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Slow Goodbyes, Silent Hellos

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First

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It was dark in her room when he entered it. She seemed to not mind where she sat curled up on her bed. Her arms wrapped around her legs as though she wanted to protect herself, to shut out the memory of a battle that had almost caused her the loss of her sister. As though she wanted to unhinge her entire body from the pain it was in; pain caused by the slashes covering her arms and her shoulder blades where the First had cut her with a blade long and thin, sharp as the tooth of a Great White.

He approached her slowly. She didn’t show in any way that she was aware of him. She simply stared at a spot before her and seemed to want to stop breathing, if it would make all of the past week’s trials and tribulations just disappear.

He wondered what her mind was processing at that very moment. Wanted to rip apart the quiet and transform it into lace of sound through which he could watch her without fear of being harmed by the beauty she possessed. Still he chose to pull up a chair and carefully sit down beside the bed, his eyes resting on her as a part of him weighed the silence and found it had its true worth. Undisturbed she looked peaceful. Finally she looked at peace.

Her eyes were not simply fastened on one point, they weren’t dead. They showed a wide range of emotion pulsating in them and he knew that she was valuing the tranquility as well. He understood that this was what she needed right now. Moment upon moment of non-shattered stillness to make up for the long hours of screams and cries and blood and fear.

She was the Slayer, but she was also human. Her human side needed time to mend.

And that was what he was there to give her. To give both of them.

Licking his wounds before her did nothing for them, they refused to heal. He was almost certain that she knew this, and so he thought she would understand. She had to understand. For once at least try to understand him, to see his viewpoint.

Buffy felt the slow progression of getting the shock out of her system work throughout her. It was an intense feeling, but one that was impossible to disregard.

She had thought that this time she really would lose Dawn. And she had come so close to losing three of the people closest to her in the process – Willow, Xander and Giles. What would she have done if she had? They were her whole family, where would she have gone? Would she have kept the slaying up all by herself? The mere idea was, thankfully, too far away from her to even reach and she brushed it aside. They were alive.

She owed this vampire, who was right now seated next to her bed, so much it was maddening to think of it. She would never, not ever, be able to repay him for what he had done for her.

He had been the stronger one, and she was the first to admit that.

She wanted to tell him this, she wanted him to know how grateful she was to him – but she couldn’t find the words and so she stayed quiet. She didn’t want to say anything wrong; she didn’t want him to misinterpret her words. It had to sound precisely as much as she felt right in this very moment, or it wouldn’t sound at all.

She could feel his eyes upon her.

Why was he always looking at her like that?

“When did you know that you loved Angel?” he suddenly asked and she turned her head to him, questioning expression in her eyes. “That first real knowing of it, when was it?” he kind of elaborated and she rested her chin against one knee as she observed him thoughtfully.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I guess I knew it a long time before I said it... I guess I was in love with him by our first kiss,” she added and Spike smiled a little.

“What about Riley?” he asked now and she frowned slightly.

“Where are you going with this?” she wondered and he shook his head slowly.

“I’ll get to that. Just answer first,” he replied, voice low and the look in his eyes was so patient it almost scared her.

“When I first knew I loved him?” she asked and Spike nodded. “Well... I don’t know exactly... I guess it was just this gut feeling after a month or two... I think. I really don’t remember exactly. I just knew I was falling in love with him and then there I was: in love with him,” she added and Spike smiled that small smile again as he leaned forward in the chair.

“You never loved me,” he now said silently and she stared at him. “I know you never did.”

She raised her head and unwrapped her arms to stretch her legs out; resting her hands on her lap she then looked him straight in the eye and replied:

“No. I never did love you.”

Spike ignored the throb of hurt, which was easy now; it had been there for so long.

“I know Angel messed you up by leaving,” he stated. “And then Riley left. Hell, even Giles left you... And I didn’t want to leave you, Buffy. I didn’t want to cause you that sort of pain. I didn’t even know if I’d survive it myself. I’ve never needed anyone or anything as much as I need you...”

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at him before she moved and scooted to the edge of the bed to better face him.

He looked back at her, eyes growing hesitant and then decisive as the blue in them shifted with each new emotion. She frowned, wondering what it was that he was trying to tell her.

“I wanted to leave a few months ago... You told me you weren’t ready,” he now said and she swallowed.

He couldn’t be telling her that. Not that.

“I don’t...” she began, but he shook his head.

It was his turn to speak now and she grew quiet.

“Thing is – we’re never bloody ready for anyone to walk out of our lives, Buffy. But sometimes we have to realize that it’s the only thing they can do.” He looked so sad. Why was he saying this? “And this time I realized something. All of those others – you loved. Me?” he paused, tilting his head a little to one side as he rested his eyes in hers for a few short moments, then he finished: “You never loved me, Slayer. I can’t ever hurt you the way they did. Especially not by doing something you know is best. For the both of us.”

She merely eyed him in growing disbelief. He couldn’t be saying that he was leaving.

“You never will love me. And it’s purgatory being close to you without...” he trailed off, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again to rest them in hers. “Perhaps I deserve it,” he mumbled. “But I don’t have to take it.”

She looked like she had only heard half of what he had just said, and as though the other half was softly running through her mind.

“I can’t stay,” he said now. “I think you know that. And you know why. Think of Angel. How it was between you when he came back from hell... You tried to stay away from each other, but you couldn’t. That’s how I feel about you. Only it’s not mutual. I have to go. I bloody have to.”

He rose to his feet and her eyes followed him as she tilted her head back.

