“I can’t tell you everything, Spike,” Buffy told him sadly as he held her on his lap.
“Buffy, you can tell me anything and everything. You should know that by now,” Spike insisted, brushing some wet strands from her face, his fingers lingering around her locks longer than he knew they should, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“I had a mental collapse I think. I was thinking awful scary thoughts,” she said meeting his eyes.
His hold tightened. “Like what sort of thoughts?”
“Death. Suicide. Dying.”
“Buffy, Christ--” he shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me come out here? I told you to let me come out here!” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. The thought of her dead, of doing something so horrific to herself was a thought, an image in his head that he did not want. He held her even tighter.
“I know! That’s why I checked myself in here. I was convinced I was going to die one way or another, so I came here.”
“Your dad?”
She pushed off his lap and he fought the urge to reach for her, instead, he sat still, waiting for her to continue.
“He’s part of it, yes. I thought maybe some time apart, maybe he’d want me again.” God, she sounded like a lost little girl and the sound made him ache.
“I thought maybe he’d love me,” she shrugged, twisting her hands before her. “Maybe he missed me and was just too proud to call me. You know-kind of how I was too proud to call my mother? The apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree does it?”
“Buffy, I can’t make excuses for your father. I know it’s hard to accept and get over, but that man is an asshole.”
“Yeah I know that logically in my head. I know he is. What kind of father would treat their child the way he has?” The tears were pouring down her cheeks now. “But…but it hurts so badly, Spike. All I want is to matter. And I don’t. Not to him. I don’t matter.” And she sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged, hiding her face in her hands as she wept.
“You matter to me,” he whispered, settling across from her in the same fashion.
“It’s not just that. It’s an amalgam of things,” she told him.
“Tell me more.”
She heaved a deep sigh and stared off for a minute. “It’s just…do you know how much shit I wish I could take back?” she said, looking at him finally. “I wish I could have a do-over of the past five fucking years. I wish I could go back to that time when my Dad picked up and left for Boston and stayed to work things out with my mom like she begged me to. I have no right to be angry with her still for not telling me, for just meeting you and not even bothering to tell me. I don’t have a right to be angry with a dead woman that I can’t yell at and scream at…and whose fault is that? Mine. I should have yelled and screamed instead of just blowing her off the way I did. Should have swallowed my pride. And I’m angry. I’m angry still…everything’s just a mess in my head, and I’m so fucking tired.”
“It’s okay to be angry, Buffy; it’s okay to be angry with her. Just because someone dies doesn’t mean our feelings die with them. She should have told you. We should have told you. Forgive me, I didn’t know any better, I’d never had kids, I wasn’t thinking--”
She shook her head emphatically, “But I’ve betrayed her. I was supposed to do well. I’m supposed to be on the straight and narrow now. Make amends with you, with me, and I’ve fucked everything up further!”
“How? How have you done that?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can. We’ve been over this,” he pressed, “You can tell me anything. In fact, I want you to. No more secrets, remember?”
“I can’t!” She yelled. She jumped up and stared down at him, “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t say that,” Spike said hoarsely, standing up. Great, tears were coming again. “Why? Why did you not want to see me?”
“Its part of what I can’t tell you,” she said mournfully.
He threw up his arms in exasperation. “Buffy, for fuck’s sake…do you know how out of my mind I’ve been worrying about you?”
“You’ve been out of your mind? Look where I am!” and she gestured around her.
“I want to help--”
“You’re part of my problem so how the hell do you expect to help me?”
That was not what he was expecting. Spike froze, staring at her. “What?”
“You,” she gestured at him, arms flailing wildly about. “You’re part of my problem! You’re a big part of it! I’m not supposed to feel what I do for you and it’s all your fault for being so fucking perfect. God, why do you have to do that? Why do you have to everything I want and need? Can’t you have the decency to be an asshole like every other male I know?”
“Buffy--”
“And you are my mother’s husband. Do you have any idea how that fucks with my head? I’m not supposed to be in love with you! Here I am thinking you’re off fucking Fred and I’m jealous because I want you to be fucking me. How sick is that? What kind of daughter does that make me that I want her husband like that? That’s disgusting. As if hadn’t already made a mess of things, as if I hadn’t already hurt her enough!”
