Fic: For Want of A Back Porch (Comic!Fic) (2/4)
Title: For Want of A Back Porch (2/4)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. Part II is 6,000 words (the whole fic is 21,000 words and it is finished; updates every day or two). Part I is here.
Part II
December 26
They were watching a buddy cop flick (it was Xander’s turn to pick for movie night), so when the rapping sound came, Buffy looked to see who had been shot this time. Not until Xander muttered, “Wasn’t he just here?”, did she turn to see Spike on the balcony.
She got up, afghan in tow, and told herself that the leaping feeling in her chest was only because the movie was boring her near to tears.
“Do you want us to pause it?” called Dawn.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Buffy, mentally adding, I plan to be a while.
Once outside, she pulled the window shut behind her. “I didn’t think I’d see you for a while.”
“Had to postpone Alaska.” Spike leaned against the railing with one arm propped on it. Buffy was so preoccupied with watching the silver skull on his thumb gleam in the moonlight that she almost missed his explanation. “The nasties were bigger than anticipated. The ship barely made it back here in one piece. Needs some major repairs before we do any long trips.”
“Are you okay?” She resisted the urge to step closer and touch him. She wanted to peel back his layers, prize his duster from him and roll up his tee to make sure he was unscathed.
“M’fine. The ship took the damage. Structural damage, some fires.”
Buffy’s throat constricted. She wanted to blurt out that it was too dangerous for him to be near fires, but he would just look at her like she was crazy, justifiably, and call her a daft bint or something like that.
“So what was the case?”
Spike glanced through the window at the cheerful movie night tableau. “Sure you want to know? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Did he want to leave already? Had she made it sound like she wanted him to leave?
“It’s nothing I can’t live without,” said Buffy quickly. She sat down on the grating with her legs stretched out, cocooning her upper body in the afghan, and glanced at the space beside her in what she hoped was a polite but pointed way.
Spike scuffed his boot against the floor before hiking up his jeans, sweeping his duster out from beneath him, and sitting next to her. Buffy’s heart gave another funny jolt.
The balcony could hardly be called big; while standing they had been scarcely a foot apart all his other visits. There was something more intimate about sitting next to him, though. The inches separating them belonged to his duster and her afghan, mere fabric rather than empty space. It was impossible not to smell him- leather and a whiff of cigarette smoke, scents that were achingly familiar. There were new, unsettling ones, too, though- scents that reminded her of oil and car garages, that spoke of his new life as a ship-flying crusader. And underneath it all was that indefinable Spike musk. She wanted to bury her head in his shoulder and breathe him in, reassure herself that underneath the ship and bugs and cross-country heroic missions he was still the same vampire she had always known.
Buffy resisted that urge, too.
“My friend Gunn has been in Massachusetts for the past year trying to root out a corrupt senator.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose as she tried to remember the names of any legislators from Massachusetts. “Isn’t that more of a job for lawyers and stuff?”
“The senator’s backed by a demon clan.”
“Oh.”
“Half of his staffers are vampires.”
“Ah.” She thought of the Mayor and grimaced. “Do we have a lot of demon politicians?”
“More so now than a decade ago, from what my sources tell me. Aggressive partisanship makes them particularly susceptible to demonic bribes and influence.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Buffy. “Now I actually have to start paying attention to politics.”
She ignored Spike’s amused stare, lest she look too closely and find it patronizing.
“So what was Gunn doing?” She vaguely remembered meeting the good-looking African American man at Angel’s hotel after Sunnydale fell.
“Gunn found out that the senator was planning a human sacrifice to up his chance of getting a presidential nomination. We destroyed the office.”
He said it with such nonchalance that Buffy found her eyebrows rising. “And? Don’t tell me you killed the senator. I think I would have seen that on the news.”
Spike looked extremely smug. The familiar expression, which she had missed long before he died, was as provocative as it had ever been- except instead of making her want to punch him, it now made heat curl in her stomach.
“I think Congress can expect a resignation any day now,” said Spike. “And some psych ward is probably about to get a very famous inmate.”
Grinning slightly, Buffy nudged his knee with hers. “Tell me more.”
She listened for the next ten minutes, asking questions, wincing, and smiling in a congratulatory way when appropriate. It was odd to be on the receiving end of a war story for once- even odder for the story not to revolve in any way, shape, or form around a mission of her own. Pride for all that Spike was doing suffused her.
“What have you been up to lately?”
The question caught Buffy by surprise. “I, um, I’ve been patrolling.” She didn’t think he meant how many lattes she had made this week or what flavored syrup was currently most popular. “Staked some vampires. Killed a few demons. Nothing major.”
Answers that would ordinarily have satisfied her- back to the basics, right?- felt inadequate now, after listening to his adventures. She felt embarrassed, almost ashamed, of her pride from a moment before. What right did she have to feel proud of his actions? They weren’t in any way related to her. Here he was defending the country- not even his country- from human-sacrificing would-be presidents and what was she doing? Staking a few vamps and making some cute quips along the way.
Though Spike looked nothing but serious and attentive, Buffy’s cheeks were burning. She needed to change the subject to something innocuous- anything besides her pathetic life. “So how did Gunn get on this politician’s case in the first place?”
Spike shrugged. “That’s his thing now. Politicians messing with dark magic.”
Buffy was about to say, “Could have used him a few years ago,” when he added, “Angel set him onto it back when we destroyed LA’s Wolfram & Hart. Gunn took out a senator who was in cahoots with vampires.”
For a second a look of nostalgic wistfulness crossed Spike’s face, and then his features darkened. Buffy turned away before he could look at her.
Was this the first time since the apocalypse was averted that either of them had mentioned Angel’s name? Even though it was painful, like picking at a scab, she pondered why Spike looked so furious. Did he hate Angel, and rightly so, for almost destroying the world? Did he hate Angel for wrecking whatever camaraderie he, Spike, and Gunn had once shared? Or did he hate Angel because he was jealous about Buffy?
She despised herself for hoping that it was the third, and she was terrified because if she were honest, she thought it was probably the first. And if he hated Angel, why didn’t he hate her, too? Did the possibility exist that he could hate her, too? Would he wake up one day and realize that all the supposedly necessary things she had done to save the world wouldn’t have needed doing if she hadn’t screwed up- literally- in the first place?
She was trembling now under the afghan. She didn’t think she could bear it if Spike hated her.
Buffy looked at him and felt words bubbling up inside of her.
Please don’t hate me.
Don’t be jealous.
No, do be jealous, because then I’ll know you care.
You don’t need to be jealous.
I need you.
I l-
No, no, no, she couldn’t think that. Her love only brought badness, on herself, her partner, her friends, the world. She couldn’t afford to feel that for anyone. Especially not another vampire with a soul.
It could be different. You don’t know. You’ve never loved him before.
Oh, she had loved him in some fashion in Sunnydale, after the soul and before he died, but those feelings, so tender and new back then, were even hazier now. And her feelings had gone unspoken until it was too late. She hadn’t loved him in the sense of allowing them to be together.
It could be different. Spike’s always been different.
But another vampire- she couldn’t- what would her friends think-
“I got you something in Boston.”
