Chapter 2: Letters
Still thinking about Spike’s return and changes, Buffy found her way to the Magic Box. She needed to tell Giles, needed, once again, his help to clarify her own thoughts.
After the battle that had taken place there, the shop looked more like a landfill than a place of commerce. A week of cleaning and repairs later, it was on the point of being opened for business again. Giles and Anya had been working there full time, cleaning the damages and saving whatever inventory could still be saved. They also kept an eye on Willow. She had insisted on being there to help fix what she had done. Her therapist having agreed that it was a positive task for her to focus on, the Scoobies had welcomed her. The anti-depression drugs she was taking left her with little energy, and she was not much help, but being surrounded by her friends seemed to comfort her. Xander was there every evening after work, to repair the shelves and displays. A few times, he had brought colleagues, who had worked on the building itself. Dawn and Buffy were there as much as school and work allowed them too, which was a lot.
Mostly, they avoided talking about what had happened. Each of them had gone at least once with Willow to see her therapist, and they had agreed that it was the safest place for Willow’s sake to discuss their feelings about her wild ride.
When she pushed the door of the shop, Buffy was delighted to hear the little bell ring. It sounded just like old times. She greeted Anya, who was painting the wall, or maybe herself considering the amount of paint that covered her. Walking farther inside the shop, Buffy sat at the table, where Giles was trying to repair the damage caused to their research books. Willow was there too, cutting strips of tape for the ex-librarian. They babbled for a minute about the repairs, before Buffy finally said:
“Guess who is back in town.”
Where she expected puzzled looks, she heard three voices, each too neutral not to be hiding emotions, say the same name.
“Spike.”
She stared at each of them in turn.
“How do you all know? I only found out today!”
Giles answered, absently cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief.
“I got a . letter from him. It was slipped under the shop’s door. I wonder how he knew I was back in town, since I arrived after he left.”
“I got one too,” Anya chimed in.
“Me too,” Willow said tonelessly. “And there was one on her grave.”
Saying Tara’s name was still too painful, but they all knew who ‘her’ was. Buffy hesitated an instant before asking Giles:
“What did he apologize to you for?”
He looked startled at her question, and so did Anya. Willow seemed completely out of the conversation, a glazed look in her eyes.
“How do you.” The Watcher shook his head, and a small smile graced his lips. “I am sorry Buffy, this is personal.”
Buffy glanced at Anya, and by the way she was suddenly focused on her painting, she knew the ex-demon-turned-human-now-demon-again wouldn’t answer either. She was rather disgruntled by their lack of sharing, but at the same time she realized she wouldn’t have told them what her own letter said.
“Giles, can I talk to you in private?”
After a quick and silent exchange with Anya about Willow, the Englishman followed Buffy in the back room. He already knew what she wanted to talk about. There was only one subject they discussed in private. He leaned against the newly repaired wall, and, again, more by habit than by necessity, took off his glasses to clean them.
“I went to his crypt”, Buffy announced. “I wanted to kill him.”
She had sat on the floor, a few feet away from Giles, and was looking up at him.
“You didn’t kill him.”
It was not a question, but Buffy nodded, saying softly:”I couldn’t. I missed him too much.”
“Did you tell him that?”
She tilted her head, but kept silent.
“Of course not,” Giles answered his own question.
She was biting her bottom lip, and he knew that meant she was hesitating to tell him something. He didn’t say a word, letting her decide whether to share or not. He knew already more about her. relationship with Spike than he had ever wanted to know. She had been surprisingly blunt during some of their talks, giving him details he wouldn’t have minded not knowing. But she had needed to get all of it out. She needed someone to talk to. Dawn was definitely too young to hear about some of it. Willow had her own heart problems to deal with. Anya was not that close of a friend, and it would have been awkward to discuss a common lover. Xander hated Spike with too much passion to hear anything about him with any calm at all. So Giles had accepted the role of confident, letting her spill her heart and thoughts, accepting what she said without judging, however hard it sometimes was.
“He had the chip removed,” Buffy enunciated at last.
His eyebrows shot up, but before he could say anything she added, in a rush:
“And he got his soul back. He said he won’t kill anymore, so I didn’t dust him. He wanted me to do it. Dust him, I mean. But I didn’t.”
Her last words had been a whisper. Giles nodded, talking absently as if to himself. “It explains the letter. I wonder how he got his soul back.”
“He talked about a demon, but didn’t say much about it.”
