Chapter 42: Thought, Word, or Deed
Buffy was running.
Behind her, Spike followed. Not trying to catch up with her, just keeping her in sight. Because she probably needed time to calm down before he could try to talk to her. And because he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he would tell her when he did catch her.
For a moment, right after her soul had returned, he had thought everything would be alright. She had been in his arms, her frantic breathing subsiding, and he had truly believed they were going to get through this, if not easily, then at least together. He had wanted very hard to believe it.
But then, she had pulled away from him, and her panic, her horror, had leapt tenfold. She hadn’t even been able to look at him without flinching. And he knew why, of course. She had to be horrified that he had let her drink from that thug, if not let her kill him. Appalled that he had been ready to take her away and kill with her. But what other solution would he have had, if she hadn’t regained her soul? What else could he have done? She had to understand that.
They must have been quite a sight. Two people running through Sunnyhell, black dusters flowing behind them, as if trying to escape the devil himself. But the citizens of the cursed town knew better than to be too interested in unusual looking things.
She was slowing down now, probably getting tired from running too long. He winced when he saw her stumble and fall to her knees on the ground, the fall thankfully cushioned by soft grass. Slowing down until he was walking, Spike looked around him, recognizing the place. He was still a couple hundred yards away, hesitating about going to her yet, when she picked herself up and took in her surroundings, as if she hadn’t realized where her steps had taken her. She must have recognized the place too, because, to his surprise, she walked the few yards to the front of the church and, pushing the heavy door open, slipped inside.
Even after she had disappeared, his eyes remained on the wooden door, but it wasn’t the door he was seeing, it wasn’t the soft sounds of the night he was hearing. When he pulled out his fags and lighter, his hands were shaking.
Three weeks before – only three weeks? Hell, it felt like centuries – Spike had been the one running aimlessly into the night, chased by Buffy. Or rather, not Spike. William. Not that the difference was that big anymore. He had just missed killing a human, then. An accident, nothing more. But it had broken down all the walls and defenses he had hastily put up to protect himself from his newly returned soul and the voices and guilt that had assaulted him. Running away from the monster he had been, he had ended in the one place monsters were reluctant to enter. A church. This very same church Buffy had just entered.
As the scene that had taken place in there replayed in his mind, Spike’s eyes widened in fear. Flicking away the half smoked cigarette, he rushed to the door. When he had been there before, out of his mind, he had tried to make the mental pain go away by finding some physical one. It hadn’t worked, because crosses didn’t burn humans. But now, they weren’t humans any longer. She wouldn’t try to hurt herself, would she? The simple thought that she could was suffocating him.
*****
“Shouldn’t we go after them?”
Dawn’s murmured question was the first sound in the Magic Box after both vampires had run off into the night. Angel looked at her, and at the rest of the Scoobies, finding the same look on all their faces. Relief, and worry. Relief that Buffy had regained her soul. Worry that her reaction had been to run away from them.
“Give her time,” he replied to the girl. “Let her come to you, when she’s ready. If you try to force things now it will just make it more difficult for everyone.”
Surprisingly, Dawn didn’t scoff at his advice, and just nodded thoughtfully.
“I doubt they’ll be back here tonight”, Giles voiced, his tone clearly shaken.
The Watcher gave a questioning glance at Angel then, as if asking what he thought. It was obvious why they thought he might be qualified to know what Buffy felt like right now, but in truth, he didn’t know that much more than they did. Different circumstances, different people, different ways of losing and regaining their souls.
“Probably not”, he answered nonetheless. “We should all just go home. Wait for Buffy to come to grips with what happened.”
“But we can’t leave her alone!” Willow protested.
Before Angel could reply to that, Manon had said the exact same thing he was thinking.
“She’s not alone.”
There was little discussion after that, and soon they were all out of the shop and separating, each to their own destination. Angel watched them all go, acutely aware, as they walked in pairs or more, of his own solitude.
He made his way toward the mansion without haste, for there was nothing, no one waiting for him there. He couldn’t help looking around as he walked, wondering where Buffy and Spike were, and whether they were OK. Without even realizing what he was doing, he fingered the healed scars on his neck. Buffy had to be alright. As far as he knew, she hadn’t killed anyone, so her soul shouldn’t bring forth too much guilt. Hopefully, it wouldn’t.
It was with a sigh that he entered the mansion, already regretting not to have simply left town and gone back to LA. It wasn’t like his presence was needed here anyway. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the woman – no, the angel – rising from her seat on the sofa until she spoke.
“Hey, Broodboy. Missed me?”
*****
The door creaked a little, startling Buffy out of her thoughts. She knew it was her Sire coming in, she could feel him, had been able to feel his presence ever since she ran out of the store. However, lost in her own world, she had almost forgotten he was just outside, until he came in.
She had been replaying in her mind the events of the last few days, starting with her almost draining Angel, and ending with the visit at the Magic Box, where something had been pulling her to the office, toward her soul. And she couldn’t help the feeling that it was unfair that she could remember so well. When Willow had re-cursed Angel, he hadn’t had the memories of what he had done as Angelus. Why couldn’t it be the same for her? It wouldn’t have hurt so much, then.
