Ch. 28 Hello, love
Everybody was at the reception, eating sugar cookies and drinking punch, laughing and having a grand, old time. Everybody except Buffy. After that encounter with Spike, Gabriel had made it his new job to act as superglue and attach himself to her side and quite frankly, it was beginning to get on her nerves.
When she finally had enough, she had extricated herself from her boyfriend's firm arms, pushed him back when he moved to follow her, and ridden the elevator until she reached the top floor. From there, she had gotten off and hurriedly climbed the short flight of stairs to the roof, eager to be free from the demands of her friends, her teachers, her boyfriend, and people, in general.
And here she was now, leaning forward against the cool metal railing and looking down at the haphazard hustle and bustle of New York's night life. A fresh breeze passed through, and she shivered, feeling it's delicious chill cool her overheated body. Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment to enjoy the heavenly scent of the world, fifty feet above civilization.
It felt good to get away for a while to just think. And god knew, she really needed to think. Seeing Spike had thrown her off. It had introduced such a wide range of … confusion. He had only said one word to her and already, she was bracing herself for the inevitable pain that would come.
The door behind her squeaked and she tensed, sensing him the moment he stepped out onto the roof. No, no, no… she squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on the railing, willing him to disappear… I need to be alone…
Three years and almost nothing had changed. She still felt her insides jerk whenever he was near, still felt the slight catch of breath in her throat, still felt her knees go weak. It had just never before been accompanied by the ache throbbing in her head and chest.
He was silent and Buffy didn't try to initiate conversation. She released her hold of the railing and propped her elbows onto the cold bars, forcing herself to relax. Her eyes opened and she returned to staring at the cars moving around below like angry blurs of light. They were a myriad of colors - a rainbow flash of lights - and for a second, she let her breath get taken away by the sheer beauty of the bird-eyed scene.
His feet shuffled and her ears strained, training themselves to all his movements.
When he spoke, his voice chilled the air. "You were," he started, hesitantly, "you were bloody amazing out there, love."
She had always loved his voice. It was always warm, a soft reassuring saxophone, a heavily-skinned drum. Right now, it seeped melodiously through the night, a low husky cello reaching out towards her. Buffy contemplated not responding. She wondered if she could just stand there and see what he would do.
Everything about him was just so… everything. He confused her, he excited her, he lifted her so high and dropped her so low, he made her touch heaven then yanked her to hell, he was a goddamn roller coaster.
She waited a beat.
"You shouldn't be here, Spike," she finally said, her voice resigned and tight, squeezing the emotions back into the bottle. She watched as the transparent white mist of her breath floated out in front of her and disappeared high into the blackened sky.
Spike didn't say anything at first and every single moment of silence served to let the anger that was developing deep within her simmer and boil to a silent rage.
She heard him take a step closer to her and tensed again.
"Buffy, I - "
That's it… She couldn't take it anymore and whirled around, looking at Spike fully without the barrier of bodies and without the pressure of sudden surprise. His voice cut off as the wind was knocked out of him by the sight of her.
"What are you doing here, anyways!?" her voice rose marginally, taking a dangerous edge, "Aren't you too busy off being a superstar? Fucking that… woman? Why are you here?"
Spike seemed sufficiently taken aback by her outburst and stopped advancing towards her. He stared at her livid face, her hair loosening from it's pin, her eyes flashing, reflecting the lights surrounding the rooftop as she glared angrily at him, her cheeks flushed, mouth pulled taut, Fuck, she's beautiful…
"Okay," Spike muttered, still staring, "I deserved that."
That and a hell of a lot more, they simultaneously thought. Buffy narrowed her eyes for a split second, then turned back around to her scenery. Spike studied the low dip of her black, satin dress and took in the contours of her slender back, her protruding shoulder blades, her tense muscles that were involuntarily flexing.
He wanted to touch her so badly, wanted her to let him touch her, let him closer. He wanted it so badly that his entire body ached. He wanted her to understand that …
Understand what? a voice in the back of his head screamed at him. He swallowed, shaking his head.
"I'm not," he tried starting, but the sound was strangled in his throat. He coughed and tried to continue, "Buffy, the band's over. We're through. Done."
She didn't reply. Had she heard him? Spike lifted a heavy hand to the back of his neck and rubbed, trying to think. He wanted so badly to talk to her, to communicate with her like he used to.
"'I've been going through some - some sort of therapy," he started, not sure where he was going with this, "Some psychological thing. I've been seeing, you know, a doctor. There was something wrong, I think. Something with my… head."
He stopped. This was painful, the way his lonely voice sounded weak and was breaking every so often in the middle of his sentences. It was painful how she never turned around, just standing there with her back towards him. Was she even listening? Yes. He knew that she was by the slight twitching of her head. It was torture and yet, he felt that he needed to work up to something. To say something that would break the ice between them. Hell, it was more than ice. It was a solid wall; a wall that he had built, himself.
