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Throughout the weeks after he watched the Slayer fall, Spike remembered his promise to her.
Keep Dawn alive and well, at any cost.
Till the end of the world, love, he had sworn (even if that's tonight), as an enraged and more than half-mad goddess tried to sacrifice Buffy's sister and destroy their world.
But the end of the world hadn't come that night, shockingly enough. Instead came the end of his world, crashing down on him as his Slayer dropped from the night sky.
That simple promise, made to the woman he loved, was the only thing that stopped him from stepping out into the sunlight unprotected the next morning. Instead, he huddled by himself under the back porch of Buffy's house, staring blankly at nothing, as the Scoobies all hugged and cried together inside.
The next evening, after a day spent alternately staring at the ceiling of his crypt, and shaking with sobs, he dragged himself back to Buffy's house and sat down on the floor outside Dawn's room, where the nibblet lay unmoving in her bed. He had a duty to uphold – not quite as sacred as slaying demons or killing a goddess, but close. Seeing to Dawn's well-being gave him the only meaning he had left. Though if he one day managed to fail the girl like he had failed her sister, she wouldn't be an hour dead before he joined them.
Through the long days after Buffy's death, through her wake and funeral, he tried to do what was right, even when it wasn't easy. Even when it was bloody painful to face a world without Buffy Summers in it.
He had lived for over a hundred years, but he had never felt like his days were pointless, set to repeat. Until now. Without her, it was all meaningless.
Someone as good as she had been didn't deserve to die, not so young, not this way. But he knew better than anyone that life had never been fair. What more evidence did you need when monsters like him were pushing a century and a half, while someone like her was dead and buried before she could even legally drink in this bloody country?
Nightmares waited for him every sunrise the rare days he did manage to fall asleep, distorted echoes of that night - of Buffy, staring down at him with disappointment, disgust, hatred; in each one he would think up one of a hundred different ways to save her, and would be so, so convinced each would work. But every nightmare ended with her falling endlessly, cold, dead eyes glaring at him, all the way down.
Because he couldn't save her, not when it counted.
About a month after they buried Buffy, and her friends seemed to have put the worst of their grieving behind them, Red and her girlfriend made their move into Buffy's house permanent.
Willow repaired the Buffybot, so that anyone who pried into Dawn's life for her own well-being would just see a chipper, overbearing Buffy who had never been. Spike hated even being in the same room as that robot, its hollow imitation of Buffy's personality a constant torment and a cruel reminder of his past mistakes. But he kept his thoughts to himself, because he saw the desperate way Dawn's eyes followed the robot across the room, so willing to suspend reality to get a glimpse of her sister in the machine's eyes.
One day Tara started straightening up Buffy's bedroom, but when Dawn started crying when she saw the packing boxes Tara had pulled out of the garage, the witch quietly put them away. "She's not ready for that yet," Tara had told him softly when she saw him watching the exchange. He had just nodded, but inside he was thinking that he'd never be ready to put the Slayer in the past.
Over the late summer weeks and into the handful of days remaining until Dawn's freshman year began, Spike slipped into his own routine. The frequent times he couldn’t fall asleep, he slipped into the graveyard to hunt and kill demons by himself (his own kind…were they still?)
He even joined the Scoobies on patrol on the rare occasions when his help was both solicited and of use, and endured their never-ending contempt and sharp-edged glances, because he could fight, he could help, and that's what Buffy would have wanted
So he silently observed as Red's skills at fighting grew, and with it, her confidence. The other Scoobies learned to trust her commands in battle, and though they would never be able to replicate Buffy's skill, but if they didn't manage to actually reduce the demon population, they did at least keep it at bay.
He followed Willow's orders when it pleased him and ignored them when it didn't. The witch never seemed to get annoyed, but it made Giles and Xander almost froth with irritation at him. Once, he'd have found that hilarious.
A long time ago, it seemed.
Finally, toward the end of August, Dawn began to react to the world around her again, waking up almost as if she had been in a coma. She still had perpetually dark circles under her eyes, but her face wasn't red and tear-streaked when he saw her first thing after she woke up, and she sometimes teased him just like she had before everything went to hell.
He sat with her on the living room couch one rainy evening, watching a cheery, wholesome black and white musical that would inevitably end with all the loose ends tied up and the star-crossed lovers finding love and ending happily ever after. The Scoobies were out trying some new techniques of Red's, a mixture of strategy, weapons, and battle magic they deemed too dangerous for Dawn to be part of, and had left him as babysitter.
"Buffy saw something good in you, deep down, you know," the Bit said suddenly, as on-screen the heroine cried because she thought her hero had left her forever.
He twitched, and a bolt of longing and self-hatred shot through him. Hearing her name always had that effect on him. Dawn turned to face him. "If she could see you now, she'd be proud of you."
"I'm nothing to be proud of, nibblet," he said softly, running his hands through his hair. She didn't say anything, so he finally said the only thing that was true anymore. He did that a lot, these days. Why not? He had no one left to pretend for, anymore.
"I'd have died in her place - you know that, yeah?"
She looked up at him then, an expression far too old and knowing on her youthful face. "I know."
A few days later, Red burst through the front door, home early from a Scooby meeting at the magic shop. Brandishing an ornate gold amulet at Dawn and tripping over her words in her excitement, the witch finally managed to explain that she had accidentally enchanted the amulet, an unintended side effect of another spell she was working on. She thought it would repel demons with malicious intent from Dawn, apparently using power borrowed from Dawn's blood that was also Buffy's blood.
Spike knew there was something missing from her story (why was she tampering with anything that had to do with Buffy or Dawn's blood, for instance); he wasn't stupid. But thinking of the Slayer, much less speaking about her, still brought him that stabbing pain in his chest, and he couldn't quite bring himself to pry for more details, especially since he knew Willow would never endanger Dawn.
They got their first chance to test out the talisman that night, while he was escorting Dawn to the mall to meet some of her friends. Two newly sired vampires, hungry and desperate enough to pick a fight with another vampire in hopes of getting to Dawn, ambushed them behind the movie theater. To the lowlifes' shock, they couldn’t get within three feet of her without encountering some sort of invisible barrier, though they kept trying, throwing themselves at the air as if they were trying to break down a door.
Once Spike was satisfied that the amulet worked as intended, he stepped outside of Dawn's protective circle and toward the vamps, stake in hand.
They backed away in surprise, but they were too slow. Most vampires were, for him. He dodged, ducked, and slid away from their punches with little thought to style, waiting until he got a clear shot at the smaller one's chest. He plunged the stake in as hard and fast as he could. Right on the money.
His buddy turning to dust surprised the other vampire enough to make him hesitate. Too easy. He grabbed the vamp's hair and swung him forward to impale himself on the stake he held steady in his other hand. He had spun back to Dawn and shoved the stake back into his back pocket before he heard the whoosh behind him that meant the second vamp was dust.
Once upon a time, he'd loved the fight, the dance of life and unlife and death - craved it like he craved sex. He'd thought it an art, beautiful and compelling and meaningful. But now, it seemed so stupid. Pointless.
He watched silently from the shadows as a Dawn’s friends arrived, and followed them at a distance into the theatre and let his dark thoughts distract him from the latest insipid teen movie. It wasn’t until he was walking her back home that night that he felt a shock like ice water go through him and realized the horrible truth.
Dawn didn’t need him anymore.
It was Red he told, in the end.
She was sitting on her bed with several dusty magic tomes spread out in front of her and looked up with a smile when he walked in, obviously expecting Tara. When she saw it was him, she hurriedly gathered the books and pushed them under the bed, turning the activity into a gesture for him to sit on the bed with her, despite the fact that she'd never done anything like that before.
He opened his mouth to say that she didn't fool him, that he knew she was hiding something, and then shut it again. What did it matter what her secrets were? He was positive she wouldn't hurt Dawn, and that was all he really cared about.
"Look, Red," he began awkwardly, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "There's… well, there's nothing for me here, now you've got the nibblet protected. You and your girl have been good to me, don't get me wrong, but hanging around with the rest of the Scooby gang, long term… it can't work." Without Buffy. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them.
"What will you do?" Red asked softly, looking almost like she genuinely cared.
"I think-" He had to stop and swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat. "I think I'll do something she would have wanted, you know?"
She nodded, as if that made perfect sense. "You could help Angel out in L.A.," she suggested.
He snorted. "The goal here is to be as good a man – er, vampire, whatever… as I can be, and my dear old grandsire doesn't really bring out the best in me."
Her quick grin was replaced by an intent look. "Spike… just let me say…whatever else you were to each other, nobody can deny that Buffy believed in you. Even when no one else did." He started to shake his head in denial, but she pushed on. "Think about it - Dawn was the most important thing in the entire universe to her, and she chose you to protect her."
"Maybe," he muttered, trying not to assign her words too much meaning, trying not to roll them around in his head like precious gems. Buffy believed in you. Buffy chose you. Pretty thoughts, but likely not true. And now he would never know for certain. "But in any case, Dawn's protected now, and I'm just…taking up space. There's no purpose for me here, anymore."
She reached out to squeeze his arm. "Dawnie will miss you terribly, you know, and not just 'cause you've been protecting her. You're like an older brother to her."
He shrugged. "I'll miss the nibblet, too," he said, and it was true. He'd miss her smile that was just now returning after long months of tears, her eyes that sparkled in the same way Buffy's had, her sarcastic sense of humor that always made him grin. He shook his head to clear it. "But I've got to do something. Something she would have wanted. Otherwise I'd just stake myself, because it doesn't mean a damn thing without her." He looked down to see his hands shaking, and he shoved them into his pockets as he rose from the bed.
Willow was looking at him as if she'd never seen him before. "You really did love her, didn't you," she said quietly.
He jerked back, unwilling to face either the compassion or the raw surprise in her eyes. "With every scrap that remains of my mutilated heart." He tried to keep his voice cool, calm, but he knew he was snarling. "From now until the day I turn to dust."
He left her gaping after him and stomped down the stairs. A thought suddenly came to him, a whisper of a rumor he had heard decades ago, of something he could fight for his right to ask for, that would stop the whole world's disbelief of the intensity of these feelings that haunted him. A perfect, fitting tribute to the woman he had loved.
He quietly let himself out the front door, ignoring a twinge of regret as he glanced back at Dawn, who was chatting with one of her girlfriends on the phone with her back to him. She deserved to hear him say goodbye, but he couldn't, not when he finally knew what he needed to do.
He started down the street at a leisurely pace, heading east. He'd always liked walking. He couldn't get all the way to Africa by walking, but it was a start.
He hurt.
Words had no meaning. He floated, not in a haze or anything half so peaceful, but in a smothering blanket of pain so intense that he left his body behind, drowning in the combination of the worst experiences he'd ever had in his life. He trembled and shook and burned with the pain.
Time passed.
At some point (days later? Weeks?) he realized he had left the village and begun walking. Some part of him knew he was heading vaguely north (toward the ocean, perhaps? but why? why not?) but that was all of the outside world he was aware of.
Just imagine, he thought he'd hated himself before. Ha. That was nothing to the disgust that filled his every second, building under his skin until it almost burst free of him.
And the ache of regret was something else even more terrible entirely. Every passing thought reminded him of someone he had murdered. He grieved for every single one of the hundreds, thousands of lives he had taken over the past century, every second, all the time. He wasn't sure it would ever end.
He wasn't sure he deserved for it to end.
And there was nothing he could do to make it right. That was the worst part.
They joined his nightmares of fruitlessly trying to save Buffy, throwing themselves off that scaffolding, one after the other. As they fell, they watched him with hatred and hopelessness in their eyes. Last, and most painful of all, the Slayers he had killed stepped off the platform to their deaths. The Chinese girl during the Boxer rebellion. The sleek black lady from New York City.
And always last, and always worst, a slim blonde girl from sunny California.
But I didn't kill you, he always tried to scream.
Her expression never altered, eyes on him until she finally hit the ground, her strong body overcome by unforgiving pavement. You did, those eyes said. Every innocent person you ever killed, that was the same as killing me. Over and over again.
He wandered for days. How many, he didn't know, and didn't really care.
He had no purpose. It was terrifying. Never in his life had he lacked an anchor, a person of some sort to call home. He'd left his dear mother for Drusilla, and Drusilla for Buffy. He was not made to be alone.
And now there was no place on the entire planet that wanted him, a reformed killer. He would live for an eternity alone. Was that punishment for all he'd done?
Was it enough?
He wept. It didn't do a thing to assuage his guilt, but there was nothing else he could do.
One day, he remembered Willow's suggestion.
Los Angeles.
He closed his eyes against a sudden memory - he had killed two sisters just off of UCLA's campus in the late 80s. Sweet girls, born and raised on a farm somewhere in the Midwest, with a wide-eyed innocence that had called to him. And a night filled with blood and tears and throaty screams.
He was on the ground, he realized suddenly, and it was past midnight. How long had he been kneeling here, drowning in his own sins?
He rose shakily. L.A. Right. It was as good as any plan.
Perhaps if he lived for another century helping Angel, he'd be able to make some small amends for the horrors he had brought to the world.
Thinking of his grandsire made him think of Buffy - gone how long now? One hundred thirty nine days, a voice in the back of his head informed him helpfully. He hadn't been consciously keeping track, but some part of him had known it was important.
God, Buffy.
How had she ever managed to treat him civilly? He'd never understood why she wouldn't, couldn’t love him back, when he knew she felt the same spark of attraction between them that he did. And he'd certainly thought he'd loved her back then, with that never-sated burning that flared whenever she was around, and a desire for her to be his, and only his, forever.
But he'd known nothing of love back then. Nothing.
Love was selfless, and devoted and sacrificial, and he hadn't been any of those things. Love meant making her priorities your own, being with her even if it gained him nothing. Back then, he hadn't even possessed the capacity to understand that.
He had a newfound appreciation for the person she had been, even beyond his own, personal love for her. She should have staked him, a dozen times, and she hadn't, because of a compassion that even years of slaying demons hadn't beaten out of her. She'd treated him like a man, when no one deserved that respect less than he did.
He loved her now, truly loved every single bit of her in a way he hadn't before, for who she'd been and what she'd done - not just for him, but for everyone she'd ever encountered.
Surely the best way to honor her memory was to try to become the tiniest bit of the man she'd seen inside him. Prevent other demons from destroying lives the way he had.
So. On to His Peachiness, then. At least he could understand now why his grandsire had become such a sniveling, broody git after being cursed with a soul, though understanding probably wouldn't make the prat any less insufferable.
Wait.
He stopped in the middle of the dirt road. No, he needed to go to Sunnydale first, to make sure Red's amulet was still protecting the nibblet, and that he wasn't needed more with the Scoobies. He doubted they wanted to see him again, but he'd made a promise to a lady.
And that trumped everything else, even his own blasted redemption.
He stowed away on a freighter to New York, and from there boarded the subway and eventually the Amtrak, huddled under a hooded sweatshirt and blanket in the darkest corners he could find. It took almost four days to make it across the country to California, leaving him with little to do except plan how to best begin making amends.
As long as he was in town, he could apologize to all the Scoobies for everything he'd done to them, particularly to Red, Tara and Dawn, who had (usually) treated him civilly despite it all. He'd make sure Dawn was doing alright, then catch a bus to LA.
He shook his head. Then what, begin redeeming himself, just like that? Who did he think he was, Angel? "One thing at a time," he whispered. That was all he could do. A woman in the seat across from his stared at him and scooted back uneasily.
He stepped off a Greyhound bus at the Sunnydale bus station past dusk. One hundred forty seven days, that voice in his head supplied. It was October 14, according to his little bus ticket. The demon trials and his subsequent wanderings had taken almost two months, though they had felt shorter. And much, much longer.
The bus station was only about an hour's walk from Buffy's house (Dawn's house, he told himself). By the time he got there, the moon was high overhead, and only a couple lights were on. Should he have called first? He had no idea where the nearest pay phone was. Oh, well.
He walked up to the front door and knocked. He could smell a faint trace of that eternally familiar smell that was Buffy, sweet and musky and somehow soft all at once. They'd probably been moving some of her stuff out. He wondered if they'd let him have a shirt or something of hers as a reminder. Probably not.
Finally, he heard pounding footsteps and Dawn opened the door, a strange, dazed expression on her face that turned to disbelief when she saw him. "Spike?" she squealed, and threw her arms around him.
He chuckled, relieved but surprised that her first response hadn't been to hit him. He knew Summers women, and they definitely tended to be the hit first, ask questions later type.