“Spike...” she mumbled and he met her gaze.

“It’s ripping me in half,” he stated. “And I just can’t take it anymore. The dream of you must be sweeter, Slayer. The reality is too much.”

“Spike,” she tried again and he drew a small breath.

“Please, Buffy. Please, let me go,” he said, eyes suddenly glittering with tears and she blinked at the sight of them.

She felt her throat dry up, but she knew he was right.

She couldn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Finally she looked down on her hands and slowly mumbled:

“Goodbye.”

She thought she could feel the brush of his lips against her cheek; but when she looked up, the room was empty and she was alone.

And as loudly as he had crashed into her life, he left it just as quietly.

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Second

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Of all the places she avoided after he had left Sunnydale, the Bronze had to be the one place which really had her friends annoyed with her. She couldn’t bring herself to go there. She could see him standing by the stage, leaning against the bar, sitting in one of the chairs. He was everywhere, imbedded in the notes of the loud music and swirling around with the cigarette smoke.

She hadn’t cried when he left. She had actually been numb for three weeks. She didn’t feel anything anymore. It reminded her of when she was brought back from the grave, and how she had felt as though a part of her was missing. She always managed to get her mind away from that fact though.

Lingering reminiscence of the shock their final battle with the First had put in her; that was all it was – the numbness.

The bleached, master pain-in-her-ass was finally gone. She never had to think about him ever again.

But...

Everywhere she looked was some sort of testimony to his stay in the town. Everywhere was some sort of memory; some good enough to not frown over, others too bad to want to hold on to. But their origin didn’t matter in the big picture – because the big picture was what all of them combined made out and that picture was him.

Not evil, not souled – just him. And all that he had been to her. Enemy, fellow warrior, confidant, support, lover, savior.

She was in her bed, snuggled under her covers, and she closed her eyes at the thoughts moving through her head like syrup. She couldn’t get the stickiness off of them, they refused to leave her be.

They would.

Someday they would leave her alone.

She had never thought she would get over Angel, but she had.

When Riley went away she had wanted to never look at another man until he returned to her and she could tell him how she felt about him, but that had worn off.

This empty feeling around her heart would dispurse. Like a candle blown out, the smoke of it would rise through her and set her free. Once it lifted she would be rid of him, of Spike.

The loneliness coursed through her painfully.

Where was she going? What was up ahead?

She hadn’t even the faintest clue, but she knew she could face it alone. She had faced the Master, and the Mayor, and thousand of nasties inbetween, without him. She could surely face the future without him, too?

Biting her lower lip she winced as her teeth broke through flesh and the coppery taste of blood gently slid over her tongue.

But she wouldn’t cry. She had never loved him; she had never felt anything at all for him – only about him.

She wouldn’t cry.

***

It was close to two months since he left, and it was night time, when he returned.

The roar of the motorcykle woke the Slayer, but her mind was too fogged with sleep and she simply rolled over on her side and tried to drift off again. Then the doorbell rang and she grumbled with irritation.

However, someone else had already opened it and Dawn’s arms wrapped around the vampire’s neck tightly as she whispered:

“I’m so happy I got a hold of you.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hugging her back before they let each other go, worry was in his voice as he added: “Your letter... It said I had to come straight away.”

Dawn nodded slowly.

“She’s barely eating... She acts like she’s fine, but she can’t fool me,” she replied, voice lowered as she glanced up the stairs in the hall as though she was afraid her sister would hear her. “Something went bad when you left, Spike. I just had to get you back here before she...”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head a little, and Dawn trailed off.

“Niblet, I can’t do that. I can’t see her again,” he mumbled, his eyes showing such deep sorrow that the younger clenched her jaws together at the sight of it.

“How are you holding up?” she asked and he smiled bitterly. “Why are you doing this?”

“I have to go,” he grumbled, turning.

“But you just got here!” Dawn stopped him, grabbing his hand.

“I can’t bloody well stand in the hallway ‘til your sis comes down and asks what the racket’s all about, now can I?” he replied, almost hissing, and Dawn let his hand go.

“You’re not doing well, I see,” she muttered.

He looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to snap. I just never thought I’d ever be standing here ever again. Or see you. Or her. I can’t bloody do this! You have to understand, I’m not what she needs, Bit. She’ll get stronger, she always does. Seeing me won’t change anything. It’ll just ruin what I’ve been able to...”

“So she hasn’t been in your head for the past two months?” Dawn interrupted softly and his eyes grew slightly, then defeat filled them and he looked away from her. “You haven’t missed her? It’s that easy for you to just walk out of here? Again?

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, annoyed at the subsiding conviction that not seeing Buffy was the only right option.

He would have given his right hand to be able to just look at her. Spend one minute in her presence and rest his eyes on her. He knew it would calm him. The past two months had been hell on earth, and now, to leave without even seeing her.

Dawn observed him patiently.

She knew he had to make the decision ultimately for himself, but perhaps the adding of Buffy’s well-being into the equation would make the decision come more easily. They had to see each other. It seemed everything had just been broken since he walked – or rather rode – out of their lives. Buffy had to tell him that.

Spike hesitated. This was so stupid. Why had he come back at all? Of course, he knew why. He would have walked through fire for Buffy, if she’d only asked him. But she had told him goodbye and he had listened. With Dawn’s letter he had felt a sliver of hope cut through the longing within him and he hadn’t been able to ignore it.

Everything he cared about in this world resided within the four walls of this house, and being parted from them made him feel lost and rootless. He knew the Slayer’s home was nowhere near to be called his, but she had still accepted him into it and now it was all he knew.

