Chapter 10
Buffy stumbled out the door and started home on shaky legs, still not entirely sure what had happened in those final moments. The quiet declaration followed by the quick exit wasn’t really Spike’s style. She had thought he might make a scene or at least try to coax her into staying for one more round, but he hadn’t. In fact, he’d been almost distant and detached, despite his words.
Slightly confused, she looked down at the hands he had just kissed and the letter she still carried that he had written her. She wanted to read what he’d written, see if it answered her questions or made things more confusing, but she needed to get home before the others returned and discovered her absence. She tucked the letter away and started towards Revello Drive in the early morning light.
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Her first stop when she reached home was the bath, knowing she was probably quite fragrant with the combined odors of him and her and their lovemaking all over her body. As she showered, she found a few tears rolling down her cheeks as she remembered the touches and caresses and incredible closeness of the weekend that was now gone. Buffy stepped from the shower and took a deep breath, shoving the memories aside for later contemplation and steeling herself to present a perkiness to Dawn and Willow as they returned.
She had just finished her makeup and descended to the basement to load the first round of laundry when she heard the front door open.
“Buffy, you home?” Willow called.
“Down here,” she replied, adding the capful of detergent and setting the machine in motion.
She ascended the steps to find Willow in the kitchen.
“Hey Will, have a good weekend with the parents?”
Willow nodded. “OK, I guess. We did the usual, avoiding anything really important and focusing on my schoolwork, major, where I should think about for grad school.”
She sighed. “Buffy, sometimes, I don’t even know if this is what I want anymore. I mean it’s like I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. I really thought I had a handle on things, I was finally getting comfortable with myself, then bam, the magic blew up in my face, Tara left me and I’m not even doing that great in school any more, since I’ve missed so much class. It’s like I’m just empty Willow now.”
She paused, hesitant to ask the next question. “Buffy, I know you’ve been talking to Tara some. How is she? Does she ever ask about me?”
“Willow, she misses you.”
As Buffy responded to Willow’s concerns, she couldn’t help but wish she could spill to her best friend in the same way and receive some comfort herself. She remembered how they used to discuss her love life, with Angel, then Riley, even Parker. Willow had always been supportive of her.
She was very confused about what she’d done with her weekend and she desperately felt the need for some advice. If she told Willow, would she get angry or attack her for being with Spike? Willow knew what unconventional relationships were like.
“She doesn’t say things directly, but I know she worries about you still. You just have to give it time and earn back her trust. You really shook her up with the magic tricks.” Buffy continued,
And there it was, the reason she couldn’t tell Willow. Trust. She wasn’t sure who she trusted and who would still trust her if they knew all her dirty little secrets. Willow, Xander, even Giles over in merry olde England. She didn’t know who would support her and who would turn on her for what she’d done.
So when Willow asked her about her weekend, she deflected the question with a general response. “Oh, I hung around, played some cards, watched some TV, you know, vegged a little.”
Willow accepted her answer without comment, and Buffy felt a little relived. She wasn’t ready to discuss this yet, even with her best friend. She wasn’t sure she even knew how to verbalize what had happened, what she’d felt, and the tentative connection that might or might not be there.
The day passed as she finishing some other light housekeeping, made inroads into the dirty laundry and finally settled down to wait for Dawn’s return. She soon found herself lost in a flashback to the previous day, when Spike had trapped her underneath him, and forced her to listen to his unbelievably horrible repertoire of vampire jokes.
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“All right pet, how about this one… What do you call a dog owned by a vampire?”
She’d grimaced and frowned, as he lightly goosed her ribs.
“A blood hound, get it?”
She’d groaned, but he’d been on a roll.
“What was the Californian hippie vampire like?”
She’d shrugged, sure the answer was ridiculous and was correct, as he tried to fake his “friend of Xander” accent.
“He was ghoul man, ghoul. Wait, wait, one last one.”
She’d giggled and squirmed against him, relishing the feel of his smooth skin against hers and the chance to laugh and have fun in bed. “What’s a vampire’s favorite food?” His voice had returned to that sexy British accent as he stared deep in her eyes.
“Um.. Blood?” ventured Buffy.