"Hello, nibblet," he said, reaching out to push a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked…off. Something was up, and it wasn't because of him, or at least just because of him. Her eyes were wider than they should be, her breathing shakier, her heartbeat too fast. She smelled scared and hopeful, all jumbled together.
He put his hands on her shoulders and peered down at her. "What's wrong?"
"What? Nothing's wrong," she said. Too fast. "E-Everything's right. Everything's gonna be okay now." Before he could figure out what that meant, he heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Dawnie? Who is it?" Red came down, her hair tangled like she'd been running outside. She had a crackling, supernatural energy surrounding her, much stronger than it had been when he'd left. Her eyes widened. "Spike!"
He nodded to her. "Red. Sorry I didn't call to warn you all before I came over. I just got back in town." There was something off with her, too, and he examined her face as he spoke.
"Oh! No, no, that's perfectly fine, you're always welcome here," she said, too quickly. "I mean, so long as you're still a good guy!" She laughed nervously, and Dawn gave a feeble chuckle as well.
Spike had had enough. "Alright, out with it. I can tell something's wrong."
Dawn and Willow shared an unreadable look, and Willow's shoulders slumped as she led him into the living room. Someone was doing laundry, and a pile of dirty clothes lay in a basket on the floor. Spike glanced around before turning his attention to the girls. "Tell me," he pleaded. "Let me help you."
The girls looked at each other for a long moment, and Red finally opened her mouth, looking uncertain. But before she could speak, he realized where he'd seen those clothes before.
Buffy had been buried in them.
Her smell, and now her clothes… If he'd had a functioning heart, it would have stopped beating.
"What have you done?" he roared, jumping to his feet. "She deserved better than you interfering with the natural order…turning her into a bloody walking corpse!"
Willow flinched back from him, that spark of magic prickling against his skin again, as if she couldn't control it. "No, it's not like that, Spike, I swear! Her death wasn't the natural order. I invoked Osiris, and he let me bring her back." She was trembling, tears filling her eyes.
"Buffy's really back, Spike. Back for real."
It took him a few minutes to say anything, though he opened and closed his mouth a couple times. Dawn and Red watched him as he paced the room.
He stopped. There was still something off about them. They should have been ecstatic, laughing and crying and…
With Buffy.
"Where is she?" He asked hoarsely. His head was spinning, and he could only concentrate on one thought at a time or he would break down. Laugh or cry or scream, he wasn't sure which.
Willow wrung her hands. "She locked herself in her bedroom," she said, and at last Spike had an idea of the problem.
"There's something wrong with her," he said, and it wasn't a question.
"There isn't!" Dawn retorted fiercely, her lower lip trembling.
Willow slid her arm around Dawn's shoulders. "Physically, she's perfectly fine," she said. "Healthy and normal, just like she was the day she…died. But…she's really, really unhappy about something, and I'm not sure what. She won't talk to us or even really acknowledge us. I think she was in a hell dimension, like Angel was sent to."
Dawn nodded firmly. "She's in shock, that's all."
Spike stared at them for a long minute. He knew something didn't quite add up, but he was too stunned to figure it out right now.
"Right," he said finally. Nothing else to say, really. "I'm gonna go kip in the basement, that alright?"
Red nodded. "Yeah, go ahead."
He paused uncertainly in front of the basement door. "Well, I'll be there if you need anything, yeah?" They didn't answer, and the door was almost closed behind him when Dawn spoke up.
"Spike? You're not going to try to see her?"
That was the last thing Buffy needed, when she so obviously wanted time and space to deal with everything - one more person trying to press themselves, their affection on her. But he didn't know how to tell Dawn that in a non-cruel way. So he settled for saying, "Dawn, pet, if she doesn't want to see her own sister or her best friend right now, she certainly won't want to see me. She just needs time to be alone. She'll come around."
Dawn nodded. "I really hope you're right," she said in a quavering voice.
He gave her his best reassuring smile and closed the basement door behind him.
The air was dank and dark, and he welcomed the cool silence as a chance to figure out what the hell was going on, and what he needed to do. Buffy alive again was incredible, beyond anything he had ever dreamed of, but at what cost to her? Why had Osiris let Willow bring her back? A supernatural phenomenon had caused her to sacrifice herself, which was how Willow must have convinced the demon, but as far as he could tell, Buffy's death itself had been natural, caused by a long fall that even she couldn't survive.
What was he missing?
He fell asleep still trying to figure it out, and he was thrown back into another rerun of his nightmare-fueled memory of that day again. He watched Buffy fall and fall as he stood by helplessly, not able to look away as she hit the pavement with a crunch of bone and skin. This was where the nightmare ended, but then she opened her eyes and stared at him. "Make it right," she hissed.
He sat bolt upright on the cot. He had direction, now. He would tell Buffy everything that had happened, that he'd done, and would do whatever she wanted him to do, whether it was stake himself, go to Angel, or help her fight the demons. The other demons.
His heart and soul were already hers, whether she wanted them or not. It seemed only fitting that he made his life hers, as well. She could give him absolution.
When he finally managed to fall asleep, the usual nightmares awaited him. But this time, Buffy was absent from that platform, and he allowed himself to feel the tiniest spark of hope.
He had a chance now, a tiny one, to begin to set things right.
He woke around noon, with a sharp stab of hope racing through him once the haze of sleep cleared and he remembered that Buffy was alive.
He got up and poked his head cautiously out of the basement door, and was relieved to see that someone had shut all the blinds, probably Dawn.
She was sitting in the kitchen, eating a bizarre breakfast of at least three different kinds of cereal. "Morning!" she said brightly. Spike raised his eyebrows and nodded to the clock on the wall. She giggled. "It took me a long time to fall asleep, so I only just got up."
"And why so chipper?" he asked, taking a seat across from her.
She smiled at him through a big mouthful. "Buffy smiled at me this morning," she said, as if that was enough. And he supposed it was.
"Yeah? How is she?"
"She's…not good, but a little better. I tried to do what you said. Gave her some space, stopped knocking on her door every half hour. She saw me after she came out of the bathroom, and smiled at me."
He nodded at her, and she took another bite. "You know, if you'd been here, maybe I'd have handled this right from the very beginning." Her tone was teasing, but there was a hint of hurt in her eyes.
He sighed and reached out to squeeze her hand. She jumped in surprise, and he supposed he'd never done anything like that before. He'd always been fond of her, but hadn't been able to see her as anything except an extension of Buffy, relevant only because she was important to Buffy, and after Buffy died, relevant because of his promise to Buffy to protect her. Now, he saw her in her own right, a sweet, often overlooked girl. In his own way, he loved her, too, like the sister he'd never had.
"I'm here for you now," he promised her. "Unless and until Buffy says otherwise."
She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. "You've changed," she said softly. "You changed when you fell in love with her, and you changed again when she died, but something else has happened. Something big."
He had known he wouldn't be able to hide it long, but he hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself, with Buffy back. He wanted the Scoobies taking care of her, not distracted by his shiny new/old soul. "I don't want anyone else to know right now," he said, leaning closer to her. "But I left to go to Africa and fight for my soul. And I got it back."
Dawn's eyes grew impossibly huge, and before he processed what was happening, she had flung herself on him, sobbing. "That's amazing," she wailed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, after a moment. "More than I could have ever dreamed of. Spike, promise me you'll stay, even if Buffy doesn't want you to? There's no reason she would, but please say you will anyway? Please don't leave me again…"
His heart broke a little as he hugged her tightly. Before, her clinginess had confused him at best, and annoyed him at worst. Over the summer, she had cried when Tara and Willow discussed when they should move out, and almost every night begged Xander and Anya to come over to see her.
Now he understood. She'd experienced so much loss in 15 years (fabricated or not), from an absentee father to a dead mother, to every night facing the fear that her sister would not come home, until the night when she really hadn't. She was scared of being left behind again.
"I'm here for you, little bit," he whispered into her hair. "Even if Buffy wants me to go somewhere else, I'll still come back and check on you, call you, whatnot, for as long as you want me to."
She laughed through her tears. "Promise?"
"Vampire's honor."
She snorted, and he grinned, too.
That night he left a little before Willow and Tara to rejoin the nightly meeting at Giles' store, only Giles was gone and apparently it was Anya's now.
"He's coming back, though, to see Buffy," she informed Spike unhappily as she wiped down the counter. "I've finally got the shop running the way I like it, and I just know he's going to come in and make me go back to handwritten ledgers and criticize my new customer loyalty program."
Spike nodded and made all the appropriate noises, but the second Xander walked in and gave him a surprised scowl, he pulled him aside. He braced himself for mockery, and remembered that he deserved it. So, forcing himself to meet the other man's eyes, he offered a sincere and unqualified apology for everything he'd done to him.
To his credit, Xander didn't throw the apology back in his face, or worse, laugh at him. "You're not just saying that because you want to make it work with Buffy?" Xander asked suspiciously after a prolonged, stunned pause. "Because she's got too much to deal with right now to keep you in line, too."
The two of them had too much history to ever be friends, but Spike also knew Xander would protect Buffy till his dying day. He could respect that in a man. So he answered honestly, and without taking offense. "I came back here to make amends, Harris, and check up on Dawn. I had no idea what Red was up to with the Slayer."
The other man still didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded. "I can't think of any way you could have known that, either. Alright, I'll give you a chance. Uno. One chance."
Spike took it gratefully. He deserved nothing better, and probably a lot less. "Let me know what I can do to help," he said, as Tara and Willow joined them.
"Right now, we just need to figure out what Buffy needs, and give it to her, whatever it is," Willow said, and Spike was only mildly surprised at the easy way she took charge. Would there be head butting between them when Buffy came back to herself?
He refused to even consider any scenario where Buffy never returned to normal.
Tara had glanced at him when she and Willow had walked in, but now she turned to stare at him. "Something's different about you, Spike," she said, looking not at him directly, but almost through him, her brow furrowed. "What have you - oh!" She stepped back from him, looking stunned. "Oh, Goddess, how did you do it?"
He scowled. So much for keeping it a secret - he hadn't accounted for the girl's crazy, magic-enhanced intuition.
"What?" Xander said, sounding panicky. "Did he get the chip out? Is he going to kill us all in our sleep?"
Tara just raised her eyebrow at Spike, obviously, leaving it to him to answer.
"I got my soul back, alright?" he said uncomfortably into the tense silence. "I wouldn't kill you or anyone, even if my damn unlife depended on it. Now, can we please, please get back to helping Buffy?"
Of course they didn't let him off that easy. First Willow and Tara had to hug him and wring the details of the Demon Trials out of him. As they listened to him tell the most abbreviated version he thought he could get away with, even Anya looked moved by what he'd gone through for Buffy's sake.
"So, shouldn't you be out saving people's lives or something, if you've got a soul now?" Xander, said, still sounding skeptical. Willow shot her friend a look that clearly said "shut up now."
Spike shrugged. "No, it's alright, it's a fair question. Once I made sure the little bit was still protected by that amulet, I was going to go to L.A. to see if Angel would accept my help."
Xander snorted. "Great, exactly what we need. Two moody, souly vampires obsessed with Buffy."
Willow muttered something about brutish male insensitivity, and even Tara frowned at Xander. Spike tried not to grin. He'd always known those two were his favorites.
"Wait, didn't Angel spend about a century practically insane after he got his soul back?" Anya asked, finally abandoning her count of her money. "Why are you…useful, Spike?"
Ah, he'd almost forgotten the vengeance demon's unapologetic tactlessness. At least they weren't back to penis metaphors. "Because me at my worst didn't even approach Angelus, trust me. I fought and killed people for blood, but Angelus was a… bad person even before he got turned. He drove his victims insane, tortured them, made their worst fears come true. I've done horrible things, mind, things I'll never forgive myself for, but I can function, at least."
"So now what, now that Buffy's back?" Xander asked.
He shrugged. "I do whatever she wants. No matter what it is. She deserves nothing less."
Another silence. "There, we are in complete agreement," Xander said finally, clapping his hands together. "
And that, it seemed, was that, and the conversation shifted to how they could help Buffy.
The Scoobies hadn't wanted to hear what he'd had to say at first, Spike mused, as he trailed behind Red and Tara as they walked back to the house. They'd wanted to do a bloody intervention, or close to it, and he couldn't think of anything more likely to push the Slayer farther away from them.
Eventually, he'd managed to convince the lot of them that she was a warrior in more ways than one, and wouldn't react well to anyone forcing their affections on her. She preferred to think things through on her own before she talked to others. He had tried to get them to understand that they shouldn't expect her to be laughing and thanking them for bringing her back anytime soon, but they refused to consider anything except a happy reunion, and soon.
They had reached the front steps. Dawn opened the door before Tara could knock and let them inside.
"She's the same," she said quietly, in response to Willow's gesture at the stairs. "I made her some soup at dinnertime and just left it outside the door."
Willow reached out to smooth Dawn's hair. "That's good, Dawnie. That's exactly what we need to be doing." She smiled and reached for Tara's hand, and they walked up the stairs together to their bedroom. Dawn watched them go, her expression forlorn.
Spike reached out to squeeze her arm. "Come on, nibblet, the night's still young. What's say we watch one of those horrible 'reality' shows you like so much?"
The look of relief and gratitude on her face was more than enough to make up for having to sit through hours of over-acted drama between sculpted orange men and Barbie-doll proportioned women who wouldn't recognize a real problem if it bit them on the arse.
"Says the guy who watches one of the dumbest soap operas ever made!" she teased, as she reached for the remote.
"Hey," he protested, plopping down on the sofa beside her. "That's fine entertainment!"
Dawn finally fell asleep, long past midnight, her legs (which had gotten longer in his absence) in his lap and the arm of the couch her pillow. The telly was still blaring, but he didn't want to wake her by turning it off. She deserved a peaceful rest, and somehow she was able to get it despite the noise. He was staring at the ceiling, letting the obnoxious male announcer for an egg peeler cum can opener infomercial wash over him, which was why he didn't hear the footsteps coming down the stairs at first.
It was Buffy.
She froze when she realized he was there, as if he wouldn't be able to see her if she didn’t move. Her eyes were wide and he could hear her heart beating too fast.
Knowing she was alive was one thing, but seeing her… He couldn't take his eyes off her, and all his sensible suggestions to give her space, to let her come around on her own, fled him.
It took him a moment to pull his gaze away, but he finally looked down, giving her the chance to slip away without having to acknowledge his presence. To his surprise, she continued down.
"Spike," she said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Her voice was creaky, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time.
He had to swallow twice before he could answer. So many things he wished he could tell her. "Buffy," he settled for instead, in a voice that didn't sound much better than hers. "Can I get you anything?"
She shrugged, like it didn't matter. "Just got tired of being up there."
"Oh, well, I can leave, and you can have free run of the downstairs." He started to gently push Dawn's feet off his legs, but Buffy stared down at her sister in surprise, like she hadn't realized she was there, and he froze when she spoke again.
"You looked after her? Kept her safe?"
"Er, yeah," he said uneasily, not wanting to lie but also knowing it wasn't the right time to bring up his holiday in sub Saharan Africa.
"Good." She sat down in the armchair across from the couch and put her hands in her lap. Her fingers were raw and red, her nails cracked.
"Shit," he breathed, realizing what she must have had to do. How could Willow have let this happen? "You had to crawl out of your own grave."
She looked down at her hands without expression, as if they were someone else's. "Yeah," she said emotionlessly. "I had to do that."
She was in so much pain, and he didn't have the slightest idea how to make it better. "Buffy, I am so, so sorry."
She shrugged again. "Not your fault." She looked up at him, a strange expression in her eyes. "Is it?"
He shook his head. "They kept me in the dark, Buffy. Me and the bit. I swear it."
She nodded and leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. "I believe you." She didn't say anything else for a few minutes, and he was debating slipping away into the basement to give her some privacy, when she spoke again.
"How long was it here? That I was gone."
He didn't even have to think. "Yesterday was one-hundred forty-eight." She didn't say anything, and he ventured a question. "How…how long was it for you?"
She opened her eyes and looked at him with an expression so filled with torment that it rivaled how he felt when he dwelled on all the atrocities he'd committed.
"Longer," she said finally, and something in her voice made him think of gravestones and dead things.
Of course, the creatures of the night didn't stop prowling and attacking innocent people just because the good guys had their hands full with their own crisis, so Spike began making nightly patrols. Buffy still hadn't shown the slightest interest in resuming her duties, so he tried to help pick up the slack.