Buffy’s head jerked up. She swiped surreptitiously at her eyes as she turned to see Spike holding out a box not much bigger than the one she had given him.
“Happy Christmas,” he said. “Again. Sorry it’s late.”
Buffy reached a hand from behind the safety of the afghan to take the box. It was neatly wrapped in sparkling silver paper, and she wondered, inanely, where he had gotten the paper, if he still had a huge roll of it sitting incongruously somewhere on his spaceship.
“You didn’t have to,” she said, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she had been this excited to open a gift.
He didn’t reply as she tore open the wrapping, much more carelessly than he had. The rectangular box was indeed meant for jewelry, and Buffy found herself holding her breath as she opened the lid.
A bracelet with alternating green and amber-colored gemstones nestled in the velvet.
“It’s…it’s lovely.”
Buffy lifted the bracelet from the box, trying to suppress her disappointment. What was there to be disappointed about? She hadn’t expected anything to begin with. True, she would have expected Spike to have better taste- these particular colors didn’t really go together- and it would have been nice if the gift actually had something to do with her or him or them, but this was…lovely.
Great. On top of her Angel-related self-loathing, she felt selfish and ungrateful.
“Do you like it?” Spike sounded unsure, and she realized, berating herself, that her enthusiasm was sorely lacking.
“’Cause you don’t have to wear it.”
“No, it’s very nice.” She held up the bracelet, squinting in the moonlight to study the catch.
So why had he gotten her such an impersonal gift? Had he felt obligated to get her something in return and figured jewelry was a safe way to go?
She would rather have received no gift at all than have turned into his obligation.
Maybe he genuinely wanted to give me something, she told herself.
The worst feeling of all was the knowledge that she just didn’t know. She was so used to him wearing his heart on his sleeve and now she couldn’t even tell if she was his friend or his obligation. The fact that she couldn’t read him anymore was just another reason to not let herself feel that way.
“Thank you,” she said as she released the catch. She tried to sling the bracelet around her wrist and close the clasp with one hand, but the bracelet kept falling. Spike touched her wrist, gently.
Buffy let go of the bracelet. As he bent over her to close the clasp, she breathed in deeply and resisted the impulse to bury her nose in his stupid, sticky, wonderful hair. She wondered if her pulse was giving away her mess of emotions.
Spike pulled back. Buffy felt another pang.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said. “The green and amber- hazel. That’s why I got it.”
Buffy stared at his earnest, open face, his familiar, full lips, and felt a rush of dizziness. She looked back down at the bracelet. Suddenly, it was beautiful.
“How was Christmas?” asked Spike. “What did you do to celebrate?”
Talking. Back to talking. She was supposed to talk again.
Buffy wet her lips. Christmas. That was a good subject. She rubbed her thumb over the gemstones on her opposite wrist.
A very, very good subject.
* * *
When Buffy climbed back through the window at a quarter to two, the living room was dark. She was plumping out her pillow when the bedroom door opened and Dawn emerged.
“Hey,” said Buffy. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No.” Dawn switched on a lamp. “Although you were humming.”
“I was?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.” Buffy felt herself smile. “How was the movie?”
“Awful. Xander is so going to get it next time. I’m thinking Spice World.”
Buffy snorted.
“So. How’s Spike?”
Buffy stiffened. When she finally sat on the couch and faced Dawn, her sister looked no more or less casual than usual. Dawn leaned against the wall on one leg, her expression free of judgment.
Also free of approval.
“He’s fine. Was up in Boston recently.”
“Did you have fun?”
“With him? Yeah. We just talked.” Buffy fingered her bracelet but did not draw attention to it.
“You can invite him in, you know,” said Dawn, with a faint, humorless smile. “The idea that you don’t live here is just stupid. It’s been half a year.”
The words stung, though Buffy doubted that Dawn had meant them to. She looked at her lap. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll move out-”
“Buffy! That’s not what I’m talking about.” Dawn moved and plopped down beside Buffy. Her expression was the annoying one that made Buffy feel like she was the younger sister. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Heck, you can be the eccentric aunt and live-in babysitter when the time comes.”
“Oh my God, are you-”
“No, ew, it’s just hyperbole. The point is, while you need it to be, this is your home. And I hope you feel that way.”
Buffy tried not to sniff. “Thanks.”
“So you can invite Spike in.”
“I-” Buffy glanced at Dawn, unsure if this was some kind of trick. “I know I can mystically speaking. But it’s still your and Xander’s apartment. I’m not going to invite him without your permission.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Dawn. “I don’t care. Invite him in. Xander might put up a fuss, but believe me, I have ways of changing his mind-”
“TMI, TMI!”
Dawn snickered unabashedly. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that there’s no need to skulk around the balcony in the dead of winter next time you want to hang out.”
“Thanks,” Buffy repeated. She definitely had to wipe her eyes now. Dawn was being so nice. And yet Buffy felt so pathetic. She was in her mid-twenties and couldn’t even hang out inside with the guy she liked- no, a friend- no, the guy she liked- whatever- without her little sister’s permission. No matter how kind Dawn was, there was no way to pretend these circumstances weren’t humiliating.
“I really appreciate that,” she said, after taking several subtle deep breaths. “Maybe we’ll come in if you guys are out. I don’t want to provoke Xander. Plus we’re- I mean, I’m happy on the balcony. It’s very…”
Dawn raised her eyebrows. She seemed to be smirking slightly.
Private. Cozy. Ours.
“Quiet,” said Buffy.
Dawn nodded sagely. “Good to know.” She kissed Buffy’s cheek and padded back to the bedroom.
“Good night.”
January 8
“You never told me what happened with the bugs,” said Buffy. It was a little before two AM; she had come home from slaying minutes ago just in time to see his ship lowering slowly to the apartment building’s roof. She had run the rest of the way down the street and up the stairs and just had time to put the kettle on before flinging herself out the window to surprise him.
“What?”
Buffy glanced at him to see if he was feigning ignorance to try to cover up an embarrassing story. He really was blank-faced.
“Your horny crew…baby bugs…things were, ah, screwed up.”
Spike shot her a dirty look. “Very funny, Slayer.”
Buffy grinned.
Spike sighed. “It’s as all right as it’ll ever be. Not much I can do, can I? S’part of nature. I’ll just have to deal with it.”
He sounded mutinous but resigned, and she couldn’t keep from frowning. Since when did Spike accept defeat?
“Why...?”
“I’d send the ones that want families back to their home if I could,” said Spike. “But I can’t. Barring intervention from the Power That Suck, there’s no way to open a portal to their dimension anymore.” He shrugged, helpless, and muttered, “I can’t tell them they’re not allowed to procreate. It’s not their fault they’re stuck here.”
No, it was her fault. Now she could add “exiling giant cockroaches from their home dimension” to the list of reasons she regretted destroying the seed. She wondered how sentient they were, if they knew enough to blame her.
Buffy wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t say sorry lightly, as though she hadn’t realized her guilt, but she also couldn’t apologize for destroying the seed. It would be disingenuous, no matter how much her heart now ached, inconceivably, for the bugs that had volunteered to help Spike and would now never see their home again.
