Spike creased his forehead and opened his eyes. He had been dreaming about a dog called Sir. Ralph that had the power to freeze time with his eyes, when something had woken him up. He wasn't completely sure what that something had been yet, as his sleep addled mind was just coming to terms with being awake, and also the fact that Sir. Ralph wasn't actually real. That was kind of depressing.
He blinked his eyes several times to adjust to the dim candlelight that flickered in his make-shift "bedroom" under his crypt. Slowly space and time returned to him as he realized where he was and what had been happening for the past three hours. He laughed shortly to himself though he was largely not amused.
"What was that, Pet?" He asked, turning over on to his back, but not turning completely over to Buffy who sat up on her side, blanket pulled up around her chest, staring at him.
"Do you miss the sun?" She asked flatly, presumably asked again, as he was certain now that it had been that question that had brought him out of his sleep. He raised one eyebrow and finally did look at her.
Dead heart aside, this was one of those moments when the ticker might have skipped a beat had it been able. She was beautiful just laying there with her short hair spilling over her clean, un made-up face. There had been a time before all this where he never could have imagined her sleeping next to him in his own bed… but here she was. It killed him every time.
"Don't generally miss things that can kill me." He answered, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. She rolled back over on to her back.
"You missed me when I was dead." She responded.
"Right." Spike said, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and the lighter that sat on the small table near his bed. He hadn't really thought of her in the "could kill him" kind of way in a very long while. Probably before she was dead… but he supposed it was true all the same. She could kill him if she wanted. But then, he could kill her now, too, couldn't he? Just because someone could do something, didn't mean they would. "Sun'd be a bit more direct about it."
He lit a cigarette and threw the empty pack and lighter down on top a pile of his clothes.
"Maybe that's my problem." Buffy said quietly, staring up at the canopy of the bed. "Not direct enough."
Spike took a drag of his cigarette and inclined his head in her direction.
"I don't think that's ever been your problem." He responded with a suggestive leer. It was usually those kinds of things that ended up being the precursor to him getting punched in the face or kicked in the chest before she took off running… but he was no one other than himself, and therefore could not keep the comments from coming out of his mouth. In any case, she'd end up doing that anyway, so why not have his fun while she was still here?
She didn't say anything right away, but she also didn't seem like she was planning on one of her famous exoduses just yet either.
"So, you don't miss it then?" She asked.
Spike took another drag of the cigarette and then crushed it in to the palm of his hand before flicking it off in to the expanse of the room.
"Got to learn not to miss what you can't have." He answered her pointedly, none too subtly alluding to the fact that she could piss and moan all she wanted about missing "heaven" or wherever the bloody hell she had been, but it wasn't really going to do her any good. The sooner she realized she had to get on with what she had here, the better it would be for everyone.
"This coming from you?" She asked. "Want to try that again with out all that funny irony?"
Spike rolled his eyes.
"What were you expecting me to say?" He asked. "You want me to tell you I'm a big sad poof who spends all his time pining away for something that he can barely even remember? Sorry, no."
Buffy looked up at him at that, seeming to search his face for something that, though he didn't know what it was, he knew she would never find.
"Guess there would have to be something human in you for that." She said, and then dropped her gaze. She took a deep breath and sat up almost in the next moment. Spike watched her quietly, his heart sinking as always. He thought now, as he always did when she was about to leave, that maybe he could have done something different to get her to stay a little longer. Maybe in this case it would have been to tell her that, yeah, sometimes he did miss walking around during the day. The kind of walking that lent itself to long leisurely strolls through the park, and not bursting irrecoverably in to flames.
Honestly, he just didn't think about it that often.
"Buffy…" He started.
"I have to go." She said, pulling her skirt on while still managing to keep her torso covered with a sheet. He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, which she instantly shrugged off.
Which stung, of course.
She was up now, pulling her blouse over her head. Spike swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat watching her as she rummaged around for her socks and shoes.
"When are you going to admit you don't hate me?" He asked.
Buffy stopped suddenly, mid reach, as she was bending over to pick up a sock. She stood straight and turned to Spike, keeping her eyes on his, as he happened to not care to hold a sheet around his body. She looked… stricken. Though God only knew why seeing as how she could not possibly have felt bad for the blonde vampire before her.
"When it's true." She said simply, wearing almost the exact facial expression that she had also used to call him "convenient".
Wow, she was really going for the gusto tonight.
Spike stood, clenching his jaw so hard it almost hurt.