Some sort of otherworldly demon hitchhiked with her on her journey back from the dead, and she'd eventually defeated it with Tara and Willow's help. But even that didn't seem to have any effect on her. She spent most of her time awake sitting on the back porch, staring at something no one else could see, and rarely responded to anyone's inquiries.
He watched her surreptitiously, always looking to see if there was anything she needed, anything he could do to make her life better, easier. But there was nothing, it seemed, that anyone could do.
The night that Giles returned, Spike slipped out during their tearful group hug to chain smoke and watch through the back window. Only Buffy had dry eyes, but no one seemed to notice the vacant expression on her face. Or else they were refusing to see what they didn't want to. Spike suspected the latter.
She stepped outside a few minutes later, shutting the door softly behind her, and jumped when he turned to look at her. She gave him the same smile that she'd relied upon since she got back, a simple twist of the lips, no teeth, no sparkle in her eyes, and as fake as plastic. "You scared me."
"Sorry, love," he said, taking the cigarette from his lips. "Aren't you leaving a big hole in that group hug?"
She hugged herself. "I just needed to escape, be alone for a little while."
He nodded, dropped the cigarette and rubbed it into the dirt with the heel of his boot, and had turned to go before she said softly, "I can be alone with you here."
He accepted her words as the gift they were, and walked to the porch, staring up at her. "Buffy… I know everyone's probably told you this, but I'm here for you, whatever you need. I want to help."
She shook her head and shivered, though it wasn't cold. "You can't."
"I know it can't compare to what you've been through, but I've had my share of torment. I've had to redefine the words pain and suffering since…" He hesitated; it still wasn't the right time to talk about his soul - "…since you died."
She didn't say anything for a moment. "I wasn't in pain," she whispered to the space above his head.
He froze. "Come again?"
"Wherever I was…I wasn't in pain. I was complete, finished…happy. I don't understand theology or any of it, but… I think I was in heaven."
The horrible realization that flooded him was made even worse because he'd feared something like this all along. Not to this degree, but he'd known something was terribly wrong.
Her eyes were haunted and old looking as she stared at him, willing him to understand. "This is hell. Getting through one moment to the next. Everything here is hard, and bright, and it hurts. I don't understand what I did to deserve this."
She turned to look back through the window, where Xander, Willow and Giles were laughing uproariously in the living room at something Dawn was saying.
"They can never know, Spike. It would destroy them."
He nodded. "I understand."
She didn't respond, and when he turned to look up at her, she had gone back inside.
The next evening, he convinced her to take a walk with him. She was obviously feeling trapped inside the house because she agreed with only a little persuasion. He steered them away from the brightest streets and kept his voice low, remembering her words about hating the harshness of the world.
"There's nothing I can do to give you back what you've lost," he said, as they wandered down a back alley. "Er, apart from killing you, I suppose, but somehow I think the Powers that Be frown on suicide."
She nodded. "Trust me, I've thought of it. But it wouldn’t be right. And I like to think that as selfish as I am, I'm not that bad."
He barked a laugh. "You're one of the least selfish people I've ever met. You're allowed to want to escape the worst experience of your life." He stepped in front of her and looked down into her eyes. "Please, Buffy, let me help you. There's nothing you can tell me that will scare me away. Whatever you've done or thought or wanted, I've done it worse. Things you can't imagine, and I'd prefer you didn't."
Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't some ploy to get me into your bed, is it? Poor little weak, confused Slayer?"
He pushed away the hurt at hearing her suggest that. "You know I love you, more than anything else in the world. But this isn't about me. If I thought pushing you into your friends' arms would help, I would. But you can't relate to them, right now. And you and me… we understand each other, y'know?"
"Yeah," she said finally. "I guess we do."
They walked another block in silence, before she spoke again. "So, what's the plan, doc?"
She was going to let him help. It was a start.
"You've gotta get back to doing the things that give you meaning, pet. Obviously that's a long list, but I think you should start with slaying."
She shrugged. "I dunno, Willow seems to have that all under control."
"As a frequent member of their post-Buffy patrols, I can assure you that you have more skill in your little finger than all of them combined. They do try, though, bless their hearts." That got him a half-smile. He'd take it.
They walked a few more blocks in comfortable silence, until without warning, she came to a dead stop, her expression suddenly intent. He followed her gaze in time to see a muscular vampire slide out from behind a tree across the street, his fangs bared. With no more than a second's warning, the demon was charging them, roaring loudly enough to draw attention in any place except Sunnydale, whose residents could write the textbook on ignoring what you don't want to see.
Buffy glanced at him as he reached for the stake he always carried in his back pocket. He held it out to her and raised his eyebrows, trying to make it clear that it was her choice. She hesitated, looking between him and the stake, before grabbing it.
She spun with a roundhouse kick and pounced on the fallen demon. With a practiced motion, she thrust the stake deep into its chest. It disappeared, its growl cutting off abruptly. One hit KO.
"Not bad, for a corpse," she said dryly, pocketing the stake, and he chuckled.
Her eyes met his, and for a moment there was something more in them than death. But then it was gone, and he walked her back home.
The next evening, he sat down on the couch and dumped out the huge pile of late bills and unpaid notices that had accumulated since May. It seemed that every insurance policy was expiring, every long-term loan coming due, and every interest rate increased, all at the same time. He was sorting them between high priority, really high priority, and bloody critical when Giles let himself in the front door.
"Spike," he greeted him neutrally, shutting the door behind him. Giles had said very little since to him since returning from the motherland, but each time he'd been surprisingly civil. He walked over and examined the stacks of bills.
"Ah, yes, Willow told me about the financial situation. I must say, I had no idea it was quite this dire, or I wouldn't have left Sunnydale."
Spike shrugged and continued categorizing. He didn't think very highly of the Watcher for leaving, but he'd made his share of mistakes, too. "We'll sort it out. No need to worry Buffy about it, right now, at least."
"Yes, well –" Giles said, sounding surprised about something. He took off his glasses and cleaned them, in that compulsive way he had, and lowered his voice. "Spike, Xander and Willow told me about… what you'd done, and I must say I didn't really believe it at first. But even over just the past few days, I can see you've changed." He paused. "You did it for her, I presume?" There was no need to clarify who the "her" was.
He snorted at the gross understatement. "I did it to have a shot at becoming the man she saw deep down inside me. So yeah, I did it for her. But then, everything I do is for her."
Giles nodded and leaned back. "What will you do now that she's…back?"
"Everything I can to help get her back on her feet. After that…whatever she wants, really. Stake myself, go to Angel, fight demons in Cleveland or wherever another Hellmouth is."
Giles peered at him. "You would really do that? Leave her, because that's what she wanted? Potentially never to see her again?"
He didn't even have to think about. "It would hurt like hell, but yeah. In a heartbeat." He paused. "Figuratively speaking, of course."
"The old Spike wouldn't have," Giles said, watching him closely. "He might have pretended to leave, perhaps, but he'd never have stayed away for long."
Spike shrugged and set all his piles of bills neatly on the coffee table in front of him. "Yeah, well, I've learned a thing or two about love since I got my soul back, Giles. I did love her back then, as much as I was capable of, but now I've figured out that true love is… caring more about her than I do about myself. It took me awhile to wrap my brain around that concept, conditioned as it was with a century of evil deeds, but I get it now."
"And, for the record? She deserves nothing less." He stood. "Excuse me, I need to call the gas company." He left Giles gaping soundlessly behind him.
Over the next couple of weeks, he and Buffy were both brought into the warm Scooby fold, Buffy returning to it and Spike, for the most part, accepted into it, if not exactly welcomed.
His days fell into a routine that wasn't perfect, but all in all not bad. He quizzed Dawn for her upcoming midterm exams in the afternoons after she got home from school, though he wasn't any good as a homework tutor except for her English and French classes. And he kept her company the frequent nights when the Scoobies, less Buffy, went out to the Bronze for a little bit of desperately-needed "normal time." To keep her from feeling abandoned, he even watched all the god-awful "reality" shows she liked with her, and told her she could even paint his nails "any color, so long as it's black" (not that she got the reference).
Tara and Willow actually made an effort to update him on their meetings at the Magic Box, focused now not only on Buffy but also on a suspicious van that had been hanging around wherever Buffy happened to be.
And, of course, he watched Buffy. He tried his best to anticipate her needs, ease her way a little, without being overbearing, and she seemed to relax around him more than she did anyone else. She even walked in on him reviewing a proposal she had received for her mother's art gallery, which had finally cleared probate, and instead of getting angry for interfering in her life, she just gave him a small smile and kept walking.
At night, he took her patrolling with him. He'd tried to talk her into at least bringing Willow or Xander along, to try to ease her friends back into her life, but she just shook her head. "I have to pretend that I'm fine, all day, every day, with them. With you, I can just be myself."
It wasn't healthy, it wasn't a long-term solution, but for now he didn't push it.
So they walked the graveyards, ostensibly looking for vampires and suspicious activity, but for the most part he just kept her company. He wanted her to remember her purpose, and get a chance to feel in control of something in her life. Though she always hung back at first, she fell into her fighting routine effortlessly if he didn't take charge. One second she'd just be watching the latest demon, blank-faced, and then she would give in and suddenly be whirling and dodging and kicking without pause. She seemed to find some measure of inner peace when she was killing.
After she'd killed a handful of fledglings one night, she seemed more alert, more aware, than he'd seen her since she'd come back.
"I'm gonna have to get a job," she said, out of nowhere. "You've been great, getting everything in order for me, but unless you've found a secret savings account Mom hid away somewhere, we need cash flow in."
"Sorry, love," he said, shaking his head. "The government checks are enough to keep you from being evicted, but that's about it." He paused, then said hesitantly, "I could probably get you some cash in a not-so-ethical way, if you wanted. Sell drugs, or something."
She didn't seem appalled at the thought, but shook her head after only a slight hesitation. "No, no, we're the good guys. No cheating. I'll make my living honestly."
"What are you thinking?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"Maybe Anya could use me at the shop, I dunno. Kind of limited opportunities for a girl with only a year of college under her belt," she said with a grimace.
"And you can never tell anyone that it's because you were a little distracted sacrificing yourself to save the world from imminent annihilation. Life's a bit unfair, innit?"
She snorted. "You're telling me." Her expression was suddenly deathly serious as she turned to look at him. "Spike…I don't have perfectly clear memories from before I died, but…we never used to just talk like this, right? I know you loved me, but you didn't…I dunno, care about me like this. Take care of me."
Was now the time to tell her? He opened his mouth, and –
A muscular, amphibious demon he didn't recognize came barreling out of the bushes and tackled Buffy to the ground. She didn't even have a chance to shout before she hit the concrete, her head bouncing at the impact.
Spike winced in sympathy and grabbed his stake. He swung his arm over the beast's shoulder and thrust into his chest, but that only seemed to enrage it. Lovely, it wasn't the dusting kind. It reared back and threw him onto the grass with incredible force.
He lay there for a moment on his back, stunned, before Buffy's shouts brought him back to the present. The monster was towering over her, reaching for her throat. She tried to push it away frantically, her stake inches out of reach.
Ignoring the stabbing pain in his spine, he rose again and jumped on the monster's neck, holding on for dear unlife. He stabbed to the demon's throat full force with his right hand and felt the stake finally slide through its rubbery skin, almost coming out the other side.
The demon reared back and made a retching sound. It fell to its knees, body quaking. Goopy purple blood sprayed onto the pavement and down the front of its chest. After a few seconds, the demon gurgled and fell silent.
"Ewww…" Buffy said in disgust, crab-walking backwards as fast as she could from the rapidly spreading puddle of demon fluids. The body was already beginning to decompose, or rot, or something. Within seconds it was almost completely brown-black, crinkling and flaking away into the night wind.
Well, if you couldn't get a demon that would dust itself, his second choice was always the rapid decomposing kind.
He limped over and helped Buffy to her feet, but she started swaying and almost fell over again when he stepped away. She gingerly touched the back of her head, and her hand came away with sticky blood. "Ugh, everything's spinning." She squinted at him. "Why are there two of you? Which one's the real Spike?"
He frowned down at her. "Let's hope your Slayer super-healing kicks in soon, love. Hold still." He scooped her up into his arms, and she barely protested, which was a hint of how bad she felt.
She was even lighter than he'd thought she would be. He needed to pay more attention to how much she was eating. He'd wager all the kittens in the world that it wasn't enough to even maintain her body weight.
He kept up a constant stream of soothing words as he carried her home as quickly as he could without jostling her too much.
And even though she was in pain, part of him couldn't ignore the fact that this felt right. Watching her, caring for her, making sure she was safe. What wouldn't he give to have this chance every night? He wasn't sure, but nothing came to mind.
Dawn started crying the moment she saw Buffy in his arms, and no amount of reassurance on his part could convince her that her sister was going to be perfectly fine. Finally, he sent her for gauze and disinfectant in the upstairs bathroom, even though he knew there was some in the kitchen, just to give her something to do.
He settled Buffy on the couch as gently as he could. "It hurts," she whimpered, trying to roll over from the discomfort.
He held her shoulders down as gently as he could. "I know, pet, but you've got to be still until we can bandage your head."
"Please, just cut it off," she whispered, and he froze, staring down into her face. He'd thought she was past suicidal thoughts.
She didn't seem to notice his tension, and smiled blearily up at him. "It would hurt less," she said, and he grinned back in relief. She was joking.
"Classless, Slayer," he said. "Is nothing sacred?"
"Nope," she said unapologetically, as Dawn came back with a basket of medical supplies, looking slightly calmer. Together they sponged off all the blood and dirt, applied a stinging antiseptic that made Buffy's eyes water, and then wrapped her head thoroughly in clean white gauze.
She kept her eyes closed the whole time and didn't say anything until they had finished. "Do I look like a mummy?"
Dawn rolled her eyes, which meant she was feeling better. "Yes, Buffy, no visible difference between you and King Tut."
He helped Buffy stand up. "Can you make it up the stairs on your own?" he asked.
She opened her mouth stubbornly before closing it and shrugging. "Probably. But it would probably also hurt a lot." She grimaced. "Me and pain, I think it's time we see other people."
"I'll come sit with you until you fall asleep," Dawn offered eagerly, before her expression fell and she cut her eyes to Buffy, obviously anticipating rejection.
But Buffy, her head lolling tiredly against Spike's chest as he scooped her up again, opened her eyes and gave her sister a small smile. “Sure,” she agreed, and Dawn's eyes lit up, sharing a glance with Spike.
Slowly, Buffy was coming back to them.
He had just stumbled out of bed and was on his way to the kitchen for a nice breakfast of warm pig's blood that Dawn had so sweetly picked up for him at the butcher, when someone knocked on the front door. Loudly. "God, why, at this ungodly hour?" he muttered to himself.
Dawn came down the stairs, still in pajamas. She made a face at him. "It's Xander, he called to say he wanted to come over. Also, it's past two. Move out of the doorway so you don't get crispy golden."
He retreated to the relative safety, and dimness, of the living room, and Dawn opened the door. Xander stepped inside, and Anya trailed behind him and clutched his hand, looking nervous and excited. Xander had a strange, determined look on his face.
Spike suddenly knew what this must mean. Harris had proposed. Now?
"Please, Dawnie, can you get everyone down here?" Xander's voice squeaked a little. She gave him a strange look, but nodded, and jogged upstairs to round up the troops.
Willow and Tara came down first, with mussed hair and swollen lips shouting loud and clear what they had been doing. After a minute, Buffy joined them, wearing a simple black tank top and pants, her hair pulled back tightly. The only thing not black was the white gauze that was still wrapped like a thick headband around her head.
Xander whistled. "Whoa, Buff, impact with a hard surface in your recent past?"
She gave him one of those fake smiles she'd gotten so good at. "You should see the sidewalk." Xander just grinned, not seeming to notice how hollow her every move was.
Anya turned to Xander expectantly, raising her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat. "I just wanted to let everyone know at once," he said shakily, "that…well, that Anya and I are getting married."
He bent down and kissed her thoroughly.
Spike grimaced. Xander tongue.
No one said anything for a moment, then Dawn, Tara and Willow were squealing and hugging the couple. Anya pulled out a necklace that she had been hiding under her shirt that had her engagement ring strung on it. She slipped on the ring, visibly basking in the admiring "ooohs" that she received from the other girls.
Spike only noticed all this peripherally, as he was most interested in seeing Buffy's reaction.
Shock, absolute shock was her initial reaction to the news. He doubted anyone else was that stunned – a little surprised, yeah, about the timing, but Xander had never been the most practical person. Was she really so detached that she didn't see what others were going through, just as they didn't see her own troubles?
