Cold.
He didn't look up when he saw someone standing in the doorway of his office—the flash of black leather and platinum hair made it more than apparent who had come calling—nor did the appearance of the vampire cause Giles to reach for his stake. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, resigned. What did he have to live for anymore anyway?
"I won't put up a fight. All I ask is that you show me enough respect to make it quick."
The response was quick, as if he'd been expecting to make it even before he had to. "I'm not here to kill you, Watcher."
Spike's declaration startled Giles, and then he did turn, looking at the vampire askew for a moment before he realized what he must mean. "Oh. So I'm to be turned then?"
Spike snorted in response. "Hardly. No offense, but I don't fancy spending eternity with a sodding Watcher. I'm just here to talk."
Giles glanced sideways at the bottle on his desk, wondering if perhaps he'd drank enough already to have hallucinations. What could Spike possibly want to talk…
Buffy.
"I can't break the curse, Spike."
"I know."
As Spike's visit continued, Giles found himself growing more and more confused, and he wished now he hadn't had quite so much Scotch. He could use a clear mind for this. "But you are here about Buffy."
"Yeah, I am." Spike moved closer, noting the Watcher's almost-imperceptible flinch as he did. "She's in bad shape. I don't…" He paused for a moment, pulling in a deep breath as he tried to force himself not to appear as vulnerable as he felt. "I don't know what to do to help her."
At that, Giles blinked, and he pulled back further from Spike in surprise. "You want to help her?"
"Of course I do," Spike replied, unable to hide his offended tone. "I love her."
And it just kept getting weirder… Of all the conversations he'd had in his life, Giles was certain this was one of the most surreal. "And what of Drusilla and Angelus?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he could even contemplate it could possibly be a sore subject and, therefore, not something he'd want to bring up with a vampire, albeit one who didn't seem to be in much of a homicidal mood at the moment.
"They're gone. Dust."
"And Buffy was what, your way to ease that loss?" Again, Giles spoke without completely considering his words, a protective feeling in his heart for his former charge, even now.
Spike slammed his hand against the doorframe, making Giles jump in his chair. "No, dammit! I love Buffy. That's why I'm sodding here. And you better be bloody glad, too, because otherwise, I would've torn your neck out instead of playing this ridiculous game of twenty questions." Spike took another deep breath, getting his anger back in check. Rationally, he knew it was directed at something other than the Watcher—something he could fight with fists and fangs the way he wanted to—but that didn't stop the desire to take it out on whoever may be in his path.
It certainly didn't help matters that he couldn't even feed now with Buffy like this. He was itching for a decent kill.
"You already mentioned the curse, so I know you know what happened to Buffy," Spike said, keeping himself steady.
"I do," Giles replied simply.
Spike cocked his head to the side for a moment, regarding the other man. "You weren't the one who did it, were you?"
Giles let out a near-hysterical bark of laughter. "No. I didn't even know about the bloody thing until this afternoon. It was…" He stopped short, wondering if perhaps all of this was a ruse on Spike's part to learn the identity of the curser in order to perform some sort of act of vengeance. While a small, dark part of him said it would serve Willow right after what she'd done to Buffy, that was a part of him he could never listen to without shame, never mind give into. "It wasn't me."
"Didn't think so," Spike said with a shake of his head. "Wanted to make sure, though. I know we've never had a lot of one-on-one time, but from what I saw, you seemed to have more sense than that."
Giles furrowed his brow. "Yes. Quite."
"So it was the redhead then?"
At that, Giles looked at Spike sharply. If Spike were in search of vengeance, then he had just managed to get the name of who deserved it out of Giles without the Watcher even realizing what was happening. Perhaps he should've have just claimed the blame on Willow's behalf and kept the girl safe.
"Don't get your knickers all twisted, Watcher. I'm not going to kill the girl. I was just wondering who pulled something like that off, is all. I wouldn't have thought she'd have that sort of power."
"No, neither would I," Giles replied with a sad shake of his head.
In the distance, the clock in the tower chimed, reminding Spike of the time. "Look, I don't have all night to discuss this. I don't like leaving her alone."
Giles looked up, meeting the vampire's eyes for the first time. "Cut to the chase then. What do you want from me?"
"I want you to help her."
Him, help Buffy… Giles almost laughed again, though he doubted Spike would see the humor in the situation, and therefore kept it to himself. It was his fault Buffy was in the state she was now, his failure as a Watcher that had gotten her turned in the first place. If she hadn't felt like she'd had a wrong to right where Jenny was concerned… "I don't see what I can possibly do for her now," Giles replied.
"Just talk to her, all right? You were her Watcher. That's gotta still mean something to her. She won't listen to me. Shuts me right out. But maybe you can get through to her, enough to make her realize she can get through this, see that she can keep going on even with the guilt of the soul."
Spike took a step closer, moonlight trickling in through the blinds and painting white lines across his dark figure. "Please, Watcher. I'll get down on my hands and knees and bloody beg you if I have to. I don't know what to do for her, and you're the only person I know to go to for help. Please."
