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~*~

As he expected, he awoke to the sounds drifting down to him from the kitchen. Cabinet doors opening and closing, water running, pans, plates, silverware jangled about mixed with a fair amount of twittering and twaddle of the female persuasion brought him out of his deep slumber.

He had been correct in his assumptions as well. The clock above the washer and dryer told him it was a little past 10 in the morning. Not really in the mood to deal with the girls of the household first thing in the morning, especially a certain slayer, he decided to lay there in his cot and wait them out.

A half hour later, the kitchen occupants dispersed throughout the house. The front door had opened and shut several times signaling the departure of the teen of the house, off to school he presumed, and probably the witch and her little sprite as well.

His stomach growled, forcing him out of bed. Spike pulled his jeans on and headed upstairs for his breakfast. Her scent hit him full on when he opened the door to step into the kitchen and why wouldn't it? The slayer was standing stock-still in front of the sink, staring out the back window, hands immersed in soapy dishwater. He knew that she was aware he was there, hearing her clear her throat softly…and was that a sniffle? He watched her back as he walked to the refrigerator, watched her pull her hands out of the water one at a time, wiping the backs of them across her face. 'Is she crying?' he wondered as she sniffed again, cleared her throat once more a bit louder.

He hurried to get the packet of blood out, the mug above the microwave down and poured the contents into the cup to warm up. After placing it in the microwave, he looked over at her form surreptitiously and this time she was turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed over her chest and a plastered smile on her lips watching him.

"Good morning, Spike," Buffy softly greeted him. He returned a smile as he nodded back to her, not uttering a word. He heard her sigh when he turned his attention back to the beeping appliance and guilt hit him.

“‘morning, Buffy," he tried to sound casual but it sounded more coarse. He berated himself privately.

When he turned back to the center island, sipping his warm blood, she was now leaning forward against it, hands spread open on either side of a spiral notebook and staring at it instead. He made his way over and sat down to finish his meal. She looked up again with another pained smile fixed on her face and he saw the shiny pools of tears gathering and threatening to overflow. As one did slide down her cheek, she quickly swiped at it, shook her head to clear the others away and chuckled airily.

"Sorry, kind of a rough night's sleep, with the tossing and the turning. You sleep well?"

He stopped in mid gulp. Now he was feeling really guilty. Should he lie to her and tell her no? Which wasn't really all a lie, since it did take him a while to actually get to sleep with all the thought processing and whatnot.

"Um, not too bad once I got to sleep. Thanks for asking." He finished the mug of blood and stood abruptly to move to the sink and rinse it out.

She turned and followed his movements and he knew he must look uncomfortable, because, well he felt uncomfortable.

"Oh, um, Dawnie found this while you were in the hellmouth with me. She picked it up when it fell on the floor downstairs and forgot she had it. She was a little scared to give it back to you."

He turned from the sink and stared at the notebook.

"Is it mine?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot that you don't remember…yes, it’s yours. She thinks you were keeping a journal so she kept it for you so it wouldn't get lost or fall into the wrong hands." Ok so she was stretching the truth just a wee bit, but he didn't need to know that.

"You wrote in it, some poems…" her voice faltered as she stopped talking.

Spike looked up at her, a look of surprise and horror. "Poems? How did she…did she read it?"

Buffy stood up straight, trying to keep a virtuous look about her. "I'm not sure, I didn't ask her. I wouldn't think she would once she knew it was your personal stuff."

He shook his head in affirmation as he took it from her grasp. "Did you?"

"Did I…what? Read it? No, I did not and how dare you ask me something like that? You really don't know me at all, do you?" The tears were back as her voice turned harsh and bitter.

He quickly absolved. "No, no, I wasn't blaming you or anything. Was just a bloody, stupid question, that's all slayer. No reason to get all emotional over it and, and, hey, where you going? Slayer? Buffy?"

Buffy had pushed the pad of paper to his chest hard enough to make him fall back against the counter and she turned in a huff to exit the room. Tumultuous footsteps could be heard all the way up to the top floor followed by the slamming of a bedroom door. Spike sighed in exasperation.

