“But do not expect me to watch. And don’t expect me to mourn for you because I can’t do it. Not again. I have lost too much of my life to be grieving over someone who doesn’t love me enough to be with me.”
And she wasn’t mourning.
She was numb.
* * * * *
“Evening, Joyce.”
“Spike,” she said in surprise, holding the door open for the man. “I thought you were leaving town?”
“I did,” he said, smiling at the kind woman as he walked into the house, feeling an unexplainable warmth in his chest at the kind way she was treating him. “Went to Los Angeles, thinking Dru might be there. Was about to move on when I, uh… have you heard about Angelus?”
“Angel,” Joyce said quietly, looking at the kitchen island for a moment. “He… from what I could get from Buffy, he was being plagued by nightmares. His soul was tormenting him and… he waited for the sun to rise.”
“This morning?” Spike asked, feeling stunned that his grandsire had gone out in such a dramatic and pointless gesture.
“Yes,” she replied with a nod. “Buffy tried to save him. Or, rather, get him to save himself. It was no use.”
“How’s the Slayer doing?” he asked, leaning against a nearby wall.
“Honestly… I have no idea. I thought that she was over him – that’s what she kept telling me - but she won’t leave her room. I’m sure she loves him, but this is hurting her.”
“Mind if I head up and check on her?” he asked, tilting his head toward the stairs.
“She’s very sensitive right now, Spike. You won’t… try to hurt her, will you?” Joyce asked, her mothering instinct reflexively coming out as she remembered that she was talking to a very powerful vampire.
“Have no intention of harming one hair on the Slayer’s head as long as she’s not up for a fight,” he said with an easy smile. “Not exactly my style.”
“Go up at your own risk,” Joyce said, gesturing toward the stairs with a sad smile.
Walking up the stairs, Spike made his way down the hall, using his senses to find Buffy’s room. Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the door, seeing the Slayer sitting on her bed. Waiting until she noticed him, Spike raised an eyebrow when her gaze slowly turned toward him, her eyes widening when she saw who was standing in her room.
“Come to finish the job?” she asked quietly. “On Christmas Day. How appropriate.”
“Up, Slayer.”
Her eyes widened indignantly at the calloused tone and harsh order. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, walking into the room. “Get up. I don’t have time for this… Well, actually, I have all the time in the world, but I don’t feel like waiting around for the Chosen One to get over her issues. Up.”
Buffy stared at him in bewilderment, unsure of what he was saying. “Issues?” she repeated, a sliver of anger making its way into her voice. “I-”
“Spare me the diatribe of how you’re the Slayer and whatever hypocritical view you’re gonna throw my way.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through right now and… how did you even get in here?” she cried, suddenly realizing that a vampire who had tried to kill her on more than one occasion was standing in her bedroom as if it was an everyday occurrence.
“Your mum let me in. And before you ask, I know that he’s dead,” Spike added, seeing her open her mouth to ask another question.
“So… what? You thought this would be a good time to bag your third Slayer?”
“Well, if you insist,” he said, eyeing her up and down as he approached the bed.
“Oh… gross, Spike!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “I didn’t mean that kind of bag!”
“Got you up, didn’t it? Now get dressed.” Turning and walking out of the room, Spike didn’t check to see if she was doing what he asked as he walked down the stairs,
* * * * *
“Bring me out here to kill me?” she asked, running a hand through her hair as Spike led her toward the mansion.
“If you could stop being such a bitch, maybe this would go a little better,” he replied, his temper finally getting the best of him as he whirled around to face the Slayer.
“Not like it’s normal for my mortal enemy to be dragging me out to take a much unneeded trip down memory lane!”
“Where did it happen?”
“What?” she asked, looking at him as if he was crazy at the abrupt change of conversation.
“Don’t play dumb, Slayer, we both know why we’re out here.”
“I believe you left the ‘why’ out of the explanation,” she said, closing off her emotions as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Angel,” he said, seeing tears fill her eyes at the mention of his name. “Where?”
Briefly closing her eyes, Buffy gestured toward the hill behind the mansion, surprised when Spike grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the highest point.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Spike didn’t bother to answer, continuing upward until they were able to look out over Sunnydale.
“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered, shrinking into herself, not even beginning to try and understand how she came to stand on a hilltop where her lover killed himself less than twenty-four hours before – and with her mortal enemy, no less.
