He really had to stop making a habit of walking around Sunnydale cemeteries at night. Right creepy, it was…though Spike supposed that this night was special, given that he’d just been to a funeral and his girl—not yours any more, mate—had actually taken a baby-step towards letting him back in.
Because she was going to let him back in. That much Spike was sure of. He was absolutely determined to make her see sense, even if it took him a million years.
Funny, it had never occurred to him that she might see sense all on her own…
Not that he blamed her. Bloody hell, if his parents’ marriage was half so bad as hers was, he’d prob’ly be running scared, too. Plus, everyone knew that even the smartest birds took great stock in their parents. Buffy wasn’t the first chit he’d met who thought that her parents were walking, talking psychic readings of what her life would be like.
But still…his fist clenched, betraying his frustration. Buggerin’ bint could’ve at least given me more than some incoherent ramblings an’ a broken heart. She hadn’t even bothered to talk to him about it, and that pissed him off.
“Stupid—bloody—bitch!” he muttered. On the last word he spun around and gave one of the larger tombstones the most violent kick he could summon. “Thinks she’s better than me, does she?” Kick. “Sodding center of the world!” Kick. “Doesn’t even bother to give a bloke an explana—“
He froze. A sound had caught his ear, so far away that he wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it. Ceasing his assault on the tombstone, he walked a bit closer towards the murmur, quickly recognizing it as a human voice.
“…guess I understand why he’s mad,” a female voice said. Spike just barely stifled an exclamation of surprise; it was Buffy. “I mean, I was freaking out in a big way when I broke up with him. But if I told him, he would so never understand. He’s all…confident and smart and stuff. I’m not.”
Spike would’ve loved to stand where he was and listen to her monologue all day long, but he knew that wasn’t fair. He began to move closer to the sound of her voice until he could see her. She was sitting on top of what he was pretty sure was a random tombstone, talking to thin air. Lucky for her I do the name thing, else ‘d think she was completely carrot-top.
“And who the heck is he, anyway, to act all wounded and sexy and stuff, when I’m hurting just as much as h—“
“Uh, Buffy?”
Buffy blinked, yelped, and almost fell off the tombstone. Spike fought not to smile as she clutched the stone and glared at him. “Geez! Eavesdrop much?”
“Only when it’s an ex-girl who dumped me for no damn good reason,” Spike said genially, sitting on a tombstone across from her. She was still wearing that hot little black number, and even though her mascara was smeared from crying, she was, as always, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “D’you do this often, pet?”
Her chin jutted out. “What if I do?”
“Then you’re more than a little buggered up,” Spike replied, still half-smiling.
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Everybody talks to themselves sometimes.”
“Well, yeah, but not everybody does it in a soddin’ cemetery,” Spike pointed out.
Buffy raised an eyebrow, a mannerism that he knew she’d gotten from him. “Look who’s talking,” she retorted.
Spike was about to reply when he realized something—she was right. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Shut y’gob,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
She laughed delightedly, clapping her hands together like a little kid. “I win!”
“So this is what this is to you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “A game? You think m’ playing for the thrill of it?”
“Huh?” Now she looked adorably befuddled—no, you wanker, not adorable! She’s not adorable, or cute, or the most amazing girl you’ve ever met in your life— Spike gave up. It was clearly a lost cause.
Realizing that she was staring at him, clearly expecting him to explain himself, he muttered, “Nothin’. Just…forget it.”
“Nuh-uh. No way,” Buffy said, hopping off her tombstone and walking over till she stood directly in front of him, staring stubbornly into his eyes. “I was talking about our argument. What were you talking about?”
“Last time I checked, Blondie, you weren’t m’ girl, which means you’ve got no bloody right to interrogate me like this. So shove off, yeah?” Spike yanked out a cigarette and put it in his mouth—
Only to have it yanked from his mouth by impertinent fingers and dropped on the ground, where Buffy’s foot ground it into the dirt.
“’ey!” He protested angrily. “Gimme!”
“It’s dirty now,” she pointed out primly. “And anyway, they’re bad for you.”
“Why the bloody hell d’you care?” Spike inquired, cursing even more than usual due to his anger.
Was it just him, or did her eyes just get a hell of a lot bigger? “Because I care about you,” she said quietly. “I was trying to get that through to you...earlier.”
“What, with the silence an’ the ignorin’ at the funeral?” Spike said sarcastically, even though he knew what she was talking about.
Her face hardened instantly. “You know what I’m talking about,” she all but spat.
He looked at her consideringly. You’d have thought that after his big stalker speech in the hallway would’ve scared her into avoiding alone time with him—or at least made her intimidated now that they were havin’ a one-on-one—but no, she was the same as ever, all bouncy hair and fearless glare.
An’ damned ‘f I’m not suddenly a poet again...
Which brought him back to his main quandary. Being around Buffy, being with her, hell—being in her, made him feel more wonderful than he ever had before. Wonderful enough for him to have let William out, something that hadn’t happened before since Spike had figuratively locked away the ponce and thrown away the key. He loved her. She had hair like spun gold, eyes like the first day of spring, a smile as dazzling as the stars, yadda yadda.
