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Chapter Eight

Buffy pulled into her driveway and saw a figure in black sitting on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, smoking a cigarette. She flipped off the headlights and leaned back in her seat to think.

She had ran out of the restaurant in tears and completely forgot about Angel as she sped out of the parking lot to nowhere in particular. She drove and drove until she was lost and had to call Angel for directions back home. Surprisingly, her brother wasn’t angry with her and told her that he had called a taxi.

Now, it was past midnight and the last person she wanted to see was on her porch, looking her way, obviously waiting for her to go up to him.

Breathing out, slowly, she rubbed her temples, trying to kill the throbbing headache. Don’t let him hurt you. Finally, she got out of the car and put her mask back on, hiding the pain in her eyes. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Again.

The air was chilly and the smell of smoke was bitter in her nose. She couldn’t enjoy the stars or the peace or anything that she normally enjoyed about the night with him right there, a few seconds walk away, slowly rising to his feet.

“Spike,” she nodded at him as she climbed up the steps and went to the door, digging in her pockets for her house keys. She refused to look at his face.

“Buffy,” she heard his voice say and felt his body tentatively approach her. Her hands grasped her keys and froze. He spoke again and she could almost feel the chilliness of his breath, “Can we talk?”

No. Never. “I think we’ve said enough,” her hands were functioning again and she opened the filmy screen door to unlock the heavy wooden one behind it.

“I want to tell you that I’m… that…” He tried to get the words out, but when her back was so tense and her voice was so cold, he couldn’t. Say sorry, you fuckin’ git, he tried to force the words out of his mouth but they died on his tongue.

Buffy waited, but when he didn’t continue his thought, she sighed and shook her head. “It’s late, Spike, Good ni-“

“Wait, Buffy,” he cut her off and reached out to grab her arm. When she felt his hand on her, she jerked away and he flinched. Something inside him was breaking and he didn’t know what it was.

All these years and his eyes were finally beginning to open. All these years of seclusion, hiding, running to his room and destroying his furniture to vent his frustration at himself and at the world. She had caught him in his darkest hour when he was on the brink of destroying himself. Spike was a hollow shell of a man. The accident hadn’t just taken away his face, it had stripped him of his pride. He couldn’t stand the look of pity in the eyes that turned to him day by day and it slowly ate at him until he refused to be around those petty, self-proclaimed compassionate people.

But when he had saw her… she had made him feel something but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. At first, he fought it. He saw it as a physical pleasure, something to take advantage of. And that was exactly what he had done. Taken what she had to offer and given her nothing in return except for his own darkness and contempt for the world.

What had he done? And now she was staring at him again, those green eyes that cut to his core and made him want to see himself from a new perspective. Her perspective. She had never shown him pity. Not then, not now. Now, she just looked at him in disappointment and Spike wanted nothing more than to take back every word, every spiteful action, everything he had done to her to make her look at him like that.

But, goddammit, it was easier thought than done. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Something was in the way. Pride? His heart was encased in a lead box and was trying to get out, but he couldn’t. He had learned to protect it and had done a damn good job of it.

“What do you want, Spike?” She asked him and he thought he could almost see a soft glimmer of warmth in her eyes. But it disappeared as soon as it appeared and in its place was something frozen cold and hard.

“I-I’m not with Drusilla,” he blurted out. She blinked at him and he wanted to cringe.

“Is that it?” Her eyebrows raised and if it was even possible, her voice got even harder.

“No,” He took a step towards her and winced when she backed up. “I never meant to hurt you, Buffy.”

Buffy gave him a tight smile laced with sarcasm and disgust and he felt like he had just been pushed into a pile of mud. “Don’t worry about it because it’ll never happen again.”

She twisted the doorknob and pushed open the front entrance. When she was inside, she let the screen door fall into place, separating the two of them with a thin wire sheet of film.

“Wait, please,” He pleaded, holding his hands flat against the wire screen. “I saw you at the restaurant with someone else and I was jealous. Okay? Seeing you with somebody else hurt me and the first thing that came to my mind was to hurt you back. Bloody stupid of me, I know. I’m an idiot. And I’m … I’m sor-“

His voice broke off.