Getting up from her bed, Spike strode over to a crying Buffy and placed his hands on her elbows, tugging her to look at him.
“What?” she demanded, “What?”
“Buffy…” he began and heaved a deep sigh. This was truth-telling time. If they were ever going to heal, and heal properly, then it was time to admit those things that obviously both of them were afraid to admit. If he’d only known that all this time she’d been having similar feelings…but she’d had Angel! That she’d treated like shit, but nonetheless. He wasn’t a mind reader.
“Buffy, I’m in love with you.”
Chapter Twenty – four
“What?” Buffy whispered, staring up at him wide-eyed and in disbelief.
Spike reached out, cupping the side of her face with one hand. He gazed into her eyes, his expression soft, and his eyes tender. “I’m in love with you, Buffy Summers,” he said deeply. I have been for some time now and--”
She shook her head, and pulled his hand from her face. “You can’t be.”
“I am,” he frowned. “Why are you upset by this? I thought you’d be happy to know that you’re not alone.”
“What about my mom?” she demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not right! Just because you say you feel the same--”
“What do you mean because I ‘say’ I feel the same, I do! And your mom…she’s not here, Buffy.”
“Yeah, thanks Sherlock,” she said dryly, and then threw up her arms. “Hence the goddamn problem!” She started pacing, fidgeting once more. She pointed at him accusingly. “You were the one married to her and now you sound so callous about it. God!”
“You think you’re the only one that’s had a hard time of it, Buffy?” he demanded.
“Excuse me, but visitation is over now.”
“This is not a good time to call visitation over!” Spike bellowed to Beatrice, who had just entered the room, undetected until she spoke. “We’re in the middle of something right now, Bea, can you give us a few?”
“I’ve already given you more than a ‘few’,” Beatrice snapped. “It’s time for Buffy’s therapy session.”
“This is fucking therapy! Tell Dr. Giles to get his ass in here if he wants to fucking help.”
“Spike!” Buffy exclaimed and put her hand on his arm.
Looking down at her, into her brilliant green eyes that were wide with uncertainty and fear, he immediately calmed. His breathing slowed to a normal pace and he kept her gaze.
“Do you need to be locked up too?” she asked lightly.
Spike laughed nervously, “If it meant I could be close to you--”
Buffy moved her hand off his arm and shut her eyes. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Don’t say that.”
“Why? Why can’t I say it, Buffy?” he begged.
“Because it’s not real! You’re just…just transferring what you felt for my mom onto me!”
“No, I’m bloody not and if you’d listen to me you stubborn chit--”
“Did you just call me a shit?”
Spike let out a roar of impatience and soon two, what could only be security guards by the size of them, came into the room. Spike sighed, defeated, and held up his hands. “I’m going,” he told them. Looking down at Buffy he vowed, “This isn’t over.”
In a moment of inspiration, he leaned down and kissed her. Just lingering enough to be considered more than just a peck. “I do love you.” he whispered and headed out the door, followed by the burly security guards.
Buffy touched her fingers to her lips, the sensation of his kiss lingering blissfully. “I love you too,” she whispered and a shiver ran through her.
“You’re not crying today,” Giles observed.
Buffy turned her head slowly to him, after having been staring off into space contemplating reality and fantasy. Had Spike really told her he loved her? Had that been real? Or had that been fantasy? Though she hadn’t imagined in her fantasy that he’d be telling her whilst she was locked up, and in her fantasy she wouldn’t have such a reaction to that proclamation. In her fantasy life, she would throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless. So, yeah, that had to have been reality.
Reality blew donkeys.
“No, I’m not,” Buffy said finally. Hell, as long as they were both stating the obvious.
“Did you have a nice visit with Spike?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it ‘nice’.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Informative.”
“How so?”
“I told him I loved him, Giles. It just came out. He was pushing and pushing me to tell him what was bothering me and I’m…I’m a horrible liar. I really am. I can’t lie to save my life and I couldn’t sit there and have him ask me all that was bothering me and not at least let him know there was a missing link to it all. Not that what I told him wasn’t enough, cause hi, full plate here with the mom dying and the dad being a prick. Oh yes, and a hefty side of guilt for multiple things.”
“Why don’t we start with that guilt? What do you feel guilty for exactly?”
