Spike blinked. "Huh? What are you on about, Mo'?"
"Buffy's like this close to leaving you, Spike," Mona replied, holding up the hand that wasn't on her hip and gesturing with her thumb and pointer finger barely apart from each other.
Spike paled. "What? Did…did she tell you this?"
Mona shook her head. "She didn't have to. It's obvious, Spike. She was here earlier, listened to that new song of yours—and it did not sit well with her. She was upset, so I took her home, and when I tried to talk to her it was pretty damn clear where her mind was. I have no clue what the hell is going on with the two of you, but if you want to keep that girl, Spike—and if you have any brain left in that bleached head of yours at all, you do—you better fix things now."
Fear gripped Spike's entire body. He knew things had been deteriorating between them, but he hadn't really allowed himself to think Buffy would actually leave him. "Tell the band I had to go?" Spike asked.
"Well, duh," Mona replied, rolling her eyes. "Get out of here before I drag you out."
"Thank you," Spike said, clasping her shoulder before he ran out of the studio and to his car, hoping that with any luck at all, he could fix all of this before it was too late.
The apartment was dark when Spike got home, and he called out to Buffy, trying not to give in to the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that said she could already be gone.
Buffy wasn't gone, however, and she stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight coming through the window illuminating her. Spike breathed a sigh of relief until he realized she was crying. "Kitten…" he said, reaching his hand out towards her, though stopping short of actually touching her. "Mona said you were at the studio today."
Buffy nodded. "I was."
"Pet, what's going…"
Before Spike could finish his question, Buffy was kissing him, and he moaned, giving into the feel of her body for the first time in what felt like so long. He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips, and her grip on his arms was desperately tight.
"Touch me, Spike," Buffy whispered against his mouth. "I need to feel you."
The need he'd been feeling for her for weeks now burst inside of him, and Spike picked Buffy up, navigating the way to the bedroom from memory as he leaned in to kiss her again. After laying her out on the bed, he stopped only long enough to remove his boots before he joined her, kissing her with an intense desire to let her know how much he loved her, needed her.
Buffy tore at his clothes, and Spike followed suit, the desperate nature of their longing ensuring that this was not going to be a leisurely coupling. As soon as they were touching skin to skin, Buffy's hand was between their bodies, gripping Spike's straining erection and guiding him inside of her tight heat.
Spike gasped and gritted his teeth, the time since the last time he'd been with her making the feeling of sliding inside of Buffy even more intense than usual. However, his own pleasure diminished as he noticed Buffy was still crying. "Luv, what's wrong?" Spike asked her, concern etched on his features and heavy in his voice. "What is this?"
Buffy shook her head. "Just make love to me, Spike. Please…"
She pitched her hips upwards, forcing him deeper into her body, and Spike couldn't hold back, the pleasure of her surrounding him too intense. Buffy moaned and gasped as he thrust in and out of her, wrapping her legs around his waist as she gripped his shoulders.
Spike leaned down, pressing soft kisses against her neck and jaw as he whispered against her ear. "I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much…"
When they came, it was together, and Spike called her name, pushing all the way inside of her and holding as Buffy trembled around him.
He rolled over, catching his breath for a moment before he looked at her, and frowned when he saw she still had tears streaming down her cheeks. "Buffy, what's…" Spike stopped as it suddenly became clear to him what was going on. "You're breaking up with me. That…that was a one last time."
Buffy's only response was a choked sob, and Spike knew he was right. He sat up, running his hand through his hair as he tried to process that this was really happening. "Sweetheart, I know things have been rough, but we can make them better. I promise, Buffy. I'll….I'll stop drinking. Completely—nothing at all. I'll do anything you want, just please, don't leave me. Please, kitten… I love you."
"I love you, too," Buffy whispered.
"Then why?" Spike asked. "We can fix it. Whatever it is, sweetheart, we can fix it."
"No, we can't," Buffy replied as she sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. "We can't fix it, Spike."
"What is it, Buffy? What is it that we can't fix?"
I'm your stepsister, and the fallout from that can kill your one chance at a real music career… "I don't want to be with you anymore," Buffy told him, the words making her feel a physical pain deep inside of her chest. "It's over, Spike."
She slipped his mother's ring off of her finger and dropped it into the palm of his hand.
A flash of pain went across Spike's face before his defenses kicked in and the pain changed to anger, his fist tightening around the ring. "Fine. If that's how you want this to be, then I'm gone."
Buffy looked at him, her eyes wide and full of tears. "I'm sorry."
"Save it," Spike snapped as he got out of the bed and put his clothes back on. "You want to end this, so it's over. Have a nice life."
The pain inside of her grew, and Buffy could hardly believe this was actually happening. She wanted to wake up, wanted to find that everything was a dream, and she was really back home in New York, sleeping in Spike's arms.
But it wasn't a dream. She was really watching Spike walk away from her forever. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Spike didn't reply, only stormed out of the apartment, slamming the front door hard behind him.
Buffy threw herself back on the bed and sobbed.
Buffy went to Sunnydale the next day, needing to get out for a while of the apartment that was so filled with reminders of Spike. She could tell her family had an idea something was going on with her, but none of them asker her any questions, and for that, she was grateful. She only cried at night, when she was alone and behind closed doors. Her heart hadn't been broken like this in so long…
Yet, when she came back to Los Angeles, it broke a little more. All of Spike's things were gone from the apartment, a glaring reminder of what she'd done. When she opened the closet and saw it completely devoid of any of his clothes, she collapsed to the ground, sobbing hysterically.
Spike was gone…
She knew she could find him easily enough. Odds were he was staying with either Oz or Mona and Rory, and even if he wasn't, they'd know where to find him. But she couldn't do that, no matter how loudly her heart screamed at her to bring him home. She'd done this not for herself, but for him, even if he didn't know it. He'd have no shortage of women throwing themselves at him now, and he'd get over her, find someone who wouldn't ruin his career just with her existence.
This was for the best, Buffy told herself as she squared her shoulders and pushed back the tears. Maybe someday she could explain it all to Spike, and he'd be able to understand why she'd had to do this. His life would be better without her in it, and in the long run, once he got over the pain, he'd realize it, too.
And Buffy hoped that someday she could remember how to live without him.