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Chapter 49

She kissed him once more, soft but sure.

This time, he kissed her back.

It was soft and tentative at first, almost as if he was afraid. His hands were very slowly finding their way to her waist, gently holding her in place. Then it began turning into something almost desperate. His hands and lips were clutching her to him like he needed this as much as he needed air or water. And then suddenly he was gone.

She opened her eyes and looked around in confusion, trying to figure where he’d gone and why. Had she done this all wrong?

He was standing a few steps away, his back to her, his head bowed as he took several noticeable deep breaths, as if trying to calm himself.

“Spike?” She took a tentative step towards him.

“You should go.” His words were half order, half plea.

“I think it’s best that I stay,” She answered him.

“Buffy... please…” Desperation heavily colored his voice.

“What are you afraid of, Spike?” She took another step towards him.

Long seconds passed. She was afraid he wasn’t going to answer.

“Me,” He finally said, almost whispering the answer over his shoulder, but never looking at her.

Damn, he was stubborn. Now what could she say? She’d given him forgiveness already. Why wouldn’t he take it?

“Why?” It sounded like a simple question; but, she suspected his answer was anything but.

He sighed deeply. Almost defeatedly. She took another step.

“Don’t!” He commanded, looking at her sideways over his shoulder. “Please don’t.”

“Was kissing me really that bad?” She asked with unintended defensiveness.

“Yes!” He whipped around to face her so fast that he overbalanced slightly and wobbled, the series of glasses of whiskey starting to take effect. “‘Cause when you kissed me just now, I wanted to do nothing ‘cept drown myself in you and forget the rest of the world even exists! And the last time I let that happen you ended up dead, Buffy!”

“Was only mostly dead,” She mumbled out, as she studied a piece of lint on the floor.

“Mostly…?” He was looking at her, almost dumbfounded. “Is this a joke to you? A game? Is that what this is? A game of kick the Spike?”

“No! Of course not…”

“There is no ‘mostly,’ Buffy!” You. Were. Dead!” He enunciated every word of the sentence as he invaded her space and stared down at her.

“I…” She took a few steps back, suddenly feeling the need for more space between them.

“Dead.” His voice held a sharp edge as he said the word while he took a step towards her. His eyes held a steely glint that said he was dangerous... predatory even.

“No pulse.”

She could hear the emotion beginning to choke him again, and oddly it was starting to choke her as well, but his face still screamed “predator.” She took another step backward and ran right into the table.

“No breath.”

He took another step. She had nowhere left to go.

“No life.”

She looked away from him.

“You... Were... Dead.”

He was just inches away from her now. She unconsciously leaned away from him while clutching the edge of the table for stability, but he leaned in and braced his hands on the table on either side of her body as he brought his mouth to with a whisper’s distance from one ear.

“And I let it happen.”

She couldn’t help it. She reacted on instinct. Her knee came up and connected with his groin with crack shot precision and then she shoved him away as hard as she could, sending him tumbling to the ground. She managed to stop herself somewhere between landing a furious kick to his midsection, and about to land one to his head. As he lay there half growling in pain, she sidestepped him and backed further into the room to take a moment and get herself back under control.

When she had finally mostly shaken off the effects of her adrenalin, she looked at him. Really looked at him. He had at some point retrieved the bottle of whiskey and was now sitting on the floor against the bed. He’d almost done it. Almost pushed her too far. Almost pushed her far enough to make her want to run and leave him there to wallow in his guilt and self-flagellation.

Almost.

A plan galvanized in her head. She took several purposeful steps until she was standing over him. He ignored her and tipped the bottle up to his lips. She reached down and grabbed the bottle, jerking it away from him and sent it shattering off to the side.

“Hey!” He looked at the remnants of the bottle, then glared back at her.

She turned and reached for one of the chairs, placed it at his feet, and pointedly stared at him as she sat down and crossed her legs and arms.

“Tell me,” She commanded.

“Tell you what?” He looked at her with confusion. His words were beginning to slur, and his head was starting to bob a bit with his words. She was surprised it had taken this long for all of the whiskey to hit him fully. She didn’t want to do this with him drunk, but then again it might be the only way for him to get it all out.