“Dawn, who’s...?” Buffy’s voice sounded as she began to walk down the stairs, but her sentence was cut in the middle as she raised her head at the same time as the vampire did, and she stopped short.

The shock was building in her eyes as they slowly grew wide and her hand reached out to grab the railing tightly. Her heart was beating up her body with its harsh pounding and she felt the blood rush through her veins as she stared at him. Him. He was there.

“Spike?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Hello,” he replied silently, his eyes not interpretable as he looked up at her, and then she could see it: the warmth burning around the irises, and she recognized it.

He’d come back.

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Third

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Buffy thought she was about to snap the railing like a twig between her fingers as she struggled to keep herself on both feet. The shock was pulling back and with it came a weakness she had never experienced before. Resting her eyes in his was as bittersweet as any moment could be; only this moment stretched out into a minute and there was nothing the Slayer could do to stop it from expanding.

She was lost and the subtle confusion poured into her like fine threads of blue silk, stemming from his gaze, and the thousand emotions she saw it reflect.

Dawn looked from her sister to the vampire and then back again. The air was positively quivering with unspoken words, with questions and with the searching for answers. Couldn’t one of them please put an end to it?

Spike felt his whole spirit come alive and thank him for giving it what it needed...

At the thought, however, he drew a small breath and knew he couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous. He’d be trapped for good this time. In her.

She was still staring at him, and she could see the slow change in his posture. She could see that he was getting ready to once more just disappear and a wave of panic rose through her with a speed that almost made her knees buckle.

“W-When did you come back?” she asked in order to stop him, voice wavering as she was still fighting back the rumble of emotions inside of her.

“A minute ago,” he replied. “I have to...” he added, making a small wave toward the door as he started the sentence, which she cut off by asking:

“Why did you come here?” and taking one step down, her hand sliding down the railing to then grip it just as tightly again.

She was scared. Scared of him and of herself and of what surrounded them right then and there, and perhaps the fear would lift once he was out of sight, but she wouldn’t allow him to leave with nothing but that simple wave as an explanation. He couldn’t possibly expect her to. Not when he had returned for something else. She wanted to know what.

Spike hesitated, meeting her gaze and seeing only a trace of wondering annoyance in them, though the overlapping questions seemed to push most of the emotion aside, and he still didn’t know how to answer her.

“That was me,” Dawn did it for him and Buffy furrowed her brow questioningly as she turned her head to her sister. “I wrote him,” the younger added.

“You wrote him?” Buffy repeated, disbelievingly. “How did you even find him?”

Dawn smiled a small smile.

“Well...Willow helped with that,” she replied.

“Oh,” Buffy said, blinking and moving her gaze from Dawn’s. Feeling too insecure to let it rest in his again, she let it stop on a spot at the last step of the stairs. “So why did you write him?” she finally asked, raising her head to look at Dawn once more.

“She was worried,” Spike was the one to answer her this time, and Buffy slowly looked at him. “About you,” he added.

“Why?” she wondered quietly.

“Because I can see when you’re ill,” Dawn stated, though Buffy kept her eyes in the vampire’s as the teen continued: “’Cause it started when he left. I thought if you could just see him, then...”

“’Then’ what?” Buffy interrupted, her gaze suddenly growing close to challenging as she held Spike’s, taking a step down she finished: “He’d fix me? Did you really think you could come here and just make everything...?” she trailed off, her eyes suddenly shifting into an expression of pain before she took the last step and let the railing go.

“I knew something was wrong,” he replied carefully. “But I didn’t know... didn’t know...” he trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I shouldn’t have come. Should I?”

She swallowed, biting her jaws together as she arranged her face into a mask of disengagement, replying:

“You’re asking me? It’s not like I could’ve stopped you from turning up.” He could hear the building accusations clearly and he prepared himself to take whatever she had to throw at him. She continued, voice growing just a bit louder: “You just come and go as you please. That’s what you’ve always done, isn’t it? It’s not like I’m surprised or anything. It’s not like I was expecting you to stay away this time. I knew you’d come back! It’s your pattern. It’s your thing!”

She didn’t know what this ball of ache was doing in her chest, but it was evident now. She recognized it. It had been there for a while, but what it was doing proclaiming itself a part of this conversation was a question mark. However, it seemed to be at the beginning of untwining itself, and the ache merely heightened with every passing moment.

“Buffy,” Dawn tried and now Buffy turned her head to her sister with an impatient scowl.

“Stay out of this,” she warned. “You’ve done enough.”

Dawn stared at her; then looked at Spike before heading for the stairs, ascending them quickly.

“That was uncalled for, Slayer,” Spike grumbled and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded, her face now cut in stone and her eyes cold.

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes, I want you to leave,” she spat and he cocked an eyebrow before nodding.

“You’re right,” he said as he placed his hand on the knob. “I’ve been repeating this pattern for way too long. Time to break it.”

Something inside of him was professing its grief as he came to the realization that he was resting his eyes on her for the very last time.

She blinked, for a moment looking as though she was about to say something more, but then she merely gave a small nod, unfolding her arms and turning around. Taking three steps up the stairs the sound of the knob turning and the door sliding open made her pause. Her heart slowed beneath her breast and she suddenly had to fight for breath.

She swirled around and the room began to twirl.

Spike looked back at her just as she lost her balance and he moved the next second, catching her before she fell and prompting her up against him as her hands rested on his shoulders. She looked up at him with an expression he almost would have wanted to label pleading, her eyes glazed, and then her head bopped forward against his chest as she fainted.

