"Aglow" by Dusty
1. Fic: Aglow
2. Author: Dusty
3. Era: BtVS S6
4. Rating: PG-13 for language
5. Genre: Alternative S6 ending, drama, angst, romance.
Summary: Spike makes a wish that takes us back through S6 in a new way.
The boozy burn felt good and hot in Spike’s throat.
It wasn’t quite enough to temper the sting of Buffy’s final words, her flippant tone, her fireless eyes- but it was better than nothing.
“Spike, you have to move on.”
Like hell.
Spike didn’t move on. It wasn’t in his nature. Spike held the hell on. He fought tooth and nail for what he wanted. It was the only way he’d ever gotten a bloody thing.
But Buffy was sure as fuck testing all that. His hands were exhausted and trembling from the white-knuckle grip he had on his love for her. It hurt. All of him hurt. From his fists to his cold, dead heart.
He just needed it to stop.
“They’re all just like ‘poor Xander and his poor poor Xander feelings!’ when he’s the one who ditched me!” Anya threw back another shot. “Nobody cares that I put on that stunning wedding dress that I bought with my own hard-earned money, and he just stomped all over it in his muddy work boots! Metaphorically.”
“I care!” Spike proclaimed vehemently. And he did. He cared about anyone’s heart and dreams and romantic hopes being stomped on. “Bugger him for doin’ that to you. You didn’t deserve that humiliation. He was an utter wanker to you.”
Her eyes misted and her lip quivered. “Thanks. It’s nice to talk to someone who-” She swallowed hard. “Who gets it.”
“Oh, I get it. Trust me. Wish I didn’t. Wish I didn’t feel…”
Anya perked up, though she looked a bit wobbly sitting on the counter of the Magic Box with her bottle of liquor in hand. “You wish something?”
Spike swallowed a knot in his throat, thinking of Buffy walking away from him. It was how every scene with them went. Her back, turning away. Her feet, walking away. Always away. Always the wrong fucking direction, no matter how many times he caught her and stopped her from spinning herself right off a cliff. She didn’t care, didn’t notice. She’d turn her back on him every time.
“She just don’t see.”
“Who?”
“This… girl. She… she never sees me. Never understands. If she saw what was in here-” He jabbed a finger to his temple. “ -we'd be golden.”
“I wish I could see into Xander's head… Wish I knew if he ever cared like I cared…”
Spike took a long glug of the whiskey and grimaced. “She could do with a bloody perspective shift of her own. High ‘n mighty bitch.”
Anya's cheeks were pink. Confused, she said, “You love this… bitch?”
He frowned. “Well yeah.” Wasn’t that obvious?
“Huh.” She shrugged away her perplexity and drank again.
Spike grumbled defensively, “I love her. And that's the whole sodding problem.”
“You want vengeance.”
“Damn right!” He looked at her sharply. “Well, hold on. Whatdoyoumean by that?”
Anya touched his lips with one clumsy finger. “Vengeance is what I do. Remember? Not love.” She wistfully added, “Definitely not love.” More resolutely, she nodded and said, “Vengeance.”
“I just… don’t wanna feel this way no more,” Spike said, instantly embarrassed by the cracking in his voice.
Anya nodded, teary-eyed herself. “Don’t you wish they hurt as much as we hurt?” She quickly corrected herself. “More than we hurt! We didn’t do anything to deserve this! It isn’t fair!”
“Well…” Spike poured more booze into his glass and carefully picked it up, swirling it gently, focusing on the flow of the liquid. “No.”
Anya huffed with disappointment and snatched the bottle from Spike’s hand.
“I don’t hurt her,” he said in a near whisper. Spike drank his drink. “She’s all in pain and she’s blaming me for it- again- but I’m not that pain! No, if I wished anything… I’d wish…”
“Yeah?” She looked excited again.
Brow furrowed, Spike thought of Buffy’s glowing face and said, “I wish she could see us the way I see us.”
Anya trilled her lips and sighed. “I honestly expected more from you, Spike. Everything’s turning out to be a disappointment. But… you were nice to me.” He crooked a brow curiously as she flicked one hand and said neutrally. “Wish granted.”
*****
Spike woke in an eerie silent pitch black.
His hands jerked out reflexively and slammed into something hard lined with silk, encasing him, smothering him, trapping him.
Oh.
Fuck.
The panic set in, terror like he’d never felt. He’d been warm and happy, home and free, full of love… but now all he felt was cold and contained and alone.
