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Chapter Ten

She'd been walking for over an hour now. She'd been to The Bronze, to the local coffee shop, to the park. She knew Spike well enough to know that when he was upset, he didn't seek company, he sought solitude. She was thinking though that all this walking was good for her. It was giving her time to relax, to think, to clear her mind. She hadn't really come to many conclusions, only questions. Questions that only Spike could answer if she could just find him.

Heading back home, she dug her hands in her jean pockets and said a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening that they grant her peace of mind. She had a feeling she was going to be needing it.

Climbing up to her window, she wondered if she should instead crawl into Spike's room and wait for him. She'd make him talk to her if it was the last thing she did that night.

"Where the hell did you go now?"

Buffy fell into her room, Spike's voice unexpected and therefore scaring the crap out of
her. She looked up at him from her spot on the floor and glared.

"You're not so good at this sneaking thing," he observed with a slight frown, arms
crossed.

"I've had no problems until you came back. It doesn't help when a certain someone
scares the crap out of me everytime I'm on my way in."

He held out his hand. "Sorry."

She took his hand and helped her up. He moved quickly away, turning his back on her. He found her bureau suddenly interesting and started picking up her bottles of perfume, lotions and hair accessories.

"Spike, we need to talk," she told him on a sigh, sitting on her bed.

He froze. "I know."

"So do you want to start or—"

He turned around and faced her. "I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."

That hurt. Her face fell. "You shouldn't have kissed me?"

He nodded, looking down.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked softly.

He nodded again.

"I'm kind of not sorry," she admitted.

His head snapped up. "What?"

"It was. . . nice."

"Nice?"

She nodded.

He shook his head. "No, Buffy, it was wrong."

"Well, see I thought it was wrong when I started having these feelings – or I called them
‘reactions', but Doyle just rolled his eyes—"

"Wait, what? You started having feelings? When?"

She gulped, squirming under his intense blue gaze. "Uh, yesterday. Wow. Yesterday
seems like so long ago, doesn't it?"

"You were having feelings for me?"

"Yeah, and I thought it was wrong."

"Thought? So you don't think so anymore?"

"Well, I'm starting to think it isn't. It still feels a little. . . icky."

He nodded, his eyes sad. "That's because it is."

"But it felt right, didn't it? It did to me."

"Buffy, kissing you is something I've—" he broke off, shaking his head. "If you only
knew how I'd wanted it for so long."

"How long?" she asked softly. The territory they were starting on was unknown and
terrifying and yet she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Buffy, I don't want to do this."

She jumped up, "Why not?"

"Because it's playing with fire."

"Fine, would you feel more comfortable talking about it outside, downstairs, with a
mediator—where? You can't just lay the best kiss I've ever had on me and then run off like that.
I'm confused, I want to know what's happening and you just – you just –RUN. Do you know
how damn annoying that is? I've got questions dammit. Legitimate questions that you should
be answering here."

"Sometimes it's best to leave things alone Buffy. Sometimes knowledge is a good thing,
but sometimes it can get you into trouble when you know too much . . . Best kiss you say?"

"You know all this time I always thought that some guy had some pretty big shoes to
fill because of you. I always wanted someone as cool and as courageous as my big brother—"

"That's just it right there, Buffy. BROTHER."

"Shut up and let me finish," she snapped.

He held up his hands. "Finish."

"So here I was thinking that you were the greatest thing ever. Here I was hoping that
some guy would be as sweet as you could be and as smart and as kind. I never really thought
until this afternoon that maybe what I was really wanting was you. I just placed all that on
some imaginary guy because, as you said –BROTHER. And then I started having these weird
feelings for you that I really think were just there all this time waiting for me to realize them ..." Her eyes welled up in tears. "And then you kiss me and run from me and . . . then you stand
here when I have all these questions and all these –fucking feelings—and you –you know
what? You're not as courageous as I thought you once were. You're a coward. So maybe you
helped me figure some things out. Maybe, just maybe all of those feelings were just me STILL
putting you up on a pedestal."

"I don't deserve to be put on a pedestal Buffy," he said softly, his voice trembling.

"You're right. Thanks for jumping down from your position. If you're not willing to talk to me about what all this means and what happened earlier and what's been obviously happening all along then I think you should leave."

Spike nodded abruptly, looking very much sorry, and walked out of her room. Buffy closed her eyes when the door clicked shut and started to cry. Sitting down on her bed, she blindly reached for her phone and called the one person in the world she could always count on: Doyle.

Spike heard her leave the house once more. Instinctively, he knew she was going to see Doyle. He swiped at his tears and buried his head in his hands. What the fuck was he thinking kissing her like that? And God, it was the best kiss of HIS life and he knew, just KNEW that no one could ever compare to her. No one ever could before and no one ever would. He could hear Dru's voice in his head, the anger in her voice, the hurt in her eyes. She asked him time and again why he couldn't push Buffy away, why she haunted him, why she always saw his Golden Princess dancing all around him. She'd said he was covered with her and despite how he'd tried to hide it, shove it from his mind, it was always there.

Dru had blamed him for it all. Said he was responsible for her ‘sampling other goodies'. Said it was because of him she was being driven round the bend. Because he couldn't let Buffy go and that it was sick and wrong and sick and . . . wrong. It played like a broken record in his mind. She begged him to fix her and love her, just her. Yet, he couldn't. He loved Buffy and because of that love, he drove Dru to insanity.

Buffy would hate him if she knew he was the one that drove Drusilla mad. And God, he did want to tell her. Wanted to find peace in her arms and have her tell him that it was all right, that he wasn't a bad person.

The doctors had told him that Drusilla had a history of being in and out of mental hospitals. They'd said that she was only trying to take her down with him, that she enjoyed power games. But Spike knew. He knew it was his fault, that he had locked her forever away to be treated by strangers, to have her mind gone and to never be allowed in the world again because he loved Buffy. He loved Buffy and the only reason he ever married Drusilla in the first place was to try and put Buffy behind him.

Now, despite it all, he still loved her as much as he had when he'd left, while he was away and ever since he'd been back.

He whimpered, "Forgive me," and succumbed to the tears.





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