"True?" He asked angrily, pointing at her. "You really want to know what's true? Or do you just want to hear me spout pretty platitudes I don't believe in so you can feel a little less dirty than you do?"
"You do make me feel dirty." She said, agreeing with him on that point at least. "Does that make you feel good?"
Spike laughed.
"At least I make you feel something, which is more than I can say for any of your mates, or else you'd be somewhere having a merry old time with them instead of lurking here with me."
Buffy rolled her eyes in a seemingly half-hearted attempt at disinterestedness as she bent down to retrieve the sock beneath her. Spike was at her in a moment, though, with his hands clasped around her shoulders.
"Ugh, Spike!" She said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. He only held her harder, forcing her to look at his face.
"I love you." He said, but there was no love in his voice. It actually came out sounding more threatening than it did anything else. She stared at him, her face hardened as it always did when he spoke of his feelings for her. "I think that's a little more human than crying over the idea of never being able to tan again."
She jerked his arms off of her.
"There's nothing human about you." She spat.
"Then what does that make you, Love?"
"Wrong." She responded. "It makes me wrong, remember?"
"I don't make you wrong." He said with a glare. "I bring you to life for hours at a time, and you hate me for it."
"That's not why I hate you." She said, pulling her socks over her feet, one by one.
"Oh, yeah?" He asked, just watching her. "Enlighten me, then."
"You really need to ask me?" She asked him incredulously. "Why don't I tell you what I don't hate about you? It'll take up a lot less of my time."
That stung, too. Why did he keep putting himself through this? Why wasn't he strong enough to turn her away when she showed up at his door? Why did he let her in to hurt him this way?
Because he loved her, dammit. Plain and simple.
"Right then." He said, gesturing for her to go on. "Let's start with that."
She laughed shortly. Then to his surprise, and maybe even to hers, she did what he asked.
"I like what you dream about." She said in an almost defeated way.
"Drea—you like what I dream about?" He asked, confused.
"You talk in your sleep." She said, not looking at him anymore as she slipped her boots on over her socks. She took a deep breath and then met his eyes. "When it's not about killing something, I can pretend you're someone else."
Yeah, that was probably true. He could only imagine the embarrassing things she'd heard him say while he was dreaming.
Good God, did she know about Sir. Ralph?
Spike tilted his head.
"Which would you rather?" He asked. "The strength to say no to me, or me being actually worthy enough to touch your glorious self?"
She didn't answer that, only stooped down to pick up her jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. She looked tired and resigned, and Spike wanted badly to love her enough to let her go without a fight… but he didn't. He loved her too much.
Buffy turned to go in her usual wordless way, but Spike stepped suddenly in her path.
"Spike, please." She asked. "I'm tired. I need to get home."
"Who do you pretend I am?" He asked darkly, and was rewarded when a slightly startled look appeared over the slayer's face.
"What?" She asked.
"When you pretend I'm someone else… who is it?"
Like he had to ask. He knew fine well. Wouldn't have been her bit of commando tumble, would it? She'd never loved him, not really, not as far as he could tell. She'd tried to love him because he made the most sense. Nice big beating heart. Warm skin. The kind of guy she could've grown old with. Who, more importantly, would have grown old with her. Someone she could have had a family with… Yeah, he'd made sense, and she'd tried to fit with him, but in the end she couldn't and the guy himself had known it. Smartest thing Cardboard had ever done was jump ship when he did.
So that only left Angel, of course.
Buffy said nothing, merely stared defiantly in to the vampire's blue eyes.
"Does that make you feel dirty, too, Love?" He said, stepping closer to her so that their faces could have touched if he leaned down. "Knowing that while you're off in your own fantasy world, I'm right here thinking of nothing but you?"
"No." She said, not moving her eyes away from his. "It makes me feel sorry for you."
Pity, at least to Spike, was worse than disdain any day of the week.
Spike crashed his mouth down on top of Buffy's, who for her part had already placed her small hands on his chest to push him away. He was having none of that however, as he placed his own hands over hers, firmly holding her in place.
"Spike!" She said, moving her head to the side. "Stop!"
He didn't.
He slid her jacket back down her arms, and he had the distinct impression that she wasn't really struggling so much as violently returning what he was giving her.
He shoved her roughly back down on to the bed and crawled slowly up the length of her body, jerking her to eye-level with himself.
"Who am I now?" He growled.
She tried to push up past him, but he quickly pinned her arms up above her head.