Everything was pain.
With a roar Spike began banging on the walls around him, smashing through the wood, crying like a child, choking on all the smothering dirt. He fought blind and reckless. He buried all the heavenly feelings he still tasted on the tip of his tongue, the effulgent lightness booming in his heart, he buried it all deep so he could unbury himself and breathe again.
It entered Spike’s mind that he didn’t need to breathe. He was a vampire. Of course he didn’t need to breathe.
But he needed to breathe.
Finally, Spike punched hard enough to break through the earth and crawl out of this hell and into a new one.
The grass was damp and the air was cool. The world had never felt so big, so daunting, so haunting and full of danger. Nausea swept through him for the first time in a century as he coughed up the earth he’d inhaled. He was shivering. He felt soggy and cold.
Mostly, he felt alone.
Spike choked back another sob as he lay there on the ground, body and soul throbbing and spent.
*****
Dawn took him back to their house and guided him through the process of bathing and dressing. It occurred to Spike only then that he was a passenger and Buffy was the ship. This was still her body, her story, but he was there feeling every feeling.
And he was helpless to do anything about it except be.
The sound of his own voice was jarring.
At Dawn’s bidding, he moved down the stairs, feeling numb, feeling dead like he was supposed to be. Every footstep, every reminder of life and living felt wrong and unreal.
Then he saw Spike looking up at him, face full of wonder and disbelief. There was a darkness around him, a barely there cloud of gray that reminded him of the grave.
He walked toward the cloud, letting him and it usher him to the sofa. Blackness beckoning.
His hands were cold and lifeless when they touched.
“How long was I gone?” he asked, his voice coming out Buffy.
“Hundred forty-seven days yesterday. Uh… hundred forty-eight today. 'Cept today doesn't count, does it?”
Today didn’t count.
He looked at his broken knuckles. You had to be alive to bleed… right?
“How long was it for you… where you were?”
Spike thought about it. He remembered that infinite feeling of joy and warmth and certainty. Everything just right, everything like a hug from his mother and the sparks from a lover. Warm like a fire. Perfect and pretty. That sun-soaked watercolor life of pure contentment. He knew he hadn’t been there forever, but long enough that his human life- this human life- felt like a blip of time. A cold fireless blip.
“Longer,” he finally said.
And Spike looked at him with understanding he didn’t really have. But that cloud around him was still there, sucking him in like gravity.
He was a corpse after all, and death was the doorway home.
*****
Buffy held her own hands, looked into her own eyes- God, she’d been so out of it that first day. It was hard to look at that shell of herself.
But she felt Spike’s feelings now, and her heart was bursting. It was like gunshot after gunshot, the intensity of emotion blasting through her.
She’s alive.
She’s here.
She’s broken.
She looked at herself, so bruised and beautiful. Tired eyes and pale skin, yet somehow she seemed to glow.
It was enchanting. She wanted to touch that glow, swallow it up, dispel her own soulless darkness.
Buffy had never seen herself in such a way, but sitting there on the coffee table across from her, she saw herself the way he must.
His words from the wedding came crashing in.
“You glow.”
She hadn’t thought he meant always- even at her very lowest.
This revelation was curbed by the agony of helplessness she felt as their hands dropped and the scoobies rushed in. The moment was gone. The connection shattered.
She’d lost her again. Hopefully less permanently this time.
Buffy stormed out of the house, hoping no one noticed her tears. Her leather coat creaked as she stopped at a tree to wipe her desperate, panicked, angry tears away.
Fuck. She was alive.
And no one had told her. Hadn’t she earned some respect this summer? Taking care of Dawn? Taking care of patrol? Why wouldn’t they include her? Did they still not understand how much she meant to her? How much she had changed? How could that be?
God. She was always gonna be alone.
But Buffy was alive. And when it came down to it, what else really mattered?
*****
As Spike grew more and more accustomed to being in Buffy’s head and heart, he was able to parse himself out more clearly and he was pleased to discover that her mood did lift whenever Spike was around.
He felt the lightening of pretense and artificiality. He felt her stuffing away her going-through-the-motions attitude and instead being in the moment, this moment, right now. Feeling it.
He also felt how dark her thoughts turned when Spike was there, how the words evil and vampire and fight flashed through her mind at the start of every interaction- even if they got on just fine. Her slayer instincts were deeper, stronger than he’d realized. Vampire! sirens perpetually wailing in her mind.
