Chapter 12
October 2002
As Buffy lay on the roof of the crypt where so much of the past events had played out, she pondered what to do. She had tried to move on over the summer and she’d succeeded to a large degree. She still wasn’t entirely sure she could trust Spike, because of what had happened in the bathroom that night she couldn’t forget, but the enormousness of his actions since then staggered her.
He’d gotten a soul. The one thing besides a chip that could guide and shape his actions. He’d gotten it for her, to be the man she needed. She breathed deeply. That had to be the most flattering thing anyone had ever done for her and she supposed it proved even more that Spike was her Lancelot. Questing after the Holy Grail for his lady love.
She’d taken to reading the legends about the two lovers over the summer and was disturbed at some of the parallels. Guinevere, in many of those tales, had treated Lancelot much as she had treated Spike, taking his adoration, using him, then shunning him when not in secret. He on the other hand, was nearly always described as incredibly head over heels in love with her, willing to do anything for her.
Had she really been that way? She knew she had. She’d beaten him, used him, and in the process of the little game they’d played, likely nearly stomped all over his heart. She still remembered those whispered endearments and I love you’s that had been exchanged and she knew that they had both tried to violate the other. He went after her physically, but she had violated him mentally and emotionally. They both had a very long way to go, but maybe, just maybe, there were bricks to rebuild with.
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Spike wandered in the moonlit, stopping before the doors to his old crypt. He didn’t really want to go in there. He suspected Clem was still holding the quarters, but he simply wasn’t feeling sociable tonight. Perhaps Buffy was right, as he had moved away from the school, he had felt more clear headed, though the underlying struggle between his soul and demon had remained, but quieter now.
He lowered himself to the stoop of the crypt and remembered all the reasons he should never go near her again, other than to be of aid to her in fighting the forces of darkness. He was unworthy. He had found the Grail, but it had failed to redeem him for his crimes and purify him, if anything it had only highlighted them for him.
And underneath, his demon, or maybe even the new soul, felt a little resentment at her, for all the things she’d put him through. The emotional roller coaster of the last year, the kiss me, kill me, love me, hate me, back and forth had been enough to drive him nearly insane before he went to Africa. But there was something about her now which suggested she was different, that she had some clue as to what failings had been committed on both sides.
He mused quietly, then started as he heard something drop to the ground on the side of the crypt. He stood quietly, ready to pounce, when Buffy rounded the crypt.
“Spike,” she squeaked and flushed. “I didn’t think you wanted to come back here.”
“I didn’t, not permanently. I just was taking a walk to clear my head and found myself here.”
“That’s what I was doing to. Spike, will you walk with me, just for a little while? Please?”
He heard the echo of her earlier words and he shrugged but followed.