"Women," he growled.

Spike leafed through the pages of the notebook as he made his way back down to the lower room, only really glancing through them and realizing everything was written in his own handwriting. He was almost afraid to actually read the stuff, which looked to be mostly poems and sonnets of some of his favorite bards. Shakespeare, Byron, Wilde, Keats, Tennyson and countless others.

He would only ever admit to himself that he was an avid reader. In fact, one of his favorite pastimes was reading a good book or some favorite prose. He never did around Dru though nor did he ever write poems; she would bloody well never let him get away with it. It was not a part of the big bad image, too soft and romantic. Funny, he realized he had been reading more these past couple of years than he did when he was with Dru. Ever since…hmm, ever since when? During the summer when Buffy died? Yeah, lil bit would bring home library books for him to read and she would gripe and threaten that she was going to make him go get his own library card. He chuckled to himself.

He stretched out on the cot as he tossed the notebook down on the table at the foot of the bed. He really wanted to sit and talk to Buffy civilly this morning. Things didn't work out as planned. He really wasn't sure why it seemed so difficult to talk to the slayer…well probably because she was the slayer and he was her mortal enemy. Would it really be easy to talk to your mortal enemy?

He sighed again, feeling the boredom and hating all the questions and problems pounding in his head. He rolled so that he was lying on his stomach and head on the opposite end of the cot, scooping up the discarded pad of paper and leafing through it once again.

Love poems; the first few pages were love poems. Ponce! He chided himself. Byron, Swinburne, Shakespeare…Oh, God! He sat up quickly on the edge of the cot, quickly reading the prose on the page.

"She's out of my grasp, out of my reach.

She dances in the darkness

Twirling and swirling under the stars," he read aloud then finished reading it to himself, lips moving with the words. He groaned.

"William E. Winters the third. Dolt. Stupid, bleeding git. Bloody ponce…Wanker. Why did I write this…and when?" he muttered, mostly to himself when it hit him straight on. He slowly lifted his gaze from the self composed words but then quickly looked back down to read part of it over.

"Dances in the dark with me,

Yet she belongs to the light."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed again. "The slayer. I was writing this…all of this for Buffy."

Spike lay back down on his stomach, spreading the book open and skimming through the pages once again, groaning and mumbling every few words. A few of the pages were blank and he was sure he had finally come to the end of it all until he flipped to the very last page. He ended up having to backtrack several pages but he had found something completely different. This time he had written a letter, a letter from him written to Buffy apparently right before he had gone down into the hellmouth to rescue her.

He sat up again, this time leaving the notebook on his pillow. Did he want to read the letter? Did he want to know things that would be better off left unknown? Did he want to read about his true feelings towards the slayer?

"Bloody hell!"

He stood and began to pace, he was getting really good at that. He grabbed his duster, dug into the pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he bribed Xander to get for him and his lighter. He fumbled with the lighter and realized his hands were shaking. It was lit and he was quickly inhaling, then exhaling a plume of smoke while releasing a sigh as the nicotine soothed his uneasiness. But why was he so nervous? It was just a letter that he had written to the slayer…to Buffy…to the woman he had been so desperately in love with…the girl who he no longer had the same affections for…as of the moment.