The intensity of that made those moments together more vivid than anything. More alive. Scrawls of red on her mind’s black and white canvas.
But she was more depressed than he’d ever fathomed.
He can hurt me now? Of course he can. I’m not even human. I’m half-dead like him. He could bite me. And I could let him. If he did, it’d be over. Maybe I could go back… Would he do it if I asked? Would he kill me? How much does he really love me? Does he love me enough to kill me, or too much to kill me?
Even when their lips finally met, all Buffy seemed to think was please, please, help me feel better. Make it all stop. I’m so cold…
*****
Spike, meanwhile, he’d seen stars when they’d kissed.
Buffy felt his body come alive in a very unvampiric way. She felt heat for the first time in his unlife. She saw blood rushing and planets spinning, and the scent and taste of her was otherworldly.
How could she have such a cosmic effect on him? How could her frigid existence birth such fire and sparks?
Had Angel or Riley or anyone ever felt like this about her? It was hard to fathom.
But it was fascinating to sink into Spike and his love and ride it with him. It was disturbing to feel that vibrating rage and violence inside him when the kisses ended and he wanted to slash throats. When she walked away he wanted to hunt her down. He wanted to hurt her, to make her pay attention. He wanted to snatch her face and hold it steady and force her to look at him and see all the love burning like magma deep within.
But he never did that. He just ran his hands through his hair, buried the instincts, and watched her drift away.
*****
It had been a revelation when they’d shagged down that building.
Or so he’d thought.
Experiencing the cataclysm through Buffy’s eyes and heart was quite the opposite of a revelation. Nothing made sense to her. The water’d gone muddy and the sky was burning.
I hate you. Hold me. You’re awful. Help me. I’m dying! Fight me. Kill me. Touch me. Fuck me. I’m alive… Hurt me. Drown me. No. Yes. No! Right. Wrong. Right… Wrong.
It shouldn’t have surprised him in hindsight. But this wasn’t knowledge Spike wanted.
Still, as she drifted off to sleep in the rubble, her head on his arm… for the first time in weeks, she felt warmth.
*****
Buffy had never wanted anything so badly in a hundred years.
Er, Spike hadn’t. Sometimes it was still difficult to separate her thoughts and feelings from his.
She’d known Spike wanted her. She’d known he was passionate. Eventually she’d even believed him when he said he loved her. He probably did. In his way.
But experiencing the sex through Spike’s body was… it was whoa.
The thoughts in his head…
She’s perfect. What a bitch. So hot. Oh, I love her. Love this woman so much. Gotta shag her good. Make her see. This is my chance. She’ll see how she needs me. How I’m here for her. How I know her. How good I can make her feel. How right we are. Then she’ll be happy. She can be happy. With me. God, I love her. I love her. I love her…
He came so alive- every time she walked in. Every time their clothes came away. Her presence was like a match striking inside of him.
And yet, in his mind, she was still the one who glowed.
*****
It hurt to see the darkness she saw in him.
It hurt to feel her panic every time she started to feel comfortable with Spike. Alarm bells and red lights on blast every time. Get away! This is bad! Buffy, what are you doing?!
But one night, when Buffy got home late from a midnight shag in Spike’s crypt, Spike felt something new inside of her. Not lust. But longing.
Suddenly, this dispiriting Magic School Bus tour through Buffy’s heart and head was a lot less depressing.
She lay there in her bed, perfectly still from the outside, her face emotionless. Inside, she was a hurricane, hating her life like always, but- for once- wishing Spike were there to calm her down and make it okay again.
Fear flooded her system.
She let one little tear fall and then stifled the panic until she fell asleep.
*****
Spike blabbed to himself in his crypt. “That bitch is using me! All she wants is a bloody good shag. I know it.” He paused to drink from his Bushmills. “Not a fool, am I? Know she’s doin’ it. And I just… let her.” After another drink and a very long moment, he said, “She’s the fool.”
Then Buffy walked in and his heart swelled and all his conviction was lost because Buffy was here.
She’d never felt so… important. Which was saying something as the world’s chosen one. Spike seemed to alter his compass every time she was there, orienting himself to whatever direction she was going in.
If she was burning with lust, so was he.
If she wanted to get drunk and forget, so did he.
If she wanted to kill demons and fight ‘til she bled, so did he.