“I always thought he would get rid of the chip eventually,” the Watcher continued, “but that he would want a soul is unexpected.”
“I don’t think he wanted it, Giles. He said he wanted to come back to Sunnydale and be the Big Bad again, but now his soul won’t let him.”
A joyless laugh escaped from Giles’ lips, and he stared at Buffy. “Please don’t tell me we have another Angel case.”
She seemed to hear the different levels of his question, and answered them.
“No, not like Angel. No brooding, or at least not much that I could see. And no loophole in his soul according to what he said.”
“He could lie.”
“I don’t think he did. He wanted to be dusted, Giles, and the easiest way for that would have been not to say a word about the soul. I believe he just told me the truth, the whole truth, even when it would have been easier for him to shut his mouth.”
The Watcher considered her words carefully. Spike with a soul. All the times they had talked about him, her reason for denying her love had been the same. He was a soulless monster and it was just wrong to love him. How much of that was now changed?
“What are your intentions, Buffy?”
Again, there was more in his question than what the words said.
“I don’t know, Giles. I don’t think I will stake him. I don’t think I can. He was harmless with a chip, he is still harmless with a soul.”
“That remains to be proved, but you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t have an answer for you.”
“You said you have feelings for him. Despite him being a vampire. Despite his evilness.”
Her eyes clouded, but the tears did not spill.
“I did, yes, despite all of this. I trusted him, even if I couldn’t tell him that either. But then, he cheated on me, he tried to rape me, and finally he left.”
Giles cursed himself mentally. He hated playing the devil’s advocate, but he knew that was what she needed him to do now.
“You told him repeatedly your relationship was over, so that was not cheating. Your. love making always included some part of violence, so he might not have seen a difference until it was too late. And he came back.”
He looked at her apologetically. “I hate to say this, Buffy. But I am just repeating what you told me yourself before. You are just making more excuses. If you love him, tell him, and face your issues together.”
Buffy gave him a faint smile. “Who would have thought a Watcher would give the Slayer advice about loving a vampire?”
Buffy spent the afternoon at the Magic Box, helping Anya with her paint job, and was soon joined by Dawn. They left only when dinnertime was close, and unhurriedly started walking home.
Lost in her own thoughts, Buffy was oblivious to Dawn’s fidgeting. The youngest Summers finally decided herself. “Buffy, I want to go see Spike. It’s really important.”
The Slayer almost jumped at the name. She observed her sister for an instant, and said softly: “OK. I’ll walk you there. Do you want to go now?”
Dawn’s mouth opened and closed several times without making a sound. Buffy chuckled at her obvious surprise; she had probably thought it would take arguing to convince the Slayer to let her go see a vampire. Especially that vampire.
“Now. Cool. Thanks.”
The rest of the walk was done in silence. When they arrived in front of his crypt, Buffy let Dawn go alone, after recommending her to knock before entering. After all, Spike had the somewhat annoying habit to sleep naked.
She sat on a stone, a little distance from the crypt, but since Dawn did not close the door behind her, she heard most of their conversation.
A dozen candles lit the crypt brightly. Dawn stayed by the door, watching as Spike finished to button his black shirt.
“You know you shouldn’t be here, Nibblet. If big sis catches us, we’ll both be in trouble.”
“She knows. She brought me here.”
His scarred eyebrow raised as his eye flickered past her to the door, before returning to her face for an instant. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes that was by the bed, he muttered a curse at finding it empty.
“What do you want, Nibblet?”
He could see that she was biting her lips, just like Buffy sometimes did, and it almost made him smile. She finally said, very softly: “Did you mean it?”
He didn’t need to ask what. “Yes Dawn, I mean every word.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he had called her Dawn. It sounded formal, too formal maybe. But before he could add anything to lighten the atmosphere, she had crossed the distance that separated them and flung herself into his arms. A bit shocked, he hugged her back, his arms closing instinctively around her. Unwanted tears welled up in his eyes and he fought them back. It was all his stupid soul’s fault. Master vampires did not cry because little girls forgave them.
She finally stepped back and gave him a big, bright smile. “Thank you.”
“No, Nibblet, thank you.”
For a couple of seconds they were silent, then she asked: “Did you talk to Buffy?”
Surprise filled him. Buffy hadn’t told her about her visit. Therefore, Dawn didn’t know about his bloody soul. For some reason, it made her forgiveness even more precious to him.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I talked to the Slayer.”
“Did she forgive you?”
A grim smile played on his lips as he answered: “She didn’t stake me, but I don’t think that means she forgives anything.”