Her expression turned to longing as she watched Xander and Anya beam at everyone, hand in hand and very much in love. She'd never had that, not really. She and Angel were a broken dream, and she'd never loved soldier boy that way. And he'd heard references made about another bloke, between Angel and Riley, who had used her and discarded her.
Of course she longed for the perfect relationship. But in her mind, perfect equaled normal, and that was the one thing she would never be.
Maybe he could help her with that. Becoming comfortable with herself, not being ashamed of who she was…
He was suddenly aware that the blissful couple was looking around, noticing that both he and Buffy were hanging back.
He rose and walked over to Xander and offered his hand. After a moment, Xander took it. "Congratulations, Harris. She's a much better, not to mention more attractive, woman than you deserve."
Xander opened his mouth in indignation, but Anya looked delighted at the compliment. "You may be on the usher list," she said thoughtfully. He smirked at Xander's outraged expression.
Buffy stepped forward and gave each of them stiff hugs. "I'm so happy for both of you," she said, smiling for all she was worth. Anya, not the best at the nuances of human emotions, just preened under the attention, but Xander seemed to finally cotton on and started to say something.
Just then, Willow raised her arm and spelled party decorations and flowers all around the house. All the Scoobies ooohed at the display. Except for Tara, Spike noticed. She frowned and started to say something, but just looked away.
Trouble in girly paradise? He hoped not, they were good for each other. But when you had power, it was difficult not to abuse it. He knew that from spending a century enjoying strength that was superior to every human's except one.
Willow conjured up some jazz music from thin air, and Xander gave an exaggerated bow and drew Anya to him. Red held out her hands for her girlfriend, who was hanging back, but Tara just shook her head. Shrugging, Willow grabbed Dawn instead, and they began a ridiculous dance around the room, laughing.
This was his cue to leave. He started toward the door to the basement when he saw Buffy slip away into the kitchen. He followed her, and she spun to face him. "What?" she said defensively. Her eyes were red and watery.
"Not a thing," he said, pretending he didn't recognize the signs of impending tears. "Was just going to get my breakfast and retreat for a little bit of quiet after all this ruckus."
She turned away and busied herself straightening a vase on the counter. "Good," she said.
He warmed up his blood, and said, with his back still to her, "I'll be in the basement. I meant what I said. I'm here for you, whenever you want. No judgment, no expectations."
"Why?" she snapped, almost yelling. "Why are you here for me?"
He tilted his head as he stared at her, not understanding. "Because I love you."
She shook her head frantically. "You can't! Love's not enough for that… I'm-I'm disgusting and… dead! Life went on without me while I was rotting in the ground, and part of me is still in that coffin." She collapsed to the floor, holding her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking but not crying.
He dropped down beside her. "Buffy," he said softly, and she shook her head, trying to sink down further away from him.
"I can’t imagine how lost and alone you feel. The best I can say is that all your friends are here for you." He reached out and tilted her chin up to him. Her lower lip was trembling. "You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, Buffy Summers. And you will make it through this." He tried to convey his absolute, unshakeable faith in her in his eyes.
She jerked out of his grip and looked away again, staring furiously at the wall. He stood up. She needed space, but he couldn't stop himself from saying, as he left her there, near tears, on the floor, "And love is enough, pet. If you let it be."
Buffy avoided him for the next couple days. She slipped out to help in the shop before he rose for the day, and was gone until past midnight patrolling alone. He wished he could at least be there to guard her back while she fought, but he was fairly sure she would sense him nearby, and he didn't want to risk further damage to her trust in him. So he tried to be patient, but he'd never been much good at that.
The girls both had a couple classes during the day, and the rest of the time, Tara kept the house clean and cooked, while Willow handled the outdoor chores. That left Spike the responsibility of running the household and making sure they didn't end up on the streets. Dawn wanted to help, too, but the three of them, plus Buffy, had agreed that her only responsibility should be school.
He spent hours on the phone sweet talking the utility companies, credit card companies and debt collectors, persuading them to extend deadlines, lower interest rates, and eliminate late charges. He promised undying fidelity to their company and painted a picture of how hard their orphaned customer was working to take care of her little sister amidst her own grief.
Anya dragged Xander over one afternoon with a tote bag full of wedding magazines and insisted Spike sit down with them to provide opinions on tap. So he sat with Dawn as she watched another daft reality show and sipped his cup of blood, sharing his opinion when asked for it (and sometimes when he wasn't) on wedding favors, cakes, dresses, styles, venues, bridesmaid gowns, colors and dozens more.
Xander didn't seem to have an opinion on much of anything. Spike snorted. He remembered when he and Buffy had been under Willow's spell and planning their own ridiculous wedding, he'd participated quite willingly in the decision making.
A thought struck him, and he glanced at Xander in time to see the other man looking straight at the wall as Anya turned to show a picture to Dawn, and Spike was struck by the expression of fear, longing, and doubt on his face. Hell, the kid was bloody terrified. Spike had seen that expression before. He was wondering if he'd made a huge mistake.
And if he was wondering that, the answer was probably yes.
He sneaked in a glance at Anya. The former demon was glowing, bubbly even, sneaking in secret, soft smiles to Xander between sentences.
Bloody hell. He wasn't a therapist, for god's sake. This wasn't even remotely his business. But damned if he wouldn't feel guilty for the rest of his life if Xander broke her heart and he could have prevented it.
Penance, he reminded himself. It was the least he could do, to balance the scales of his life a little more to the side of good.
He didn't know how to begin, though. He'd have to plan his strategy carefully, or Xander would get suspicious. The boy was oblivious but not stupid.
He heard keys jangling, and Buffy unlocked the door and stepped inside, looking even more distracted and distant than was usual these days. Xander and Anya called out cheerful greetings, and Dawn got up and hovered awkwardly near her, as if she wanted to hug her but wasn't sure of her reception. Probably rightfully so.
Buffy gave her a weak smile, and turned to walk into the living room with her, when she spotted him sitting there. She stopped abruptly. "I…uh… I'm gonna go take a shower, Dawnie. I'll be back down later."
Dawn opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it. "Okay," she sighed in defeat.
He waited until he heard the water running before rising. "I'm gonna go patrol," he said, grabbing his coat and slipping out the front door.
It was a lovely night, sharp and clear, and as brisk as Novembers in southern California ever got. The moon overhead was almost full, and provided enough light for him to make his way through the weeds and trees to his old crypt.
The entrance, at least, looked untouched, and he couldn't smell any humans or vampires nearby. He shrugged and pushed aside the heavy door.
A few dozen cats looked up sleepily when he stepped inside. He blinked, closed his eyes, and opened them again. They were still there.
A couple of mama cats walked toward him cautiously, with tiny kittens trailing behind them, as a few fat tomcats prowled the edges of the room. A huge pile of cat food was in one corner, and a giant sandbox of a litter box was in another. Huh. If these weren't feral cats, they were, what? A breeding ground? He wasn't sure.
By now, he had been standing still long enough that a couple kittens walked up to his boots and began sniffing them. The boldest reached out a tentative paw to bat the hem of his jeans, then scampered up his legs and clung to the waistband of his jeans, looking up at him and mewling. A few other cats, apparently deciding he wasn't a threat, took the opportunity to rub against him, marking him with their scent.
As another kitten began to climb his other leg, he finally snapped out of his daze and bent over to pull it off, when it meowed so forlornly that he stopped and stared down at the cats milling around him and attached to him, at a complete loss on what to do.
Which was the scene that Buffy walked in to.
She pushed open the entrance, her hair wet and smelling of flowery conditioner, wearing loose pajama pants and a tank top. She was already starting to say something as she walked in, but as her eyes took in the scene, nothing came out. He looked back at her wordlessly, equally at loss for something that would fully describe the direness of his situation.
She glanced at the kittens clinging to his legs, down at the cats milling around his legs, and back up at his face. Her expression turned from confused to disbelieving to –
Laughter. She slid down to her knees, laughing hysterically, tears streaming down her face.
That was a sound he'd never thought he'd hear again. He chuckled, too, after a moment. Carefully prying the kittens off his thighs, he carried one in each arm over to her, and dropped them on her shoulders. She squealed as they clung to her sweater and made themselves comfortable on her back.
"See how you like it, Slayer," he grumbled, as he made a space on the floor amidst the cats to sit down near her.
"The expression on your face…" she said, still giggling. "Like they were giant spiders crawling up your leg or something."
He looked guiltily at the cats gathered around them, watching him so calmly. "Some demons eat kittens, like a delicacy, you know? I never have, but I was just thinking about how I never would. I'll stick with food that isn't soft and fuzzy."
"Aww," she teased, pulling one of the kittens off her back and holding it up to her face. It leaned forward and licked her on the nose. "You don't want to drink the kitty's yummy blood?"
"Not in the slightest," he said, shuddering. "Now they're all cute and adorable. I'll stick with pig's blood, thanks."
"Well," she said casually. "You'll figure out how to get that chip out one day, I'm sure. Then you can go back to hunting delicious humans."
He knew he shouldn't get angry; he had no right to get angry.
He got angry.
"Bloody hell, woman, how many ways do I have to tell you that it's got nothing to do with the damn chip? I'm enough of a monster already without going out and killing more innocent people ever again."
Her eyes stayed on his, intent. "Why, Spike? Why should I believe that?" She cut him off. "And don't tell me because you love me, because that should only keep me and my friends safe from your fangs."
He growled. "Because I got my soddin' soul back, and I couldn't live with myself if I killed anyone else."
There was a moment of silence, then her eyes grew wide, her lips parted. "I never… I mean, I knew something was different…" she trailed off, and stared at her hands. He remembered what they had looked like just a few days ago, torn and raw from digging out of her own grave.
Guilt overwhelmed him, pushing out the anger in a rush, and he knelt down beside her. "Buffy, love, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."
She shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice sounded lost and hurt.
"Because what I did doesn't matter. Only you matter. I didn't want either of us getting distracted from that."
She laughed, but not in amusement this time. "You do matter. I don't know how you can't see that. I don't know how I'd be surviving if I you weren't here for me. And I've been treating you like shit, because I didn't think of you as a real person."
"You didn't know," he said, and she shook her head.
"No. Even before, you were still a person, right? You wouldn't have fallen in love with me, protected Dawn for me, let my mom stay with you, if you didn’t have feelings and choices."
He couldn't deny any of that. "You were right to hate me before, Buffy. I was despicable. But now, god help me, I'm trying every day to be a little bit less of a monster."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "You're not a monster," she whispered. "I can tell you've changed. I could feel it from the first time I saw you after I died, even when I was so wrapped up in my own pain from being brought back. I just didn't have the words for it."
He had to look away from the shining conviction in her eyes.
"So," he said, casting about for something to change the subject. "How did you find me, anyway?"
She reached out to pet one of the kittens who had been play-attacking her fingers . "Dunno. I pretty much just always know where you are. I'm not very good at sensing vampires in general, but I just know what you…feel like, I guess."
"Oh." He couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he occupied himself with one of the mama cats who was butting against his feet and meowing. He finally figured out what she wanted, and stretched his legs out. She settled in the dip and closed her eyes.
Buffy glanced up from looking at her hands, and shot an amused look at the cat in his lap. "You're not gonna ask why I came to find you?"
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Didn't want to pry, pet."
She shrugged. "I don't mind, if it's you. I had the shittiest day imaginable today."
He looked at her in alarm. "You okay?"
She sighed. "Yeah, I guess. Something…weird was going on, though. Time was messing up on me. First everything kept fast-forwarding for me, but it was normal for everyone else. Then I was in instant replay mode at the Magic Box - it was like being in a video game; I couldn't leave the store until I solved the puzzle."
"A spell, you think?"
She gave a short laugh. "I hope so, or else I'm going crazy. Though maybe-" she stopped, biting her lip.
He couldn't help himself. "What?"
She shook her head. Suddenly, her eyes were filled with tears, and she turned away and covered her face with her hands, as if he wouldn't notice her crying. "Nothing," she said thickly.
Seeing Buffy in pain pushed out all thought of his careful, cautious intentions, and he set the cat down on the floor and knelt in front of her.
"Buffy…" he said softly."Talk to me, love."She shook her head. He reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her tear-stained face.
Suddenly she was wailing, deep sobs shaking her slim body.
He didn't want to do anything to make her uncomfortable, so he settled for grasping her upper arms gently, softly stroking up and down. She whimpered at the contact but didn't flinch away. "Tell me what's wrong, love… we'll fix it."
"You… can't…" she gasped between sobs. She hunched forward until her forehead was touching his, and they sat like that until her sobs quieted.
"God, Spike, I think something's wrong with me." Her voice quavered. "I think… I think I came back wrong."
He sucked in a breath he didn't need. He didn't want her fear to be possible, didn't want to even consider the possibility. "Why d'you think that?"
She sat upright, and he couldn't help but regret the lack of skin contact. "Where to start?" she asked dryly, but her expression didn't match her light words. She looked terrified. "Sometimes I look at my friends, my sister, and I see death. Literally, I see them rotting before my eyes. Most of the time, I don't care much about them. And sometimes…" her voice trailed off, and he had to lean forward to hear her. "Sometimes I hate them for bringing me back. Really hate."
She trailed her finger through the dust on the floor, and kept her eyes down. "Old me wouldn't have felt like this, not ever. I didn't feel like this when Angel was evil, or when Faith betrayed us. But now, it's like sometimes I just want to hurt… or be hurt, I'm not sure. It's wrong… fuck, I know that, but I can't bring myself to care. So I just hate myself instead, but it turns out there's enough hate to go around, who woulda thunk it?" She laughed bitterly. "I think the only thing I have left is my hatred. And you."
She looked so very lost, so ready to believe the very worst of herself. He sat back on his heels and looked her in the eyes, trying to convey his complete conviction in his words. "Buffy, you are the best person I know. You gave up your life to save the world. Twice. And now you've had to give up heaven, too. You're allowed to be unhappy. And if you've got a little more darkness in you now, so what? The fact that you're worrying about it says you're still our Buffy."
She stood and began walking around the room, weaving between the cats and not looking at him. He just watched her pace, fighting the urge to talk. He'd always been a talker. But it was silence that had always drawn Buffy out, not conversation. "It's just…if I came back wrong…if time's going all wonky on me because I'm not really here, I'm not really me, then that would explain why I feel so…dark all the time. And I wouldn't have to be so ashamed of these thoughts that run through my head." She stood still and spoke to the floor in quiet voice. "And eventually, maybe, the spell that brought me back will unravel. And I'll get to die again, and leave all this pain behind me forever."
"You went and got your soul back," she said quietly. "And I feel like I've lost mine."
He stood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hug her, if she would even accept physical comfort right now, especially from him, but he moved toward her without thought.
She backed away. "No, I need to go. Please don't follow me." She spun and left the crypt without another word, and he was left staring at the entrance hopelessly. She was bursting almost to death with her pain, and he hadn't the faintest idea how to fix it.
The only thing he was sure of was that if he couldn't find a way to get through to her, and soon, she'd find herself waiting too long to block an attack or not running quite as hard from a demon as she could have. And she’d get her death wish.
He dragged himself back to Buffy's house with only minutes to spare before the sun crested the tree line, and collapsed face first on his cot in the basement. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get to sleep, but his next thought was waking up with the overwhelming thought that he was damned hungry.
He stumbled up the stairs and into the living room, not even pausing to make sure the blackout curtains that Tara had put up for him were drawn safely closed.
"Did Buffy come back last night?" he demanded of Dawn, who was sitting on the couch, sipping orange juice and flipping through a magazine. She jumped, and slipped the magazine between her legs. Redbook, he glimpsed on the cover. Wasn't she a little young for that one?
"Way late," she confirmed. "I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, and she was just getting in. “
He let out a long sigh. She was still okay, still alive. "Did she seem…alright?"
Dawn gave him a strange look. "She seemed like she has since she came back. I think calling her 'alright' would be a little optimistic."
"Right, right," he said distractedly, and was about to start down the stairs to the basement when a strange noise stopped him. “Bit?”
“Hmm?” She looked up at him again.
He hesitated, holding the door half open, not sure quite how to phrase it without feeling utterly ridiculous. “Er… are Red and Tara singing about dishes in the kitchen?”
Dawn tilted her head and concentrated. “Yep, I believe they are.”
Spike nodded. “Right. Just checking.” He continued on down the stairs.