“Tell me how you let me die,” She answered. “You want to make sure I understand what a monster you are, so tell me.”

He looked away from her, the muscles in his jaw ticked, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Well, killer, you gonna take all night?”

He looked back at her, cold anger exuding from his eyes, but he remained silent.

“No?” She huffed out a scoff at him. “Should have kept the whiskey. At least then I could entertain myself while waiting for your sorry excuses.”

She could see the change in him when it happened. Nothing like offending his ego to get him going.

“Knew what was gonna happen,” He angrily bit out the words. “‘s what I deserved for thinkin’ might be better if...” He glared at the wall behind her. “Knew I’d lose you both an’ couldn’t…” He trailed off and left the sentence hanging. “Longer it went on, worse it got. Just felt it all slippin’ away… you... it…” He paused a few seconds. “Me.”

“Go on,” She prompted when he seemed to not be forthcoming with anything more.

“Tried ignorin’ it. Told m’self was just fear… nothin’ on earth stronger than you.” He stopped again.

“And?” She pushed.

“God Buffy, I wanted nothin’ more than you and...” His face crumbled as he brought his knees up and covered his face with his hands, and she could hear the sobs escaping.

“Finish it.” She felt like an ass for pushing him like this.

He gave a few shuddering breaths and then lifted his head again, and nodded.

“Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t see you, knowin’…” He trailed off, his words starting to slur more heavily.

“Knowing?” She prompted him more firmly.

“Knowin’ what was comin’. Knowin’, it was what I deserved. Couldn’t watch you… ‘cause if I watched you both... ‘f I watched you die… I’d break my promise. Tell everyone and everything to sod off and follow you.” He went quiet then, tears choking his voice off for a moment. “Couldn’t do that. Already broke the first promise, didn’t I? Tha's why you should take it back. Don’t… god, please, don’t forgive me.”

She was off the chair and on her knees pulling him to her, cradling his head to her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and clutched at her like a proverbial sinner clinging to Christ and begging for salvation. He broke down, his body shaking as he wept, begging her to take it back and not forgive him. Exhausted, emotionally spent, and drunk, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

Where did she begin? He’d internalized so much. So much guilt, and most of it not even his. He’d been her north star, her guiding light, and now he’d lost his way. Riley, or was it Giles, had been right. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness, because fate had claimed her as the ultimate price for his moment of doubt. He’d panicked, and his fear and doubt had snowballed into this guilt until he blamed himself for random events. How did she even begin to make up for this? He’d blamed himself for her death when apparently he was actually the one that saved her.

And there it was. A tiny glimmer of hope. She just had to find the right words. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do that, because she and words weren’t always very mixy things. She tended to botch things up. But damn if she didn’t owe this broken soul her life and her love, and she was going to find a way.

She just needed a little bit of sleep first…

************************

“Buffy, will you just stop a second and listen to me?” Willow urged as she followed behind her down the hallway. “Buffy, you have to stop doing this!”

“Doing what?”

“Killing Dawn!” She replied with more than a little apparent exasperation.

“Why?”

“Because this never happened! You never killed your sister!” Willow answered.

“Willow, I did this.” It was a simple statement of fact.

“In your imagination! None of this is real!” Willow seemed to be almost pleading with her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She replied as she resumed her course down the hallway of her childhood home.

“Buffy, why are you doing this? Leave Dawn alone!” Willow urged her. “Buffy, what is this?”

“My gift. This is what I do,” She replied. Why wasn’t Willow getting this?

“I’m not talking about this,” Willow said as they entered Dawn’s room. “I’m talking about this!” Willow clarified as they were once again standing in the Magic Box, by one of the bookshelves. “Right here...it happened. I know it's something small, but it's something. What?” Willow asked, as the simple scene of Buffy shelving a book repeated itself over and over.

“Don't go there, Will.” Buffy cautioned her as she watched herself shelve the book yet again.

