She was half-tempted now to stay in Sunnydale a little longer so she wouldn't have to face Spike just yet, and Buffy didn't miss the irony there when the situation was compared to that of last Christmas. Still, despite how nervous it made her to think about having a serious relationship discussion with Spike, she knew she needed to stop putting it off. She wasn't clueless enough to think running off with only a note to tell Spike where she'd been—and then keeping her cell phone off all weekend—had been a very mature move. It hadn't been. Spike was probably upset about it, and she wouldn't blame him at all if he was. She'd be upset, if the situation were reversed.
Yet she'd had her reasons. Buffy had been so hurt by his behavior over the past couple of days she'd been worried about how she'd react if she tried to talk to him about it with everything fresh. She didn't really want to fight with him. They'd had enough screaming matches in their relationship for Buffy to know they never actually accomplished anything. What she'd wanted to do instead was retreat for a bit, lick her wounds, and then face Spike when she could have something other than a purely emotional reaction.
Buffy needed to go back now. She knew it, even as much as she dreaded it—and hated that she dreaded it, too. All she could do now was hope for her worries to turn out to be for nothing. Maybe Spike was just having a bad couple of days, and he'd already be back to his normal self by the time she got home. She was probably just worrying too much when she thought his drinking might be getting out of hand, and it wouldn't continue to cause problems for them.
She'd go home tomorrow, they'd talk, and everything would be fine, Buffy decided with grim determination. She loved Spike too much for it to go any other way.
It was late in the day Monday when Buffy got home, and Spike was already back from the studio. He was sitting quietly in the living room, the room lit only by the side table lamp, waiting for her. Buffy wondered how long he'd been there.
Spike stood when she came into the room, their eyes locking. Buffy watched him for a moment, the look on his face making her lip tremble until she dropped her bags and held her arms out to him. He wasted no time moving into them, and Spike held her tightly, each one silently clinging to the other for long moments.
Buffy wished this could be it. She wanted to forget everything now, to just be with Spike, but she knew in the long run, that would make things worse. Finally, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. "We need to talk."
A lump formed in Spike's throat at the sound of four words that could strike fear into the heart of anyone in love. "You're…you're still not dumping me, right?" he asked, his voice sounding pathetic to his own ears.
"I'm not dumping you, Spike," Buffy confirmed. "Let's sit down, okay?"
Spike nodded and walked with her back to the couch. They couldn't seem to look at each other as they sat down, and Spike hated the physical distance between them. He was so used to the way she'd automatically curl up against his side.
Buffy took a deep breath, fighting to be strong and do what needed to be done. She looked up and met his eyes. "I'm going to say something here, and I don't want you to freak out on me, all right? It's just something I need to make very clear."
"Yeah, all right," Spike agreed, dread taking residence once again in the pit of his stomach.
"I've lived with an alcoholic before, Spike—for most of my life, as a matter of fact. It's not something I'm going to do again."
Spike's eyes widened. "Buffy, I'm not… I swear to you, I'm not going to make you go through something like that. I know I drank too much last week, and I'm sorry. I was just stressed, and I let it get the better of me, but Buffy, I'm not an alcoholic. You mean more to me than drinking, luv. I'd never hurt you like that, I promise."
"Keep that promise, okay, Spike?" Buffy asked softly.
"I will," Spike replied, his tone strong with determination. "I will."
A few silent moments passed between them, and when the tension became too much for him, Spike asked, "Can we be okay now, Buffy? Please? I'm so sorry, sweetheart…"
"Yeah, we can be okay," Buffy said, taking his hand in hers. She watched Spike's face as relief washed over it.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, too."
They ordered Chinese food for dinner, but ate with an awkward silence between them. The silence followed them into the living room afterwards, and they turned on the television to fill it. Air filled the empty space between them, their bodies taking up opposite sides of the couch.
Buffy was confused. She and Spike had made up—hadn't they? Shouldn't everything simply go back to normal now? She'd forgiven him for what had happened on Wednesday and Thursday, and he didn't seem to be angry with her for taking off Friday—or if he was, he hadn't told her so. They'd talked about what happened, and Spike had promised he wouldn't let his drinking keep getting out of hand.
So why didn't things feel any better? Why was she up against the arm of the couch instead of snuggled against Spike? And why did things still hurt after the apologies had been made? Tired from travel and the continued strain on her emotions, Buffy stood and announced she was going to bed. Spike looked up and told her goodnight, but he didn't move to kiss her, and Buffy didn't feel much of a pull to fix it.
Buffy left the living room and got ready for bed quickly before slipping in under the sheets. She could admit to herself that Spike not joining her in the bed hurt, but at the same time, Buffy was slightly grateful. She didn't particularly feel in the mood to be intimate with Spike right then anyway.
That particular realization made her worry a little more. They'd never had a fight like this before. Usually, it would be a quick explosion, all raised tempers and raised voices on both sides. Then, there'd always be make-up sex, the last bits of their anger changing into heated passion.