The whistle of the boiling kettle saved her, fortunately, and with a murmured, “Be right back,” she got up to go inside.
When she returned to the window a few minutes later and handed him two steaming mugs of hot chocolate so she could climb over, she was immensely gratified by the way his eyes popped.
“Haven’t had any cocoa since…” Spike squinted, thinking. Buffy settled back on the floor next to him and accepted her mug. “Since LA. And not any good cocoa since your mum.”
“It’s only instant,” said Buffy self-consciously. “Nowhere near as good as Mom’s.” The familiar ache at the thought of her mother swept through her.
“Different kind of good,” countered Spike. He inspected the cup, and a broad grin crossed his face. “And you have marshmallows. Looks perfect to me.” He took a long draught, and even though he winced (silly, impatient vampire, Buffy thought as she blew on hers, and smiled), he didn’t lose his grin. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds the rustle of the wind, ambient nighttime city noises, and their sips. Buffy was just thinking that if she weren’t careful she could fall asleep out here, conveniently on Spike’s shoulder, when he said,
“How’s Red doing? What’s she up to?”
Buffy stared at him. Was he that bored or was he actually, genuinely interested in her friends?
“She’s all right,” said Buffy.
“Coping?” said Spike, and she was further astonished to see sympathy cross his features.
“I think,” she murmured, unable to sugarcoat the truth when he looked so sincere. “It’s…difficult. More than difficult. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. I mean, maybe I can, maybe it’s like losing Mom or coming back from heaven- feeling like there’s nothing else to live for. But maybe it’s even worse for her because the magic was- was a part of her. It would be like if I lost my Slayer powers or if you lost-”
Buffy broke off, unable to think of an analogy that suited Spike. What was absolutely paramount to his nature? Somehow she didn’t think that his vampire “powers” was the answer. He was too good for that. She didn’t know if he would like being human, but she was certain he could adjust.
“I understand,” said Spike quietly. He was gazing at her steadily, his eyes piercing and very, very blue. Buffy swallowed and couldn’t keep a selfish thought from flitting through her mind. A few years ago she may have been his magic; his heaven; she and Dawn, that is.
She didn’t think she was anymore.
“And it’s extra hard because she thinks that maybe she can fix it. Get it back.” Buffy spoke quickly, trying to erase her thoughts, hoping he hadn’t seen them on her face. “We actually don’t speak much anymore. Partly because I- I don’t even know if she wants to speak to me.” Buffy winced, remembering their recent lunches and girls’ nights. The elephant was always in the room, no matter how much fun they were superficially having; she was always on guard, waiting for- expecting- Willow to blame her.
“And partly because she’s always in Giles’- I mean, Faith’s-” Now there was a lump in her throat, and she had to swallow again. “-Library. Not in it, literally. She has the books shipped over…” She could feel herself going into ramble mode. Images of Giles kept invading her mind’s eye.
Gently, tentatively, Spike’s hand covered hers, wrapped around her mug. The metal of his ring pressed lightly to her skin. She wondered if he noticed that she was wearing her bracelet.
“I’m worried about her,” Buffy admitted. “I keep telling myself that everything is all right because, hey, she hasn’t tried to end the world. Surely that means this is less traumatic than…” Buffy sighed. “Of course, maybe she just hasn’t tried to end the world because causing an apocalypse is a lot harder without magic.”
Spike’s fingers squeezed hers.
“I keep waiting,” said Buffy softly. “What if she decides that it’s not enough? That her research is never going to produce an answer. What if she…loses it. And I have to…” She couldn’t say the words aloud, not even to Spike. The thought of fighting Willow shouldn’t horrify her so much. After all, she’d done it before. But if Willow went insane again because of something Buffy had done, and she had to stop her-
If any more of her friends died, Buffy knew she would lose it; she really would.
“It won’t come to that,” said Spike. His voice was strong and steady, completely certain. “And if it does, you won’t have to deal with her.”
She glanced at him quickly, both buoyed by his words and disconcerted by the idea that a promise to kill her best friend so she wouldn’t have to was the sweetest thing anyone had said to her in a while. It was a relief to see that his expression was bleak; at least he wouldn’t take joy in his actions if he had to “deal” with Willow.
Spike withdrew his hand from hers, and Buffy cleared her throat. “Tell me something happy. Tell me about your friends. How’s Gunn?”
She drained the last of her hot chocolate as Spike spoke about a new city and a new politician, a governor this time.
“Maybe he should run for office,” said Buffy. “Sounds like he could do a better job. And like he would actually care.”
She said it off-handedly, but Spike looked intrigued by the suggestion. “He could probably do more good behind the scenes getting rid of the rotten ones. But it’s not a bad idea. He would be good.”
Buffy smiled and tried to remember the names of any other of Spike’s friends; she couldn’t. A related topic came to mind, though, and without thinking she said, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Spike froze. When he turned to look at her, so slowly that Buffy imagined she could hear his neck creak, his face was more guarded than it had been in months. “No. Why?”
“Just curious.” Buffy was quite proud of how nonchalant she sounded, even though she felt like grinning like an idiot.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Buffy strained her ears, but his tone had been perfectly, deliberately casual.
“No,” she said, and was disappointed when his face didn’t light up.
“Don’t have much time for significant others while I’m flying around the country,” he said.
Buffy felt her restrained-and-not-at-all-big-smile freeze in place. Was he implying that he wanted a girlfriend and would have one if he weren’t so busy? Or was he implying- hinting- he didn’t want one period because he was too busy?
“How’s Dawn?” he asked.
And why wasn’t he more curious about her own single status?
Buffy couldn’t decide whether she was glad or annoyed that she had brought up the subject.
“She’s doing well. Classes start again next week…”
This was fine; she was happy the way they were. She couldn’t date anyone anyway; that led only to badness. And she certainly couldn’t date a vampire. So this companionship- this solidarity- it was fine. It was the best it could be. She was completely, totally fine.
The night wore on as they traded more innocuous questions, and sometimes paused just to enjoy the silence, and Buffy knew, as her chest grew warm and her cheek inched nearer and nearer to his duster, that she was just happy that his answer had been ‘no.’
March 10
Spike’s chest thrummed with anticipation as he descended the fire escape toward Buffy’s apartment. It had been far too long, a good two months, since he’d seen her. The trip to Alaska had taken longer than expected and been less than fruitful. The Whedon clan hadn’t wanted to be found and when he finally had cottoned on to their whereabouts, the matriarch Simone had told him scornfully that they no longer associated with Meltzer and Allie and that the two’s scheme, no matter how nefarious, was not their concern. At least the trip hadn’t been a complete waste; she had deigned to give him a vague description of Allie’s human form, as well as several of Meltzer’s known hiding spots, which he planned to search next.
The information wouldn’t be very useful to Buffy, but he wanted to check in with her, make sure she was all right. He didn’t have the luxuries of email or telecommunications on his ship, and the loss of contact had been startlingly acute. It worried him a little, actually. He’d gone years without Buffy, trying to move on with his life, and in a few short months she had reeled him in again, tightly enough that he ached if he went too long without her presence. She was still his breath of life, his forgotten heartbeat-
And he was still a bloody awful poet.