In silence, Spike walked to her and took a seat on the bench by her side. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid to discover in his so expressive eyes and face what he thought of her. Hesitantly, he reached out to her hand that was gripping the edge of the bench and covered it with his. She let out a silent sigh at the soft touch.
“Talk to me, luv?” he asked quietly.
Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she shook her head.
“Tell you what?”
“Anything. Why are you in here?”
Good question, really. Why was she, again? What was a vampire, even a souled one, doing in a place of worship, in the proximity of holy water and crosses?
“I don’t know,” she said with the ghost of a shrug. “I was just tired of running.”
“OK. Why were you running, then?”
She almost wanted to roll her eyes at him and ask him if he had been around for the last few days or not. But the words never made their way out of her throat, and instead she mumbled:
“They were smiling at me. I tried or wanted to kill them, and they were smiling like nothing had happened.”
“Did you kill them?”
She received the question like a slap, and instantly turned to look at Spike, aware that her eyes must have been flashing gold. In return, he watched her very calmly, almost impassively.
“You didn’t kill them”, he answered his own question. “You didn’t kill anyone. You thought about it, but in the end, when it was them and you and no more orders to restrain you… You. Still. Did. Not. Kill. Anyone.”
The cool mask flickered, and there was fire in his gaze. Warmth.
“You proved that you can be stronger than the demon,” he continued slowly. “You’re barely more than a fledgling, and you controlled the bloodlust and did not kill a single human being when you had many opportunities. Do you have any idea how strong that makes you?”
It would have been easy to give in, and just accept his soothing words, especially when he was looking at her with such conviction in his eyes. She had been afraid he would think less of her for her lack of control, and all he gave her was barely hidden pride. But she still couldn’t forget.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I almost drained Angel. And that guy. And we were going to leave and…”
Fingers on her lips shushed her.
“Don’t you start feeling guilty about what could have happened,” he said sternly. “If anyone is to blame about that, it’s me for agreeing to it. And the Poof for helping. And all the Scoobies for not trying to stop us. As for biting… You’re a vampire, luv. And as someone told me not that long ago, a tiger hunts to feed, so did you, and we can blame neither.”
The faintest smile tugged at her lips. Appropriate, that he would give her back words she had offered him when he was the one hurting because of his soul. She almost protested when his hand let go of hers, but immediately his arm was around her, pulling her closer to him, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault if your shiny soul went off wandering, luv,” he murmured against her forehead. “And even if it wasn’t pretty every day, in the end, it could have been much, much worse than you taking a couple of bites and scaring the Scoobies with a few well chosen words.”
Closing her eyes, she nodded lightly. She didn’t feel any less guilty about what she had done or wanted to do, but he was right, it could have been a lot worse. She shuddered at the thought, and he held her just a little tighter.
“They love you, you know,” he said quietly after a few seconds. “I’m sure they have forgiven you already. And I bet at this moment they’re worried about you as if nothing had happened.”
And yet, a lot had happened, she thought silently. Even if they forgave her already, she would need to apologize. The sooner, the better. Maybe not tonight, though. She needed a little more time to collect her thoughts.
For a long moment, they remained huddled in the dark church, until Buffy needed to let out the thought that was bothering her.
“Spike? Why did you… I mean, I understand why you stopped me from killing people, you said you didn’t want me to hurt when I got my soul back, and I can’t thank you enough for it.”
She hesitated then, and he prompted her to continue.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“The thief you let me bite? The passports?” she said quietly. “You had given up on keeping me kill-free. Organized everything for us to go away. And then you take me to the shop and make me want my soul again. Why?”
There was a long pause, and Buffy was almost tempted to look up at her Sire’s face and try to guess what he was thinking. But she did not move, and simply gave him the time he needed.
“Before the wankers took me,” he said at last, “I had given up hope you would get your soul back. Red wasn’t finding anything, the Council was on its way, and I was sure they would try to hurt you. I couldn’t lose you, luv. I would have done anything to keep you, even soulless, because it was still you. . A different you but still you. Anything except control you. I love your fire, your strength. Dominating you every day, every second… Better let you kill than play that game.”
She winced a little as he talked, all too aware that, as Spike had pointed it out before, her soulless self was very similar to her souled one. Except for that little detail that was the guilt, or lack thereof, over killing anything human.
“And then,” Spike continued after pausing for a second, “you free me from Soldierboy, and Peaches tell me about your soul, and how you must want it to get it back. And at first I thought that never in a thousand years you would want that. But then I remembered what you told me. About Heaven. And if I hadn’t tried to make you remember it too, it would have been the same as tearing you out from there. Again. ‘Couldn’t do that to you.”
He finished in a whisper, and brushed his lips to the top of her head. As she opened her eyes at last, she turned up to see his face, and was surprised to find tears in his gaze. Slowly, softly, she brought her lips to his, silently thanking him for remembering even when she had forgotten.