“I’m sure she does. She brought me here, remember? And didn’t even try to talk me out of it.”
He hesitated before saying very softly: “Nibblet, she has more to forgive than you can imagine. A lot more.”
“I know, Spike. I know everything.”
He turned away from her and shut his eyes tight. Buffy hadn’t told her he now had a soul, but she had told her about his assault. He cursed under his inexistent breath, cursed himself for thinking he had the slightest chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the Slayer.
“I think you should go now, lil bit, before your sister starts to worry.”
“Spike?”
He forced himself to face her, forced a smile on his lips, forced a normal voice out of his tight throat. “It was good to see you Nibblet. Now go.”
He cursed again at the look of hurt that briefly crossed her face before she left.
Later that night, Buffy left her sister to Giles’ care and went out for patrol. However, before she could dust vampires, she had to return his duster to a vampire. She played with the thought, annoyed that no one was there to hear her pun.
He had left the leather trophy at her home that night. She had thought about tossing it, but at the same time had been sure he would be back for it. And now he was.
She hesitated at the door of his crypt, almost leaving the piece of leather in front of it for him to find. But eventually she took hold of her courage and knocked.
“Go ‘way!”
The shout startled her. Ignoring the words, she pushed the door, finding Spike in an armchair, a bottle of scotch in his hand, two empty ones at his feet. His face turned to her quickly, and his vampire mask melted to reveal his human features as soon as he saw her.
“Slayer. Since when do you knock?”
His voice was surprisingly clear considering the amount of alcohol he seemed to have drunk. She ignored his question. “I brought you back your duster.”
She held out the piece of clothing, waiting for him to take it. He did not move, but his eyes considered the object.
“You said you’d steal it from me before dusting me. Keep it. It’s yours.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She was certain it was his most prized possession, and he was going to let her have it? “Why?”
“Why not?”
“Spike! Answer me!”
He took a long gulp before obeying. “You know how I got it.”
She waited for more, but that was all he said. How. By killing a Slayer. It used to be a trophy, and he didn’t want it anymore. She wondered whether that meant he was sorry for killing two Slayers. She realized she had voiced the question when he answered.
“Some part of me is sorry, but another part isn’t. It’s not like they were defenseless or anything. They were fighters, and they fought well, just not well enough for the particular day they died. On the other hand, I didn’t kill them to feed, and I didn’t really kill them to protect myself. I did it because I could. Because I wanted to. Because it was fun.”
He finished the bottle and threw it against the wall.
“It’s no fun any more. It’s not me anymore!”
He looked at her, his head cocked. “You sure you don’t want to dust me now, Slayer? You’d be doing me a favor, really.”
She shook her head. A thought had just entered her mind, and she was sure she would regret it later, but right then it seemed like a great idea. “I have a better deal. You’re going to patrol with me.”
She felt his stare on her as she slipped the leather on. It was a bit long, but so comfortable. And its scent was oddly soothing.
“You want forgiveness, you’ll have to work for it. Not just mine, mind. You can tell what you want, I know you’re sorry about killing the other Slayers, or you wouldn’t let go of your duster. And I would bet my shirt you’re just as sorry for all the innocents you killed in the last dozen decades. You need redemption, I need a slaying partner. Two birds with one stone.”
His eyes were completely expressionless, and she wondered whether she had been wrong in thinking he was lying about his lack of regrets. For the longest time, they just watched each other. Finally, he mumbled, almost inaudibly: “You really could forget what I did?”
“Only if you can forget the way I treated you since I came back to life.”
His eyes closed, and his usual smirk appeared on his lips. “I’m not going to forget our shagging, luv. Nothing is worth forgetting that.”
She felt herself blush, and was very glad he wasn’t looking. “That’s not what I meant! I meant.”
Her voice trailed as he raised his hand and looked at her.
“I know, pet. Don’t think about it. After all, you were right when you said you couldn’t trust me.”
She stuck her hands in the pockets of the duster, and watched her feet. She wanted to tell him she trusted him, forgave him, maybe even loved him. But for some reason she doubted he would believe her now. He needed time to get used to having a soul, and she had to see how much it would change him.
“So, want to go patrol now?” he said, getting up from his chair.
“Yes, but not with you. I think you’re drunker than what you appear. Come pick me up tomorrow after sunset. And be sober.”
His hand half raised to her face and hesitated, before finally brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. His voice was only a whisper when he said: “Anything you want, luv.”