Spike smiled slightly and hoped that she was home; it was still early, not yet midnight, and she may have been patrolling or out with friends or, God forbid, on a date-
A lot could happen in two months. She might have a boyfriend by now.
The memory of their last conversation heightened his anticipation, gave him a slight buzzing sensation. He had tried not to think too hard about the intent behind her questions in the intervening months. He had no time anymore for a broken heart if all she ever planned to do was dance around the subject.
On a scale of one to ten, how terribly selfish of him was it to hope that she was home alone instead of out enjoying the nightlife like a normal twenty-something-year-old?
Spike slowed when he reached the last flight and descended quietly, calmly. His heart leapt when he saw that the living room was illuminated and Buffy was curled on the couch, reading a magazine. He twisted his silver ring, a move that was fast becoming a tic, and knocked.
Her head jerked up. The quick succession of shock, relief, and elation that crossed her face was more gratifying than anything else his short-term memory could produce. The magazine went flying, and she was at the window in an instant.
“Hello, love,” he began as she practically fell over the sill.
“It’s been two months!”
It was only then that he glimpsed a fourth, more familiar expression: anger.
“I thought you were dead!”
Before he could protect his nose, let alone consider how to apologize without sounding whipped, she flew at him.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was crushing and demanding and bruising, like all their kisses during the bad year. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, and her teeth scraped his lip, and Spike almost moaned at this sudden reminder of what it felt like to be wanted, utterly possessed-
But it was different, too, oh it was different, because she wasn’t trying to hurt him. Her nails weren’t clawing his back, raking painfully across his scalp. She wasn’t tearing at his clothes, making it clear that this was nothing but a prelude to something even more violent. Neither was she holding her body back, trying to stick her neck out like a charmed snake while recoiling from the rest of him.
No, she was molded to him, her every curve pressed against him, her arms wrapped around him as tightly as though she would never let him go again-
She jerked back.
Spike stumbled. He gasped for breath he didn’t need and stared at her. She was as wild-eyed as he probably was, her face was flushed, and her chest was heaving in a very distracting way- her bright, luminous eyes met his-
He stepped forward and gently, as gently as she hadn’t, cradled her face between his palms and kissed her. For one precious moment it was everything he could have hoped for: soft and sweet and yielding but also strong and laced with as much passion as before and dare he say love-
Buffy yanked away. He gasped like a drowning man now, and her eyes became even brighter.
“I can’t.”
For a minute Spike felt sure he had forgotten the English language. She couldn’t have just said that. She had thrown herself at him-
“You- you kissed me!”
She bit her lip. The shine in her eyes threatened to spill over. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re- you’re-” This could not be happening. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m not sorry!” Spike stepped forward and took her hand. He was extra-aware of his every movement, the distance between them. After their past he never would have dared to kiss her, pursue her, but she had made the first move- that meant it was okay-
Buffy let him hold her hand for an instant before pulling it away. She seemed to recoil, pressing back against the window. There was nowhere to go on this tiny balcony. He saw her eyes dart to both sides, looking for an escape.
It broke his heart.
Spike stepped back, even though he wanted nothing more than to draw her close. He never wanted her to feel trapped by him again.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t furious. “What do you mean you can’t?”
Buffy didn’t answer. Her fingers curled around the windowpane. If she went inside where she knew he couldn’t follow, so help him-
“Why did you kiss me?”
Buffy started at the harshness in his voice. He didn’t care.
“I- Spike, I-”
Her eyes flew to him, helpless. He said nothing.
“I m-missed you. I thought you were- you were gone so long-” A sob caught in her throat.
He softened, risked shuffling a few inches forward. “I’m fine, Buffy. I’m sorry you worried. I finally made it to Alaska, and it just took longer than I expected-” He reached out a fingertip to touch the tear that had finally slid down her cheek.
“No!”
His hand curled. He dropped it to his side.
“I can’t, I c-c-can’t.”
“Can’t what? Buffy, what’s wrong?”
He felt sick. Was this about the bathroom? If it was he would understand, but then she shouldn’t have kissed him, it wasn’t fair-
“Buffy, are you scared of me?” He had to know.
Her eyes went as wide as saucers. “No! God, no, Spike, no!”
Spike tried not to shudder with relief. “Then what? I don’t understand. You wanted- and I want-”
We’re so good together, he wanted to say. He had tried to be her friend; he’d known that whatever existed between them may have faded and that the months after the apocalypse were not the time to find out, and so he had shielded his love, as much to protect himself as her. But now he knew she felt something.
“It d-doesn’t matter what I want.” Buffy’s chin trembled. The tears were flowing freely now. “I can’t.”
“But wh-”
It registered, all of a sudden, and nauseas swept through him like a tidal wave. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to shake some sense into her. And he really, really wanted to kill his grandsire.
“Because of him?” Spike spat the words, made them sound like a curse.
Buffy flinched. She didn’t speak.
“What do you think’s going to happen? You think I’ll turn evil and try to kill you? Or that a good snog will unleash the apocalypse?”
Buffy turned her face away.
Spike hadn’t thought that anything could feel worse than seeing her “hello” to Angel in Sunnydale; even the space sex had been easier to bear because he knew that she hadn’t been 100% in her right mind. This was crueler than anything, though. Buffy wasn’t choosing someone else. She was just taking him out of the running.
For the first time in years, he hated her.
“I’m not him.”
“I know,” whispered Buffy.
Spike laughed bitterly. “No. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about me or us or what we could have. You’re too scared-”
“I can’t do it!” she choked out.
“No, you won’t do it.”
“I can’t risk it- my friends, the world- vampires are not good boyfriend material!” There was fury in her eyes too, now, but she didn’t seem to know what to do with it, which was sad in and of it self. She seemed so lost.
Well, he was tired of trying to help her find her bloody way.
Spike was tempted to say something scathing and completely untrue, like “Who said anything about being your boyfriend? Maybe I just want a quick shag!” but despite his newfound hatred, the vitriol wouldn’t come.
Instead he said the truth, which was perhaps worse. “When did you turn into a coward?”
Buffy stared at him. Tears leaked down her face.
Spike turned. There was nothing left for him here. There probably hadn’t been for a while if “can’t” had been in the back of her mind the whole time. He couldn’t even be her friend if she just looked at him and saw another Angel waiting to happen.
“I understand the paranoia,” said Spike as he rounded the stairs and put his foot on the first step. “But I’m not him. I never was. I don’t lie to you. I don’t hurt yours. The end doesn’t justify my means. And by the by, even if my soul were a curse and I somehow lost it, I wouldn’t turn on you, because in case you’ve forgotten, I fell in love with you before I got it. But if you don’t already know all of that, then I’m through-”
“Do you love me?”
Spike paused. He stepped back to the floor and looked at her, hard. Buffy had actually taken a step away from the window. There was an air of desperation on her tear-stained face.
Spike spoke slowly and deliberately. “How can you ask me that when you don’t even have the decency to see me for myself?”
He hesitated only a second, long enough for his words to sink in and for her face to crumple, before taking the stairs two at a time.