Watching herself through Spike’s eyes, she found herself wishing she could control her past self. To soften her harshness. But she hadn’t known! She hadn’t known his despair when her own had been so insurmountable. She hadn’t known the depths of what he wanted and saw in her. She definitely hadn’t known that. She’d been busy focusing on not drowning!
So she watched herself be cold to him. Of course. Because she’d felt so cold. It… made sense.
*****
Riley and his new lady made Buffy jealous. Far more jealous and insecure than Spike had anticipated. What the hell did Buffy fucking Summers have to be insecure about? It was baffling.
And the whole time she’d bubbled green, chatting with her old flame, she’d thought of… Spike.
There was the obligatory shame he’d expected her to feel, but also an interesting affection and a quiet disappointment that she couldn’t tell anyone about this relationship. She couldn’t prove to Riley that she might not be as pathetic and unlovable as he maybe thought.
She’d looked at Riley and thought he wouldn’t understand. No one would understand.
What were these bizarre feelings she had for Spike anyway? Growing feelings that seemed to seriously shock and confuse her.
She came to Spike’s crypt.
“Tell me you love me.”
It had been all he’d ever wanted- for her to want those words. He’d seen it as a breakthrough when it happened.
Buffy’s heart had leapt. Did she love him, too? No. No, but…
There was something.
And Spike noticed as he looked at himself with his pathetic hopeful eyes, his heart hurtling through her every ridiculous hoop, he noticed that the dark cloud Buffy always seemed to see surrounding him… it was gone.
*****
The irony of Spike’s stupid egg scheme wasn’t lost on Buffy as she experienced the thought process of that through him.
Buffy needed money. Spike thought he could only get money by doing dangerous, ridiculous things like taking care of these eggs. So he’d done the idiotic thing for her.
And it had turned into her wakeup call to push him away.
It had become her reminder that Spike would never get it. Even as her feelings had, unbeknownst to her, slowly grown, she couldn’t be with someone who did evil behind her back because he saw no other solution.
She just couldn’t.
But it hurt to feel his frustration, his disappointment, his rage.
How could someone give absolutely everything of themself and it still not be enough?
It wasn’t fair. She agreed with him on that.
*****
Did she love him?
Spike had thought at the start of this journey, he’d confirm that she did. That she’d been hiding it all along.
But she hadn’t been. She’d been sinking. She’d been clinging to the liferaft of the only person who seemed to notice at all. Her obsession with her own death had, of course, led her to a corpse who claimed to love her. But he’d let his feelings for her overshadow his concern for her. One sip of romance, one taste of her body, and Spike was drunk from it.
“But I don’t love you.”
“Like hell.”
He’d been wrong.
But.
Not entirely.
Buffy was undeniably fond of Spike now. Thankful in a way she couldn’t articulate.
He’d thought she’d pushed him away to hurt him, to punish him for God knows what. But, in fact, she’d ended things out of guilt. She’d realized what he’d realized long before. She was using him. And she didn’t think he deserved that. Once she realized what was happening…
She didn’t think he deserved that.
It was a baffling experience for Spike, to feel how Buffy took all her affectionate feelings for Spike, all her desire- those feelings were there!- and corked them inside a bottle, tossing them away into the mysterious swirling sea of her heart.
It was wrong to feel for him. It was wrong to mislead him. He cared so much, and this was never gonna work so she needed to stop it. She had to be strong. For both of them.
Even when he looked so sad and she wanted to hold him and listen to his soothing voice tell her how magnificent she was.
Spike was thankful his feelings had never been so bloody complicated. Buffy’s insides were all labyrinth- even to her. It was no wonder her signals were all over the damn place.
But… she didn’t love him.
*****
Theirs was a great love. A red-hot wild thing beyond their control.
That’s what he thought.
Buffy wasn’t really surprised that Spike had completely romanticized their every interaction. She wasn’t surprised that violence was his love language and she’d tapped right into that. And she was completely unsurprised that their fiery sex had only confirmed his thoughts and passion.
What did shock her was his respect for her and his fondness for how good she was. She’d always assumed he loved her in spite of her obsession with doing the right thing, but that hadn’t been true. He loved her conviction, her morality. And he even loved how she lashed out when she was hurting. Why would anyone love that? She had no idea, but Spike did. He seemed relieved- proud even- that she’d let her real feelings out and that her real feelings were so intense. Intense like him.
No matter how many ugly sides she showed him, no matter how she pushed him away, he only loved her more.
How was she supposed to deal with that?