"Tell me, Buffy." He started violently, leaning down and taking her mouth in another kiss that had nothing to do with love or tenderness and everything to do with asserting the little bit of leverage he had over her at the moment. He pulled away and positioned himself along the side of her body so that he could hold her arms with one hand. He reached down and wrenched her skirt up.
"Who. Am. I. Now?"
Each word was punctuated by a rough caress of his fingers.
Then he found himself on the ground and on his back, staring dazedly up at the ceiling. He did the only thing he could at the moment, which was laugh.
"You're disgusting." Buffy's voice came from somewhere above him. To be fair, she did sound disgusted.
Spike sat up to see that Buffy was not standing, but rather sitting on the edge of his bed with her head cradled in her hands.
Any anger, any maliciousness, any hurt pride he felt for himself melted immediately away at the sight.
"Buffy…" He started, not knowing exactly what to do. He didn't think she'd take too kindly to him kneeling in front of her, trying to pull her in to his arms. It was what he wanted to do, but she'd just push him away.
So he just kneeled where he was.
Buffy stayed where she was as well. She made no move to get up or even to raise her head. Spike wondered if she was crying, but then wondered why she would be crying. He'd never been able to make her cry… not even when he revealed that he was able to hurt her again, and that it could only mean she had come back less than human.
Did the thought of letting him touch her really hurt her more than the thought that she hadn't come back the same?
The idea was utterly heart crushing.
"I do miss it." Spike said quietly. At that, Buffy did look up at him. Her eyes were dry, thank God, but her face was drawn and heavy. Tired. He knew he exhausted her. She didn't ask him to go on, but he did. "The sun. The day. I lived without it longer than I did with it so, I'm more used to the dark than the light… but, yeah. I miss it."
"Do you remember being alive?" Buffy asked.
Spike shook his head slightly.
"There are memories. Flashes." He stood up and walked over to the bed, carefully sitting beside Buffy. "But mostly, no, I don't remember."
"Does that make you sad?"
Each question surprised him more, but he was afraid not to answer them… just as he was afraid any sudden movement would send her running for the door.
Spike thought about his answer. It was complicated, what she was asking him. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes… he did get this feeling of loneliness, this feeling of being trapped in a time that he didn't belong in. The killing had kept him above it all for over a century, but now that was gone, and he was just living in this world that he really didn't completely understand.
So, sad wasn't really the right word.
"No." He answered honestly. "If it made me sad, I'd have to regret my whole existence… and I don't. Can't."
Buffy laughed shortly.
"Why not?" She asked. Spike moved his head to one side to regard her, wondering how she didn't know the answer.
"Because everything I was and everything I've done has led me to you." He responded.
Buffy stood at that, and turned to stare down at the vampire who met her gaze even though he knew he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say. Really, he rarely liked anything she said.
"Great." She started, throwing her hands up. "I can now add your whole life's worth of brutal killings to my list of things to feel guilty about because you're too stupid to feel bad about it yourself."
Well, no… that hadn't been at all what he meant, but he could still grudgingly see her point. Spike rotated his neck a bit as though trying to stretch out a cramp.
"Vampire." He said through clenched teeth, his anger rising again. Evil? Okay. Soulless? No denying it. Stupid? No. He'd gone to some pretty damned good schools when he was alive, could speak three languages fluently, and probably still read more on a weekly basis than Buffy and all her friends combined. "We tend not to be big with the whole guilt thing. Can't all be like the great over-steeped wonder."
Buffy looked confused and annoyed.
"What the hell does that even mean?" She asked.
Spike blinked.
"Well, you know… when you over-steep tea it gets bitter." He said. Buffy only stared at him blankly. Spike let out a frustrated groan with a slight roll of his eyes. "Angel. I was talking about Angel. Point is, most of us don't spend our whole lives brooding over what we've done."
Buffy touched her hand to her forehead as though to rub away a headache and laughed a small, sad laugh. Spike closed his eyes for a moment, regretting as always his inability to keep his bloody mouth bloody closed.
When he opened them again, she was gone.
Spike was up in the next moment, throwing a glass candlestick up against the far wall. It shattered loudly, sending shards of sharp glass flying out over the floor. Not much of a difference that made, seeing as how the broken pieces of Spike's heart were already piled up around the room.
More and more every time she left him.
Spike sat back down heavily on his bed and dropped his head in to his hands, mimicking the position Buffy had been in just a minute or so before.
Next time, he thought. Just say yes.