Part III
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. Part II is 6,000 words (the whole fic is 21,000 words and it is finished; updates every day or two). Part I is here.
Part II
December 26
They were watching a buddy cop flick (it was Xander’s turn to pick for movie night), so when the rapping sound came, Buffy looked to see who had been shot this time. Not until Xander muttered, “Wasn’t he just here?”, did she turn to see Spike on the balcony.
She got up, afghan in tow, and told herself that the leaping feeling in her chest was only because the movie was boring her near to tears.
“Do you want us to pause it?” called Dawn.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Buffy, mentally adding, I plan to be a while.
Once outside, she pulled the window shut behind her. “I didn’t think I’d see you for a while.”
“Had to postpone Alaska.” Spike leaned against the railing with one arm propped on it. Buffy was so preoccupied with watching the silver skull on his thumb gleam in the moonlight that she almost missed his explanation. “The nasties were bigger than anticipated. The ship barely made it back here in one piece. Needs some major repairs before we do any long trips.”
“Are you okay?” She resisted the urge to step closer and touch him. She wanted to peel back his layers, prize his duster from him and roll up his tee to make sure he was unscathed.
“M’fine. The ship took the damage. Structural damage, some fires.”
Buffy’s throat constricted. She wanted to blurt out that it was too dangerous for him to be near fires, but he would just look at her like she was crazy, justifiably, and call her a daft bint or something like that.
“So what was the case?”
Spike glanced through the window at the cheerful movie night tableau. “Sure you want to know? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Did he want to leave already? Had she made it sound like she wanted him to leave?
“It’s nothing I can’t live without,” said Buffy quickly. She sat down on the grating with her legs stretched out, cocooning her upper body in the afghan, and glanced at the space beside her in what she hoped was a polite but pointed way.
Spike scuffed his boot against the floor before hiking up his jeans, sweeping his duster out from beneath him, and sitting next to her. Buffy’s heart gave another funny jolt.
The balcony could hardly be called big; while standing they had been scarcely a foot apart all his other visits. There was something more intimate about sitting next to him, though. The inches separating them belonged to his duster and her afghan, mere fabric rather than empty space. It was impossible not to smell him- leather and a whiff of cigarette smoke, scents that were achingly familiar. There were new, unsettling ones, too, though- scents that reminded her of oil and car garages, that spoke of his new life as a ship-flying crusader. And underneath it all was that indefinable Spike musk. She wanted to bury her head in his shoulder and breathe him in, reassure herself that underneath the ship and bugs and cross-country heroic missions he was still the same vampire she had always known.
Buffy resisted that urge, too.
“My friend Gunn has been in Massachusetts for the past year trying to root out a corrupt senator.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose as she tried to remember the names of any legislators from Massachusetts. “Isn’t that more of a job for lawyers and stuff?”
“The senator’s backed by a demon clan.”
“Oh.”
“Half of his staffers are vampires.”
“Ah.” She thought of the Mayor and grimaced. “Do we have a lot of demon politicians?”
“More so now than a decade ago, from what my sources tell me. Aggressive partisanship makes them particularly susceptible to demonic bribes and influence.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Buffy. “Now I actually have to start paying attention to politics.”
She ignored Spike’s amused stare, lest she look too closely and find it patronizing.
“So what was Gunn doing?” She vaguely remembered meeting the good-looking African American man at Angel’s hotel after Sunnydale fell.
“Gunn found out that the senator was planning a human sacrifice to up his chance of getting a presidential nomination. We destroyed the office.”
He said it with such nonchalance that Buffy found her eyebrows rising. “And? Don’t tell me you killed the senator. I think I would have seen that on the news.”
Spike looked extremely smug. The familiar expression, which she had missed long before he died, was as provocative as it had ever been- except instead of making her want to punch him, it now made heat curl in her stomach.
“I think Congress can expect a resignation any day now,” said Spike. “And some psych ward is probably about to get a very famous inmate.”
Grinning slightly, Buffy nudged his knee with hers. “Tell me more.”
She listened for the next ten minutes, asking questions, wincing, and smiling in a congratulatory way when appropriate. It was odd to be on the receiving end of a war story for once- even odder for the story not to revolve in any way, shape, or form around a mission of her own. Pride for all that Spike was doing suffused her.
“What have you been up to lately?”
The question caught Buffy by surprise. “I, um, I’ve been patrolling.” She didn’t think he meant how many lattes she had made this week or what flavored syrup was currently most popular. “Staked some vampires. Killed a few demons. Nothing major.”
Answers that would ordinarily have satisfied her- back to the basics, right?- felt inadequate now, after listening to his adventures. She felt embarrassed, almost ashamed, of her pride from a moment before. What right did she have to feel proud of his actions? They weren’t in any way related to her. Here he was defending the country- not even his country- from human-sacrificing would-be presidents and what was she doing? Staking a few vamps and making some cute quips along the way.
Though Spike looked nothing but serious and attentive, Buffy’s cheeks were burning. She needed to change the subject to something innocuous- anything besides her pathetic life. “So how did Gunn get on this politician’s case in the first place?”
Spike shrugged. “That’s his thing now. Politicians messing with dark magic.”
Buffy was about to say, “Could have used him a few years ago,” when he added, “Angel set him onto it back when we destroyed LA’s Wolfram & Hart. Gunn took out a senator who was in cahoots with vampires.”
For a second a look of nostalgic wistfulness crossed Spike’s face, and then his features darkened. Buffy turned away before he could look at her.
Was this the first time since the apocalypse was averted that either of them had mentioned Angel’s name? Even though it was painful, like picking at a scab, she pondered why Spike looked so furious. Did he hate Angel, and rightly so, for almost destroying the world? Did he hate Angel for wrecking whatever camaraderie he, Spike, and Gunn had once shared? Or did he hate Angel because he was jealous about Buffy?
She despised herself for hoping that it was the third, and she was terrified because if she were honest, she thought it was probably the first. And if he hated Angel, why didn’t he hate her, too? Did the possibility exist that he could hate her, too? Would he wake up one day and realize that all the supposedly necessary things she had done to save the world wouldn’t have needed doing if she hadn’t screwed up- literally- in the first place?
She was trembling now under the afghan. She didn’t think she could bear it if Spike hated her.
Buffy looked at him and felt words bubbling up inside of her.
Please don’t hate me.
Don’t be jealous.
No, do be jealous, because then I’ll know you care.
You don’t need to be jealous.
I need you.
I l-
No, no, no, she couldn’t think that. Her love only brought badness, on herself, her partner, her friends, the world. She couldn’t afford to feel that for anyone. Especially not another vampire with a soul.
It could be different. You don’t know. You’ve never loved him before.
Oh, she had loved him in some fashion in Sunnydale, after the soul and before he died, but those feelings, so tender and new back then, were even hazier now. And her feelings had gone unspoken until it was too late. She hadn’t loved him in the sense of allowing them to be together.
It could be different. Spike’s always been different.
But another vampire- she couldn’t- what would her friends think-
“I got you something in Boston.”