Giles was taken aback by the mixture of desperation and concern in Spike's voice. Although Spike had said what he felt for Buffy twice already, the words hadn't really meant anything to Giles, not until then. He'd known vampires could form attachments to each other, but he'd never dared to think those attachments could be like this. "You…you really do love her, don't you?" he asked, the realization shaking him to his very core.
"Enough to wish it was me going through this instead of her."
Giles nodded solemnly. "I'll talk to her. But if you don't mind, I'd rather it be when I'm a little more, well, rather, er…"
"Sober?" Spike replied, a trace of a smirk on his face.
"Yes."
"Meet me at the gates of Restfield Cemetery tomorrow at sundown."
"I'll be there."
"Good."
With a nod and a swirl of leather, Spike was gone and Giles was once again alone with his Scotch.
"Where were you?"
Buffy's soft question, seeming too loud in the dark crypt, startled Spike. "I thought you were asleep, sweetheart."
"I woke up. I woke up and you weren't here."
Spike made his way to the bed where Buffy was perched on the edge, his heightened sense of sight allowing him to navigate even in the darkness. "I'm sorry, kitten. I just had something I needed to do is all." He reached out to stroke her hair, but Buffy flinched away, making a pang hit Spike's heart as she did. "What's wrong?"
"Did you feed?"
He almost snapped at her, irritated that she'd have so little faith in him after he told her he wouldn't, but he quickly regained control, reminding himself how emotionally vulnerable she was now. "No, I didn't. You'd be able to smell the blood on me then, wouldn't you, pet?"
"Yeah," Buffy conceded. "I guess I would."
Spike wrapped his arm around her and was relieved when Buffy allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. "I didn't hurt anyone, sweetheart. I told you I wouldn't, and I'm going to honor my word." The nearness of her body calling to him even when he knew the nature of their relationship had changed, at least for the time being, Spike allowed himself one tender kiss atop her head, breathing in the sweet, comforting scent of her golden hair. "I could never do something that would hurt you so much."
For a still, silent moment Buffy was relaxed in his embrace before she stiffened and pulled up. "Why, Spike? You keep telling me things like that, but I still don't understand. Don't you want to feed?"
"Of course I do. I won't lie to you about that. I can't say I exactly relish the thought of giving up the hunt, the kill. But the one thing that I dread more than spending my entire unlife never feeding again is being in a world where I've hurt you. You ask me why I'm doing this, and I'll tell you what I've kept telling you—an answer that's not going to change, no matter what happens. I love you. Completely, totally love you. Doesn't matter if you believe me. Doesn't even matter if you want to believe me. You don't have to love me back. You don't have to give me a bloody thing in return. The truth still remains, just like it is. I love you."
Buffy stared at him, his words turning around in her mind. The crypt was blanketed in shadows, yet she could see his eyes, could see everything he wouldn't try to shield from her, no matter how vulnerable it made him. She knew her heart still belonged to him, even as she struggled with what that meant now. In all her time with Angel, she held fast to one idea; Angel was the man he was—the man who loved her—because he had a soul. But now, everything felt turned on its head, every truth she'd ever clung to no longer making any sense to her.
When she looked at Spike, she felt the same jump in her heart she had when she'd been without a soul. She shied from his touch not because it repulsed her, but because it felt the same as it had before, and she didn't know what that meant anymore. If it was love now, had it been love then? And if it had been, then what did Spike feel for her?
And if it was love, why didn't she lose her soul?
It was all too much for her. These questions, her feelings, they would weigh heavy on her on their own, but mixed with the guilt that stained her restored soul, she couldn't handle it. She'd lamented being the Slayer, but looking back, she longed for that clarity. Everything made sense then. She was good. The demons she fought were bad. It was simple—black and white.
Spike had twisted her world into gray.
She hadn't said a word since he's latest declaration of love, but Spike had expected as much. At least she wasn't outright denying his feelings. He brushed his thumb against her cheek, noticing how she leaned into his touch even though he knew it was most likely not a voluntary action.
"You look tired, pet."
"I am."
"We'll get some sleep then, yeah? Let me hold you?"
Buffy nodded, too tired to protest something she truly wanted anyway. Late at night in the dark of the crypt, what did it really matter if she let Spike hold her—if she let herself pretend nothing had changed? She slipped away from him to lay down, waiting until Spike stripped down to his jeans, then climbed onto the bed to join her. She welcomed his embrace silently, closing her eyes and her mind to anything but the unexpected warmth she found in his cold arms.
Yes, I am alive. lol I'm going to try to keep this story with regular once a week postings again, with what I'm planning to be a post every Tuesday. With the way my life has been going and as quiet as my muse has been, however, I can't set that as definite.
Please leave a review and let me know you're still with this story despite the hiatus. And honestly, I could really use the encouragement right now. My desire to write is at an all-time low, though I'm really trying to persevere and get through this nasty slump.
Thanks for reading!