“You tried to save him, didn’t you?” he asked, watching Buffy carefully as she appeared to shut down. “And it wasn’t enough.”
Turning around, Buffy began to walk down the hill, whipping around when she felt Spike’s hand on her arm. “Why the hell do you even care? You hated him! It was no big secret, so what the hell are you doing here? We hate each other, Spike.”
“You helped me out when I needed it,” he said quietly.
“Because you were holding my friends hostage-”
“Didn’t mean that you had to let me go after you found out they were alive. That you had to tell me to duck when you were throwing holy water at the vamps. That you didn’t attempt to beat the shit out of me for kicks. So maybe that’s why I’m here.”
Hearing a sliver of truth in his statement, Buffy stayed where she was, hugging her arms around her body. “How did you even know?” she asked, staring at a point on the ground, not strong enough to look at him at the moment.
“He’s family, pet. I just knew.”
Buffy nodded slowly. Seeing him back away a minute later, she finally looked over at him.
“Say goodbye,” he said quietly, gesturing to the place she was standing. “Say it while it’s still raw. While it’s still fresh enough to heal.”
Frowning for a moment, wondering how a soulless demon could say something that sounded so sincere and compassionate, Buffy watched as Spike turned and walked in the direction of the mansion, stopping at the low stone wall that ran along the back of the grounds and resting against it.
* * * * *
Spike watched as Buffy paced back and forth. Sometimes gesturing wildly, sometimes sobbing quietly to herself. His heightened hearing didn’t give her the privacy she probably thought she had, but it did let Spike know that in spite of what she was going through, she was okay. Or she would be.
He didn’t stop to analyze what he was feeling for the Slayer, knowing that something had started to develop a year earlier when he first saw her dancing with her friends. A feeling that he never would’ve dreamed of acting on. Not with Drusilla in the picture. Coming back to Sunnydale had been a revelation of the worst kind. Knowing that he was in love with the Chosen One, who was subsequently in love with his grandsire, was like torture for him. And not of the good kind.
Staying close to Sunnydale, he’d made plans to come back a few months later. Hopefully laying low. When he’d felt the pull of Angelus’ family claim loosen and disintegrate, he couldn’t get back to the small town fast enough.
He knew that his actions were selfishly motivated – wanting to give Buffy a chance to say goodbye, yes, but ultimately to show her a different side of himself. A side that not many people got to see. Maybe if she could see him when the pain was still too raw to deny her feelings, she would see that he wasn’t just the Slayer of Slayers.
Maybe she would someday see who he truly was.
Pushing away from the wall when he saw Buffy walking toward him, Spike waited until she approached before hesitantly reaching out a hand to her.
Buffy eyed the hand warily, unsure if she should be suspicious about the gesture. Uncertainly taking his hand in hers, she allowed him to lead her toward the Desoto.
“Feel a little better?” he asked, seeing that she’d let her guard down for the time-being.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, walking numbly beside him.
“What’s that, pet?”
“I don’t understand why I wasn’t enough to save him.”
Slowly turning to look at her, Spike paused, looking up at the darkened sky. “Sometimes love isn’t enough,” he said quietly.
Buffy knew that he was thinking of Drusilla as he turned his gaze back to her.
“For what it’s worth… you would’ve been enough for me,” he said with a slight smile.
Buffy nearly pulled away from him, the shock of what he was telling her sending her into a tailspin of chaotic emotions.
“Make of that what you will,” he said, seeing her reaction. “Take your time.”
Looking down at their joined hands, Buffy swallowed nervously, slowly nodding her head.
Breathing a sigh of relief at her hesitant acceptance, Spike squeezed her hand, continuing the short walk to the car.
“I never would’ve been enough for him, would I?” she asked, a moment of clarity hitting her like a ton of bricks as she looked up at Spike, wanting an honest answer.
“My opinion? No… you both would’ve always wanted more from each other that you couldn’t give. You can’t fight the inevitable, Buffy,” he said quietly, seeing her look into his eyes as he used her name. Gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he gave her a tender smile. “Doesn’t matter if it destroys something or brings on a chance that could change everything,” he said quietly, letting her know exactly what he was talking about as he maintained eye contact with her. “Good or bad… the sun always rises.”