conviction. “The crackpots who made these up obviously never met a slayer,” she decided. “If all my battles were predestined, then—”
“Some of them were.”
The look he received only served to remind him that he should know when to shut his yap.
“What?” she asked.
Spike sighed and glanced to her, exhausted but enthralled. Never had he imagined he would spend an evening going to investigate a murder while arguing philosophy with anyone, least of all the Slayer. Least of all Buffy. “Well, there’s a certain measure of predestination in everything your Watcher brings up. Half of what you have to fight is stuff he’s dug outta those books.”
Her pout intensified. “So?”
“So, predestination exists in some circuits. You’re the difference, sweetheart.” He squeezed her hand. “You take out the nasty ‘Slayer’s gonna die’ clause and switch it to your favor.” He winked at her. “Now, we have a professor to be tending to, right?”
Buffy was still frowning. Then, with schooled control, she nodded and stepped forward. “Right. Well, predestination…” She stopped and shook her head again. “Remind me not to argue philosophy with you again. As in ever.”
“Too challengin’ for you?”
“Hey!”
“Well come on. You’re the Slayer. If you can’t take a little heat—”
“I think the last thing you need to be worried about where I’m concerned is whether or not I can take your heat.”
“’Cause I don’t give off any or I give off too much?”
She rolled her eyes. “Pig.”
“Fine animal. Smart, too.”
“Okay, we’ve got fine, smart, and I’ll add dirty for good measure.” At last, the corners of her mouth lifted up in a grin that told him, contrary to what she said, she was enjoying their back and forth. “Yup. You’re definitely a pig.”
“If that’s the criteria, I gotta say you are, too.”
He thought her smile would widen at that, but it didn’t. Instead, her eyes took on the faraway look that always warned that she was thinking of something that upset her. She glanced down, her expression growing long and serious. “You think if predestination is real then the professor was supposed to die?”
Yeah, that was a mood killer.
Spike had to clamp down on his tongue before the more immediate retort could escape. She took this seriously—he knew she did. She took so many things seriously—things that seemed so trivial to him. It was one of those unspoken things that could jostle their relationship from Cloud Nine to a Cloud Six. Where the white wasn’t as white and the sun was harder to see. He remembered vaguely what it was like to fear death. To feel his insides recoil at the thought of someone brutally murdering someone else.
As William, he’d avoided focusing on the darker things in life. The transition from William to Spike, in that regard, was the most radical in his existence. From one extreme to the other—trying desperately to wipe out the lingering in his system.
But he had never been a full monster, despite what the books said. At least not a monster on par with those around him, thanks to the William bits that remained. The more time he spent with Buffy, the more he feared the hapless poet would reemerge for good. Except he wasn’t afraid of that—not really, not as he should be. Caring about what she cared about was easy. The price of love, he figured, and for her, he would be pretty much whatever she needed.
Except he didn’t want to tell her only what she wanted to hear. If anything, they had to be honest with each other.
“If predestination was real, love,” he murmured, “then you’d have to take into account the loads of other stuff that’s happened because it was supposed to.”
He watched her as she drifted, as memories stole her away, and he knew what she must be thinking. Her calling. Her death. Two slayers. Angel. Their meeting. Jenny Calendar. Their truce. Angel’s death. Drusilla’s leaving him. His return. Faith. Them. Where they were now. Holding hands, out on a stroll to investigate a murder. One. Slayer and vampire. Drawn together despite everything. Together despite everything.
“I don’t know,” she said, at last, her shoulders sagging. “I just feel that…maybe…I could’ve stopped this.”
“By what? Reading Faith’s mind?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Reading minds? Been there, hated that.”
He squeezed her hand again. No, that had not been a fun two days at all. “You couldn’t have stopped this, baby,” he told her. “Please don’t tear yourself up over something that you didn’t do. You suffer enough. With as much as we’ve been looking for your evil twin, I’d think—”
“That’s just it, Spike. Have we been looking? Have we really?”
