A long pause hung expectantly in the air as Buffy struggled to find an answer. During the elongated silence she considered employing her usual weapon of choice in such circumstances -- something sharp and snarky. “What you want me to do is so not my problem.” “Next you’ll want me to sit and shake too.” And, finally, “Caring, yes. Staying, not so much.” All three hit the metaphorical trash can instantaneously.
It was too late for that. Not even the Slayer--the chosen one, super powers and all--could look into those tortured blue eyes and tell another lie. If she couldn’t manage the truth she wasn’t going to be able to say anything at all.
More silence ensued as Buffy processed just how thoroughly cornered she felt. She’d been brave so many times in the face of terrible opponents. She’d always found courage when challenged by the countless evil denizens of the Hell Mouth. This was different. She wasn’t just putting her life on the line; she was risking the last vestiges of a treasured fantasy that any part of her life could be normal. Her friends willingly colluded in keeping the illusion alive. Only Spike refused to pretend.
She thought she’d hated him for insisting on the truth. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Spike’s gaze never wavered from hers. His hand had dropped from her face, but he was stil just inches away, motionless as only a vampire can be. The candlelight warmed his pallor a bit. She could almost imagine him as the human he’d been before being turned. Certainly the hard edged image he worked so hard to project had slipped away, at least for the moment. What she saw was the face he usually kept hidden. The raw vulnerability of it took her breath away.
Time seemed to stop as Buffy accepted her own fears—moved by Spike’s calm anticipation of the axe waiting to fall on his longing heart. The hard reality was plain; acknowledging her relationship with Spike would test the love of everyone she cares about. Could she bear it if they turned their backs?
Buffy’s throat was dry and her voice faltered briefly when she finally broke the silence.
“D-d-do you remember the poem I told you about? The one I analyzed for my class?” she began. “The one about the tent?” Spike nodded, raising his eyebrows in encouragement, without speaking..
“I told you I think you’re one of the stakes…holding me up,” she continued. “That’s true. That’s absolutely true. But Giles and Willow and Xander and Dawn, they’re all stakes too. I don’t think my tent would stay up without all of the stakes. And I’m…I’m afraid. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry.” Buffy’s body crumpled forward as she buried her face in her hands and started to cry.
“Sh-h-h-h,” Spike tried to quiet her sobs and smoothed her hair. “Come on now, no tears, please, Buffy. I hate it when you cry.”
He heard her take a deep, shuddering breath as she forced herself to sit up again. “You’re right,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I shouldn’t cry. I’m acting like a little girl. You’re the only one who sees me this way. I hate it too. But I don’t know what to do.” Wiping away her tears, Buffy reached for another napkin and blew her nose into it. When she’d finished she looked at Spike again. His face had softened, but he still didn’t say anything.
“I’d like to be able to stay…when you want me to. But I can’t promise I will. Not yet. Maybe never…” She was going to say something else, but Spike put his fingers to her lips.
“That’s fair enough,” he said. “I can’t promise I won’t be evil. Maybe for a bit, but not forever. It’s not in my nature. I could promise to try. I do try, but that’s all I can do.”
Buffy snuffled and blinked, her eyes still sparkling with tears. Spike arranged the blanket a little higher on her shoulders.
“Maybe we should just call it even for the moment,” he said, still choosing his words carefully, but with the beginning of a smile visible in the lines around his eyes. “You can get dressed, have more to eat. You could go home for a bit, check on Dawn and your Mum. I can see you at the library…when you’re ready. We can find another poem to read. We’ve already got ourselves six fools and a tent, who knows what we’ll find next?”
Buffy was afraid she’d start crying again if she spoke, so she signaled her assent with a nod.
“All right then,” Spike said, relieved now the crisis had passed. “I’ll just pop upstairs so you can have a wash and dress. I love the way you look in that wrap but it’s not practical for travel.” He stopped and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “You okay with that?”
She smiled and nodded again, this time more vigorously. He was gone in the space of a second.
It was nearly three quarters of an hour before Buffy climbed the ladder to the upper level of Spike’s crypt. By then she was showered, dressed and comfortably full from snacking on goodies from the deli.
Spike had left the cover off the opening in the floor. When she neared the top of the ladder she popped her head up and stopped for a moment to survey the room. It was sparsely furnished compared to the plush décor of the chamber below. Since most of his visitors saw only this room full of threadbare, scavenged furniture, few would guess his tastes ran to leather-bound books and oriental rugs.
Spike sat slumped on the battered couch, his feet propped on an equally disreputable chair. He was working something with his hands, but she couldn’t see what it was in the pale light thrown off the TV. He hadn’t bothered to light any candles.
“Whatcha’ doing?” she asked as she crawled out of the hole. Spike put whatever he’d been holding between the sofa cushions and turned to face her.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, with an air of resignation.
“You mean like a present?” she replied, clearly excited by the prospect of a gift. “I love surprise presents,” she added as she perched on the opposite end of the couch, squinting in a futile effort to see the object secreted under the cushions.
Spike was both charmed and dismayed by her childish reaction. “Of course she loves presents”, he thought ruefully. “She carries the weight of the world, but she’s little more than a girl. And her so-called friends are so busy worrying about themselves they never bother to give her a thought. That’s why she’s so starved for affection, so hungry for the consideration of a gift.”
“That’s why I made it for you,” he began, stalling as he braced in anticipation of exposing his heart once again. “It’s a reminder of our…agreement…what we decided here today.”
Buffy nodded encouragingly. “Do you want to wrap it?” she asked without a shred of irony. “Presents are even more fun if they’re wrapped.”
Spike hesitated for a moment before responding. “Well if you’d given me just a few more minutes I might have found something to cover it with. Though I doubt I have any actual wrapping paper. But as you’ve already twigged to the surprise, and I want you to have it before you leave…you are planning to leave?”
“Yes,” she answered, “you’re right, I need to check in at home.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make do then.” Spike looked around the mostly empty space until his eyes lit on something. Buffy couldn’t see what it was until he retrieved it from the dark corner. “Here,” he said with some satisfaction, “this should do.”
He held a two page spread from the Sunday comics in his hand. “Go ahead now, turn away so I can prepare your ‘surprise’ for presentation.”
Buffy did as he asked, turning all the way around to face the opposite wall. Spike withdrew a small object from the couch cushions and quickly rolled it into a corner of the newsprint. By the time he was done, just seconds later, he’d folded it into a small neat package.
“Okay, Slayer,” he said. “You can look now. It’s all wrapped.”
She turned slowly until she was facing him again, but made no move to take the now wrapped object.
“Can I have it,” she asked, almost timidly.
Spike raised one eyebrow and she quickly added, “Don't you mean, 'May I have it please'? ”
TBC....
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Long time no update! I hope someone is going to read this!