*****
“Now then! Don’t you also wish that Xander would fall into a goopy pit of acid with hungry and vicious acid-proof crocodiles? Wouldn’t that be thrilling to see?”
Anya’s voice shook him from the swirling vortex of Buffy he’d fallen into.
Spike stared at her lips, wondering what she’d just said.
“Okay, fine,” Anya said in a huff, grabbing Spike by his shirt and tugging him in. “You wanna just… make out?”
“I, uh… I…” He looked at her and felt a deep stab of sympathy. Her desperate heartbreak was all too relatable. “No.”
She shoved him back lightly and crossed her arms, letting out a heavy sigh. “This was a complete waste of alcohol.”
“Yeah… sorry.”
Spike didn’t feel drunk at all. In fact, things had never been so clear.
“I better go,” he said.
Anya shrugged like she didn’t care and turned her cheek. Spike touched her with one hand, guiding her face back to his. He dipped his head to catch her surprised eyes.
“He’s gonna regret losing you.”
She softened instantly at that, smiling begrudgingly. Spike gave her a grin and hopped off the counter.
He had a slayer to find.
*****
Buffy had zoned out as Willow rattled off locations of cameras and theories about stalkers and… whatever.
She had no idea the journey that had just transpired inside Buffy’s mind.
Even Buffy could hardly comprehend it. She’d mumbled something to her friend and then wandered through the back door and onto the familiar steps of her back deck, tears escaping down her cheeks for no particular reason. Aimless grief for everything she had and hadn’t known.
It was dark and a little bit cold.
Would Spike appear from the bushes with a shotgun in hand?
She closed her eyes and hugged her knees, waiting.
After a while, a familiar tingle on the back of her neck told her he was there. She kept her eyes shut and simply said, “Spike.”
“Buffy.”
He didn’t say her name how she’d have expected him to. It was softer, less shotgun-y. She opened her eyes, curious.
Spike looked hesitant, standing by the bushes, hands in his pockets, head cocked to one side.
“Did something weird happen to you tonight?” she asked gently.
Spike was suddenly very interested in the grass and his scuffed up boots. “Yeah... Could say that.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “One second I was standing there with Willow at the computer and then… the next second I’d… it’s like I saw… I felt…”
She looked to him helplessly and Spike finally looked up.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Buffy’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
Slowly, he stepped closer. “How much time you got?”
“I haven’t exactly been an angel either, you know…”
Standing before her now, Spike sighed and said, “I did everything wrong.”
She looked up at him and his pained expression. “Not everything.”
His grimace suggested he disagreed, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he gestured to the spot on the porch beside her. “May I?”
He’d never really asked before- always simply inserting himself into shadowy corners of her life. Surprised, she nodded. He sat. She could smell his leather, and the effect was Pavlovian. But she resisted the urge to move closer or touch him in any way.
She smoothed her anxious hands over her jeans.
“I, uh, made a wish,” Spike admitted. He bit his bottom lip and then continued. “Know that’s dangerous in this town. Just… slipped out. Wasn’t thinkin’ really.” He glanced at her. “Sort’ve a pattern o’ mine I reckon.”
“Sort of is.” Buffy gave him a fond half-smile. “Could’ve been worse, though. Everyone still seems to have all their fingers and toes. Sunnydale isn’t a dystopian nightmare. Dawn’s still my very exist-y little sister.”
Spike grinned. “Excellent points.”
“It was weird- seeing it all again. I remembered, of course, but… it’s like part of me wasn’t even there the first time around. I was so…” Buffy stopped and swallowed, the echoes even of that pain too much to vocalize. “And to see it through you was…”
“If I’d’ve known…” Spike’s brow furrowed and he looked at her gravely. “I thought I knew, thought I understood you ‘n what you needed, what you’d been through, but…” He shook his head. “I never should’ve muddied the waters like I did. You were off-kilter enough.”
“At least you were there.”
Spike paused at that, staring off into the trees. “I was… there.”
Buffy examined her fingernails carefully, picking at a cuticle. She whispered, “Thank you.”
“What?” He turned toward her, stunned.
She couldn’t help the tears in her voice, and she also couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I just- I was so hard to be around. And you kept coming anyway. I don’t know why you or anyone would ever try so hard-” Her voice cracked and she took a long steadying breath, trying not to cry.
“Yes, you do,” Spike said gently.
“Just let me go.”
“I can’t. I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Finally, she looked at him. “Yeah. Especially now.”