Things hadn't been like that at all this time, and Buffy didn't understand why it was so different. This wasn't even necessarily a new fight. They'd fought over both Spike's jealousy and his drinking before. Why weren't the problems going away this time as easily as they usually did?
It was quite a while before Spike made his way into the bedroom, but Buffy hadn't yet fallen asleep. He didn't say anything to her, and Buffy was acutely aware of how he stayed on his side of the bed, the physical distance that had been between them on the couch there in the bed as well.
Buffy had told Spike that evening when she'd first gotten home they could "be okay now," but she was quickly realizing they were anything but okay. She lay on her side, facing the wall, the space between their bodies almost like a physical presence, as she tried to figure out why exactly it wasn't. She couldn't come up with an answer.
Finally, she stopped trying and let her exhaustion pull her into sleep.
Buffy woke with Spike's alarm. She listened to the sounds of him getting ready to leave, yet she stayed curled up under the covers, not feeling in any sort of mood to be getting out of bed.
Spike shuffled around the bedroom, getting dressed, but said nothing until he was finished. He came over and sat on the edge bed then, the closest he'd been to Buffy since earlier the previous evening. "Kitten?"
Buffy opened her eyes and looked at him, responding with a sleepy, "Hmm?"
"I'm going into the studio. I'll be back tonight—you'll be home won't you?"
"Yeah. Where else would I be?"
"For all I know, you could be back in Sunnydale by then," Spike replied, his tone harsher than he'd really intended it to be.
Buffy bristled. So he was upset about that… "Spike, I just needed…"
"I know," Spike said, cutting her off. "I don't want to fight with you about it, Buffy."
"Then why did you even bring it up?" Buffy asked as she sat forward. "We made up last night…"
"Yeah, we did," Spike replied, his tone clipped. "That's why we were sleeping on opposite sides of the sodding bed."
"So you were what, keeping your distance from me because you were mad at me for leaving and didn't want to say anything?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Spike rose to his feet. "I don't know, okay? All I know is we said the words last night and called the fight over, but it sure as hell didn't feel like it. And I know I didn't treat you right the other night, and that I shouldn't have stayed out all night the next, but bloody hell, Buffy, you just took off for the weekend and left me a fucking note! I tried to call you, but you either had your cell phone off or you weren't returning my messages."
"You could've called the house," Buffy protested. "It's not like you didn't know where I was."
"Would you have talked to me then? Answer me honestly." Buffy looked down, avoiding his gaze, and it was all the response Spike needed. "That's what I thought," he said as he turned and started out of the room.
Buffy jumped up, stopping him with her hand around his arm. "Spike, why are you doing this? You said last night you wanted everything to be okay."
"Wanting something doesn't automatically make it happen," Spike replied, shaking her hand off. "I thought about things last night, after you went to bed. It was right obvious that nothing had been resolved between us, and I realized something. Every time we have a fight, I'm the one who has to take all the blame. I'm always the one who has to be sorry—never you."
Buffy's jaw dropped. "What? Where is this coming from? That's not even true! Besides, you were the one who messed up here, Spike—not me."
"No? I'll admit that yeah, it pretty much started out that way. I know I hurt you when you got back and the next night, too, but you're way of handling it—runnin' off like that—not the best way to deal with things."
"I wasn't running off! I went to see my mother!"
Spike shook his head. "Don't lie to me—not about this. Sure you wanted to see your mum. I get that. But you took the opportunity to run off and get away from me for a bit. You know you did."
Buffy's back stiffened. "Fine. I wanted some time to think. But there's nothing wrong with that!"
"There is in the way you did it!" Spike yelled. "You could've at least had the decency to tell me in person—or hell, a phone call. Do you have any idea how it felt to come home to nothing but a sodding note? And you knew what seeing it would do to me, too, or you wouldn't have had to assure me you weren't leaving me in the damn thing." Spike paused for a moment, shaking his head before he started again. "You ran off for the whole bloody weekend, kept your phone off so you wouldn't even have to talk to me, and you don't even care what that did to me. I hurt you, too, I know, but at least I felt bad about it."
"What?! Of course I feel bad for hurting you, Spike! God, how can you even accuse me of anything else?"
"Because that's how it always is! It's always about you, Buffy, it's never…" Spike stopped, shaking his head. "I have to go."
"Spike…wait, don't go," Buffy pleaded.
"I need to. I'm already running late."
He turned and left the room before she could stop him again, and Buffy shook with the slamming of the front door.
She sat down on the edge of the bed feeling even more confused than she had the night before.
I'm going to ask that all reviews pertain to the subject matter of the fic and nothing else. Please. I appreciate the support I got, and I'm grateful for so many wonderful readers, but let's just put all of that mess from Tuesday and Wednesday behind us now and stick with the story. I'm really not sure I can take another round of that drama.