He’d grinned. “No, neck-tarines,” he’d announced as he dived to nuzzle that portion of her anatomy.
She’d gasped a little, but realized he was still in play mode as he continued to tickle her lightly, She’d begun to return the torture, finding out Spike had more than one sensitive spot, until they’d eventually changed to more seductive caresses and….
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The door slammed as Buffy jumped slightly to see Dawn staring at her strangely.
“Jeez Buffy, off in la-la land?”
Buffy attempted to regain her composure and hide the fact that she was likely blushing from Dawn. “Dawnie, you’re home – did you have a good time at the lake?”
“Yeah, it was great and Karen’s cousins were way cool. We had a good time and I did all my homework.” She proudly displayed the completed assignments for Buffy’s perusal.
“That’s good Dawn. I’m glad you had a nice weekend.”
“What about you, what’d you do here all by yourself?”
Buffy felt the blush start to rise again as some X-rated thoughts of the weekend flitted quickly though her mind, and tried to shrug nonchalantly.
“You know, just hung out, enjoyed the peace and quiet.”
Dawn grabbed her travel bag and started up the stairs to call Janice and gloat about her weekend. “That’s great Buffy, I’m gonna go unpack. Thanks again for letting me go this weekend, you’re the best.”
Buffy stood and stretched. She’d do a quick patrol, in cemeteries other than Spike’s, then an early bedtime for her. She really hadn’t got much sleep this weekend.
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Patrol was uneventful for the most part and Buffy took down the few new risers quite quickly. She decided things were quiet enough that she could call it a night and feel okay about her sacred duty. And she could finally read that letter she’d been both anticipating and dreading all day. What would Spike have written her? Did he already have another game in mind? She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to play again, but she thought she might.
Or would he ruin things and make some ultimatum to her? Love him or leave him? She really hoped not. She sighed and unlocked the front door and mounted the steps to her room.
The house was quiet, she suspected that Willow and Dawn were both already asleep. She closed the door softly, then for good measure locked it as well. She slipped out of her patrol clothes, pulled on her pajama pants and tank top, then settled into the bed, pulling the envelope from beneath her pillow where she’d stashed it. Looking at the envelope with the scrawling script on the front for a long moment, she turned it over and opened it up, pulling out a piece of paper covered in the same script. She began to read the poem it contained.
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Sir Launcelot And Queen Guinevere
Like souls that balance joy and pain,
With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain
Came in a sunlit fall of rain.
In crystal vapor everywhere
Blue isles of heaven laugh’d between,
And far, in forest-deeps unseen,
The topmost elm-tree gather’d green
From draughts of balmy air.
Sometimes the linnet piped his song;
Sometimes the throstle whistled strong; Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel’d along,
Hush’d all the groves from fear of wrong; By grassy capes with fuller sound
In curves the yellowing river ran,
And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan,
Above the teeming ground.
Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro’ the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem’d a part of joyous Spring;
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,Buckled withh golden clasps before; A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.
Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some tinkling rivulet,
In mosses mixt withh violet
Her cream-white mule his pastern set;
And fleeter now she skimm’d the plains
Than she whose elfin prancer springs
By night to eery warblings,
When all the glimmering moorland rings
With jingling bridle-reins.
As she fled fast thro’ sun and shade,
The happy winds upon her play’d,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
She look’d so lovely, as she sway’d
The rein with dainty finger-tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.
My Dearest Buffy,
Poetry has never been my gift. I wish I had the words to properly tell you how I feel, but I have robbed Tennyson for expressions far more melodious than mine.
Thank you for this weekend and this game. I have wanted nothing more than a chance to love and cherish you, if only for a few short days and nights, for longer than I care to admit. You are as all-encompassing to me as Guinevere was to Lancelot. Buffy, I would truly give up all other bliss, everything I am, for you. You’ve made me a better monster and a better man.
I know there was something between us this weekend. I felt something changing in you. Please, my lady, give us a chance. I’m not what I was and I can become so much more, if you’ll only be my guide.
Your Knight,
Spike
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The emotions she had managed to stifle for most of the day ripped through her as she gripped the sheet of paper in her hand and read his words a second time. And slowly the realization sunk in that she was a fool for coming up with that game and dragging these issues out for both of them. Why had she ever imagined that she could disguise Spike’s feeling and her feelings by calling each other some other name?