He lifted her cautiously and carried her with him into the living room where he bent down to place her on the couch, but her hands had slid up and locked together behind his neck as he had secured his hold on her, and now they wouldn’t let him go. He tried to loosen them, but finally gave up and simply lifted her again, turning around to sit down, taking her onto his lap as he still held her.

Her head fell against his shoulder. He brought the hand not supporting her back up to brush her hair gently away from her face, but caught himself and shook his head a little as he moved the hand away. He had no right.

Buffy slowly swam up through the darkness and the first thing she felt was the leather of his duster beneath her cheek. Then the fact that the short, bleached strands of his hair at the nape of his neck scraped against her index fingers. She curled herself up and unlocked her fingers to slide her arms around his neck instead. Nestling her face against his throat she inhaled.

Spike blinked, then carefully held her to him.

“Buffy,” he mumbled. “You okay?”

She had no real idea as to why the feeling suddenly overwhelmed her at that particular moment, but as the soothing sound of his voice hit her ears with all its concern and honest caring an uncontrollable sob rose out of her throat. Tears filled her eyes with no second thought.

She pressed herself to him as she began to cry and her body was shaking as she cried hard, holding him tight. He didn’t know what to do, or how to comfort her. At a complete loss he simply held her back, stroking one hand over her back and then up to her neck to bury it in her blonde locks.

For a long time they just sat like that, the sobs kept on sending trembles through her body and he closed his eyes, wishing she would tell him what was wrong.

She slowly began to grow calmer, and after a few more minutes she was merely sniffling, drawing an unsteady breath before pulling back to look up at him. He couldn’t help but move one hand up to brush carefully at her tears, sliding his thumb over first her left cheek and then her right before he smiled barely noticeably, moving the hand back to support her frame and placing it by the small of her back.

“You all right?” he asked again, voice low and soft and she blinked at a few lingering droplets before she nodded slowly.

Her right arm was wrapped around his shoulders and her left hand was by her right, resting by the side of his throat. Her fingers fidgeted slightly with the lapel of his duster and they kept sending small, pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Their noses were almost touching and their eyes unable to release the other’s.

“You sure?” he wondered and she nodded once more. “Do you wanna tell me what that was all about?” he inquired now and she shook her head a little as response, her eyes growing slightly wider.

Then her face suddenly softened and she wrapped her arms around him again before resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Please, don’t ask,” she murmured. “Just sit here with me for a little while longer.”

How could he question that? All he wanted was to just sit there with her for a little while longer, and as silence spun its web around them he closed his eyes again.

If only I didn’t have to go, he thought mournfully to himself, holding her closer. But no matter how incredible this feeling is, nothing’s changed. Nothing’s changed at all.

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Fourth

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After that little while had passed he moved his arms and slowly got her to slide to sit by his side instead. She raised her head and looked at him questioningly as he reached up his hands and unlocked her arms from around his neck. A look of sudden protest flashed in her eyes and she was about to voice it when he said:

“I’ll be right back.”

Holding her gaze he made sure that she trusted that statement, and as she seemed to relax he got to his feet and walked into the kitchen. Heating up some water he got out a bag of soup-mix and when the water was boiling he poured it into a mug before adding the latter. Retrieving a spoon he stirred it as he re-entered the living room.

He had no idea what game she was playing now, or if even she did, but she looked too fragile to argue with and he felt worried. If she hadn’t been eating...

“Here,” he said, stopping by her and reaching down to hand her the steaming food.

She looked up at him, then shook her head a little.

“Thanks, but...” she replied.

However, the look in his eyes told her that there was no way he would accept her not accepting his offering and so she sighed, taking the mug and settling back against the cushions as he took a seat beside her. To oblige his expectant eyeing of her she took a small sip of the hot soup and had to admit it did taste quite this side of wonderful.

“Ain’t everyday a girl eats gourmet,” she murmured wryly and a small smile graced his lips, though the seriousness lingered and she wished she could somehow lighten it up just a little.

She felt better now. Taking of his strength, partaking of it, feeling it so tightly wrapped around her, had loosened the aching knot and it seemed it had ended by declaring peace within her. A butterfly was fluttering its nervousness, though, as she felt a parting was soon to be undertook once more.

He won’t leave, she thought, eyeing him as she sipped her drink.

He rested his eyes on her, letting them glide over the soft lines of her face. He knew them all by heart, of course. But he sure did love them in the flesh. Closing his eyes for a second he shook his head and then he got to his feet.

The butterfly divided into a swarm which rose through her in sheer protest and she brought the cup from her lips, feeling herself grow rigid as she looked up at him.

“Have to go, pet,” he murmured, barely able to produce the words.

“To where?” she asked, putting the mug down on the coffeetable before rising as well, facing him.

“Somewhere. Anywhere,” he answered. “I shouldn’t have come at all. I’m sorry,” he added, turning from her and walking into the hall.

She stared after him; then followed.

“You don’t have to apologize, you came ‘cause Dawn asked you to come. I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her,” Buffy said and he turned back to her, eyebrows rising.

“You know that isn’t why I’m here,” he stated.

She rested her eyes in his. He observed her for a moment, and then he turned, grabbing the knob of the front door.

“Why are you leaving?” she blurted out, taking a step toward him as he was about to walk through the door.

He glanced back at her, hesitating before he turned partially to her, letting the knob go.

“Can you offer me a good reason why I should stay?” he asked back and her eyes grew slightly.