He frowned.
Buffy sighed and glanced down. “Willow suggested today that maybe I’ve been spending too much time with you and not focusing on my work.”
“Rot.”
She arched a brow. He sighed.
“Right, so we spend a lot of time together. Red does know that we patrol, right?” Spike didn’t wait for a response, raising a hand and shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong, pet. We went to the Bronze to hassle the regs. We hit all of Faith’s hangs. Tried sniffin’ her out, even. Didn’t work. End of story.”
“But I—”
“But nothing. And shame on Willow for even slightly making you believe this could’ve been your fault.” Spike sighed once more before a pleading note hit his voice—one he couldn’t stop. “Doesn’t she know that I’d rather have a nice sunny stroll in the park than see anything happen to you? I wouldn’t let you shirk your duties, Slayer. Faith would’ve found a way to off the sod. We’re just innocent bystanders.”
She studied him for a moment, and her lips quirked. “So you’re saying that it was meant to happen?”
Ah, tricky. Very tricky.
“Predestination, pet?”
Buffy nodded, turning to the building before them. The tension he felt rolling off her shoulders made his insides churn with anger that honestly failed to surprise now. That anyone could make her think that anything that had happened was at all her fault royally pissed him off. The Slayer took matters of life and death very seriously, as every good slayer should—but Buffy took it a step further. She wore her failures, perceived or otherwise, the way no one else had. That included everyone she couldn’t save. As though she were as responsible as the person who’d done the actual killing.
“I don’t know,” he replied at last, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “I gave up searching for higher meaning in life until you came along and suddenly everything had meaning again, so I’m feeling my way around. Testing out the groundwork.” He smiled when she looked at him sharply and shrugged. “And even so, all I do is enjoy it. But I know there’s nothing you coulda done. Nothing any of us coulda done… Not with what we know. So yeah…maybe it was predestined. Woulda happened either way, and your mates just wanna say it’s because of us that you missed it. Post hoc ergo propter hoc, and all that rot.”
“What what ergo what?”
“Post hoc ergo propter hoc. After it, therefore because of it. Like this bloke kicked it after you started shagging me, so your shagging me is what caused it, according to your mates.”
Buffy nibbled her lip, then turned back to the building slowly. “After it, therefore, because of it.”
“There’s a reason that’s a logical fallacy, sweetheart. Life doesn’t work that way. You can do the math all you like.”
“And now?”
Spike turned her into him, coaxing her chin up with gentle fingers. “Buffy, listen to me. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Then why,” she asked softly, “does it feel like I have?”
“Because you’re you, sweetheart. And in the book of Buffy Summers, nothing will ever be enough.”
The smile he received was grateful but forced, and even as she faded back to the business that awaited them, he felt a familiar pang. The same thing that could kill him a little more each day if he wasn’t careful. There were certain truths to be reckoned with. One step forward, two steps back. And while there was no reason to think so, he was terrified he could feel her slipping away from him. That all it had taken to shake her confidence in them was this very unpreventable setback.
Buffy tightened her hand around his and pulled him closer to her; jarring him back to reality with a wan smile.
“Everything all right?” she asked softly.
He nodded, but he knew she didn’t believe him. “Just fine, sweetheart. Let’s do what we gotta and get back. The sooner we get back to your Watcher, the bloody better.”
“You’re gonna end up sounding like him, you know.”
“In some instances, that’s not such a bad thing.” He forced a laugh when she arched a brow at him. “I said some.”
The brow remained arched, but she nodded and squeezed his hand again before they made their way up the walk and through the doors. Finding the professor’s room was easy enough—the second floor was completely shut off, yellow tape bannered across the hall. Spike couldn’t keep from grinning when Buffy wordlessly slithered under the tape, as though tampering with a crime scene was the most natural thing in the world. There were certain aspects of her life that had become so ordinary that even she didn’t notice anymore.