“But you don’t love me,” he said, sounding resigned and terribly sad. “I know that now.” He added in bitter jest, “Always been a bit thick.”
Buffy took his hand, and his eyes widened with surprise. “I do care.”
“I know,” Spike said, a hint of a smile on his face, happy to share this secret with her.
Eyes full of tears, she uttered, “A lot.”
His smile grew. “Buffy, love, you don’t need to do this. Don’t placate me with kindness. You’re… off the hook. Everything I was desperately tryin’ to scrape outta you before… I was askin’ for something you weren’t even capable of giving yourself. Wasn't fair.”
She clenched his hand harder and he squeezed her back.
Eyes blazing, he said, “I’ll never stop loving you, Buffy. How I feel about you- it isn’t… conditional. I dunno why I ever acted like you owed me a bloody thing. Was just… mad, high on the taste o’ you. Feelin’ so close to really… having…” He swallowed. “But you don’t owe me anything and you never will. All right?”
“I don’t think I can agree to that,” Buffy said softly.
“Always so difficult,” he teased.
They both smiled, and it was a nice reminder of why she’d been drawn to him in the first place. How he could peel a heavy feeling off of her heart with a twinkle of his eyes and pop of his brow.
“You do make me smile. That’s something. Don’t you think?”
Spike hesitated, like he was unsure what the right answer to that was. “Maybe. Did a poor job of it in the end though.”
“I don’t know,” Buffy said, shrugging her shoulders. “Do you really think the end’s already happened?”
He assessed her carefully. “Well… a few hours ago you were tellin’ me how I have to move on, and-”
“But that was before.”
“What are you saying then? You don’t want me to move on?”
What was she saying? It was never simple with Spike. Her feelings were never clear. All she knew right now was-
“I was wrong about you. In so many ways. I was wrong about me even. I was just wrong, and-”
“Buffy-”
“I think I need some time. Tonight was… illuminating. It gave me a lot to think about.” She looked at him hopefully. “Don’t you feel like that, too?”
Spike raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay.”
He moved to stand, pulling her up with him because they were still holding hands. She’d nearly forgotten. Touching him really had become very normal to her.
Spike let her hand go and, nervously, she folded her arms in front of her heart and looked up at him. “Can I ask you something before you go?”
“Of course.”
Buffy smiled anxiously. “Um… when did I start… glowing? To you?”
Spike stared at her for a few seconds and then he laughed, scratching the back of his head, clearly a bit embarrassed. “Reckon it was when you first came back to us. Looked like such an angel- even sad as you were. And then I wondered-” He stopped sharply and bit his lip.
“What?”
“Don’t make fun.”
Buffy cocked her head to one side, waiting, trying not to smile but failing.
Spike smiled back helplessly and sighed. “Wondered if Heaven left a mark on you. If you’ll carry it around forever… lighting everything up.”
“That…” Her face broke into a grin. “... is super cheesy.”
“Well it’s either that or you’ve got some radioactive slayer bits that’ll probably give you cancer one day.”
Buffy nodded and tried not to laugh. “I guess if those are my options, I’ll take the more, um, romantic one.”
Spike smirked with pride.
“Have you ever considered that maybe it’s just Maybelline?”
“Anything’s possible.”
She gestured to her own face. “So am I glowing right now?”
Cautiously, he tucked some hair behind her ear, his voice rumbling out comfortingly, “Always, love.”
“Be careful,” she said, eyeing his hand as he drew it back. “You might get some on you.”
“You know I’ll take any risk to touch you.”
Their eyes sparked.
Buffy said, “Yeah, I know.”
“Right then.” Spike exhaled and nodded. “I’ve definitely said too much now. I’ll, uh, I’ll just bugger off.”
“Oh- kay...”
He turned, walking back toward the bushes he’d come through, his coat all shadow and his hair pure moonlight.
He was right. She needed time and she needed space. Buffy needed to feel truly whole and healed before she could ever be ready for anything as big or intense as Spike certainly was. Watching him go, remembering the breathtaking magnitude of his feelings for her, she felt a lot of conflict. Most people would never have anyone who loved them like that. Ever. It seemed risky to let something so special just… walk off.
Then again, after what she’d experienced today, she’d never felt more sure that if she was ready one day, it would be worth the wait. For them both.
And he’d be there. Ready.
“Spike.”
“Yeah?” he said, footsteps faltering, but resolutely not looking back.
Buffy smiled at the commitment. “Thanks for the memories.”