He turned fully to face her and she took an involuntary step back as her heart began to pace faster in her chest. She knew then that she couldn’t let him go away again. Never seeing him again... She couldn’t even think it. Drawing a breath she nodded as an answer to his previous question, hoping that when she opened her mouth something persuasive would come out – because in that moment her mind seemed to lock up and all she could think was how much she needed him in her life.

“I need you,” she almost whispered, clearing her throat as she had meant to put some more weight behind those words, repeating: “I need you.”

His eyes had softened at that first admittance – but now they grew searching as he took a step forward.

“Why?” he demanded.

She bit her jaws together at the rush of nervousness fanning through her.

“Because I need your help,” she answered him, voice almost shaking as tears of held back anxiety rose in her eyes. “’Cause I need you here to help me.”

“Like before?” he asked and she nodded. “I can’t do that, you know I can’t do that,” he murmured, shaking his head a little.

“Sure you can,” she disagreed as he once more turned to the door, halting at the growing distress in her voice; looking back at her. “You always could. You always did.”

He blinked, looking into her tearstinged eyes, his heart burning with her.

“We can’t go back,” he replied slowly, closing the door and turning back to her.

Noticing the light of hope suddenly burning in her eyes at his gesture, he bit back that very emotion inside of himself. He had to keep a cool head.

“I couldn’t be around you ‘cause seeing you began to be only painful,” he continued, needing her to realize why he had to go again. “Being away from you hurts, but it’s numbing, and not cutting me up from inside. I live around you, Slayer. I live through you. Without you there’s no life – just a big, empty...” he trailed off, feeling as though he was drifting outside what he wanted to convey. “But seeing you is like dying over and over and over. Being in a state of constant death is better,” he finished, watching her tears trail down her cheeks for a moment before he clenched his jaws together. “Your need is misplaced,” he now said and her eyes grew wondering. “You have a whole buncha bleeding friends who can make you feel that way. They’d gladly die for you, the whole lot, on any given day.”

“But that’s not what I mean,” she shook her head, taking a step forward and standing before him.
“That’s not why I need you.”

“Then why?” he asked, mercilessly holding her gaze. “Why do you want me to stay? Thirty minutes ago you wanted me to leave. What’s changed in thirty minutes?”

Buffy reached up to wipe away her tears as she looked up at him, then sniffled before replying almost deperately:

“Nothing’s changed.” As he raised his eyebrows she corrected herself with a small shake of the head: “Everything’s changed. Dammit, I’m just so confused and I... I don’t want you to leave again. Spike, please. Do I have to have a reason for not wanting to let you go again? I just...I can’t let you,” she stated, reaching up her arms and wrapping them around his neck before stepping into him and burying her face against the side of his throat.

He put his arms around her, holding her tightly to him before shaking his head and getting her to unwrap her arms as he took a step back.

“You can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t use your bloody advantages like that, it’s so sodding unfair.”

She blinked at her tears.

“Do you still...?” she trailed off, surprised by how much she felt she had to ask him the question, and finally giving into it as she finished: “Do you still love me?”

He looked at her, taken aback and then his gaze became filled with that incredible warmth as he
answered:

“No matter how far I am from you. No matter what happens, Buffy, I will always love you. I thought, if anything, that was obious.”


She smiled, unsure of why, resting her eyes in his. Feeling a sudden rush of gratitude.

“I love you,” he said with just as much silent conviction as he had the very first time he told her. “And that’s why I have to leave you.”

“What do you want me to do?” she stopped him from moving. “Do you want me to beg? ‘Cause I will. I’ll beg you to stay here. You can’t leave,” she said, fresh tears rising. “Please, don’t leave me again.”

“Why?” he once more demanded, only this time with more force as he wouldn’t release her gaze for anything. “Why are you willing to sink this low? You never beg for anything, Slayer. Why are you bleeding doing it now?”

His hands went to her arms, grabbing them as though he wanted to shake the truth out of her once and for all. His hold was as desperate as he felt. She would give him the reason now, or so help him. She would tell him.

Her hands grasped his arms back as she blinked at the tears and she had the expression of a deer caught in the headlights of a car on her face. Her eyes were huge and shiny with the salt wetting them. She looked as though she had come to a dead end and even though she had been able to escape the head lights she still would have no refuge from the hood of the car.

“Because...because I felt it,” she answered him, voice low and he blinked, uncomprehending. “The...numbness,” she elaborated. “I felt it...”

He swallowed. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, voice as low as hers.

“It’s like it’s inside me...eating at me,” she answered slowly. “And it doesn’t matter what I do – it doesn’t stop. It didn’t. It never stopped...until I saw you standing down here. And I’m so scared, Spike. I’m so scared that if you leave again it’ll just swallow me, and I’ll be gone. And I won’t ever come back again.”

He didn’t say anything straight away, merely eyed her with another one of those prodding gazes. She held onto his arms tighter, afraid that she otherwise would fold to the floor like a moistened piece of paper.

“What can I do?” he finally asked silently. “I can’t stay here, Slayer.”

Her fingers were hurting him even through the leather of the duster as they clasped his biceps, but he hardly noticed the ache.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, releasing his grip and moving one hand to place it by her cheek, sliding his thumb over it and drying away some of the streaks her tears had created; as though they wished to make a map over the rivers of her eyes. “But I can’t stay because you’re scared.”

He pulled out of her grip, letting his arm fall along his side before he turned from her and walked up to the front door, feeling as though he was in a daze. His whole being rebelled against what he was doing and it took every last shred of his willpower not to stop himself, turn back to her and tell her alright. Tell her that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her so long as she asked him. And now she was asking him to stay. But it would eventually drive him out of his mind to see her and have her see him and still not... No, there was no way he could do that.