Buffy listened to him silently. When he paused, she could almost hear the struggle in his head, so she turned her head slightly, still not looking at him.
"Of course," she said lightly, flatly, "I always knew you were crazy. Have you ever listened to me?"
He flinched. Her words cut him, demeaning everything Dr. Travers had been through with him, and still, he felt ashamed. It was her way of understanding what he had been through, yet telling him that it wasn't enough. It wasn't going to buy his way to her side.
She turned completely around and Spike held his breath. He was lucky just to be able to look at her. Closely, personally, not as some audience staring up at her on the stage.
After a few silent moments of just breathing, Buffy's gaze softened.
"You've changed," she stated quietly, keeping her eyes on his.
Spike felt something in his heart jump up. It was a crumb. She had tossed him a crumb and he lapped it up, willing to grab whatever he could. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
"How so?" he asked, tilting his head in that way that used to make her smile and want to kiss him.
She blinked and shook her head, refusing to think about that. "You've grown up," she shrugged, trailing a finger along the railing that was pressed against her back. "I can see it in your eyes."
"Buffy, I - "
She cut him off with a sharp look, "Why are you here? You never answered the question."
The complete serenity of the rooftop hung heavily between them. It could have been romantic, but the tension in her shoulders, the pleading of his eyes,… it was anything but. It was saddening.
"I'm here because of you," he said firmly, emphasizing the 'you' in his sentence. Didn't she see? He begged her to smile or say something or do something. Anything was better than the silent way she was regarding him.
When she failed to respond, he clenched his fists. "Buffy, I never stopped lov-"
Buffy held up a hand, stopping him. He closed his mouth and looked at her slender fingers, slightly bent forward, tensed and shaking.
She shook her head, "Don't. Just… don't."
He continued anyways, "I love you, Buffy. I can't live without you. Those past few years… I was miserable. Out of my mind. I was… fucked up. Everything, the drugs, the alcohol, the - "
"I can't talk about this right now," She said sharply, dropping her hand back to her side. Her voice was clipped, every single syllable dripping with a warning.
"Bloody hell, Buffy," He tried, desperate. He moved closer to her, ready to fall to her feet, ready to do anything just so she would… just… "I need you. I can't even begin to say how sorry I am, because it'll never be enough. I can't ask you to forgive me, because I sure as hell don't deserve it. But, I need you to know that I can't go on without… seeing you or touching you or - "
He was getting too close and Buffy's heart was beating too fast. Suddenly, he was less than three feet in front of her and closing in. His voice was making her mind hazy, his scent was driving her crazy. This had to stop.
She shoved him away roughly, watching as he stumbled backwards.
"I can't listen to this." Buffy walked around him to leave. Her shoes were digging at her feet and she just needed to sit down… go to sleep… and not think about the words that were coming out of his mouth.
Spike grabbed her arm and the electricity that ran between his palm and her skin made her jump. His hand was hot yet cold, she wanted to grab it yet she wanted to shake it off, she wanted to run into his arms yet she wanted to run the hell away and never look back.
She jerked her arm out of his grasp and screamed, "There are more than a million reasons why this - " she gestured at the space between them " - will never, ever work. There are a million reasons why I can't let you back into my life, Spike. Ever! There are a million ways you can hurt me and I know you well enough to know that you wont hesitate to utilize every single fucking way and drag it out until it kills me and shreds me up from the inside out."
His face darkened and she saw him wince and glance away before looking back at her. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her upper arms, "I can't do this. Really, I'm sorry about whatever you had to go through, I'm sorry for everything, okay? But that's it. I can't let you back into my life. It hurts… way too much and I can't let my heart be broken again."
She was sobbing now and he silently stared at her, wanting to put his arms around her, wanting to comfort her, but she stayed out of reach, holding her stomach. "Every single time I see you," she cried, turning away, "Every single time I hear your voice, hear your name - it hurts. Okay? I'm not the same girl I was when you left me, Spike. I'm not going to throw myself at your feet anymore."
After a while, she calmed and sniffed, quietly. "And anyways," her eyes met his again, shining and brightened by her tears, "I have a boyfriend."
She walked back to her place at the railing and he backed up, hearing that word… boyfriend.
He couldn't think about another man being able to touch her, to hold her, to talk to her and hear her laugh. He couldn't stand it. It made everything inside him stir up in envy and misery. Bloody hell, it made him want to punch something, kill something, but all he did was dig his nails into his palms.
A few minutes must have passed with him standing a few feet behind her and her leaning over the railing, staring down at the city yet not really seeing anything.
Finally, he asked, "Do you love him?"
The question hung in the air. Spike prayed and bit the insides of his cheeks as he waited for her to answer him. She never did.
Finally, he turned to walk away.
Buffy heard his footsteps fading into the background and looked at her hands, clutching the top bar of the rail.
"I trust him," she said quietly. She heard his footsteps pause for a moment before the door squeaked and he was gone.
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