He was right, as he usually was in reading her. Something had changed in her, a little. He’d held her, made love to her, cherished her in a way she hadn’t known was possible until this weekend and she had responded in kind.
But did she love him? Could she love him? She was afraid of the answer to that question. She could hear her inner voices begin their internal dialogue.
NormalBuffy argued that she could love him and could build on what had just happened between them. He was a man and she was a woman and they clearly had chemistry and common interests. In all honesty, no one had ever made her feel quite like she did with Spike before. Maybe this was the real thing. But was she still just caught up in the afterglow of the romance? Were any of those feelings real?
SlayerBuffy insisted that she didn’t love him, at least not all of him, and probably never could. He was a vampire, the thing she was chosen to fight and destroy. He might not be killing anymore but he was still a demon. A Slayer did not have a relationship with a vampire, even a chipped one.
And deep down was the worst fear of all, one she recognized but almost couldn’t name. She was incapable of truly loving anyone. But that concept was too painful to explore and she quickly moved on.
Maybe the answer was to not answer. Maybe there was no answer. Her mind raced. She knew all the arguments by heart, but she didn’t really know what was in her heart.
Suddenly, she was angry with him. He’d broken the rules of the game. It wasn’t suppose to intrude into real life, it wasn’t supposed to leave his crypt, that den of debauchery where she could hide from the rest of the world and block out reality. It wasn’t supposed to be real and messy and hard. But he’d brought in out in the open and was calling her on her bluff.
She understood now his parting words. He had wanted to reassure her that he was still there for her even if she once again refused his offer of a real relationship. He’d still be a shoulder to cry on, a punching-bag, a quick physical release for her.
But it wouldn’t be the same. She’d felt how good it could be between them and knew it was never going to be quite the same again. And it could be so much more. That thought danced elusively through her head, taunting her with the possibilities.
Buffy tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning until she realized what she had to do. She snapped on her light and read the poem one final time, feeling foolish as she softly kissed the paper. Then she ripped the letter to shreds.
She’d made up her mind to take the coward’s way out. The answer was not to answer. The only way to handle this was to pretend it never happened and let things return to normal. Spike, for all his pretty poetry and language and actions and love, was still a vampire without a soul and if his chip ever failed, she couldn’t take the chance. She couldn’t be his moral compass, because frankly, at times she doubted hers. Couldn’t risk the possibility of another Angel situation, where she would have to sacrifice her love for the world. She didn’t think she had the strength to do it again. She wasn’t sure that if the time came, she could look into those expressive blue orbs and strike the killing blow. So she shouldn’t take the chance. Couldn’t love him with all her heart.
But how could she face him again? She wasn’t sure she could give him up entirely, but this made things awkward, despite his reassurances. She almost couldn’t imagine life without him in it. He’d been the one person she’d run to ever since she’d returned. She decided she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Maybe she could slowly decrease their contact, start patrolling at odd times to avoid him, hang out with her friends more, go Bronzing, make buddies at work, get some other support structures. That was the strategy. After all, hadn’t that been the point of the little game, feel some emotions so she could reconnect with humanity, not her undead knight?
Buffy rolled over and stared at the clock as the hours ticked by and sleep refused to come. She felt no contentment at her decision, but there was really no other choice. She was such a fool. The possibilities for happiness, the potential for love, it had all been so close and she should have known better, should have known that those things weren’t meant for a Slayer. So now she’d have to pay the price and deal with the pain. As she rolled over to try for sleep one final time, a deep sadness overwhelmed her and she allowed herself one last cry as she let go of the budding love that had blossomed inside her. It’s better this way became the mantra she chanted as sleep finally claimed her.
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Spike lay on his bed, chain smoking as he stared at the ceiling. Maybe the letter had been a mistake. Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe he should have just let her leave. But he didn’t know the outcome yet and he would hang on to hope as long as he could.
He stroked the negligee that lay draped across his torso. Maybe she wouldn’t come running back with open arms and drag him off to “meet the scoobies”, but he knew something had changed and he was determined to follow up while the iron was hot.