The room itself was a collective mess. A scatter of papers and files, open books and the like. Buffy sighed and hugged herself.
“It’s not as bad as it could be,” Spike said softly.
She graced him with a skeptical glance.
“What?”
“It’s a mess. I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
He shrugged. “We’ll know it when we find it, eh pet? Let’s just get started.” He turned then and snatched a random box from the corner, depositing its contents onto the kitchen table. “Just take whatever looks important.”
They were spaced on either side of the room, respectively digging through whatever looked remotely important and crating it for later research. Spike kept careful watch of her, though he tried not to be obvious. Reading Buffy had never been that much of a challenge to him but she was now, and he didn’t know what to make of that.
Then she shocked the hell out of him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Spike paused, swallowed. “What for?”
“For being here. For understanding.” A soft smile crossed her face. “This…everything…would be so much harder without you. I know that I have… It’s not like I’m alone—far from it, actually—but you make me…well…you just make me.” The words were so far from what he’d expected that it nearly bothered him. He was used to knowing exactly what she felt when she felt it. This was…
Fuck, she would never stop surprising him.
“You keep me from falling apart,” she continued. “I fell apart last year. Died the year before. Haven’t yet, and Faith’s given me every reason to. Faith plus Angel and Ascension and…everything. And even…with this…” She gestured broadly to the room. “I don’t know how I feel about it. A part of me wants to die because I could’ve stopped it.”
“Buffy—”
“It was a life. And that’s what I do. Every time I don’t save someone, it feels like I might as well have killed them.”
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I told you, there was nothing you could’ve done—”
“I know, I know. I hear you say it and it makes sense, but… God, Spike. We were having fun this weekend while someone got killed. Someone who wasn’t supposed to die. And who knows? Who knows how many others have gotten killed on my watch just because I’ve been distracted. Last year, it was Angelus and this year…” Tears formed behind her eyes, and she looked away. “But I can’t. I can’t keep doing everything. And I owe you so much. That’s the kicker. You keep me from falling apart and I’m suddenly terrified that it’s making me blind to everything else.”
“It’s not,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t let it. I wouldn’t let you get hurt because of me. I wouldn’t let you not do your job.”
“That’s just it. You won’t let me get hurt, but what about everyone else? What about Professor Wirth? If I hadn’t been thinking about myself, he might still be alive.”
“Might.” Spike exhaled and crossed the room. He took her by the shoulders. “You can’t live on absolutes, Buffy. Tell me, really, what you would’ve done had I not been a factor, huh? Gone patrolling. Hit the usual places. Looked for Faith and come up empty-handed. Do exactly what we did. You had nothing to do with this bloke’s death. And I won’t let you tear yourself up about something that isn’t your fault.” He barked a short laugh and shook his head. “We talk about predestination and Stoicism. Some things can’t be changed. Some things are not supposed to be stopped. No matter how you look at it.”
Buffy’s expression hardened, though it wasn’t directed at him. More of a defense mechanism. Her tendency to shut down.
“Innocent people die every day, sweetheart,” Spike continued softly, stroking her cheek. “It’s the cycle of life. You’re just one person. Albeit, the most gifted of such persons I’ve ever come across, but there’s no sodding way you can be everywhere at once.”
“It feels like I should be.”
He shook his head again. “You can’t, baby. You try too hard. You win so much that somethin’ like this breaks you. It wasn’t your fault. This bloke was murdered by someone who never even had a chance of touching what you can do. You amaze me. With everything…with who you are. With how much you care.” He nodded vaguely to their surroundings. “The git might’ve not had a friend in the world, but by golly, my girl’ll weep for him. That’s who you are. It’s a blessing and a curse rolled into one. Trust me. I know somethin’ about those.”
There was a long beat of silence before Buffy nodded, raising her gaze to his. Her eyes were filling with tears again, but they weren’t all bad tears—he saw that. She was moved by what he’d said.