As if his life couldn’t get any stranger, what with all the spontaneous singing from the street that he could hear all the way from the basement (where he was hiding out of terror of singing), Buffy knocked on the basement door and came down the stairs. It was the first time she'd ever come down here to see him.
His heart dropped when she got to the bottom of the stairs and he could see the unfamiliar expression in her eyes. After a moment, he realized with a shock that it was desperation. She hadn't looked like that when Glory had captured Dawn, or even when she'd jumped off the scaffolding.
"What is it, love?" he asked as he stood up, tense with concern.
She shook her head, and then, almost faster than he could see, she was on him, dragging his mouth down to hers with a strength he couldn't resist. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades as she tried to crawl inside his mouth. She gasped and writhed against him, and he had to fight back a groan. So, so many sensations he never thought he'd experience. Not with her.
It was like drowning, dying, wanting to give her everything he had. Devour her. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized that this wasn't real, wasn't her. It was clearly another cry for help, a desperate measure to try to snap out of her soul-crushing depression.
Not long ago, he would have gladly taken whatever she had offered. Old Spike wouldn't have cared much about the why.
But now? Never had right and easy seemed so far apart.
He gently caught her hands where they were trying to slide under his shirt, and tore his mouth from hers. "Buffy…" He peered down at her. She was panting and wild-eyed. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong with me?" she said in disbelief, running her eyes down his body, and lingering pointedly where his jeans were taut. "What the hell's wrong with you? Don't pretend you don't want me."
He dropped her hands and took another step back. Being close enough to almost taste her skin, when she was so obviously willing…well, for god's sake, he might have a soul now, but he was still a man. He didn't think he'd ever wanted anything this badly. But.
"I always want you," he said finally. "But you don't want me. I won't help you do something you'll regret tomorrow."
"Spike," she said, softly, and walked toward him in what she was obviously hoping was a sultry, helpless female sort of way. It was a look so alien on her that it helped him keep his focus as she trailed a finger over the waistband of his jeans. "Come on, quit thinking, let's have some fun."
He shook his head and opened his mouth. Suddenly, he felt a bloody song building up inside him. Gods, no. Could this have happened at a worse time?
"I died," he sang softly. Buffy stepped back and stared at him, open-mouthed. But he couldn't stop.
Left morality behind
All blood and death, until
A slayer changed my mind.
You’ve sacrificed, you’ve earned rest
But purpose you must find.
You're lost, ashamed of what you feel.
A broken girl, a harsh lit world, afraid you might reveal
The hopeless thoughts for what you’ve lost, that
You pretend aren’t real.
But know-
That I won't help you hide.
You're more than this - you must face
The darkness trapped inside.
I know I'm just dead to you, but let me help you to
Find your strength again.
He could feel a chorus building up inside him, but he concentrated, and managed to swallow it back down. He'd done enough damage already, damn it all. Weeks of careful maneuvering around her, and all destroyed in a couple minutes.
At least he hadn't danced.
Buffy stared at him, barely even blinking. The silence built, and finally he ventured, "Buffy?"
She jumped, spun around, and sprinted away, back up the stairs. He sighed and leaned against the wall, banging his head back against it. He'd ruined everything.
After the worst of his stinging shame had died down, the only way he could think of to try to atone in Buffy's eyes was to find the cause of the sodding dancing and singing.
A few blood'n'ale shots later, Six-Eyed Steve at Sunnydale's seediest cabernet knew a demon who knew a demon, know what I'm sayin', bro? Spike re-traced the trail of evil to an abandoned warehouse not far from the Magic Shop.
Just inside the building, he came face to face with one of the creepiest evil creatures he had ever seen, which, in over a century as an evil bloke himself, was saying something. The bulging-eyed wooden puppet pulled itself jerkily upright, and after only a token show of resistance, it allowed itself to be dragged along to the Magic Shop, protesting all the way that his Master would be rescuing him at any moment.
Spike ignored its blathering and pushed open the shop door, holding the animated puppet firmly in front of him. Buffy spun to face him, and Tara, Red and Giles all jumped and stared at him, like he'd interrupted a big argument.
Buffy's eyes held his for a moment, expressionless, before she frowned at the puppet. "That looks like a minion if I've ever seen one."
The puppet spoke then, a strange, mechanical lilt to its voice. "My Master has the Slayer's sister hostage. At midnight he will take her to the underworld to be his queen."
Buffy's eyes widened, then her expression turned truly ferocious. The puppet seemed to agree, and started squirming to get away.
Spike kicked its knee hinge. "Tell her what your master wants, and I'll let you go."
Surely puppets couldn't sneer, but if they could, this one definitely just had. "Her," it said, inclining its head to Buffy, who rolled her eyes.
"Me," she agreed. "Of course." The puppet gave one last tug, and Spike allowed it to escape through the front door.
Buffy ran a hand through her hair, looking exhausted as she turned to face the rest of the Scoobies. "Okay," she said tiredly. "Any plan, Giles, or do we just burst in and bank on our usual 'hope for the best' routine?"
Giles stepped forward and spoke gently to her. "This is something I'm afraid you must do on your own, Buffy."
Her mouth dropped open. "Are you fucking kidding me? What do you expect me to do?"
"Your best," he whispered. To Spike’s shock, the rest of the Scoobies all looked at the Slayer with sad but firm eyes. She took a step backward from them, not seeming to know what to do with herself, and Spike had an inkling of how much that little betrayal must hurt her.
She visibly composed herself and stormed past Spike and out the front door, the bell ringing merrily as she did.
He stared at Giles in outrage. "Can't you see she's bloody falling apart, you stupid pillock? And your solution is to isolate her more?"
Without giving the Watcher a chance to respond, he followed Buffy into the night.
"I know you're following me, Spike. Come out or fuck off."
He stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of her, saying nothing, just taking her in. Her eyes were watery but, as usual, sheer determination kept her going.
She brushed past him and kept walking. "What are you doing?"
"Watching your back," he said, falling into step with her.
She sneered. "I don't need your help or your pity."
"Why would I pity you?" he said in surprise.
"Oh, don't pretend like you're not thinking it, too. Pathetic dumb bitch who can't manage to get anything together, to keep her own sister out of fucking hell. “
"Buffy, you've got enough on your shoulders without taking responsibility for the Big Bad or the nibblet. Girl could find trouble in a monastery.” He reached out to pat her arm, remembering too late that she wouldn't want to touch him.
She shrugged his hand off and walked faster. "Then for turning me down flat. I'd forgotten just how fun rejection is."
He grimaced. "I can't apologize for that. Neither of us would have ever forgiven ourselves."
"Oh, I’m sorry," she said acidly. "I guess dead girls don’t do it for you, huh? Didn't realize you’d given up the whole ‘loving me’ thing."
"No," he said quietly. "I'll always do that. It's the 'hurting you’ thing I don't do anymore."
She stopped walking and glared up at him. "Don't be stupid. You can't hurt me."
"No," he agreed. "Not like that. But you can use me to hurt yourself. And don't pretend like we're talking about physical wounds. You heard my bloody song. You're trying to hide from yourself, from the whole damn world."
"What the hell would you know?"
"More than you think," he said. "But mostly, I know you, Buffy. I know your heart. And sleeping with me would break you a little bit more inside." He snorted, wishing he could reach for his cigarette. "Besides, you've the right to hate me, certainly. But you don't have the right to hate me and to sleep with me. Message is a little too mixed, even for me."
"I don't hate you," she responded tightly, then stopped and stared at him, like he had tricked her into saying it. "I don't hate you," she repeated in a softer voice, looking stunned. "I really don't. You've atoned, you've changed, which is more than I can-"
A piercing scream echoed through the night air. "Dawn!" he and Buffy said in unison. In perfect agreement for once, they began running for the warehouse where the nibblet's terrified shrieks were emanating from.
Unfortunately, more of the creepy puppets were lurking outside the warehouse entrance, able to stand perfectly still. The ambushed Buffy and him from the darkness, clattering and dancing around.
"Go!" he shouted to Buffy, who took off past them sprinting, much faster than the wooden marionettes could hope to.
They turned to him, and he assessed his options.
Stakes weren't going to work on these guys, but they certainly looked flammable enough. Thank the gods for his century long nicotine addiction. He reached into his pocket for his lighter and began waving his elegant little Zippo around, trying to look like he knew exactly what he was doing.
It wasn't exactly his best work, but the flame did make the puppets hesitate enough to make kicking and punching them to the ground fairly easy. They were stupid enough to take turns coming at him, too, which meant he could have fought them all night.
Sometime during his fight, he saw the Scoobies rush past him and into the building. To their credit, Xander and Giles hesitated, obviously wondering if they should try to help, but he shook his head. "Go help the Slayer!"
Giles fumbled in his coat pocket for something and tossed it to him before following everyone else inside. Spike managed to catch it in his free hand and grinned down at the lighter. It was a cheap little plastic thing, so typical of the Watcher, but producing fire was all he asked of it at the moment.
Two hands of fire were indeed better than one, and he was only a little exhausted when the last puppet stopped twitching and muttering about how pissed off its master was going to be.
He flicked off the lighters, shoved them into his back pocket, and jogged into the warehouse.
Buffy was singing.
Like it had when he sang his stupid number, it seemed relatively natural as it happened. He knew it would only be after that the burning shame kicked in.
Buffy's voice was hesitant and pained, but clear. She stood at the front of the room, with her friends staring up at her in shock, expressions displaying varying degrees of horror.
So that's my refrain
I live in hell
'Cause I was expelled
From heaven
…I think I was in heaven
Red gasped and slid down the wall to huddle on the floor. Tara, who had been standing surprisingly far away from her girlfriend, hurried over to comfort her. Giles and Xander were only a little better off, looking ashen-faced and stunned.
But Buffy wasn't done.
"So give me something to sing about," she half sang, half shouted. "Please…" she looked around, seeming unable to fully articulate her misery."Give me something-"
The red demon – the Big Bad, Spike assumed – seated next to Dawn leaned forward in anticipation as Buffy flipped off the stage and began a wild dance that her lithe body managed to convey as out-of-control torment.
Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward, reaching out to stop Buffy's spin. She looked up at him, hair in her face, looking more terrified and vulnerable than he had ever seen her.
Then, damn it all, he was singing again.
This life isn't hell
Nor is it bliss
Life is just this -
It's living
You are so strong
I know you can heal
The pain that you feel
By living
You have to go on living…
So one of us is living
Dawn stood up, staring straight at Buffy, and for a moment she seemed the wise older sister and Buffy the scared younger sibling. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it," she said simply.
Buffy collapsed in on herself, and Spike reached out to guide her gently to the ground, sitting with her on the concrete floor. He had intended to just sit beside her for moral support, but to his surprise, she wrapped his arms around her and huddled between his bent knees.
For a minute, the only sound was her labored breathing as she struggled to regain her composure. She wasn't crying, but she seemed to be having an anxiety attack of some kind, probably due to her secret coming out so publicly.
The demon stood up and strolled to the front of the stage. Even from this far away, Spike could feel his power rolling of him like a heat wave. Even with Buffy, Red and himself, he wasn't sure they could beat him if it came to a fight.
"Now that was a show stopping number," the demon said, looking immensely pleased with himself. He held out one pointy hand to Dawn. "Come, my bride, we must be off."
Buffy immediately pulled out his arms and stood up, just as Giles stepped in front of her. "That is never going to happen," he said in a dangerous voice, and for a moment Spike could see a hint of the "Ripper" that he had heard the other Scoobies mention when Giles wasn't around.
"I don't make the rules," it said with a pointy grin. "She summoned me."
Dawn shrank back in her seat even farther. "I so did not! He keeps saying that."
"You wear my amulet, sweetling," the demon said.
"Um," said Xander.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Let me say first that I had no idea any bad would happen. Everything I read only talked about singing and dancing."
"Xander!" Red and Giles said together, in identical tones of disapproval.
"I just wanted to make sure everything would work out between us, baby. You know, that we'd get our happy ending." He gave Anya a guilty grin, which she did not return.
"This does complicate things," said the demon, looking at Xander doubtfully.
The boy seemed to finally realize the import of his actions. "Does this mean I have to be…your queen?" he asked, ending with a squeak.
"I think we'll waive that clause this one time." The demon smirked, an ironic twist of his lips. "Oh, go on, smile, everyone! You beat the bad guy."
He danced and sang his way into a cloud of red smoke, ending with, "…See you all in hell!"
Buffy couldn't quite make eye contact with him, and everyone else seemed to be having the same problem meeting Buffy's eyes.
Finally, Dawn sang what they were all thinking. "Where do we go from here?"
Why is the path unclear?
The battle's done,
And we kind of won
So we sound our victory cheer.
The others were lining up to do some sort of coordinated dance movement, but strangely, Spike didn't feel the compulsion to join them. Buffy seemed to, and she took a few halting steps toward the rest of the group, but hesitated and finally stopped. With great effort, she turned and ran out of the warehouse.
The Scoobies were singing again.
Understand we'll go hand in hand
But we'll walk alone in fear…
He followed her. Of course he did; story of his life.
She was sitting on the curb, hunched over her drawn-up knees. She didn't look up when he approached, but he was sure she knew he was there, Slayer senses and whatnot.
I touch the fire and it freezes me.
I try to care but I just can't
Tell me I'm not real
That's why I can't feel.
Without stopping to let himself think this through, he sat down on the curb next to her and pulled her to sit sideways in his lap. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. And cried.
His eyes were watery, too. All for her.
For her paradise lost. For the life she saw ahead of her, with only pain in it. For the upbeat girl with an easy life and an easy smile who was as gone as if she had been years buried.
The music and singing from the Scoobies crescendoed, and Buffy's sobs turned to wails of complete misery. Spike tightened his arm around her.
"WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?"
Where, indeed.
Red and Tara were fighting.
It wasn't the sort of thing Spike would have ever guessed would affect him so strongly, but it felt profoundly wrong. Giles was a stuffy ponce, Anya made inappropriate yet hilarious remarks, Dawn got into trouble, and Red and Tara were together. Them being apart just wasn't how the world was supposed to work.
He hadn't been sure the exact cause of their argument until Dawn confessed to him, in tears, that she had mentioned to Tara a fight the two had had, but Tara hadn't remembered it.
"They're going to split up because of me," she insisted, her lower lip trembling. "I hate my stupid big mouth."
"It would have come out eventually, pet," he tried to reassure her. In truth, he wasn't at all sure the witches would be able to work it out. Messing with someone's mind was seriously dark magic. "And besides, the girl deserved to know."
"She's gonna leave us, I know she is." Dawn sniffed. "First Buffy, now Tara."
"Hey now," he protested. "Buffy came back."
She gave him that Look that it seemed someone was going around and teaching teenagers the world over. "Not by choice. You heard her; she was happy where she was."
He put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the twinge from knowing Dawn was right. "Look, pet, what's done is done, and Buffy knows that. It's a hell of a thing to leave behind-" He paused. "No pun intended. She's going to be here for you, take care of you and fulfill her calling. But you've got to be patient with her. Be understanding of everything she's going through."
"I have problems too," she said mulishly. "No one pays any attention to me, but I have angst and inner turmoil and all that other stuff. Nobody sees me."
Spike called upon the gods of parental figures everywhere and begged for a little patience and understanding. "I know, pet," he said. "And it's not fair that you don't have your mum and an ordinary sister to take care of you. But people can be blind to other people's problems when they have their own weighing down on them. It's selfish, but it's human."
She tucked her knees to her chin, looking like the little girl she wasn't anymore. "I guess Buffy's problems are worse than mine," she admitted, and Spike had to drop his eyes for a moment so she didn't see the astonishment on his face. Who would have thought, a teenager thinking of someone other than herself?
"Doesn't mean you don't deserve happiness, too, pet," he said gently. "Hey, how about this: I'll talk to Buffy, see if we can plan a 'Dawn' day for you."
She gave him a radiant smile, reminding him again why all the Scoobies, not to mention her sister, worked so hard to make her happy. "Nothing special," she said eagerly. "I just want some family time, you know? Me and you and Buffy."
"You want me to be there, bit?" he said in surprise, feeling a rush of warmth that she considered him family, after everything. "Not Red and Tara, maybe? Or Xander and his girl?"
She shook her head firmly. "I love all of them, but I just want one day with the two of you." Her eyes were suddenly watery, and Spike started at the rapid mood changes adolescents could go through. Thank the gods his own puberty was an extremely hazy memory.
He slid his arm around her and said comfortingly, "We'll make it work, pet."