He stopped pacing and stared at the book on his bed. Growling, he snuffed out the butt of his cigarette in a can he had been using as a makeshift ashtray, rolled his head until his neck popped, took a couple of cleansing but unneeded breaths and marched over to the cot, swiping the notebook up and beginning to read the words he had written as he plopped back down onto his bed.

~~~My Dearest Buffy Love,

I'm generally capable of putting words down on paper, but today must be an off day. I should know the reason why but find it hard to admit to myself. These mixed feelings inside me, ones I can't allow to surface for fear of the others seeing them. And I really don't want to come up with an explanation if lil bit or Red asks me if I'm feeling alright. Because I'm really not---feeling alright that is.

I miss you, something terrible. I feel like I'm missing a vital part of my being and I'm to blame for it all. I despise myself, hate what I have done, for being so weak when I'm supposedly so strong. But I'm nothing now, not without you here. You are the one thing in my miserable existence that even means a thing to me. Okay so yes that may be a bit of a fabrication because I care about the others now but you made me become more caring, more sympathetic to these humans who are a part of our lives. You believed in me, trusted me and I failed you.

Now I have a chance to bring you home. I don't know what to expect when I get there, I don't know what to expect when I first see you. Buffy, I'm frightened, terrified that you will hate me and you have every right to do so. The thing is I know I won't be able to withstand your hate, to bear your indifference, to live without your passion that I have always seen burning behind those beautiful verdant eyes whenever we locked gazes. I always believed that fire burned for me. I didn't need to hear you tell me your feelings, I could see them deep within your soul and told myself every time that I was the only one who could see them.

I have a niggling feeling only one of us will be coming back to Sunnyhell and the general consensus points to only you returning home. The witches and the watcher are working on a way to get us both back safely but I think I will end up being the bargaining tool to get you out of there. I'm slowly coming to grips with this possible outcome. I've told you before that I always knew I would go down fighting. And I would give my life for you to live. And I want you to do just that, Buffy. Live for me.

Now there is something I need to tell you. The chip has been removed. It needed to be, as Giles discovered. Apparently The First was using me through the piece of hardware in my brain. Still, though, I should have been able to overcome their manipulations, been able to keep my free will and kick their collective asses. Alas I was inept, you were hurt in the whole ordeal, and your family and friends suffered the consequences of my weakness. Since the chip has been extracted, I just want you to know I have been fine. No reoccurring evil contemplations, no sinister big bads trying to weasel their way into this noggin, only thoughts of your beautiful face and my true emotions of you fill the void where the chip had been.

So, I have come to the part I've intentionally left til the last. Think of this as my last will and testament. Now I don't want to hear a word, just read. Whatever I have at my place, really isn't much, I want you to take. In the cupboard in the bathroom, very top shelf is a can of shaving cream. The thing is it's not real; the bottom of it is false and twists off. Inside is all the money I have. Give Willy 100 of it for the utilities and let him know it’s free for him to rent again. Then you keep the rest, put it away to save, do with it what you want. I don't care.

In the closet in the bedroom I have a trunk with weapons in it. Those are for you as well, luv. There is a music box that was my mother's. Please give it to Dawnie but the velvet bag inside is for you. Something I've been keeping for a very long time, waiting for the right moment to give it to you. It was my mum's as well. There are a couple of books in there, give them to the watcher. He'll get some good use out of them, I'm sure. The other things, stuff you don't want, let the witches, the whelp and demon girl sift through it.

That's it in a nutshell, luv. All I ask now is that you don't hate me forever and keep me in your memories. I'll try my best to keep watching your back my love. Always and forever, I love you with all that I am.

Spike~~~

He sat there staring at the page in front of him for a long time. He slowly closed the cover of the notebook and carefully laid it on top of the table at the foot of the cot. With his hands clasped in front of him, head hanging down, thoughts and ideas bounced around inside his head.

He came to the realization that he had been totally and hopelessly in love with a woman who had once been his enemy. Amazing. How did it happen? What had transpired between them to allow such feelings to grow and take root? He wanted to remember. He wanted to know how, when, where, and why. Bleeding memory, bloody wankers who took away that love, something he wouldn't mind feeling again at the moment. He assumed it had been something rare and remarkable; something he was sure he had never felt during his whole lifetime. Would he ever feel it again?

He stood quickly and ran his hand through his hair, his mind made up. He was going to apologize to Buffy for his earlier behavior that morning and hopefully form another truce again. Tell her he wanted to be friends and begin building onto that friendship. Hopefully she wasn't pigheaded enough to turn that down. Hopefully.

TBC

A/N Kind of a slow chapter but I needed him to read about what he had felt for the slayer before he lost it all.





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