Buffy’s head jerked up. She swiped surreptitiously at her eyes as she turned to see Spike holding out a box not much bigger than the one she had given him.
“Happy Christmas,” he said. “Again. Sorry it’s late.”
Buffy reached a hand from behind the safety of the afghan to take the box. It was neatly wrapped in sparkling silver paper, and she wondered, inanely, where he had gotten the paper, if he still had a huge roll of it sitting incongruously somewhere on his spaceship.
“You didn’t have to,” she said, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she had been this excited to open a gift.
He didn’t reply as she tore open the wrapping, much more carelessly than he had. The rectangular box was indeed meant for jewelry, and Buffy found herself holding her breath as she opened the lid.
A bracelet with alternating green and amber-colored gemstones nestled in the velvet.
“It’s…it’s lovely.”
Buffy lifted the bracelet from the box, trying to suppress her disappointment. What was there to be disappointed about? She hadn’t expected anything to begin with. True, she would have expected Spike to have better taste- these particular colors didn’t really go together- and it would have been nice if the gift actually had something to do with her or him or them, but this was…lovely.
Great. On top of her Angel-related self-loathing, she felt selfish and ungrateful.
“Do you like it?” Spike sounded unsure, and she realized, berating herself, that her enthusiasm was sorely lacking.
“’Cause you don’t have to wear it.”
“No, it’s very nice.” She held up the bracelet, squinting in the moonlight to study the catch.
So why had he gotten her such an impersonal gift? Had he felt obligated to get her something in return and figured jewelry was a safe way to go?
She would rather have received no gift at all than have turned into his obligation.
Maybe he genuinely wanted to give me something, she told herself.
The worst feeling of all was the knowledge that she just didn’t know. She was so used to him wearing his heart on his sleeve and now she couldn’t even tell if she was his friend or his obligation. The fact that she couldn’t read him anymore was just another reason to not let herself feel that way.
“Thank you,” she said as she released the catch. She tried to sling the bracelet around her wrist and close the clasp with one hand, but the bracelet kept falling. Spike touched her wrist, gently.
Buffy let go of the bracelet. As he bent over her to close the clasp, she breathed in deeply and resisted the impulse to bury her nose in his stupid, sticky, wonderful hair. She wondered if her pulse was giving away her mess of emotions.
Spike pulled back. Buffy felt another pang.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said. “The green and amber- hazel. That’s why I got it.”
Buffy stared at his earnest, open face, his familiar, full lips, and felt a rush of dizziness. She looked back down at the bracelet. Suddenly, it was beautiful.
“How was Christmas?” asked Spike. “What did you do to celebrate?”
Talking. Back to talking. She was supposed to talk again.
Buffy wet her lips. Christmas. That was a good subject. She rubbed her thumb over the gemstones on her opposite wrist.
A very, very good subject.
* * *
When Buffy climbed back through the window at a quarter to two, the living room was dark. She was plumping out her pillow when the bedroom door opened and Dawn emerged.
“Hey,” said Buffy. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No.” Dawn switched on a lamp. “Although you were humming.”
“I was?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.” Buffy felt herself smile. “How was the movie?”
“Awful. Xander is so going to get it next time. I’m thinking Spice World.”
Buffy snorted.
“So. How’s Spike?”
Buffy stiffened. When she finally sat on the couch and faced Dawn, her sister looked no more or less casual than usual. Dawn leaned against the wall on one leg, her expression free of judgment.
Also free of approval.
“He’s fine. Was up in Boston recently.”
“Did you have fun?”
“With him? Yeah. We just talked.” Buffy fingered her bracelet but did not draw attention to it.
“You can invite him in, you know,” said Dawn, with a faint, humorless smile. “The idea that you don’t live here is just stupid. It’s been half a year.”
The words stung, though Buffy doubted that Dawn had meant them to. She looked at her lap. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll move out-”
“Buffy! That’s not what I’m talking about.” Dawn moved and plopped down beside Buffy. Her expression was the annoying one that made Buffy feel like she was the younger sister. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Heck, you can be the eccentric aunt and live-in babysitter when the time comes.”
“Oh my God, are you-”
“No, ew, it’s just hyperbole. The point is, while you need it to be, this is your home. And I hope you feel that way.”
Buffy tried not to sniff. “Thanks.”
“So you can invite Spike in.”
“I-” Buffy glanced at Dawn, unsure if this was some kind of trick. “I know I can mystically speaking. But it’s still your and Xander’s apartment. I’m not going to invite him without your permission.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Dawn. “I don’t care. Invite him in. Xander might put up a fuss, but believe me, I have ways of changing his mind-”
“TMI, TMI!”
Dawn snickered unabashedly. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that there’s no need to skulk around the balcony in the dead of winter next time you want to hang out.”
“Thanks,” Buffy repeated. She definitely had to wipe her eyes now. Dawn was being so nice. And yet Buffy felt so pathetic. She was in her mid-twenties and couldn’t even hang out inside with the guy she liked- no, a friend- no, the guy she liked- whatever- without her little sister’s permission. No matter how kind Dawn was, there was no way to pretend these circumstances weren’t humiliating.
“I really appreciate that,” she said, after taking several subtle deep breaths. “Maybe we’ll come in if you guys are out. I don’t want to provoke Xander. Plus we’re- I mean, I’m happy on the balcony. It’s very…”
Dawn raised her eyebrows. She seemed to be smirking slightly.
Private. Cozy. Ours.
“Quiet,” said Buffy.
Dawn nodded sagely. “Good to know.” She kissed Buffy’s cheek and padded back to the bedroom.
“Good night.”
January 8
“You never told me what happened with the bugs,” said Buffy. It was a little before two AM; she had come home from slaying minutes ago just in time to see his ship lowering slowly to the apartment building’s roof. She had run the rest of the way down the street and up the stairs and just had time to put the kettle on before flinging herself out the window to surprise him.
“What?”
Buffy glanced at him to see if he was feigning ignorance to try to cover up an embarrassing story. He really was blank-faced.
“Your horny crew…baby bugs…things were, ah, screwed up.”
Spike shot her a dirty look. “Very funny, Slayer.”
Buffy grinned.
Spike sighed. “It’s as all right as it’ll ever be. Not much I can do, can I? S’part of nature. I’ll just have to deal with it.”
He sounded mutinous but resigned, and she couldn’t keep from frowning. Since when did Spike accept defeat?
“Why...?”
“I’d send the ones that want families back to their home if I could,” said Spike. “But I can’t. Barring intervention from the Power That Suck, there’s no way to open a portal to their dimension anymore.” He shrugged, helpless, and muttered, “I can’t tell them they’re not allowed to procreate. It’s not their fault they’re stuck here.”
No, it was her fault. Now she could add “exiling giant cockroaches from their home dimension” to the list of reasons she regretted destroying the seed. She wondered how sentient they were, if they knew enough to blame her.
Buffy wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t say sorry lightly, as though she hadn’t realized her guilt, but she also couldn’t apologize for destroying the seed. It would be disingenuous, no matter how much her heart now ached, inconceivably, for the bugs that had volunteered to help Spike and would now never see their home again.