“I'm not! You're the one who keeps dragging me back here. And you wouldn't be doing that if you weren't trying to show me something.” Willow explained.

“Do I?” She asked. Was she bringing Willow back to this moment over and over?

“Buffy, c'mon. It's your brain. Just tell me. What happened here?” Willow stared at her other self putting up the book.

“This was when I quit, Will,” Buffy confessed.

“You did?” Willow asked, seeming somewhat skeptical.

“Just for a second.” She gave the smallest of sad smiles. “I remember I was in the magic shop. I put a book back for Giles. Nothing special about it. And then, it hit me.”

“What hit you?” Willow asked her other self.

“I can't beat Glory.” She answered. “Glory's going to win.”

“You can't know that,” Willow insisted.

“I didn't just know it. I felt it. Glory will beat me,” She assured her.

“And in that second of knowing it, Will … I wanted it to happen.” The words came tumbling from her other self.

“Why?” Willow looked confused. Who wouldn’t be?

“I wanted it over. This is - all of this - too much for me. I just wanted it over. If Glory wins, then Dawn dies. I would grieve. People would feel sorry for me. But it would all be over. I imagined what a relief that would be. I killed Dawn.” The terrible details of her confession spilled forth.

“Is that what you think?” Willow asked.

“My thinking it made it happen. Some part of me wanted it. And in the moment Glory took Dawn … I know I could have done something better. But I didn't. I was off by some fraction of a second. And this is why… I killed my sister.” And there it finally was, all laid bare.

“I think Spike was right back at the gas station,” Willow said, apparently in a moment of revelation. “Snap out of it!”

“What?” She hadn’t expected Willow to say that.

“All this - it has a name. It's called guilt. It's a feeling, and it's important, but it's not more than that, Buffy. You've carried the weight of the world on your shoulders since high school. And I know you didn't ask for this, but you do it, every day. And so you wanted out for one second, so what?” Willow chided her.

“I got Dawn killed …” She reiterated once again.

“Hello! Your sister? Not dead yet!” Willow’s scoldingly retorted. “But she will be if you stay locked inside here and never come back to us.”

“And what if I can't?” Because she really wasn’t sure at all that she could.

“Then I guess you're right, and you did kill your sister,” Willow confirmed and then turned and walked away.

“Wait.” She called to Willow urgently. “Where are you going?” She really didn’t want her friend to leave.

“Where you're needed. Are you coming?” Willow’s question was equal part question and command.

Was she? Could she. She paused a moment to watch her other self shelve the book once more as Willow’s words spun around in her mind. Yes, she’d given up, and things were so out of control and messed up right now. But, Dawn was still alive, and that meant that she still had a chance. One tiny chance to overcome her guilt and fear and save her sister, and herself, in the process.

Yes, she was coming.

*******************************

She awoke with a start and glanced around, half expecting to find Willow there with her. Instead, she found herself sitting on the floor of Spike’s apartment, his head cradled in her lap. His face a myriad of emotions as he dreamed whatever it was that Spike dreamed about. It didn’t seem to be a pleasant dream, whatever it was.

She had to hand it to her subconscious. The slayer dreams may have started as a defense mechanism for a small defenseless little girl living in a real world nightmare, but they had undoubtedly evolved as she had grown. They hadn’t been about just her for a while now. She vividly remembered the feels she’d had within the dream, how absolutely certain she had been that she had already caused Dawn’s death. Her younger self would have probably taken this dream as reinforcement that death was indeed her terrible gift to others. But now, in light of Spike’s confession, she understood only too well how all-consuming guilt could be when faced with so much loss. And hopefully, now she also understood how to help him.

“You’d have made a hell of a slayer if you’d have been a girl.” She said as she watched him dream, mentally cataloging every movement of his face. “Then again, I can’t imagine not having you as a vampire fighting at my side,” She said, as her fingers absently combed through his unruly hair, and leaned her head back to rest on the end of the bed. “Now we just have to get you back to being the man I know you can be.”

But first, just a little more sleep.


Chapter End Notes:
Dream sequence from "The Weight of the World"

BTW - your patience will soon be rewarded.



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