“Then stay,” her voice sounded gently from behind him, “because I love you.”

¤

Fifth

¤

The words had slid over her tongue as easily as anything she had ever said in her entire life. As though they had been waiting on the tip of it for that moment when it was win or lose, life or death, love or let go. The simplicity with which they had been freed into the air was what had her close to petrified. She almost wanted to reach out her hands and try to snatch them back, imprison them again and have the fright pull back deep within her, where she wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

But still, a larger part of her wanted the statement gone. That part was filling with a trembling, successive and slow, yet very obvious relief.

It had been the one thing she never would have thought she would say to him. All those times when he told her how he felt she hadn’t for one split second imagined she would ever return those emotions. She had looked at him and felt nothing. Until that day when he stood before Glory and took a round of such torture that it would’ve made anyone less of a man confess anything the hell god desired to know.

That day he had earned a small shred of trust, of gratitude, of grace from the Slayer. He had abused it, of course, as was his nature; but it had still been there. She had been able to look at him as something not as dark and dirty; still she had never admitted him as anything else. No, she knew she had not.

Her faith in the fact that he truly loved her was something she hadn’t been able to give him. She had thought it simply impossible looking back on the two split personalities of Angel and Angelus. She had learned her lesson right there. Demons could not love. End of story.

What had driven her into his arms then? What had it been that had attracted her to him? How long had she not wanted him? She had been able to fool herself for a very long time, or rather persuade herself that what she wanted wasn’t what she wanted. She knew, though, that that flicker of danger in his gaze had always had her close to sweating. Those blue eyes of his could hold such a knee-bending, overpowering expression – and she had never encountered anything like it.

Her Slayer side – the warrior, the fighter, the adventurous, the killer – that side had been drawn to him like a bee to a cube of sugar. He was everything she should definitely not crave, and the high of confessing that she did, got her to crave him all the more.

She had been out of control those months she had spent with him filling her every sense, and though she had had things to blame it on, things that would even justify her actions to her ever doubting conscience, it had still been something more. Something primeval, a need rooted so deep within her it was the darker part of her it stemmed from. To own something so untamed, to have it become part of her, to let it inside. And wouldn’t have been just any vampire, it couldn’t have been. It had to be him. Somewhere she must have always felt it. The pull to explore such traitorous territory.

And as they shared their first kiss that night outside the Bronze, she had been attacked by the undeniable truth of having wanted that kiss for far too long. Trying to brush it off hadn’t worked, no matter how she had struggled. And when he finally moved within her, when she finally got to feel his skin against hers, right then she had known that she had made her choice. And that that choice would damn them both.

She had fought against her wanting for so long, and so, when she finally let herself go, she could do nothing to stop the riptide. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to fight it. She saw her chance like a bright glitter of sun on a wave and she had let it carry her away. Had let him take her and bend her any which way he pleased as he used her obvious desire against her. She had been so weak. He had made her so incredibly weak.

And then she had slowly grown sickened with herself; as she came to understand that there was nothing different about her she had at first been confused as to why she could let him close to her at all, and then she had been appalled with the fact that she actually had wanted him, needed him to feel alive again. Yes, the only time she had felt anything had been when he was kissing her, touching her, lifting her up and up until she thought for sure she would never come down again.

And she had been using him. Abusing him the way she always stated that he did her. And she had realized she couldn’t do that anymore. And she had ended it.

And she had driven him out of his mind.

And then out of his nature as he left Sunnydale to restore his soul. For her. To change everything – for her. To sacrifice himself in spite of his existence for the past century, in spite of what he had always stood for to her – selfishness, recklessness, evil – and in spite of his knowledge of what it would do to him, what he had seen it do to his grandsire.

When he left her two months ago she had spent one day convincing herself it was for the best, a second day telling herself that what she felt wasn’t loss and a third day battling back the growing urge to pack a bag and leave Sunnydale to trail his footsteps, find him and make him come home.

After those three days had passed, the numbness crept into her and she felt as though she was suffering from insomnia: one half of her was asleep, the other in a hazy state of awareness, and she seemed to simply drift through the motions of her everyday.

But how she had missed him.

And as she had looked up earlier as she came down the stairs, and rested her eyes in his it had hit her, like a pang in her chest, how much she needed him in her life.

That was the origin of the ache, of the tread which had spun a net around her heart and now, at last, with him before her, had begun to come undone. Its twists and turns no longer needed to protect her.

And yet it hadn’t been until now. Not until this very moment that she had come to understand how much she had grown to love him. The feeling burst through the shell she had enclosed it in and she bit her lower lip hard as it gently consumed her, washing away any shred of doubt.

Oh, dear God.

A sense of some kind of happiness tweaked her heart as she was defenseless against her own emotions.

All of this ran through her mind in the matter of a few instants. She took in his back, waiting for her statement to fly across the room and make a home for themselves in his head and hopefully his heart. He had to trust her now. She wasn’t sure that he would.

***

As her words found their course through his head he closed his eyes, trying to stop the flow of memories deciding to throw a parade in flashes against his eyelids. They danced for him, teased and taunted him, as they always did.

Buffy.

She was his all. She was what stood for the good part of his life and now his souled being turned to her as a flower turns toward the rays of the sun. Which was a rather ironic analogy.