Thank fuck.
“You see?” she whispered. “This is what I mean. With you, I’m not alone.”
“You never will be again, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.” He flicked her tears away with his thumb. “And again, I won’t let you shirk your duties. Told you as much before…know it’d be the same to hurt you if others got hurt. Remember?”
She nodded, and he saw the wheels behind her eyes turning. Saw her remembering the conversation that now seemed so long ago. They had been in the graveyard after investigating the Mayor’s office for clues. The same night that Angel had pretended to be Angelus for Faith’s benefit. The same night Spike had first told her that he loved her.
He’d made a promise to her then and he was a man who kept them.
Spike released a trembling sigh and buried his face in the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I love you too bloody much. So much. Almost like it’s gonna fill me up someday, and I’ll explode ‘cause my body can’t take it. I hate seeing you in pain.”
Buffy didn’t reply, but raised herself up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He felt her trembling against him, the air thick with the scent of her tears.
And he couldn’t stop talking. “I still don’t think you know what you do to me, Slayer. To what degree you’ve turned my world upside down. You’re so much more than I can take. But God, I have to try.”
The tears running down her face set against her like water lilies. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Spike—”
A loud, clunky crash cut off whatever she’d been about to say, and Angel barrelled into the room like a bloody rhino on rollerblades. Buffy started and drew a step away from Spike, which hurt more than it should, though he knew she was trying to spare her ex’s feelings.
And he could admit, it was fun to watch Angel bump into things.
“Ow,” came the unconventional greeting.
Buffy wiped her eyes, a small, forced smile twisting lips. “Stealthy.”
Angel glanced up, not bothering to mask his hurt at finding them together. Though Spike knew the git had known to expect them—he’d have heard them talking, smelled them at the very least—so he wasn’t sure what exactly there was to be hurt over.
“Not my best entrance,” the sod said. “I think they were mopping in the halls.”
“We didn’t have any trouble,” Spike felt obligated to point out.
Buffy cast him an amused grin before glancing back to Angel. “What are you doing here?”
“I checked in with Giles. Told me what was up…I thought it’d be better if you had three pairs of hands instead of two.”
“Yeah…” Spike drawled. “Ever heard that sayin’, ‘two’s company?’”
A wry grin tugged the elder’s lips. “Yeah, well, I heard a rumor that three’s company, too.”
Spike snorted in disgust and began rummaging through the boxes. He needed a distraction, and fast.
And, as it would, the discussion continued around him, unhampered.
“So Giles sent you?” Buffy asked.
“No. I came on my own.” Angel paused for a long minute. “Giles actually doesn’t know I’m here. He thought it would get messy if I tagged along, especially since you brought…” No one needed to finish that sentence. “But I still thought it would be for the best. Especially if you run into Faith.”
Spike snickered into the report he was reading.
“Something funny about that?”
“Oh no, mate,” he replied. “Nothing funny. Except that you don’t seem to think the Slayer and I can handle a rogue just fine. I’ve seen them both in action; this Faith bird has nothing on Buffy. And, well, you know me. I just love a good brawl.”
“Especially if there’s a special calling attached to the package, right?”
He shrugged lazily and reached for his cigarettes. “Maybe once. As far as slayers go, I don’t think any other would be able to satisfy me the way Buffy does. And quite frankly, I’m not really aimin’ to let another take it for a drive. We can handle this, Peaches. Sod off.”
Buffy moaned, shaking her head. “And Giles had the gall to think you guys wouldn’t get along.”
Spike scowled and pointed at Angel, who pointed right back. “He started it,” they said in unison.
“How is it with nearly four centuries between you two that I’m the adult here?” She shook her head again, then glanced to the document Spike was holding. “What’s that?”
“Huh? Oh.” Spike quickly skimmed the first page. “It’s a report. Some excavation of an old lava bed, looks like.” He frowned and looked up again. “Seems our prof was a volcano-ologist, love.”
