Buffy walked into the house, quietly shutting the front door behind her. She flinched slightly at the soft “click” the lock made as she slid it into place and peeked warily into the dark living room, hoping she didn’t wake anyone with her entrance. She really didn’t want to deal with anybody right now. Not Giles, not Faith, and certainly not any of the potential Slayers she had curled up in sleeping bags all over her living room floor. She didn’t want to think about them right now, didn’t want to think about who wasn’t there: Dianne, Molly and--oh god--Xander.
She’d messed up. Big time.
After taking Xander to the hospital she had walked the empty Sunnydale streets for hours, not slaying like she usually did, but just trying to calm down, and to gather enough courage to come back home. Standing now in the foyer, looking at the shadowed lumps of the sleeping girls on the floor, who had trusted her and depended on her, trying not to think about Willow or Giles upstairs, who had told her the thing with Caleb was a trap to begin with, Buffy was sure she should have just stayed away.
Two girls dead. Dianne and Molly. How many more would die? How many more would she fail?
Buffy turned away and walked into the kitchen. She couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to get out of there, needed to do something. She needed…she didn’t know what she needed. Well, actually, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly what she needed.
The basement stairs creaked as she walked down them, and she could feel the old wood shift slightly with every step. She hadn’t bothered turning on the light at the top of the stairs, so she paused at the bottom, letting her eyes adjust to the dark as she searched out the familiar form on the cot. He was awake, just like she knew he would be, back against the wall and face turned toward the door like he’d been waiting for her.
She didn’t know how Spike became the one person she could depend on, but she’d stopped questioning it by now.
She crossed the room and sat down beside him with a sigh. He didn’t say anything, just scooted over on the cot so she would have some room. Leaning against the wall she closed her eyes, finally letting herself relax. She couldn’t count the times they had sat quietly like this, side by side. On the back porch of her house, in the alley behind the Magic Box, on the sarcophagus in his crypt… It felt familiar. Comfortable. Safe.
Just what she needed.
As usual, she broke the silence first. “You were right.”
Spike shifted beside her, and without looking she knew that he was facing her. “What’s that, love?”
“You were right. About Caleb. The old bait-and-switch. Fell right into the trap, didn’t I?” She gave a self depreciating smile.
“Love, you couldn’t have known all this was going to happen. No one expected the priest to have that kind of strength.”
Buffy snorted. “Right. You and Giles warned me that this was a trap, but I ‘couldn’t have known this was going to happen.’ I messed up, Spike. No other way around it. And now two girls are dead because of me, and Xander…” Her breath hitched and her eyes stung. “Xander…”
“Buffy,” he placed a gentle hand on her arm, hesitantly, like he was afraid his comfort would be rejected, “it wasn’t your fault. This isn’t a game, and what happened wasn’t on some soddin’ school field trip. This is war, Buffy. People get hurt and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
She shook her head. “Yes, there was. I could have gone on my own, left the girls and Xander behind and gone to find out what Caleb had by myself.”
“And get yourself killed in the process?” She jerked at the sharp tone of his voice, pulling away from his hand. “Buffy,” he began more gently, “you know the only hope we have survivin’ this thing is if we have you leadin’ us. Getting yourself killed because of some sense of self sacrifice is not going to help anyone.”
She could hear the pain lacing his words, and she was reminded that he had lived through her death once beforem that he had spent months patrolling and taking care of Dawn because of a promise he made when she wasn’t even there to see him keep it.
And that was before the soul…
She closed her eyes again, trying to clear her head of thoughts of Caleb and death and things that made her head and heart hurt when she tried to understand them. She needed to think about something else. Anything else.
Unbidden the memory of seeing Spike and Faith sitting in the basement, exactly as they were now, rose to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t help the flare of jealousy at the thought, and she tried to will it away. Just let it go, Buffy. Things are over between you and Spike and Faith is just a slutty ho-bag who will jump anybody. Just let it go…
“So, you’ve met Faith now.”