He sat bolt upright on his cot in the basement. Murder. Terror. Hopelessness. He had caused it all.
Breathing too quickly, he swung his legs over the edge and paced back and forth. God, how was he supposed to keep going through all this? He just wanted to stake himself and have it over with.
He heard the front door slam upstairs and glanced at the clock on the wall. Probably the Scoobies all leaving for a meeting at the Magic Shop. It was strange being there without Giles there. He hadn't planned on going, but as long as he was awake and not likely to see sleep again anytime soon, he'd make himself useful.
Yawning his way up the stairs and into the Summers' living room, he almost tripped over Red, who was kneeling in front of the fireplace, murmuring "…for Buffy" before she froze and jumped up.
"Spike! Hi!" she yelped, nudging a bag of herbs behind her with a foot. "Wow, I thought you had gone with Buffy and Tara. Obviously not, though, because hello, right here." All this was spoken so fast that he could barely understand the girl.
He tilted his head and surveyed her. He honestly hadn't meant to look intimidating, just trying to assess the situation…well, that, and why the bloody hell she was doing a spell on Buffy without her permission.
Okay, so he might have been a little angry.
"Red," he said flatly, and raised an eyebrow at her.
It almost worked; he could see her resolve start to crumple, quail before him, but that backbone she'd sprouted in the past couple of years held, and she held her chin high. "Sometimes people need help, but they're too proud to ask for it. It's just to make it so Buffy forgets a little bit of her pain since, um, her resurrection."
He had to give her credit, if he hadn't known her so well, if he hadn't always had a talent for reading people, he'd have probably bought it. Not that she was lying; he knew very well she was a terrible liar. However, she could bend the truth with the best of them.
He crossed his arms. "And the rest of it?" he prodded, and she looked to her shoes, blushing furiously. He had her.
"I just want to make things better…" she said quietly to the floor, where there rested two little bundles of herbs, not one. Suddenly, it all fell into place for him. A forgetting spell for Buffy, and another to make her girl forget the other forgetting spell she'd done on her.
"So control your girl like a puppet, that's your dating philosophy, yeah? Sounds like a technique I think some demons would approve of."
She glared at him, eyes flashing. "I'm not controlling her! It’ll make her happier, that's all."
In a twisted way, he could see what she meant, and he certainly was out of practice at making moral judgments. But his soul wanted to, and wasn’t that one of the major purposes of the damn things?
"I'm not human," he said slowly, staring at her, willing her to understand. "And I’ve spent a lot more time without my soul than with it. But even I can tell what you want to do is bloody evil. "
"You can't tell me you wouldn't help Buffy forget her pain," she said in disbelief.
"I wouldn’t do a damn thing without her permission," he told her without pause. "Otherwise, it wouldn’t really be about her; it’d be about me. You don't get to take people's choices away just because you think it would help or that it would make life easier for you."
Before Red could react, he grabbed the bags of herbs and washed down the garbage disposal, with salt on them to cancel out any lingering magic.
He ignored her hovering and grabbed a bottle of pig's blood from the fridge. He threw his head back and took a swallow. "I’ll give you a pass on Buffy, Red. But you need to tell your girl what you were planning. Or I will."
Her face went white with fury. "How dare you-" she began. He felt the prickle of magic stirring in the air, though he didn’t know if it was intentional or just a side effect of her emotional state.
He tilted his head, aware he was still in game face, and there was blood on his lips. “Gonna try a spell on me? Fair warning, magic gets wonky around vampires, and who knows what having a demon and a soul inside me might do. Might backfire on you, kill you instead of me.”
She took a step back. “I wouldn't-“ she started to say.
“Yeah,” he told her flatly as he walked back toward the basement. She didn’t try to stop him, something lost and confused filling her eyes. “The way you are right now? You really would.”
Spike hadn’t thought the tension between Red and Glinda could ratchet up any higher, until it did. "She's upset because I'm upset," Tara told him the next day as she came to sit next to him on the couch. "But she doesn't really get it, you know? She doesn't understand how what she was going to do was… wrong. Almost…evil." She shuddered.
He nodded and tried to look sympathetic, even reaching out awkwardly to pat her on the knee.
“Thank you for making her tell me,” she said quietly, and he jerked. He hadn’t realized Willow would admit she that her confession had been forced out of her. “I knew she hadn’t really had a change of heart,” she explained. “I made her tell me exactly what happened.”
He scratched at the sofa and felt horribly guilty. “’M sorry it’s caused you pain, though, love.”
Tara shook her head. “No, of course I’d rather this than my memory being tampered with.” She frowned. “Again. But you did the right thing, Spike, you really did.”
“You gonna leave her?” He immediately wished he'd asked more delicately, but Tara was truly a girl who could take just about anything in stride.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think she’s past hope. And I want to help her get better. I mean, I’m furious with her, but I love her. I told her a month without magic, we’ll see how she does.” She laughed uneasily. "I might be joining you in the basement for a while."
He smirked, nudged her shoulder. "Bed's a bit tight, love. Maybe I'll let you have it and go cuddle with Red, get my disgusting man parts all over her. Probably the worst punishment she could imagine."
Tara smiled. "Yeah, maybe."
He dropped the playful act. "She loves you. Truly, madly, deeply, all that. Her number one priority isn’t magic, it’s you. You can get through this."
"You think?"
He nodded. "I've been love's bitch often enough. Trust me, if there's anything I know, it's love."
Tara smiled at him, and they sat in comfortable silence for long minutes.
Then, without warning, she took his hand in both of hers. "Spike… I just wanted to say, I don't know what Buffy would do if you weren't here. Truly. You're the only one who can ever seem to reach her. So I just want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all you’ve done, in case she never does." She looked faintly embarrassed. "I know I'm not as close to her as the rest of you are, but she means the world to Willow, and that makes her important to me, too."
He grunted. “Don’t deserve that, but thanks anyway, love. Don’t deserve her friendship, her forgiveness, any of it.”
Tara shook her head, her blond braids flying. “Doesn’t matter if you deserve forgiveness, you have it. From all of us, and especially from her.” Then, shockingly, “She does love you, Spike, even if she never says it. I can see it clearly. What I don’t know is if she can ever love you in the way that you want.”
His throat was suddenly tight. “’S more than enough,” he said gruffly. “More than I ever dreamed of.” In truth, he wanted desperately to shy away from that train of thought, from the little voice that whispered to him, pointing out that Buffy had loved a vampire with a soul before, why couldn’t she do it again? Maybe it was because it brought her nothing but misery, he thought back acerbically, but the little voice merely became softer, never entirely vanishing.
“Mom or Tara would know exactly what to do,” Buffy said worriedly, flitting around the kitchen as she gathered the ingredients for sandwiches.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, love,” Spike told her for what felt like the tenth time. He frowned as she brought over jars of peanut butter and mayonnaise, a tube of mustard, and about six different kinds of deli meat. He felt slightly queasy. Surely they weren’t all going on the same sandwich? “She doesn’t want perfection, she just wants you.”
Too late he realized the implication of his words, and Buffy took the time to roll her eyes at him as she started attacking the slices of bread with a knife fairly dripping with mayonnaise. “Mustard or mayonnaise?” she asked him.
He took an involuntary step back. “I…er, was just going along for the ride, pet. No need to make anything for me, wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble.”
She set down the knife and turned slowly. “If we are all going on a picnic at a crypt at eleven at night, we are all going on a picnic, and that includes eating picnic food!” Her voice got scarily high-pitched toward the end.
“Mayonnaise is fine,” he sighed, resigned. He loved the girl, but she and her sister had inherited the same skill in the kitchen (read: none).
She gave him a dangerous look again, but just then Dawn came thumping down the stairs, whirling in the room in a yellow sundress and strappy sandals, looking happier than Spike had seen her in a long time. Buffy blinked at her outfit. “Dawnie, sweetheart, it’s almost midnight. Also, it’s November.”
“You wear sundresses to picnics,” Dawn informed her. “It’s practically a law. Just like you bring a checkered blanket and a picnic basket.” She looked around the kitchen, suddenly worried. “We do have those things, don’t we?”
Spike sighed. “Big sis has got everything we need, pet,” he assured her. As he guided her into the living room, he added in a lower voice, “Don’t stress her out more than she already is, alright? She’s trying to make this perfect for you.”
Dawn looked taken aback. “It will be perfect,” she said, looking up at him anxiously. “I was totally kidding about the other stuff. Just you and her being with me makes it perfect.”
She didn’t see her sister walking up behind them with a shiny plastic picnic basket, but Spike caught the raw emotion on Buffy’s face: shock, and pleasure and so much love. He almost had to look away as he saw the fondness in her eyes for her little sister.
Then the moment was past, and Buffy led them out into the night.
Spike made the girls wait outside the crypt while he checked to make sure it was still safe. He had looked over it the previous night, but he didn’t want any risks tonight, despite Dawn’s insistence that she could be almost as good as her sister at fighting, if she was just given half a chance.
There was no one home but the usual occupants, so he gestured Buffy and Dawn inside.
Buffy and he both turned to look at Dawn as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she realized what the moving shapes on the ground were. “Oohhh,” she said blissfully, dropping to her knees and holding out her hands to the fluffy occupants, suddenly mindless of her dress. “Kitties.”
“Finally tracked down Clem; he was letting a buddy of his breed them here,” he told Buffy, smiling at Dawn’s reaction. “Didn’t realize I’d gotten back. But I told him they’re mine now, and he’d have to find another place. He’s been good about keeping them fed and clean, though. Good surprise, bit?" he asked Dawn.
The girl's only response was a vague cooing sound as kittens crawled into her lap. Buffy shook her head in mock-exasperation, but her eyes were shining. She met his eyes, and they shared a moment of complete understanding and affection for this girl, this sister of hers who shouldn’t even exist but did anyway.
Then Buffy opened the basket, and he helped her lay down the tacky checkered tablecloth she’d picked up from a garage sale the weekend before, then carefully filled their paper cups with lemonade from a thermos and put one sandwich on each paper plate.
Dawn joined them once their meal was set up, the flickering light from the old light bulbs hanging around the room even giving their little picnic the ambience of candlelight. Dawn reached for her sandwich first, but Buffy spoke before she could bite in.
“Could I just say – I’m glad you’re both here with me. I-“ she bit her lip. “You both mean the world to me.” She grinned wryly. “I know I'm not easy to be around these days, and no matter how badly we might argue, that'll never change.” She looked down at her plate, suddenly shy. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you guys knew that. You can eat now.”
Dawn reached over and squeezed her hand, and the two girls shared a complete conversation in the simple gesture and eye contact before she started enthusiastically eating her sandwich.
Then Buffy looked over at him, and she seemed to be saying something with her eyes. Something nice, he was pretty sure, and when he thought of how much had changed between them in the past couple of years, he actually gave himself goosebumps. He just looked back at her, but he was quite sure there was little mystery to his expression. Ever since he’d fallen in love with her, he hadn’t been able to look at her in any way except with love. This time though, she looked neither disgusted nor frightened of what she saw in his eyes, and he relaxed and let himself smile at her.
Then she was smiling back at him and so was Dawn and they must have looked completely insipid, but he didn’t care. He was…content.
He didn’t even notice that he’d finished the entire corned beef, mayonnaise and egg salad sandwich without a single grimace.
Giles came over to the house one day unannounced, on a weekday afternoon just as Spike had begun helping Harris repair the dishwasher, which had been overheating and leaking water for days before Xander could take time off work to come fix it.
“Is Buffy here?” Giles asked when Xander opened the door and gestured him inside.
Spike nodded toward the stairs. “Sleeping, I think,” he said.
Giles frowned and pulled off his glasses to clean them. “At three in the afternoon?”
Spike shrugged. “I certainly don’t question her.” Beside him, Xander nodded emphatically.
Putting his glasses back on, Giles stared at Spike suspiciously. “Right, well, I’ll just go up to see if she’s awake, I’d like to talk to her about a couple things.”
Spike turned back to the kitchen. “Suit yourself. Just don’t be surprised if she kicks you through the wall for waking her.” Giles ignored him and started up the stairs.
Xander rejoined him in the kitchen, and the returned to working on the dishwasher in silence. Really, they seemed to get along best with absolutely no conversation. Unfortunately, his conscience told him he needed to take this opportunity and try to make things right between him and Anya, so reluctantly, he broke the silence. "Harris… I've got something to say."
The other man stopped feeling around inside the drain and turned to look at him warily. "What?"
"It's about you and the dem- Anya.” He waited, but Xander just stood there, glaring at him suspiciously, and Spike finally came right out with it. “You're having second thoughts, aren’t you?"
Xander almost dropped his wrench down the drain. "Of course not!" he almost shouted. He lowered his voice. "And even if I was, you'd be the last person I'd tell."
Xander still couldn't lie for shit, Spike was pleased to see. He didn’t even need his supernatural senses to suss out these lies. "Bullshit, Harris. You have the face a man walking to the gallows whenever she talks about the wedding."
"I do not!" he retorted, then hesitated, looking around to make sure they were still alone. "But…um, hypothetically, if I did – which I don't - there's nothing I can do about it. I don't want to hurt her."
Spike snorted. "Want to or not, it doesn't matter. It'll come out in the end, even if you try to hide it, and that'll hurt her even more." Xander flinched, and he tried for a more compassionate tone. "When's it gonna be, mate? Were you planning on leaving her at the altar? Maybe wake up after five, ten, fifty years being miserable and turn to her and say, 'Good morning, honey, and did you know I never loved you?'"
"What?" Xander looked genuinely shocked. "Of course I love her. More than I've ever loved anyone."
It was Spike's turn to blink in confusion, his train of thought momentarily derailed. "Er…so you're saying you don't want to marry her because you love her too much?"
Xander shrugged and leaned against the counter, looking sheepish. "Well, it's just that she has like a checklist for everything...puppies, house, career, babies…" He wiped his brow. "See? It makes me break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. I'm not ready for this, Spike! I'm 23, but I feel like I haven't progressed much beyond a 16-year-old's maturity level. There are about a thousand ways I can and will fuck this up."
Spike tilted his head to examine the other man. "Oh, so you've already decided, then," he said casually.
"Decided what?" Xander said, confused.
"That she's not worth the effort."
Xander stood up and crossed his arms in front of him. "That's about the exact opposite of what I said, fangboy."
Spike shook his head. "No, the way I see it is you're backing out of the fight before the first punch is swung." His lips twisted sardonically. "Very pragmatic, means you'll never have to deal with the pain of losing, because you'll never try."
Xander was breathing heavily through his mouth. "Listen, you… you demon, I love Anya more deeply and - and passionately than you can imagine."
"Oh, I highly doubt that," Spike said dryly. "But regardless, you're being a right idiot, now. You'll either sign yourself up for a life of misery or just dump your girl right now because it might not work out. Bloody genius. I can see why you have such a good track record with the ladies."
Xander opened his mouth and shut it a few times. "I don't have any other options…" he said finally, visibly deflating.
"Of course you do, you bloody poofter," Spike snapped. Really, how hard was this to understand? "How about, oh, talking to your fiancée? Tell her what you told me. You love her but you're chickenshit.“ He softened his tone. Slightly. “Bloody hell, mate, this isn't rocket science. Worst case scenario, you lose the girl. Same as if you'd dumped her, and better than living a lie for years. Best case scenario? You two work it out and ride off into the bloody sunset together."
"I…" Xander trailed off. "I think…that actually made sense, Spike." He paused, still thinking. "In fact, I think it helps. Incredibly enough."
Spike rolled his eyes as knelt in front of the dishwasher again. "'Course it did, I've been watching Oprah."
The other man stared at him for a minute as if he wasn't sure he was joking, then actually gave him a weak smile. "I need to go talk to my girl, then. Get this over with before I chicken out. You’re okay finishing up, right?" Not even waiting for an answer, Xander grabbed his keys and walked out the front door, leaving Spike to try to remember how the myriad dishwasher parts all fit together.
For the millionth time, he reminded himself that Xander's happiness (and, to a lesser extent, Anya's) meant Buffy's happiness, and that was his goal. Every day.
It was all for her, whether she ever realized it or not.
The resulting blowout from Xander's confession wasn't pretty, but Spike had a feeling it could have been much worse. Anya hadn't resumed her demon life, as Spike had thought she might, but she did say she needed space. Lots and lots of space, for an undisclosed period of time. (Even if she drunk dialed him, he was instructed to provide neither company nor sex, according to Xander.)
Spike gathered all this from continual discussions between all the residents and visitors to Buffy's house, as if this were all one long conversation that had different iterations and different participants each time.
