There were five boxes stacked neatly in the middle of the living room floor, the result of a morning’s work. It amazed Buffy how quickly she was able to sort it all out, fold it up; to condense her existence into easy-to-carry, carefully labeled, biodegradable containers.
Buffy and Spike were in the attic looking through the last of Buffy’s possessions. It was funny seeing him sitting cross-legged next to their Christmas tree, rummaging through her grandmother’s cedar chest. It was a bit like seeing her vibrator plopped in the middle of the Thanksgiving Day centerpiece or reading “The Story of O” aloud on the bus.
“What am I supposed to be looking for in here?” Spike asked.
Buffy closed the box of baby clothes she’d found and walked over to sit beside him, being careful not to catch her forehead on the sloping eaves that were draped in pink insulation.
“Photographs, mostly,” Buffy said.
She rested her head on his shoulder. Dismantling her life had taken a lot of energy and it felt good to lean on Spike. The scent of his soapy-clean skin cut through the dusty, dry-wood smell of the attic and the gray, flannel shirt he was wearing was soft against her cheek. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up so she got a full view of his forearms and wrists. She loved watching his deft movements and she noticed her cheeks were getting flushed. She was kind of getting turned on. Buffy had no idea why glimpsing the expanse of bare flesh that spanned from a man’s wrist to his elbow had such an effect on her. It was so innocent it went all the way around and became perverse, like the Victorian shame regarding ankles.
“What are you thinking, my pensive girl?” Spike asked.
“I want to bite your wrists,” Buffy said, then covered her mouth, “Sorry, you know I have that thing with forearms.”
“Why do you think I folded back my cuffs?” he asked with a smirk as he continued to dig around the stacks of doilies in the cedar chest. When she was a single gal, Buffy’s grandmother had labored under the misapprehension that doilies were going to be a crucial part of married life. Subsequently, she had made way, way too many. Miraculously, Spike produced a black, leather-photo album from beneath the frilly pile of yellowed lace.
“So this is what, the seventeenth one of these we’ve found today?” Spike asked.
“Well, yeah, but this one’s special. It’s the only one I have from high school,” Buffy said.
She took it from his hands and flipped the book open to an image of a teenage Buffy in a cheerleading uniform.
“Cheerleader? I ate your lot for breakfast back then,” Spike said.
“You were mean to the pep squad? Why am I not surprised? Were we just too positive for you?”
“Something like that. None of them would sleep with a gutter punk like myself, so I put smelt in their lockers,” Spike said.
“That was sure to win their hearts. I know being abused with smelly fish always made me fall into a guy’s arms,” Buffy said.
“I was young and miserable and living in a foreign land, cut me some slack. I was also thoroughly misguided about what girls liked. Thought dying my hair and wearing a lot of safety pins in my face would attract them,” he said.
“What color?”
“Platinum blonde. Slathered on the eyeliner, too. Fancied I looked tough, but with that many cosmetics on at a time it probably came off a little fruity,” Spike said.
“Ooh, you wore eyeliner? I kind of want to put some on you now, I bet it made your eyes pop,” Buffy said.
“Forearms and makeup. Even your kinks are bloody adorable,” he said.
“They’re not kinks. Are they?”
“Oh they are, love. Bet there’s a bunch you don’t even know about, yet,” he said.
“I wish I knew you in high school. I think we could have been friends,” Buffy said.
“We definitely wouldn’t have been friends; would’ve been afraid to come near you. I probably would’ve written you worthless poetry that I was too gutless to give you or drawn your picture in class and then torn it up before anyone saw,” he said.
“Sure we would’ve. I hung out with everybody, even the Goth kids and the Chess Club set. It’s kind of funny, I had so many friends back then but the second I got pregnant they all went poof. It was like I never existed,” Buffy said.
“That’s when I would’ve swept in like the vulture I was, when the rest of them were gone. Then I never would’ve left you alone,” Spike said with a mirthless laugh.
“I would have fallen for you,” Buffy said.
“Not then, love, I was an angry, young man,” Spike said.
“As opposed to a grumpy, youngish man? I would have fallen for you hard, especially with the eye liner and the pointy stuff in your face,” Buffy said.
“I’m serious, Buffy. I’m not proud of who I was then,” Spike said.
“So am I. You would have been you, and you’re a good person. It would’ve been nice to be in love with you and not have any regrets about it,” Buffy said.
“You think I’m a good man?” he asked with surprise.
“I do,” she said, softly adding, “I know you are.”
Spike cupped Buffy’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. The kiss went on, and they were lying on the dirty, wooden floor, the photo album sliding shut as it fell. Spike was working on the button of her jeans when they heard someone downstairs. Buffy and Spike flew apart. She picked up the neglected photo album and set it on top of the box of baby clothes. He grabbed the bassinet. They made their way down the retractable, white, wooden ladder, Buffy going first.
Riley was sitting at the base of the stairs, looking up at them. Spike set the bassinet down and tugged Buffy into the hall, out of view.
“Back’s a little dusty, love,” he said with a smug grin. He swept her shirt with his hand. She turned and smiled at him, then brought her hand to his hair.
“Cobweb,” she said as she brushed it away.