Inwardly, Buffy groaned at her lack of self control. That is so not letting it go.
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the wall, draping one arm over a raised knee. “We’ve met before, you know.”
Buffy sat up straight. “You what? When?”
“Few years ago. Didn’t know it was her at the time though. Was during that body swap trick she pulled.”
“Oh, god.” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “What did she do?” She was almost afraid to ask.
He shifted slightly next to her. “Not much. Ran into me at the Bronze, harassed me a bit and left, knowing I couldn’t do a thing about it.” He shifted again and Buffy brought her head up, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t sure, but she thought something was off. He sounded…guilty.
“That was it? She harassed you and then left?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
She turned around so she was completely facing him. “Pretty much?”
He shifted again, avoiding looking at her. Oh yeah. Definitely guilty. “Well, she said a few things to sort of…get me goin’ before she left. Few things that I took with me, thinking they came from you an’ all.”
“What things?” Her voice was low and dangerous and brooked no refusal.
“Ah…Something about ridin’ me till my knees buckled and my eyes rolled back, an’ squeezing me till I popped like warm champagne an’ maybe something about begging her to hurt me just a little more.” He finally looked at her, eyes flickering cautiously to her face to gauge her reaction.
For a full minute Buffy didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. And then-- “Oh my god!” She covered her face again, feeling the heat of her blush radiate from her skin. “She said that when she was--to you--while I was--Oh my god!” Spike gave a small chuckle and she whipped her head up to face him. “And what do you mean, took it with you thinking it was from me?” She glared accusingly at him and he shifted uncomfortably again.
“Well, I can’t deny those words didn’t feature in quite a few of my fantasies over the years. Hell, it got me hot every time I thought about that little encounter.” He chuckled again, nervously, and ran his hand through his hair. “Gotta say, I was a bit disappointed when I found out it wasn’t actually you in the your body at the time.”
“Why?” she muttered. “Realized you picked the wrong Slayer to go after? That it was Miss Pop-Like-Warm-Champagne that you wanted the whole time?” Suddenly it didn’t matter that her and Spike were supposed to be over, or that Faith was on her side now. She felt like an insecure teenager again, afraid that she wouldn’t quite match up to the new Slayer and her cool couldn’t-care-less attitude, naked crocodile wrestling stories and a tendency to sleep with the men in Buffy’s life.
Spike didn’t shift uncomfortably this time, but turned completely around to face her, pulling his legs up onto the cot so his knees grazed hers. “Buffy,” he began softly, grabbing her hands and keeping a hold of them when she tried to pull away, “I was disappointed when I found out it wasn’t you that said those things. Not,” he said loudly when she tried to interrupt, “because I thought I fell in love with the wrong girl, but because those words--which yes, really did feature in quite a few fantasies of mine--became meaningless once I found out you hadn’t said them.” He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hands gently. “It wasn’t the words, pet, that stuck with me, but the fact that it was you who said them.” The smile turned rueful. “Or at least I thought so.”
Buffy swallowed around the lump that appeared in her throat, not knowing what to say. She didn’t know how he could do this, how he had the ability to ruin all her self control, to turn her into a blushing, angry mess before switching everything around until she was left almost breathless. Normally, when she felt like this she would lash out--either with fists or a few well placed, hurtful words--but not tonight. Tonight she felt…grateful. Not only had he completely taken her mind off of the disaster with Caleb and the vineyard, but he’d managed to calm her Faith-based insecurities in a way no one else ever had.
She squeezed his hands and gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.
A look of surprise flashed across his face. “For what?”
For not falling for Faith. For being what I need. For loving me. Still.
“Just…Thank you.” She turned around to lean against the wall again, letting go of one of his hands but holding on to the other. He too leaned back against the wall, the side by side routine familiar and adopted without a thought. Their clasped hands lay on the cot between them and she interlaced their fingers, taking comfort in the feeling of his cool palm against hers.