The first time he saw her had been at the Bronze. He could see her the same way she had been then whenever he pleased, because he had stored her safely into the banks of his memory. A treasure that was his to keep. No one could ever take her away from him as long as he could close his eyes and see her.

She was dancing now, with Willow and Xander in front of the stage. She was smiling. Enjoying herself. And he stared at her.

Taken.

Taken with her vitality and bursting force of life that lay as a breathtaking white shimmer around her. With the power he could sense flowing out of her and the obvious challenge that came with it. And taken with her beauty. With her sensuality and clear innocence, no matter who she was and what she stood for he could see she still carried her human innocence around her neck as a piece of jewelry, languorously it hung down her back and swayed with each new graceful move that she made.

It had come to annoy him, grow on him as it came to stand for all the reasons why he could never have her. He had tried to rip it away from her, to strip her of it and make her realize that she didn’t need it. But her death had done most of the job for him, ridding her of too much of her frailty. He wanted to wince each time he even thought of that fact. Of how her death had stood for his failure to protect the only woman he had ever loved purely and fully, and how her death had robbed him of the only real happiness he had ever known.

She was gut-wrenching, coursing pain. She was what hurt him the most. But she was also that bright star guiding him forward. And when her light was extinguished he wanted nothing more than to drown in the darkness that was her only legacy.

Then he had remembered – Dawn. The Scoobies. Sunnydale and the still at work forces of evil.

Her real legacy had been the history of her life, of her destiny, of the Slayer. And he had wanted to honor her. He had honored her. At least he had hoped that was what he was doing as he kept his promise about the niblet, and looked out for her the best he could during those three months while Buffy was gone. As well as keeping the fighting of the nasties up with the Scoobs.

Nothing would ever come close to the feeling rising within him as he watched her carefully, hesitantly come down the stairs that night. Her knuckles bloodied, her eyes so vacant and lost, so searching for any sign of why she was back. He had never wanted to protect her from the big shadows surrounding her as much as he wanted to right then and there.

When she kissed him outside the Bronze he hadn’t been foolish enough to actually believe that everything would be riding down Pleasant Street from that moment on. But the fact that she had opened herself up to him enough to admit to the attraction between them had kindled the fire of stubborn hope which had always been sizzling inside him.

And when her eyes grew as they stared at each other, her thighs against his waist and his hands supporting her as their battle in the condemned building abruptly had turned into that dance they did so well, he had known that this was it. She wasn’t going to be able to turn back now. No more excuses, no more dismissals – she had wanted him for just as long as he had told her she wanted him and now the wall separating them was crumbling between them.

How many times had he not let her trample him? Even when he said that he was through being her whipping boy that statement had tasted bold and bitter on his tongue. Once he had told her and Angel “I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m man enough to admit it.” Had he truly realized the meaning of that sentence?

Drusilla had known he loved Buffy long before he did himself. He guessed it had been what really drove them apart. Had Dru not seen it, perhaps he wouldn’t have returned to Sunnydale at all. He might still have been with her. Had he not come back for the gem of Amara he wouldn’t have seen Buffy again, and perhaps without constant run-ins with the petite blonde he wouldn’t have ever realized that he loved her.

Then again... He wondered why all his paths had suddenly seemed to lead him straight back to a place which had been the background setting to some of the heaviest ass-kickings – the ass being his – that he had ever been forced to tolerate.

Why hadn’t he been able to kill her? As much as that question had vexed him back then, it was clear to him now. Because he felt a connection. Undeniable and strong. Perhaps not right, maybe not good – but true, and in that truth invincible.

When she had broken him in more places than one, when she had told him all she had wanted him for was her own personal inflatable doll – not that she had put it in those exact terms. That had been what had made him snap. He didn’t blame her. He felt sick to his stomach even thinking about what could have happened had she not been strong enough to stop him. But in light of the course of that year, she had been part of what had driven him far over the edge and that was just simple fact.

She had also been the reason for him to want to change. To make her see. To make her believe him. Because above anything else he needed her to understand that what was rooted deep within him wasn’t a mere shadow of something as fickle as an obsession. He needed her to recognize his love for the strength that it carried and for what it did to him. For how it truly had made him into a different being.

He thought she had seen it, when he came back messed up as hell. She had treated him more softly, though she hadn’t been able to stand his touch... That memory hurt him badly.

It had changed, he supposed. With time, slowly, minute by minute.

And then he had left again... Had made himself leave her.

Could she, after everything that had happened between them, truly be standing behind him, saying words she knew he had been desperate to hear her utter for so many years, without meaning them?

¤

Sixth

¤

“Don’t,” he said, opening his eyes slowly and looking out at the night on the other side of the threshold.

The front door was standing gaping towards a freedom he knew he would never have again. In that freedom all he did was grieve. He wanted to be locked down, wanted to be right where she was. And still the allure of the fresh air reaching out its fingers to stroke them over his cheeks was wicked and real. He took a breath of it, and it strengthened him.

Buffy felt her eyes grow after he had said that single word. Oh, no.

“Spike,” she tried hoarsely and at that he turned around to face her, his gaze holding hers firmly enough for her to feel as though a steel wire was forming in the air between them.

“Don’t you bloody well dare say that to me if you don’t mean it,” he stated warningly and she swallowed, her eyes growing rounder as he approached her. “If you’re not sure of what saying it’ll mean. If you’re not ready to take the consequences of saying it. If you even for a bloody second think that you might’ve said those words just to keep me here, then you’d better tell me, Slayer. Right now.”

She shook her head.

“You won’t tell me?” he asked.

She blinked at another batch of tears, looking up at him where he had stopped right before her.