Angel stepped forward. “Anything in there that connects him to the Mayor?”
“Dunno yet. Better let Rupes take a crack at it.”
“Agreed.” Buffy plucked the report and placed it in her box, which Spike immediately snatched from her.
“Never say chivalry is dead, pet,” he told her with a wink as the three made their way into the hall.
“With you around?” she replied. “Never.”
With a diplomatic nod, she turned to the sulking Angel.
They truly hadn’t had much cause to hang around the git, save the group save here or there. After Buffy had broken things off proper-like and announced she was moving onto bigger and better things, Angel had grilled both Buffy and Spike until staking him would have been the more humane option, but he’d said very little in the time that had passed. Like he knew there was nothing to be gained from it.
The sooner he left town, the bloody better.
Spike and Buffy drew to a stop at the curb outdoors—Spike to wait and Buffy to say her awkward goodbye. He told himself not to be too insufferable about Angel on the walk back.
“Well,” Angel drawled. “I guess you guys don’t need me to come with you.”
Buffy shrugged. “You might pop by later. See if Giles has anything new on the Ascension and whatnot. Just to keep everyone on the same page for what’s gonna go down and everything.” She glanced to Spike, who offered a stiff nod. “Might as well run through the plan once with everyone there so that whatever alterations are made won’t get confused with…you know…other versions of the plan.”
“Right.” Angel pursed his lips. “I found a place. In Los Angeles, so the move is official.” He glared at Spike but didn’t say anything. “I just… I’ll let you know, should we not…talk again. Directly, that is. After everything’s over.”
“Los Angeles is good,” she agreed. “Not too close, not too far.”
“Not bloody far enough,” Spike murmured.
“I want to be close enough that I can get here quick should I be needed.”
Buffy nodded awkwardly. “Well, good. You’re all with the thinking ahead.”
“I have to be.” Another long, uncomfortable pause. “Well, if that’s it, I guess I’ll—”
In truth, Spike heard it before he saw it. Heard the unmistakable zap of something flying through the air, too fast to be a stake, too slow to be a bullet. His eyes caught sight of movement from the roof of a building across the street two seconds before the arrow came to view, and he threw himself with instant reflex, dropping the boxes and leaping to shove Angel out of the line of fire.
He would wonder why he bothered later. At the moment, it seemed like the thing to do. Even if it did little good. Angel was far too massive to out-navigate something that moved that quickly, especially without warning. And though the attempt was admirable, the arrow speared through the sod’s side anyway as they both went crashing to the pavement.
Spike heard Buffy call for him, then Angel once she saw the damage. He wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the rooftop across the street.
“That was close,” he murmured, fighting to his feet.
Buffy was instantly at his side, scanning him for injury and feeling up his sides. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, pet.” Spike turned to Angel. “Took a nasty chunk outta your ex, though.” With a grunt, he moved to help the wanker up. “You all right, mate?”
“Yeah,” Angel replied, jerking the arrow free of his side. Then, almost as though the words would choke him, he added, “Thanks to you.”
“What was that? Could you say it a little louder, please?”
“Guys!” Buffy made quick tracks to get between them. “You two can argue all you like at the library.” Off Spike’s questioning glance, she shrugged and replied, “We should help him. Come on.”
Spike pouted. “Should’ve let him dust. It’s not like he’s much of a bleeder, kitten.”
“Please?”
Oh, with the eyes. She always made with the eyes when she wanted something. And he, being a world-class git, fell for it every time.
“Right,” he grumbled, turning to collect the supplies he had dropped while Buffy inspected the small wound in Angel’s side. “How silly of me. Guess three’s company after all.”
Hell of a time to get petty, mate.
He couldn’t help himself even against his better judgment. Angel would heal fine, but it was likely in their best interest to speed up the healing as much as possible, especially with the Ascension on the rise.
And it meant the world to Buffy.
Funny how things with Angel always did.