They resumed their burdens and went down the steps to greet Riley. He gave them a tight smile. Spike wanted to say something smart, but Buffy thought he was a good man, and he knew a good man wouldn’t feel the need to take a dig at someone so thoroughly beaten. Instead Spike nodded as cordially as he could and waited for Buffy to tell him what he should do.
“I thought you might want help, but I see you’ve already got some,” Riley said.
“Spike, maybe you want to start loading the car,” Buffy said, pointedly. He smiled at her, ducked past the man in the wheelchair and went outside.
“We should be able to fit almost everything in the Bonneville, but I might have to pick up a few things when I drop off Dawn today,” Buffy said. She shifted uncomfortably with the box in her arms.
Riley looked past her eyes; he was resting his hands on the wheels of his chair then clasping them together, then touching the wheels again.
“Spike, that’s a name?”
“His upbringing was kind of unconventional,” Buffy said as she set the box down.
“So you’re pretty serious about all this, I take it,” Riley said.
“Yup, pretty serious,” Buffy said.
Spike came back into the house and caught her eye. Buffy looked at him and then forced herself to return Riley’s gaze.
“Riley, maybe we should go talk in the kitchen. Could you finish up on your own, Spike?” Buffy asked.
“’Course,” Spike said, looking nervously from Buffy to her husband.
Riley nodded and followed her into the other room. She could hear the sound of Spike’s boots on the hardwood and then the front door opening. Buffy leaned with her back against the counter and Riley faced her.
“You could still come back. You know that, right?” Riley asked.
“I can’t, Riley,” she said, folding her arms.
“Because I got hurt,” he said.
“Not because of that, come on. Things weren’t right before and you know it,” Buffy said.
“It’s different now,” Riley said.
“Yeah, it is. I’m in love with somebody else.”
“How can you really love him? You hardly know him.”
“I know him better than I do you. I never had all of you. You know something? I did the math and in the time we’ve been married, you’ve been away more than you’ve been with me. And when you were home you weren’t really here. You were always more of a hero to me than a husband and that’s the way you wanted it to be,” Buffy said.
“I tried, Buffy, but there’s some things…it hurts to talk about it and there’s no way you could understand,” Riley said.
“No, I guess not. I’m not Sam,” Buffy said.
Riley shifted and wove his fingers together.
“I’ll miss you,” Riley said.
Buffy didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to tell Riley that she’d been missing him for years, that leaving wouldn’t make much of a difference between them, at least not to her.
“You too,” she said.
She smiled at him. Riley backed his chair up without returning the gesture. There were two boxes on the living room floor. Spike came back into the house just as Buffy was picking up one of the containers. Spike went to her and tried to take it out of Buffy’s hand.
“I’ll get this, you get the other, then we can go,” Buffy said.
He nodded, keenly aware that Riley was glaring at them. Buffy went out the door as Spike stooped to pick up the last of her things. Riley was beside him in a second, speaking directly to him.
“If you ever hurt her, I’ll hurt you,” Riley said.
His fists were balled up, and Riley looked like a landmine waiting for some slight pressure to set him off. Spike wanted to tell him all the nasty things he’d been doing to Buffy the night before. He wanted to talk about how she was carrying his baby because Riley wasn’t enough of a man to please her. Spike wanted to tell him that he’d banged Buffy in the alley behind Riley’s own house when he was asleep in front of the television set and that she’d screamed Spike’s improbable name over and over until her voice was rough.
Instead, he just smiled.
“Right, mate,” Spike said as he adjusted the box in his arms. Spike didn’t expect the punch that re-broke his nose, and he dropped what he was holding. It landed with an ugly, shattering sound. Blood came out of his nostrils in a steady stream, something between a trickle and a pour.
“What the hell was that for?” Spike asked as he tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“For fucking my wife,” Riley said.
Spike let out a dark chuckle that sounded like a mad engine refusing to turn over. Then he fixed Riley’s wide eyes with his own.
“I’ll let that one slide, not because of the chair, not gonna insult you that way, but because you’re right. I deserved a pop in the face for taking your wife. And I did, take her I mean, many, many times before she decided to come with me. But if you ever touch me again, or Buffy or Dawn, the day you got your wheels will be a relatively pleasant memory in comparison to what I will do to you,” Spike said.
The door opened and Buffy walked in to find Spike bleeding on the area rug while conducting a staring contest with her husband.
“Can we get out of here, or does one of you have to knock me down and pee on me first?” Buffy asked.
Both their faces swung in her direction. Spike hefted the box up swiftly and marched past Riley.
“We’re done, love,” Spike said as he left the house.
Buffy stood by the door looking at Riley.
“Good bye,” she said, hopefully.
He waved at her, a movement that looked like he was casting something away. She swallowed back her tears and left. It wasn't her home anymore.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to everyone who has been reading this story. My mentor said the greatest compliment you can give a writer is getting to the end of their work. We're getting close to the end; thanks for sticking it out this long. Also, thanks to everyone who left comments--they mean so much to me.
Chapter End Notes:
The line "Spike, that's a name?" is from the episode "Something Blue." Also, "The Story of O" is a really kinky S&M classic that is harrowing at times to read.