The whistle of the boiling kettle saved her, fortunately, and with a murmured, “Be right back,” she got up to go inside.
When she returned to the window a few minutes later and handed him two steaming mugs of hot chocolate so she could climb over, she was immensely gratified by the way his eyes popped.
“Haven’t had any cocoa since…” Spike squinted, thinking. Buffy settled back on the floor next to him and accepted her mug. “Since LA. And not any good cocoa since your mum.”
“It’s only instant,” said Buffy self-consciously. “Nowhere near as good as Mom’s.” The familiar ache at the thought of her mother swept through her.
“Different kind of good,” countered Spike. He inspected the cup, and a broad grin crossed his face. “And you have marshmallows. Looks perfect to me.” He took a long draught, and even though he winced (silly, impatient vampire, Buffy thought as she blew on hers, and smiled), he didn’t lose his grin. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds the rustle of the wind, ambient nighttime city noises, and their sips. Buffy was just thinking that if she weren’t careful she could fall asleep out here, conveniently on Spike’s shoulder, when he said,
“How’s Red doing? What’s she up to?”
Buffy stared at him. Was he that bored or was he actually, genuinely interested in her friends?
“She’s all right,” said Buffy.
“Coping?” said Spike, and she was further astonished to see sympathy cross his features.
“I think,” she murmured, unable to sugarcoat the truth when he looked so sincere. “It’s…difficult. More than difficult. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. I mean, maybe I can, maybe it’s like losing Mom or coming back from heaven- feeling like there’s nothing else to live for. But maybe it’s even worse for her because the magic was- was a part of her. It would be like if I lost my Slayer powers or if you lost-”
Buffy broke off, unable to think of an analogy that suited Spike. What was absolutely paramount to his nature? Somehow she didn’t think that his vampire “powers” was the answer. He was too good for that. She didn’t know if he would like being human, but she was certain he could adjust.
“I understand,” said Spike quietly. He was gazing at her steadily, his eyes piercing and very, very blue. Buffy swallowed and couldn’t keep a selfish thought from flitting through her mind. A few years ago she may have been his magic; his heaven; she and Dawn, that is.
She didn’t think she was anymore.
“And it’s extra hard because she thinks that maybe she can fix it. Get it back.” Buffy spoke quickly, trying to erase her thoughts, hoping he hadn’t seen them on her face. “We actually don’t speak much anymore. Partly because I- I don’t even know if she wants to speak to me.” Buffy winced, remembering their recent lunches and girls’ nights. The elephant was always in the room, no matter how much fun they were superficially having; she was always on guard, waiting for- expecting- Willow to blame her.
“And partly because she’s always in Giles’- I mean, Faith’s-” Now there was a lump in her throat, and she had to swallow again. “-Library. Not in it, literally. She has the books shipped over…” She could feel herself going into ramble mode. Images of Giles kept invading her mind’s eye.
Gently, tentatively, Spike’s hand covered hers, wrapped around her mug. The metal of his ring pressed lightly to her skin. She wondered if he noticed that she was wearing her bracelet.
“I’m worried about her,” Buffy admitted. “I keep telling myself that everything is all right because, hey, she hasn’t tried to end the world. Surely that means this is less traumatic than…” Buffy sighed. “Of course, maybe she just hasn’t tried to end the world because causing an apocalypse is a lot harder without magic.”
Spike’s fingers squeezed hers.
“I keep waiting,” said Buffy softly. “What if she decides that it’s not enough? That her research is never going to produce an answer. What if she…loses it. And I have to…” She couldn’t say the words aloud, not even to Spike. The thought of fighting Willow shouldn’t horrify her so much. After all, she’d done it before. But if Willow went insane again because of something Buffy had done, and she had to stop her-
If any more of her friends died, Buffy knew she would lose it; she really would.
“It won’t come to that,” said Spike. His voice was strong and steady, completely certain. “And if it does, you won’t have to deal with her.”
She glanced at him quickly, both buoyed by his words and disconcerted by the idea that a promise to kill her best friend so she wouldn’t have to was the sweetest thing anyone had said to her in a while. It was a relief to see that his expression was bleak; at least he wouldn’t take joy in his actions if he had to “deal” with Willow.
Spike withdrew his hand from hers, and Buffy cleared her throat. “Tell me something happy. Tell me about your friends. How’s Gunn?”
She drained the last of her hot chocolate as Spike spoke about a new city and a new politician, a governor this time.
“Maybe he should run for office,” said Buffy. “Sounds like he could do a better job. And like he would actually care.”
She said it off-handedly, but Spike looked intrigued by the suggestion. “He could probably do more good behind the scenes getting rid of the rotten ones. But it’s not a bad idea. He would be good.”
Buffy smiled and tried to remember the names of any other of Spike’s friends; she couldn’t. A related topic came to mind, though, and without thinking she said, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Spike froze. When he turned to look at her, so slowly that Buffy imagined she could hear his neck creak, his face was more guarded than it had been in months. “No. Why?”
“Just curious.” Buffy was quite proud of how nonchalant she sounded, even though she felt like grinning like an idiot.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Buffy strained her ears, but his tone had been perfectly, deliberately casual.
“No,” she said, and was disappointed when his face didn’t light up.
“Don’t have much time for significant others while I’m flying around the country,” he said.
Buffy felt her restrained-and-not-at-all-big-smile freeze in place. Was he implying that he wanted a girlfriend and would have one if he weren’t so busy? Or was he implying- hinting- he didn’t want one period because he was too busy?
“How’s Dawn?” he asked.
And why wasn’t he more curious about her own single status?
Buffy couldn’t decide whether she was glad or annoyed that she had brought up the subject.
“She’s doing well. Classes start again next week…”
This was fine; she was happy the way they were. She couldn’t date anyone anyway; that led only to badness. And she certainly couldn’t date a vampire. So this companionship- this solidarity- it was fine. It was the best it could be. She was completely, totally fine.
The night wore on as they traded more innocuous questions, and sometimes paused just to enjoy the silence, and Buffy knew, as her chest grew warm and her cheek inched nearer and nearer to his duster, that she was just happy that his answer had been ‘no.’
March 10
Spike’s chest thrummed with anticipation as he descended the fire escape toward Buffy’s apartment. It had been far too long, a good two months, since he’d seen her. The trip to Alaska had taken longer than expected and been less than fruitful. The Whedon clan hadn’t wanted to be found and when he finally had cottoned on to their whereabouts, the matriarch Simone had told him scornfully that they no longer associated with Meltzer and Allie and that the two’s scheme, no matter how nefarious, was not their concern. At least the trip hadn’t been a complete waste; she had deigned to give him a vague description of Allie’s human form, as well as several of Meltzer’s known hiding spots, which he planned to search next.
The information wouldn’t be very useful to Buffy, but he wanted to check in with her, make sure she was all right. He didn’t have the luxuries of email or telecommunications on his ship, and the loss of contact had been startlingly acute. It worried him a little, actually. He’d gone years without Buffy, trying to move on with his life, and in a few short months she had reeled him in again, tightly enough that he ached if he went too long without her presence. She was still his breath of life, his forgotten heartbeat-
And he was still a bloody awful poet.