“That I didn’t make amends with my mother before she died for one,” she began to tick off on her fingers.
“Buffy, there is nothing you can do about that now. Spending your time beating yourself up over it will not help; it will only make you feel worse. Do you think your mother would want you to spend your life in regret and self-pity?”
“No…”
“I want you to do something for me in your journal. You ready? Listening?”
“I am.”
“I want you to write her a letter. Tell her everything. All of it. I know you have anger toward her, and I want you to get that out too. The next time we meet, I want you to read it to me.”
“You know,” she mused thoughtfully, “I did something similar to that with Spike once.”
“Oh?”
Buffy nodded, “I told him how I felt, unloaded on him as if he were my mom.”
“And how did that go?”
“It felt good, actually. For a little while anyway.”
“Then each time you do it, it will get better and better. I think for that day we’ll schedule our session outside, what do you think?”
“Isn’t freaking cold out there!”
Giles smiled, “I think some fresh air would do you some good, don’t you think?”
Buffy sighed, “Yeah, actually, it really would.”
“Tell me some more about your visit with Spike.”
Buffy heaved a heavy sigh, filling her lungs to capacity, “He told me he was in love with me too.” And she expelled the air, staring at Giles, waiting for the disgust to register across his face.
The disgust never came.
“Oh? And how did that make you feel?”
Buffy burst out laughing. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to say that! Is that like the first thing they teach you in shrink school? Well, this is even more surreal now that you actually said it.”
“Well?” Giles prompted.
“I felt…” she looked down at her fidgeting hands. “Relieved.”
“How so? Give me some more here,” Giles encouraged.
“Well, it’s always pleasing to learn you’re not alone in having feelings for someone. It was nice to know that all this time he was right there, feeling for me too.”
“Anything else?”
“I thought maybe there was something wrong with him for it.”
“Why? Because of your mother?”
“Partly, yes. Like it’s not really me, but maybe I’m a substitute. And then I felt guilt, felt as though I were stealing my mother’s husband from her.”
“You tend to think everything is your fault,” Giles said, frowning. “You blame yourself for things you have no control over. Spike recognized something in you that spoke to him. He loves you for who you are.”
“How the hell do you know? You didn’t know her, you barely know me, how do you know that I don’t remind him of her and that’s what draws him to me?”
“Part of my job is to read people, to hear not only what they’re saying, but what they are not saying. To watch them, observe them, and read the signals in their tone and body language. Buffy, transferring as you’re accusing him of would in this case be simulated. It wouldn’t have reality attached to it. He’s invested in your world. He’s worried for you, and his feelings are most definitely real. You’re not stealing your mother’s husband. Buffy, she’s dead. She’s gone and Spike is a young, virile man--”
“Do you want to date him?”
Giles continued on, ignoring her. “He has to move on at some point. Do you want him to be alone for the rest of his life?”
“No. Well, yeah. I want him to be alone if he wants to be with anyone else.”
“Anyone else that’s not you, correct?”
“Right.”
Giles smiled. “Your father put a lot on you at a young age. He held you responsible for putting his marriage with your mother back together. That was not your place to do that, Buffy. You are his child, not the one ordained to clean up his messes. That’s him. It was his place to fix what needed to be fixed and your mother opted to not make the choice to be with him again. You didn’t fail him, Buffy, and neither did she for that matter. No one failed here, except for perhaps your father for having strayed to begin with. People stumble; fall, and sometimes, they even get back up. Some don’t. Some don’t stand on their own two feet once they’ve gotten up and use others as a crutch. Your father stumbled and fell, and while he did clean up his act, he leaned on you to make things the way he wanted them, and on his terms. You are not the failure here, Buffy, he is. He failed you as a father.”
“Giles!” Buffy exclaimed, now crying, hunched over and hiding her face.
“Let it go, Buffy, let it out,” Giles encouraged. “You need to. You have kept it in for far too long. You have let him brainwash you into thinking that it was you. It’s not you. It’s him. It was not your job to fix him or his marriage to your mother. That was not your job and it was not your fault.”
His words tore into her brain like a scalpel, needling inside, and planting themselves there. It wasn’t that she fully felt it or accepted it, but she saw the truth in it. Saw that perhaps he was right, and that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t to blame for everything. It was both freeing and frightening.