“No,” she mumbled.

He closed his eyes and she could see the rising frustration, the leashed anger, and she reached up one hand and gently touched his forehead with her fingertips, letting them slide down his cheek before she moved her hand to his neck and entangled her fingers in his short strands. Putting her other arm up, she did the same thing with her right hand and took a step closer to him.

“No,” she repeated as he lazily opened his eyes to look into hers, growing wonderment on his face as he stared at her. “I didn’t say those words just to keep you here.”

He blinked, tilting his head slowly to one side as he eyed her and she observed him back. Carefully –as if frightened any movement would splinter the reality of that moment and make him wake up – he moved his hands and placed them on her back, pushing her a little closer.

If what she said was true...

He searched her face for the answer.

She looked so vulnerable... so frightened... and so open.

Finally he could see it. What he had waited to see ever since he first told her he loved her. All defenses were down. Her eyes wide open for him to read what he willed in them. She was showing him her heart. And in doing so telling him that she trusted him enough to not break it.

So, what she had said was true...

His mind couldn’t even begin to process the fact that she... that she...

“You love me?” he asked, voice so low it was bordering on silent and she looked up at him.

His eyes. How many memories were not linked to those blue orbs? And all she could really remember now, as she cautiously let herself drown, was those thousands of times he had looked at her with love and devotion and hope and warmth.

The emotion within her was new in its aged state, moving around with the rest of the confusion and unwilling willingness and tiptoeing fear. The emotion within her was growing with every new breath she took as his love for her became the brightest spot in all their history together. What would their story have looked like if he hadn’t loved her? But he had loved her. He did love her.

And...

“Yes,” she now answered his question, feeling how her pulse was rapidly increasing.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she pulled herself even closer to him, her embrace hardening.

He felt her close, he had heard the word she had just spoken. What was this? Was she giving him the world?

Closing his eyes as well he bent his head forward slightly to rest it by the side of her face, gently breathing her scent and feeling too many things to actually feel anything. His chest was a jumble of emotions that were screaming at each other to get out of the way and still colliding with each other as they went.

The happiness was the key one, though. It spread soft wings within his chest and he wanted to cry at the soothing feel of it. The shadow of doubt crept along his ribs, however, and soon it reached his heart. Overpowering as it placed itself over the still muscle and he blinked as he opened his eyes again.

“Buffy...” he mumbled and she put her head up, tilting it back slightly to be able to rest her gaze in his.

And then she suddenly smiled. It was tentative, but as it grew the light of it chased any remaining shadows away and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“What?” she asked quietly and he shook his head, smiling as well, moving one hand up to brush it through her blonde locks.

They grew serious, just like that. Staring at each other and then he bent down, gently letting his lips meet hers and she closed her eyes.

Parting her lips for his tongue she met it with her own. The kiss was slow and deep and long. Arms wrapping around his neck, her waist. Bodies pressed against one another. Mouths locked together and time standing still. Everything else ceasing to exist except for that other. Except for hands and mouths and tongues and the sensation filling them both.

None of them had any idea for how long they stood like that, and neither one of them cared. As they, as slowly as they had started the kiss, ended it and pulled apart, they once more stared at each other.

As a child might look at that gift it had longed for, for so long, the Slayer and the Vamp looked at each other and then she smiled again.

“I think I owe Dawn one huge apology,” she murmured and he smirked.

She let her gaze slide over his forehead, down his cheek, pausing on his mouth before moving back up to meet his eyes.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” she then asked, his smile widening.

“Depends on you, love,” he answered. “You going anywhere?”

She smiled back, shaking her head.

“So you’re staying?” she asked and he laughed, pulling her close again, leaning forward and kissing her with great care, making her knees grow weak.

They moved into the living room, their embrace lingering as they sunk down on the couch, her legs moving to cross over his as she kept her arms around his neck.

“Where’d you go?” she wondered and he looked at her.

“Nowhere,” he answered. “Everywhere,” he added and she smiled a little.

“What should we do now?” she asked.

He ran one hand through the softness of her blonde tresses, feeling sudden awe at the ease with which he could, how there was no hesitation in his fingers, how he felt no need to check her face for her reaction to his touch. He knew that she wanted him close. He had seen it and now it could never go away, the knowledge of her love.

She loved him.

“We should go to bed,” he smiled and hers broadened. “It’s late.”

“Bed sounds good,” she nodded.

Tonight she’d sleep without tension fingering her spine, without breathless waking and wishing that she knew what was wrong. The answer had arrived, and the salvation of finally understanding how the night seemed less cold with him near her, would bring her the peace she had craved ever since the moment he had left.

“Bed sounds perfect,” she added, rising and reaching out a hand to him.

He looked at it, then up at her, a crooked smile placing itself on his lips before he slid one palm against hers, linking their fingers together as he got to his feet as well. She eyed him for a few seconds, then put her arms up, wrapping them around him again, kissing him softly.

“Thank you,” she said as she pulled her head back. “For coming back.”

“You were right,” he mumbled. “I always do. It’s my thing.”

She giggled, unable to stop herself, happy at the smirk it produced from him. She felt completely relaxed for the first time in such a long time, and she didn’t know who to feel most grateful to. She supposed her sister was due one big slice of the happy cake. She’d get to that in the morning. For tonight...

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand again and heading for the stairs.

“Wherever you lead, milady,” he murmured and she felt a shiver of pleasure run down her spine at the thought of having him close again, skin against skin. “Wherever you lead,” he repeated as she clicked off the light of the living room.