Spike smiled slightly and hoped that she was home; it was still early, not yet midnight, and she may have been patrolling or out with friends or, God forbid, on a date-
A lot could happen in two months. She might have a boyfriend by now.
The memory of their last conversation heightened his anticipation, gave him a slight buzzing sensation. He had tried not to think too hard about the intent behind her questions in the intervening months. He had no time anymore for a broken heart if all she ever planned to do was dance around the subject.
On a scale of one to ten, how terribly selfish of him was it to hope that she was home alone instead of out enjoying the nightlife like a normal twenty-something-year-old?
Spike slowed when he reached the last flight and descended quietly, calmly. His heart leapt when he saw that the living room was illuminated and Buffy was curled on the couch, reading a magazine. He twisted his silver ring, a move that was fast becoming a tic, and knocked.
Her head jerked up. The quick succession of shock, relief, and elation that crossed her face was more gratifying than anything else his short-term memory could produce. The magazine went flying, and she was at the window in an instant.
“Hello, love,” he began as she practically fell over the sill.
“It’s been two months!”
It was only then that he glimpsed a fourth, more familiar expression: anger.
“I thought you were dead!”
Before he could protect his nose, let alone consider how to apologize without sounding whipped, she flew at him.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was crushing and demanding and bruising, like all their kisses during the bad year. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, and her teeth scraped his lip, and Spike almost moaned at this sudden reminder of what it felt like to be wanted, utterly possessed-
But it was different, too, oh it was different, because she wasn’t trying to hurt him. Her nails weren’t clawing his back, raking painfully across his scalp. She wasn’t tearing at his clothes, making it clear that this was nothing but a prelude to something even more violent. Neither was she holding her body back, trying to stick her neck out like a charmed snake while recoiling from the rest of him.
No, she was molded to him, her every curve pressed against him, her arms wrapped around him as tightly as though she would never let him go again-
She jerked back.
Spike stumbled. He gasped for breath he didn’t need and stared at her. She was as wild-eyed as he probably was, her face was flushed, and her chest was heaving in a very distracting way- her bright, luminous eyes met his-
He stepped forward and gently, as gently as she hadn’t, cradled her face between his palms and kissed her. For one precious moment it was everything he could have hoped for: soft and sweet and yielding but also strong and laced with as much passion as before and dare he say love-
Buffy yanked away. He gasped like a drowning man now, and her eyes became even brighter.
“I can’t.”
For a minute Spike felt sure he had forgotten the English language. She couldn’t have just said that. She had thrown herself at him-
“You- you kissed me!”
She bit her lip. The shine in her eyes threatened to spill over. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re- you’re-” This could not be happening. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m not sorry!” Spike stepped forward and took her hand. He was extra-aware of his every movement, the distance between them. After their past he never would have dared to kiss her, pursue her, but she had made the first move- that meant it was okay-
Buffy let him hold her hand for an instant before pulling it away. She seemed to recoil, pressing back against the window. There was nowhere to go on this tiny balcony. He saw her eyes dart to both sides, looking for an escape.
It broke his heart.
Spike stepped back, even though he wanted nothing more than to draw her close. He never wanted her to feel trapped by him again.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t furious. “What do you mean you can’t?”
Buffy didn’t answer. Her fingers curled around the windowpane. If she went inside where she knew he couldn’t follow, so help him-
“Why did you kiss me?”
Buffy started at the harshness in his voice. He didn’t care.
“I- Spike, I-”
Her eyes flew to him, helpless. He said nothing.
“I m-missed you. I thought you were- you were gone so long-” A sob caught in her throat.
He softened, risked shuffling a few inches forward. “I’m fine, Buffy. I’m sorry you worried. I finally made it to Alaska, and it just took longer than I expected-” He reached out a fingertip to touch the tear that had finally slid down her cheek.
“No!”
His hand curled. He dropped it to his side.
“I can’t, I c-c-can’t.”
“Can’t what? Buffy, what’s wrong?”
He felt sick. Was this about the bathroom? If it was he would understand, but then she shouldn’t have kissed him, it wasn’t fair-
“Buffy, are you scared of me?” He had to know.
Her eyes went as wide as saucers. “No! God, no, Spike, no!”
Spike tried not to shudder with relief. “Then what? I don’t understand. You wanted- and I want-”
We’re so good together, he wanted to say. He had tried to be her friend; he’d known that whatever existed between them may have faded and that the months after the apocalypse were not the time to find out, and so he had shielded his love, as much to protect himself as her. But now he knew she felt something.
“It d-doesn’t matter what I want.” Buffy’s chin trembled. The tears were flowing freely now. “I can’t.”
“But wh-”
It registered, all of a sudden, and nauseas swept through him like a tidal wave. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to shake some sense into her. And he really, really wanted to kill his grandsire.
“Because of him?” Spike spat the words, made them sound like a curse.
Buffy flinched. She didn’t speak.
“What do you think’s going to happen? You think I’ll turn evil and try to kill you? Or that a good snog will unleash the apocalypse?”
Buffy turned her face away.
Spike hadn’t thought that anything could feel worse than seeing her “hello” to Angel in Sunnydale; even the space sex had been easier to bear because he knew that she hadn’t been 100% in her right mind. This was crueler than anything, though. Buffy wasn’t choosing someone else. She was just taking him out of the running.
For the first time in years, he hated her.
“I’m not him.”
“I know,” whispered Buffy.
Spike laughed bitterly. “No. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about me or us or what we could have. You’re too scared-”
“I can’t do it!” she choked out.
“No, you won’t do it.”
“I can’t risk it- my friends, the world- vampires are not good boyfriend material!” There was fury in her eyes too, now, but she didn’t seem to know what to do with it, which was sad in and of it self. She seemed so lost.
Well, he was tired of trying to help her find her bloody way.
Spike was tempted to say something scathing and completely untrue, like “Who said anything about being your boyfriend? Maybe I just want a quick shag!” but despite his newfound hatred, the vitriol wouldn’t come.
Instead he said the truth, which was perhaps worse. “When did you turn into a coward?”
Buffy stared at him. Tears leaked down her face.
Spike turned. There was nothing left for him here. There probably hadn’t been for a while if “can’t” had been in the back of her mind the whole time. He couldn’t even be her friend if she just looked at him and saw another Angel waiting to happen.
“I understand the paranoia,” said Spike as he rounded the stairs and put his foot on the first step. “But I’m not him. I never was. I don’t lie to you. I don’t hurt yours. The end doesn’t justify my means. And by the by, even if my soul were a curse and I somehow lost it, I wouldn’t turn on you, because in case you’ve forgotten, I fell in love with you before I got it. But if you don’t already know all of that, then I’m through-”
“Do you love me?”
Spike paused. He stepped back to the floor and looked at her, hard. Buffy had actually taken a step away from the window. There was an air of desperation on her tear-stained face.
Spike spoke slowly and deliberately. “How can you ask me that when you don’t even have the decency to see me for myself?”
He hesitated only a second, long enough for his words to sink in and for her face to crumple, before taking the stairs two at a time.
Part III