“You want to know what hurt, Spike?” Buffy said in a dangerous tone, taking a step closer to him now that there was a divide between them. “Not hearing from you for over two months. Not knowing if you were hurt, in trouble, dead. Thinking that you just forgot about me. That hurt. And you know what else hurts? You not telling me what you were about to do. You not calling me when you got back. I don’t give a damn what you do or don’t do with Drusilla. But fuck you if you think that my feelings are something that you can manipulate and throw out of a window.”

“I was going to call you! I don’t know what I was thinking, love, I honestly don’t,” His voice came out frantic and his hand gripped onto the screen. “I thought it’d be a surprise. I thought that you would love it. I-I thought that if I just left without telling you, it’d make my return – I don’t know, more dramatic?”

He ended lamely and couldn’t believe himself. Did he really think he was all that? That she would just wait, pining for him day after day, and when he finally graced her with his better and improved presence, she would be ecstatically happy and welcome him back with open arms? Was that what he was thinking? Whatever he had been thinking, he now wanted to slap himself for it.

“Who do you think you are? A god?” She laughed bitterly at him. “Newsflash. You’re not. You were somebody that meant something to me with or without this… face. I thought maybe it was love, but now I know I was wrong.”

“No, Buffy, please,” he begged her, “I know what I did was stupid. The way I treated you? There’s no excuse. But I’m trying, you see? I’m really trying. I want to be worthy of you, love. It’s just so … I’m sorry.”

Buffy shook her head and sighed, “It’s late, Spike. I’m going to sleep. If you still feel the need to talk, you’ll have to wait until I’m ready. Right now? Definitely not ready. Good night.”

With that, she closed the door and disappeared from his sight.

………

It wasn't until a few hours later that he staggered into his own dark house, a little drunk and a lot upset. The drinks he had didn't help the sunken feeling in his stomach and neither did the light that suddenly flooded the room.

"Where have you been!" His sister appeared out of nowhere in a white nightgown, her hands on her hips. "Do you know what time it is?!"

He ignored her and headed for his room. After leaving Buffy's porch, he had walked down to the lake and stared out at it for a good while, just thinking about… stuff. Drusilla was right. He did close himself off after the accident.

It had made him into a rock. Everything was solid - his heart, his mind. He made it impossible for anybody to break him anymore than how much he had already been broken. Vulnerable hearts were weak and tonight, he had been vulnerable. He had let his guard down with Buffy and when he saw her with.. her brother.. he did the only thing he knew how to do.

Protect himself.

He lashed out, attacked her, tried to hurt her. And now, all he wanted to do was to crawl into her bedroom, wrap his arms around her, and take it all back.

Cecily knew better than to follow him and demand an explanation, so she disappeared into her own bedroom.

Spike shut his door and welcomed the darkness of his solitary room - his prison, his home. After staring out at the lake, he had gone to Willy's Tavern, the local bar, and tried to drink away the ache in his heart. It didn't work as well as he wanted and now, here he was in the dark, the one place he felt most comfortable.

Alone.

Wasn't that what he wanted? For people to stay away from him and let him wallow in his own self-misery? Didn't he keep people at a distance because he was afraid to be hurt? When there was nobody there, the only person who could hurt him was himself. He didn't realize how true it was. In his own little world and his own little shell, he had become a shadow of who he used to be - a passionate, arrogant, daring bastard who loved life and lived the moment until it was so full that it burst.

Now, all that was left of him was his anger and his pain. His hands flew to his face and he dug his nails into his new skin. A surgery hadn't lifted the pain. Didn't he know that? How could a simple surgery erase four years of self-loathing?

With a frustrated yell, he scratched his face then flung himself down on the bed and cried.

The saltiness of the tears invaded his mouth and streamed down his throat. Real tears. Maybe his heart wasn't so hard after all.

Another hour passed and he still lay there on his bed, face down, dry tears streaking his cheeks. Finally, right before sleep claimed him, he made a resolution to himself.

I’ll get Buffy back. I need her. I’ll do anything, just so she’ll look at me again.



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Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are always appreciated. I also have a sorta-new story up, "Bullets and Stones,"... check it out when you have time. It's a little bit different, but I hope you guys like it.





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