She didn’t want him. She’d said as much just a few days ago. Then, he’d believed her. That was his weakness, the one left over from the days when he was William—part of him had refused to believe that such a beauty could really want him, and it was that part that had taken over that day.
Well, not any more.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. It was the only useful thing his mum had ever taught him. “Look, pet,” he began slowly. “I know what you mean. An’ I’m sorry. ‘m not trying to be a git, honestly.”
Her face softened slightly. “I know,” she grumbled. “It’s, like, your second nature, or something.”
“Jus’ like ‘s your second nature to be a silly little chit. Buffy—“ his voice became pleading, and he reached out to grab her chin—“Talk to me, baby. Why’d you end things when they were going so wonderfully?”
Her eyes teared up, and though she couldn’t move her head, she averted her gaze from his. “I’m—I’m scared,” she admitted in a tiny, shamed voice. “I know it’s stupid, and—and selfish, but I’m just so scared.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and if he hadn’t known it was already n pieces, he would’ve swore he heard his heart break.
“Shh, pet, don’t cry,” he whispered, wishing he could hug her and knowing that he could—not with their relationship being the shambles that it was.
“I can’t help it,” she gasped, giving a strange little hiccup. “I’m just—God, I’m so horrible!”
“No. No, you’re not.” His fingers ghosted over her shoulder, and when she leaned into the touch, he gently rubbed her shoulder and her arm. “You’re the most amazing person ‘ve ever met. I love you, Buffy.”
He was astonished to see her hands fist. “Don’t—say—that,” she ordered in a low voice, her teeth clenched.
His eyes narrowed. So that’s the problem, is it? “What’re you scared of?” he demanded. “Why is it that you can’t stand knowin’ I love you?”
“It’s—it’s nothing,” she said, still refusing to look at him. “I just...we’re broken up.”
Spike was nonplussed. “Your point being?”
“We’re broken up,” she repeated. “Why are you still telling me you love me?”
Bloody hell. “D’you think that matters to me?” he asked, half-angry that she’d even asked. “Buffy, ‘m gonna love you till they put me in the ground. ‘s not somethin’ I’m proud of, because God knows loving you’s one of the dumber things ‘ve done lately. But I can’t sodding well stop.” He fell quiet, breathing heavily, his emotions running high.
Buffy stared at him, unblinking, tears still running down her face. The silence stretched on, and on, till Spike started to wonder if a man could die from pure, not even sexual, tension.
“Buffy? You gonna say anything, luv?”
She smiled slightly and wiped her face. “Can’t I have my girly freak-out moment?” she asked with a mock scowl.
His heart lightened ever so slightly. “That amazing, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
He smiled for what felt like the first time in years and tweaked her nose. “Sorry, Blondie, I don’t follow orders.”
“Wouldn’t life be easier if you did, though?” Buffy said lightly, smiling back.
Spike was about to respond when he saw her shiver. He had his duster, of course, but she wore nothing but that filmy black dress. “Cold, kitten?”
“Nu-uh.” She shook her head and shivered again. “Okay—maybe a little,” she admitted, blushing.
“Here.” Spike took off his coat and wrapped her in it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
She nodded wordlessly, wrapping the duster around herself tightly.
They walked back to her house in silence, but it was a different silence than the one that had governed them the day before. This silence wasn’t strained with words that ought to be said but weren’t; instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding.
What they’d had was broken—but not beyond repair.
When they reached Buffy’s house Spike hesitated, unsure about what she was expecting from him. “Well, we’re here.”
“Yeah.” She was staring into space, a slight frown on her face.
“Buffy?” Spike said uncertainly, not wanting to make her mad by intruding on her thoughts. “You in there?”
She shook her head slightly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean—what was the question?”
Spike stifled a laugh. “Just askin’ where that pretty head of your was, luv.”
“Oh.” A slightly awkward pause, then Buffy said, “So...I’d better go inside. Here’s your jacket.” She began to pull it from her shoulders.
Spike stopped her fingers, his eyes meeting her surprised ones. “Keep it for awhile,” he suggested. “’f you’re gonna be runnin’ off to the cemetery in the middle of the night, you need a bit of protection.”
She smiled and let go of it. “Thanks.”
”No problem.”
Another awkward silence. Spike cursed under his breath; this was happening just a bit too much. He would’ve said something, but something told him to keep his mouth shut.
A moment later it happened. Buffy let out a soft, breathy sigh that made his stomach clench. She looked him in the eye and said, “Spike?”
“Yeah?”
Buffy leaned up and kissed him.
Silky skin—lightly scented hair—and the softest pair of lips he’d ever come across. That was all his brain had to register before she moved away again, but it was enough. He’d kissed her so many times that his brain filled in all the sensations his body didn’t have time to register, and at that moment, something became painfully clear: he’d missed her so bloody much.
She smiled shyly at him, seeming nearly as flustered as he. “I—I love you, too,” she whispered back.
It wasn’t by far the first time she’d said those words, but this time it was different. This time it was a commitment, a declaration—she was telling him that there was hope.
Spike still wore an incredulous smile when the door to her house closed with her on the other side.
~*~
A/N: Hm...did that suck as much as I think it did? I had major writer’s block...ah, well. Thanks for all the reviews—I wouldn’t say no to more ;)
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