Xander stayed at the Summers house most nights, looking like hell and walking around with a slightly shell-shocked expression.
"It was the right thing to do, Xan," Buffy assured him one afternoon while Dawn was still at school. She had taken the news of Xander's temporary-maybe-permanent breakup harder than Spike had expected, but she wouldn't have been Buffy if she didn't pull herself together for her friends, her own emotional state be damned.
Tara came in from the kitchen with a toasted sandwich and handed it to Xander with a warm smile, then pointedly sat down next to Buffy instead of Willow. "Relationships have to be based on trust and honesty, or they're meaningless," Tara agreed placidly, still not looking at Willow.
Buffy nodded her agreement, not seeming to notice the interaction between the witches. "Though… you might have talked to one of us first?"
"I did. I talked to Spike," Xander said hollowly, still holding the sandwich in his hands, untouched. Spike stilled. His biggest anti-fan had called him an "us". Who'd ever have thought?
"Oh," Buffy said in surprise, glancing at him.
"I was just going to try to ignore it and pretend for Anya's sake, but he convinced me that wouldn't work. Would just hurt her more, in the end."
Buffy's expression was…strange. "Well… I agree," she said slowly, as if that surprised her.
"It was no one's fault, Xander. You did the best you could," Willow piped in, and there were murmurs of agreement all around.
Spike grimaced and finally stood up. There was being a good guy, and then there was being a blubbering sot who was apt to grow misty-eyed at diamond commercials if this kept up.
He started for the kitchen to grab a bag of blood and retreat to the basement, but was surprised to realize Buffy had followed him.
She put a hand on his arm. "Thank you," she said quietly. For a moment, he could only stare at her in surprise, and she continued, "I don't think anyone's told you yet, but thank you for looking out for my best friend. I’ve been so caught up with my own problems that I wasn’t there when he needed me.”
He tried to argue, but she held up a hand. “Really, Spike, don’t try to sugarcoat it for me. Just…thank you for seeing what I couldn’t. I don't think he'd have ever opened up so much to the rest of us…he was afraid 'girl loyalty' or whatever would mean we'd side with Anya no matter what."
"'Most everyone underestimates your loyalty, Slayer," was the only remotely intelligible response he could come up with.
She smiled. It was small but genuine. "Some people matter more than anything... more than pain, more than dying.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and she turned to go. After only a few steps, though, she stopped and turned to look at him, expression almost shy. "You make my shortlist too, you know, Spike. I don't know when it happened, but… you're on there too."
She hurried back to her friends before he could respond.
The next day, he accompanied Dawn and Buffy to the magic shop to meet up with the rest of the Scoobies. He and Dawn sat down with Willow and Anya while Buffy continued on to the training room.
"It's just, there's nothing but inconsistencies with how this Big Bad- or Bads – is behaving," Willow was saying in frustration, leafing through one of dozens of aged leather-bound books scattered around the table. "Demons, vampires, mind tricks… it's almost as if someone is toying with us, not taking us seriously." They absorbed this in silence for a moment.
"What about-" Anya started to say, but they all looked up as Buffy walked back in, her shoulders slumped and expression defeated, an envelope and a handwritten letter in her hand.
"Buffy?" Dawn almost upturned her chair in her hurry to get to the Slayer. "What's wrong?" She tentatively touched her sister’s elbow.
Wordlessly, Buffy handed Anya a small envelope she was carrying, a letter still in her other hand.
Anya eyed it curiously and slid out a small card and a folded form of some kind. "Giles signed over his business interest to me," she said in disbelief. "This means he's not ever coming back, don't you think?" Her eyes met Spike's eagerly, looking for confirmation.
Numb, Spike just shook his head and walked to Buffy's other side, leading her to sit down in his chair and kneeling in front of her.
"He said he was holding me back," she told him emotionlessly, eyes on her lap. "That’s what he told me that day he came over to the house to see me. I can't be all that I can be with him here. Or is that the Army?"
Spike reached out to squeeze her knee. "He'll be back, love, even if takes a while," he said, hoping it was true.
"No. I'll bring him back, Buffy," Willow said suddenly, fiercely. She pushed aside the demon lore books they had been reading and reached for the dark-magic-of-last-resort pile.
"No!" Buffy said sharply, her head shooting up. "No magic, Will," she said, her voice softening. "I know you want to help, but Giles has the right to make his own decisions. It wouldn’t be right to try to control him." Spike knew she didn't mean anything specific, probably had no idea what caused Red and Tara's problems, but she couldn't have picked a more dangerous topic if she had tried.
Willow stood up, her irises darkening to a dangerous black. "It's not about control, Buffy! It's about fixing problems, making things right! How can that be wrong?"
She pushed herself away from the table with such force that a stack of books toppled, and strode out the front door, leaving Buffy, Dawn and Anya to stare at her in varying degrees of shock.
As Dawn reached over to hug her sister and Anya resumed her examination of the paperwork, Spike gently tugged the letter out of Buffy's unresisting hands.
My dear Buffy, it began.
Over these past few months, I have watched you hurt deeply, fight through it, and grow. You are truly becoming the finest Slayer the world has ever seen (though, admittedly, I may be slightly biased.)
The Council told me once, during your Cruciamentum, that I had a father's love for you, and it would prevent me from rational thinking where you were concerned. They were correct. As long as I am close by, I will do all in my power to smooth your path.
In you I have seen glimpses of the woman you will become, but it has also become clear to me that my presence is preventing that woman from ever emerging fully. Never doubt my love for you, and though it hurts me to leave you, I truly believe it is for the best. You have withstood more trials than anyone deserves, but you are stronger than you know, and I will not let you bow to the pressure of this latest trial.
Let your friends lend you their strength when yours falters. Place your faith in them, and, above all, in your sister and in Spike. They would go to the ends of the Earth to aid you.
I am available and happy to talk with you at any time, day or night. The Watcher's Council will be able to forward your call to my quarters.
Yours with respect and love,
Rupert Giles
P.S. Please give the enclosed envelope to Anya. It contains the paperwork to transfer full ownership of the shop to her. She has more than earned it.
"Bloody wanker," Spike grunted in frustration when he had finished reading. "And here I thought Xander was the stupid one."
Buffy shook her head and pulled away from her sister. Her hands trembled as she set them down on the table in front of her. "It's okay, Spike. You don't need to be upset for me."
"Like hell I don't," he retorted. "If you won't get angry for your own sake, I'll be glad to do it for you. He had no right to do this to you."
"He's right, Buffy," Dawn said pleadingly. “Giles was wrong. You deserve so much better.”
Buffy made an expression that was half grimace, half twisted smile, and stood up. "The two of you can keep dreaming of a better world," she said quietly, walking back toward the training room. "But I have to live in this one."
That evening, Buffy came rushing into the house, not even bothering to shut the front door behind her. “Willow’s gone, Spike!” she said wildly, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s my fault, I told her not to do magic and she was mad and anyone could have gotten her.”
“Shit,” Spike said, remembering the dangerous glint in Red’s eyes when she’d stormed out of the magic shop. He stood up and squeezed Buffy’s shoulders. “’S not your fault, love, Red’s been teetering on the edge since she and Tara started fighting.”
Buffy just shrugged helplessly, and he grabbed his duster and shouted toward the kitchen, where the nibblet was concocting some new food creation. “Bit, big sis and I are going to find Willow. Stay here till we get back.”
Dawn stuck her head out of the doorway. “Be safe,” she said, biting her lower lip worriedly. Buffy hugged her, and Spike gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smirk, and then they were out the door.
About an hour later, they found a house on the edge of Sunnydale’s warehouse district that was setting off both his and Buffy's "warning" tingles. He could smell humans had been by recently, but he didn’t know if that meant a day or a week. Until he got to the side of the house where a small window at ground level opened into a basement, and he caught the smell of Willow, and others. One of them, he was pretty sure, was the kid who’d made the Buffybot for him, what felt like a century ago but was really only about a year. Warner? Warren?
Staying out of sight of the window, he edged back over to Buffy. “I can smell her in the basement,” he whispered. “Two, three humans are there with her. One of 'em's the robot guy.”
She scowled at the memory. “Break in?” she suggested. Before he could respond, though, he heard the front door to the house open.
A crackling, dramatic voice came over what sounded like a megaphone. “Slayer. We meet at last.”
Then there was a scuffling noise, and Spike caught the end of “-being an idiot, Andrew”, before a different voice spoke. “Leave now and we won't harm you, Slayer."
Did they not know he was here, too? He and Buffy shared a glance, and then she gestured with her eyes to the opposite direction from the voice. “Go around,” she mouthed to him, even as she began striding toward the front door. “I’m not so sure I wanna leave right now!” he heard her saying cockily as he sneaked around to the other side. “I seem to have misplaced a buddy of mine, maybe you’ve seen her?”
He kept creeping, and sure enough, there was a basement window on this side, too. He dropped down to peer inside and saw a short, dorky-looking kid standing in front of a computer screen, watching three orange and red figures standing together. A heat sensor, he guessed. Behind the boy, tied to her chair, was Willow. She had a bruise forming on her cheek and scratches on her arms and neck.
His first instinct was to kick in the window and jump in, metaphorical guns a-blaring, and get her the hell out of there, preferably kicking some nerd ass along the way. This was Buffy’s best friend, but even if she hadn’t been, she still didn’t deserve this.
Instead, he tried to think rationally and took a deep breath, examining the air for fresh scents. He couldn’t see the whole room from his limited angle, but he still couldn’t smell any more than three humans, beside Red, and if two were upstairs, then it should only be this kid in the room. Effortless odds.
He shrugged. That about did it for thinking, for him. Time for a good melee.
Without further ceremony, he kicked in the window, glass shattering on the floor inside and making the boy jump about a foot in the air and spin around to face him. “You!” he gasped, before Spike's punch to the stomach prevented him from being able to do more than gasp soundlessly.
Spike grunted at the flare of pain that the chip sent through him, but he'd learned his limits the past couple of years, and a simple swing wasn't enough to distract him for more than a few seconds. Once his head cleared, he looked around for something to cut Red’s ropes with. “Don’t suppose you can mojo yourself free?” he asked her quietly, but without much hope. If she could have, she would’ve done it long before now.
Willow shook her head but eyed the far corner. “Check Warren’s robotic stuff,” she whispered. “I think there’s some sharp parts over there.”
She was right, and a minute with the sharp end of a piece of metal got her ropes cut. He glanced at the stairs. If he concentrated, he could hear Buffy still talking to the guys upstairs. “-what, you think you’re comic book villains or something? Please,” she scoffed, and he grinned. He could imagine her unimpressed expression perfectly.
Willow whimpered as she stood and tried to put weight on her left foot, and he turned his attention back to her. “Right, up you go, then,” he said, scooping her up in his arms and lifting her to the broken window, balancing all her weight on her good leg as he boosted her up. She crawled out onto the grass, and he was about to pull himself up behind her, when the boy crumpled on the ground finally found his breath.
“Warren!” he shouted. “Down here!”
Spike cursed and kicked the boy in the stomach, not holding back this time, and staggered backward in pain, but the boy also gasped and fell silent. Worth it. He wouldn’t be getting up for a while.
Already, though, there was a pounding on the stairs, and Warren came sprinting down. He reached into his jeans and pulled out a long, thin wooden stake and began advancing toward him. “Breaking and entering, Spike? I already knew you were pathetic, but this is a new low.”
Spike frowned. He couldn’t remember this kid hating him before. He’d been a little lacking in the morality department, from what Spike remembered, though of course that had hardly bothered him back before he had a soul. Since regaining it, Spike hadn’t spared a thought for the boy, but he did seem to be dripping with malice he hadn't had last year, complete with a textbook maniacal glint in his eyes.
Spike rolled his shoulders and prepared for a fight. This boy was nothing more than a human, and not a very athletic-looking one, at that. The stake just evened the odds for the boy a little; it didn’t tip them in his favor.
Of course, that had to be the moment Buffy jumped into view totally stealing his fun as she aimed a perfect flying kick at Warren’s head, making him hit the wall hard and drop the stake. “Andrew!“ the boy grunted as he fell.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she said. “All I had to do was start talking about how Magneto and the Professor are totally getting it on off-screen to distract him enough to lower that ray gun and let me knock him out.”
She stood over Warren and put one booted foot on his chest. “While I’m here, though, let’s get one thing straight. You’re not my nemesis, and Jonathan and Andrew aren't your minions. You’re nothing but little boys playing with toys you’re not man enough to handle." She pressed her foot down harder, and Warren grunted. "You make another wrong move, though, and you will make an enemy. And I’ve killed a goddess. Think this through carefully. This is your last free pass.” With that, she looked to Spike. “Anything to add?”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Think that about covers it, love,” he said, and they turned to go. Warren struggled to sit upright, and Spike could feel the very beginning of dark magic stirring the air. “Slayer,” he warned, gesturing back toward Warren, and she spun and kicked Warren the balls, making the boy release the magic and curl up on himself, cursing.
Spike winced and followed her out of the house.
Buffy opened the front door for Spike to step inside, Willow in his arms. He heard two identical gasps, and Tara and Dawn jumped up from their seats in the kitchen, rushing toward them.
“I’m okay, guys,” Red said in a hoarse voice. “Really. Just a little sore is all.”
Spike carried her to the living room and set her down carefully on the couch. She hadn’t stopped shivering since he and Buffy had found her crawling away from the house, and she looked like the lost, scared girl Spike remembered from first coming to Sunnydale.
Tara brought in a cup of knee and knelt beside Red, the blonde's usually calm eyes wide and concerned. “Are you okay, Willow? Why didn’t you use magic to get free or at least contact me?”
“For you, of course,” Red responded softly as she sipped her tea, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I realized it when Warren captured me. He caught me by surprise, and he thought he’d overpowered my magic, but he was wrong. This was my choice.” Her voice trembled. “I realized that there’s nothing on earth worth doing magic for if it means I could lose you in the process.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Tara said in a soft exhalation, reaching forward to squeeze her hand. “I would have understood.”
Red shook her head stubbornly. “It wasn’t worth the risk,” she said. “Besides,” she added, looking down at her wrists, which were bruised and scratched from being restrained, “I maybe deserved the pain a little, for what I’ve put you through.”
Tara cupped her cheek and spoke softly. “No, baby, you didn’t. You made a mistake, and I can see how much you want to make it right. “
“How do you know?” Willow asked her, looking fragile and young.
Tara tilted her head at her, looking confused.
“How do you know that I’m trying to make it right?” Willow clarified in an almost-whisper. “I could just be waiting until some ultra evil spell is complete and make everyone here forget we ever fought.”
Moving to sit beside Willow, Tara gave her a small smile. “I can’t know that. No one can ever completely know another person’s mind. But I know you, and I trust you, and I love you. And that’s enough for me.”
Willow was suddenly sobbing, and Spike jerked in alarm, looking between the two witches. “I love you, too,” Willow said through her tears. “So much it hurts. And I’m so, so, so sorry for everything.”
Then Tara’s eyes were wet, too, and then they were clinging together like they were attached, rocking back and forth and whispering sweet words that Spike tried not to listen to, to give them some privacy.
And if his eyes were ever so slightly moist, too, then it was the dry air and certainly not a thing to do with the two witches in their own secret world, smiling and kissing each other through their tears.
The nibblet insisted on a "family" night that weekend, consisting of all the residents of the Summers household. Spike had told her, horrified, that if word got out it would destroy his reputation in the Sunnydale demonic underground.
She'd rolled her eyes at him! "You have no street cred anymore, Spike," she'd said dismissively. "You have a soul, you kill vampires and you're in love with the Slayer." Well, when she put it like that...
Still, he felt like he was intruding as he sat down that evening for a Dawn-created meal of "tuna surprise" with the witches, Dawn and the Slayer. Dawn poured glasses of red wine for all the adult humans, grape juice for her, and red blood for him.
Tuna surprise was surprisingly good, and he didn't see anyone else at the table try to hide uneaten portions (or just plain magic it away, like he'd caught Red doing in the past).
When dinner was over, he volunteered to clean up, hoping to miss as much as possible of the movie that Dawn was planning (Pretty in Pink, just kill him now, it would be less painful). To his surprise, Buffy volunteered to help him, and they stood comfortably side by side hand-washing the dishes since the dishwasher was broken again, though this might have been related to the nibblet misaiming a roundhouse kick while practicing her "Slayer moves" when she'd thought she was home alone.
"I called Giles last night, and we talked," Buffy said, apropos of nothing. "For a long time."
"Yeah? Should've let me yell at him for a bit."
Her mouth twisted wryly. "Nah, I wanted to do it myself. And… he let me. It's kinda hard to stay mad at someone who just takes it all."
He turned to her to see her eyes. "Did it help any?" he asked her seriously.
She shrugged. "Yeah, it actually did. Got it out of my system, at least. And then we talked about the stupid Geek Trio and what to do about them." Her hands stilled and she looked out the window over the sink at the sky darkening into dusk. "He said he'd come back this summer and stay with us for a few weeks."
"That what you want, pet?"
She turned to give him a soft smile, the light from a streetlight outside the window catching the golden strands of her hair. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I told him that sounded nice."
Of course, just when he'd thought he was starting to understand his purpose as a vampire with a soul, it all went to hell.
He and Buffy had split up that night to cover more ground, since demon activity was up and Red still wasn't up to lending her magic to help patrol. Just as he was fighting a couple of old lady vampires, a rush of wrongness washed over him, and he barely avoided losing his own fight. Staking the undead senior citizens as quickly as possible, he started running to the east side of Sunnydale, where Buffy was supposed to be patrolling.
He met her somewhere in the middle, an overgrown grassy lot. She sank to her knees when she saw him, and he knew immediately that something terrible had happened. She was deathly white and shivering, and it took him a few minutes to understand what she was trying to tell him. It was all jumbled together: a girl, a strange feeling, a shifting sense of time.
And then a body.
“I killed her. I killed her. A person. Oh my god, Spike, what am I gonna do?” Her voice was still shaking so hard he could barely understand her.
He gripped her arms. “Right now, you’re gonna go home and stay there. I’m gonna go check on the body." Something about this felt very wrong.
She pulled away. “No, no, I’ve got to turn myself in, Spike, I did a bad thing.”
He knelt down to look into her eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “It was a mistake. A terrible mistake, and we’ll figure out how to make it right, but you going to trial for manslaughter or whatever they put you in for is not the way.” She still wasn’t looking convinced, so he tried desperately for something that might sway her. “You want Dawn to be shipped off to live with your skeeze of a father and his latest conquest? Because that’s what’ll happen. No judge is gonna let Red or Xander take her.”
She flinched visibly at the thought. “Promise me, Buffy,” he said, refusing to relent even faced with her pain.
She looked away, chewing her lip, before turning back to him and nodding. “For tonight.”
He sagged in relief. “Thank you, pet. I'll handle the rest of patrol and go look at the body. Red’s home tonight, right? And you’ll be alright walking home alone?”
She nodded and gave him a weak smirk. “I think I can handle it. Slayer, remember?”
He nodded grimly and watched her walk away. When she was out of sight, he turned and walked the dozen or so blocks to the police station. From the windows he could see several officers talking on the phones or walking briskly down the hallway.
He was standing in the shadows of a grove of trees on the edge of the parking lot as he tried to decide the best way to get information on the girl when he saw two officers walk out of the station in his direction. He ducked behind the nearest police car and concentrated on the officer speaking.
“Forensics doesn’t have an official report yet, but Marcy told me that just from her first impression, she’s thinking time of death was approximately 14:00.”
Six hours ago, Spike thought. But Buffy had come to him right after it happened, and that hadn’t been more than an hour ago. “Poor girl,” the other officer said. “Katrina Silber. Wasn’t much older than my own daughter.”
The first officer opened the door of a cruiser the next row over from Spike’s. “I tell you, Sunnydale’s a hell of a place to work,” he said. “I left L.A. ‘cause I got sick of all the murders, but I ain’t kidding when I say this town’s a hundredth its size, but it’s almost as bad…” Two doors slammed, and Spike heard the engine start and gravel crunch as the car backed up and drove away.
As he slipped away, the knowledge that the girl had already been dead beat in his head like a drum. He didn’t know how that made sense, except with seriously dark magic, but all that he could think about was how the Slayer didn’t have innocent blood on her hands anymore.
His second thought was to hunt down and kill whoever it was who wanted the Slayer to believe she had innocent blood on her hands.
He went to see her first, though, of course.
“Her face just looked so familiar to me for a split second,” Buffy said, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen. She hadn't done much else since he'd gotten back, the barely restrained panic from earlier still in her eyes.
“Police said her name was Katrina something,” Spike offered. “Katrina Silber?”
“Katrina Silber,” she repeated. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”
Spike frowned. “Now that you mention it, it’s ringing a very distant bell for me, too.”
She rubbed her eyes. “It’s making me think of you, kinda, and of being pissed off about something a while back…” She turned to stare at him, horror in her eyes. “The robot - Warren!”
Spike’s eyes widened. “Shit, yeah, that was his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend. You think he did this?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore,” she said, standing and looking like she knew what to do now.
He stopped her before she made it out the front door, gripping her shoulders and bending down to be at eye level with her. “Slayer, listen to me. Warren tried to frame you for murder. This isn’t monster-of-the-week shit anymore, or stupid games, this is a cold-blooded killer.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, her eyes hard. “And now a girl's dead because I walked away last time. This ends now. I need to find him, bring him in.”
“Buffy…” he trailed off, trying to think of something to say that would convince her to let him do this for her. “I know you think humans should be governed by human laws, but this isn't a regular human. He has access to magic and computers that we don't have.”
“If he tries lethal force, I’ll kill him,” she said stubbornly. “Otherwise, I’ll just bring him to the police.” Her expression softened slightly. "Spike, I've gotta draw the line somewhere, or I'm not any better than the bad guys."
He nodded slowly and tried to think of another argument that might convince her. “Buffy,” he said finally, trying to place each word perfectly. “I haven’t ever given you any reason to doubt how I feel about you, what I’d do for you, right? My life before yours, death before I’d betray you, yada yada?”
She gave him an odd look. “I trust you, Spike, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’ve never doubted your loyalty to me.”
“Then please, Slayer, trust me in this." He tried to make her see the sincerity in his eyes. "Stay home, go to the Bronze with your friends, bake a cake with the nibblet, whatever, just give me 48 hours. Please, let me take care of this for you,” he added desperately, when she looked like she wouldn’t agree.
“What exactly are you-“ she started to say.
He was resolute. “I’ve never asked you for anything before. 48 hours, Buffy.”
“Dawn has been begging for more QT ever since our picnic…Okay," she said reluctantly. "Two days. Be safe. And don't make me regret this.”
He tried hard not to let his shoulders slump visibly in relief. "Thank you," he said softly, and let himself out the front door. He had his target, and nothing on heaven or earth could distract him from finding the scum who had tried to destroy his Slayer.
Buffy was sitting on the steps of the front porch when he got back to Sunnydale at almost three in the morning two days later, utterly exhausted. She was still wearing jeans as if she had yet to go to bed, and her face was drawn and worried as she approached him. "Since I don’t see Warren anywhere, should I assume you killed him?" she asked tightly.
All he could do was nod.
She closed her eyes. "Spike… I don't know what to say. God, I wouldn’t have let you go alone if I realized that’s what you were planning. I get that you were trying to do the right thing, but we can't be above human law. It isn't right. "
"Meant to just bring him to you," he told her, trying to make her understand. "Had the ropes all ready. But he was on top of a girl, his hand around her neck, when I walked in. She was turning blue. Her whole face was wet with tears. Think the goal was for her to die just as he… you know. Anyway, I broke his neck, quick-like, almost painless. Not that he deserved it." It hadn't been until he was carrying the girl out of the hotel room that he realized Warren must not have registered to the chip as completely human anymore...maybe the price you paid for access to dark magics was a piece of your soul. Killing the bastard had only given him a dull headache, which Spike had accepted gladly.
"Oh." She turned away from him, and he gave her time to process this. Her brow was furrowed like she was thinking furiously. "I think… I understand, then," she said after a few minutes. "I still don't approve of it. But I understand why you did it."
He didn't try to tell her that it shouldn't make any difference if he'd come upon the scum in the act of the crime or not. What should the timing matter? But it mattered to Buffy. He did things so she didn't have to. He didn't mind; it was the way things should be. She was the shining hero, he was just hoping for a tiny slice of redemption.
"The girl's okay?" Buffy asked.
He shrugged. "I think so. Dropped her off at the hospital right after."
She closed her eyes, ran her hand through her hair. "Okay. Okay. I shouldn't be happy that a human – Warren – is dead, but I am. Or, relieved, at least."
"It's okay to feel that way, love. I'm the one to blame. Just one more death to weigh on my soul."
She grabbed his wrist with both of her hands, so tiny yet so strong. "No, Spike," she said fiercely. "Intent matters. Please believe that. You killed Warren because he was hurting an innocent person. Maybe it wasn't the best thing to do, but becoming a good person isn't a straight path." She looked up at him intently. "The only thing you can do is get up again and do better each time you fall."
He blinked, touched that she cared that much about his feelings. "That's almost poetic, love," he teased her, and she blushed. "But I think I get what you're saying."
"I'll leave the poetry to you, William," she shot back, and he grinned. She punched him on the shoulder, hard, and he staggered back. “That’s for trying to protect me.” Then, to his shock, she slipped her hand in his. "Come on inside, we've got to let everyone know we’re safe now."
Just then, Dawn came jogging out of the house. “Buffy! Come on, Anya's ready to talk to Xander and she said she wants witnesses.” She jumped when she saw him there, “Spike!” she squeaked in surprise, and then her eyes trailed down to where Buffy’s fingers were still interlaced with his, and an expression of impish amusement combined with sheer delight took over her face.
“Come on, you guys,” she said, leading them back inside the house. He and Buffy shared an amused look and followed the skipping girl back inside.
Anya was standing on the coffee table in the living room, Xander standing in front of her on the floor, looking up at her with vulnerable eyes, when they walked in. Buffy pulled away from him gently to go to Red and Tara, who were sitting on the couch and looking just as baffled as he was.
"I have thought through this very carefully," Anya said loudly and clearly. "I have created many diagrams, charts and lists to make my decision, and I wanted this to be public so you can’t plead ignorance later, Alexander LaVelle Harris.”
Spike snorted. LaVelle? Xander just kept looking up at her like he was either about to start crying or faint, but he remained silent.
“So. Here is what I have determined." She cleared her throat. "First. You still love me. Your past actions seem incompatible with this being true, but your recent actions and words have convinced me. Second, as much as I might prefer otherwise, I still love you, though I have attempted – and failed - to stop. Third, it is important to the success of any relationship that we remain open and honest with each other, which you were with me, even though it hurt me very much. Fourth, you have consistently demonstrated a commitment and desire to continue a romantic relationship with me in some form, and I can't say that idea is unappealing to me. Therefore..."
She took a deep breath, and Xander actually leaned forward, as if to hear the words that much sooner.
"Therefore, I will allow you to…woo me again, if you agree to certain conditions."
Xander nodded eagerly. "Anything you want, An."
She pursed her lips, staring down at him. "First, should you ever propose an engagement to me again, you will do so only with a complete and well thought out commitment to marrying and living happily ever after with me. Anything short of death will not prevent it. Second, you will commit to doing your best to make us work. I'm not saying you have to promise never to break up with me, but I won't accept anything less than a full effort. Do not let your fear drive us apart again." Her voice got wobbly toward the end, tears streaming down her face.
Xander stood up, and Spike saw that his eyes were wet, too. "Oh, sweetheart," he said hoarsely. "I love you so, so much. And I promise all that and more, with all my heart." He held out his arms to her, and she hesitated, before jumping into them. He staggered for a moment under her weight, but regained his balance, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly.
It really was rather sweet, Spike had to admit reluctantly. Somehow, they had gotten through all the misunderstandings and hurt feelings. Then the two lovebirds had to ruin it all by snogging each other thoroughly. He grimaced and looked away. He had his limits, after all.
He glanced at the girls and saw with amazement that Buffy, the bit, Tara and Red were all squeezing each other's hands and smiling at the embracing couple through tears of their own.
Women. Even if he lived for a millennium, he would never understand them.
Later that night, after an impromptu party thrown in celebration of both not having to worry about the Trio anymore and of Xander and Anya’s reconciliation, he and Buffy sat on the couch downstairs, sipping some disgusting American beers that Xander had picked up from the convenience store.
Less than half an hour ago, Xander and Anya had left together, practically having clothed sex in the kitchen, and Red and Tara were almost as bad, excusing themselves upstairs with little pretense as to what they would be doing in their bedroom. When Dawn saw that only left the her, Spike and Buffy, she had made an extremely unconvincing excuse about needing to do homework in her bedroom (on a Saturday night, mind), and managed to mention twice that her music would be turned up very loudly, before bolting up the stairs.
"Everything alright, love?" he asked her, as the credits rolled for the teen movie that Dawn had put in.
"Yes...no." Abruptly, Buffy set down her beer and stood up, looking like she was steeling herself to say something awful, making his poor, dead heart skip a beat.
"I swore, after Angel, I'd never fall for another vampire," she said finally, as if to herself. He almost dropped his beer from suddenly numb fingers, wondering if he’d heard right.
She still wasn’t looking at him. "It didn't seem like that hard of a promise to make, at the time.” She laughed wryly. “How many ensouled vampires are wandering the earth, after all?” Spike had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything that could ruin this.
“He always told me he loved my innocence, my pure heart...” She looked straight at Spike then, eyes unflinching. “But it's been six years and twice dead, and my soul's a little dingy now. I'm jaded and pessimistic and I'm not sixteen anymore.”
She took a deep breath, and walked toward him, hesitating a moment before taking his hand in hers. He let her, feeling only a kind of numb incredulity. “I told Angel once that when he kissed me, I wanted to die,” she whispered. “But now, when I kiss you, I want to live."
It was as if he caught a glimpse of eternity and fate, the meaning of his life and unlife and all of it, and they all intersected at this one shared moment in his life and Buffy’s, the stuttering heartbeat after Buffy's words, when he really heard what she was saying.
Then warmth, shock, and delight washed over him like a warm spring rain, and he met Buffy's eyes, saw her tremulous smile and the mix of fear and determination in her eyes.
He smiled back, unable to do anything but grin like an idiot, and something in his expression made her face just light up. A hundred conversations passed between them in a breath, and then she was in his arms, wrapping her legs around him and squeezing him so hard he couldn't breathe even if he'd needed to. If his soul had been cursed like Angel's, it would have fluttered away right about then.
After long minutes, she pulled back slightly, and he looked down at her, at green eyes he had never been so close to, silky, bouncy hair that always smelled like roses and apples, and soft red lips that were suddenly on his, manicured hands that were suddenly pulling him down, getting all of his skin closer to hers, closer, closer.
When they parted so they could both take in air, she grabbed the back of his head to prevent him from pulling away farther, and they stared into each other's eyes. Somehow it was more raw, more intimate than even kissing had been.
He knew he'd never been able to keep what he felt for her hidden, but it was something awe-inspiring to see the same expression in her bright eyes. "Spike…" she said softly, and it was enough.
"I'm yours…" he whispered back, in case she didn't know it already. "Till the end of the world."
She looked up at him seriously. “I can’t promise ‘forever’ to anything,” she said. “But I do promise to give you my whole heart.”
“That’s more than enough,” he assured her, leaning down to kiss her again, in an attempt to keep another stupid smile off his face. Well, also because he loved her so much it hurt and she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
When they pulled apart this time, she buried her face in his neck. "This is gonna be hard," she said against his throat. "Really hard. You know that, right? We're gonna get resistance from almost everyone.”
He laughed, running his fingers through her hair, reveling in the fact that he could do things like that now. "Pet, I'd have done anything for you before I knew there could ever be a chance that you'd love me back. Now, there's nothing in heaven or hell that could keep me from you."
"I get bossy sometimes," she warned him. "I have a hero…um, heroine complex and I can be really bitchy and self-centered."
He laughed again and scooped her up, setting down on the edge of the couch with her in his lap, with her giggling and squirming around until she was comfortable. "If there is anything in this world I know, it's you, love. I understand with perfect clarity exactly who you are.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You're a hell of a woman, Buffy. You're the one."
Her eyes glittering with tears, she reached out to him, pulling him to her. She was beyond words, but the expression in her face reflected the same depth of emotion he felt for her. As his lips met hers again and they fell into that perfect pattern that men and women had been following since the beginning of time, he thought of his quest for redemption, and how it hadn't ended and probably never would while he walked the earth. It was for her, sure, but - he finally realized- it was also for him.
And, above all, it was for the greatest cause on earth.
Love.