Spike’s appointment was in less than twenty-four hours and he was not looking forward to it. In fact, he felt very much like blowing it off, digging in his heels, and saying he wasn’t going to be made to do anything he didn’t want to do. Childish, yes, but he didn’t care. He’d been forced into it, served some sort of false ultimatum that he knew she didn’t mean, though there had been resoluteness in her eyes that he hadn’t wanted to fight too much against. Pushing Buffy was akin to taunting a Bull: she only took so much before she charged.
Since he’d made that sodding appointment last week, things had been strained and while both of them acknowledged their own feelings on the matter to themselves, they didn’t bother to share. Like a sickness though, it didn’t mean they stayed away from one another, not entirely anyway, even if the time would have been better spent in separate corners.
They didn’t touch one another, kisses were intermittent and scarce, it was more the knowledge and security of the other being there physically, and not so much having to really be there in every sense of the word. He got the sense from Buffy that she was trying to make things all right, while things for him were far from all right and while he wanted to rail at her, something held him back. That resoluteness, that fear of maybe she meant it.
Buffy was not the sort to just live with things being miserable for too long and Spike supposed it was due to the fact that she had lived with things being miserable for so long in the past, that she wasn’t willing to do it any longer. That had to mean something in regards to her therapy, but like a stubborn child, Spike wasn’t about to admit that.
So, it was the night before his appointment and they’d had a silent dinner at the house, mumbling a few words back and forth which were supposed to somehow constitute a conversation, and Spike could tell that Buffy was about to blow when she threw her napkin down on the table and stalked to the sink with her plate, roughly rinsing it off before shoving it in the dishwasher.
“All right,” she said turning to him, “Give it to me. Lay it on me. Do it.”
He looked up from his plate and blinked. “What?” he said stupidly, knowing full well what she meant, but opting to make it difficult.
“I know you’re angry with me and have been for a week now, so I’m giving you the opportunity to just lay it on me. Tell me why you’re pissed, I want to know.”
“Well, how about we start with how you served me an ultimatum to make an appointment.”
“Nothing else was working,” she said simply.
“Maybe because I don’t fucking need help,” he snapped.
“Yes, you do, you’re just too goddamn thickheaded to see it.”
“What is it that I need help with, huh?” he nearly shouted and bolted up from the table, throwing his napkin down.
“The fact that you never dealt with losing your parents because you had my mother there to pick up the pieces and play mommy for you. And then you lost my mother and I came along and now you’ve transferred all of that to me, making me the mommy in this relationship.”
He stared at her aghast. His expression was one of abject disbelief, but the feelings she stirred with those words stabbed him. The mention of his parents, his loss of Joyce, and then the idea that Buffy thought she was no more than a mother to him – it was all too much.
“And when you thought you were going to lose me too, you held on so tight. Too tight. So tight I can’t breathe sometimes and it’s my doing too, it’s my need for you that doesn’t allow too much room between us – just a little, but not enough.”
“You put more than enough room between us, Buffy,” he told her, annoyed.
“No, not really, because when you need me, when you’re angry with me, or upset, or anything, I come running to fix it. You did it for me once upon a time.”
“You never let me get that close. I have been nothing but open wide for you and you are still closed off to me.”
“I am not!” she exclaimed, frustrated, throwing up her arms. “You just choose to see it that way because I am not making your life, my life. And yet, we have done that, haven’t we? Made our lives so intertwined that sometimes I don’t know where mine begins and yours ends.”
“We love each other, Buffy, how is that so wrong?”
“Because it’s too much! It’s co-dependant and I don’t want to feel that I have to ask you before I go out with Willow, or ask you before I decide to spend a night alone because sometimes I need a night alone and I don’t want to have to constantly worry that you’re upset with me or angry with me and I’m making you miserable—“
“Then don’t! Then fucking don’t. You’ve never had a problem doing what you want anyway, you somehow always seem to and I never get a say at all in any of it. You want to trek off to Boston, so you go! I begged you to come back home, but you went and look what happened to you when you did!”
“That wasn’t your problem to fix, and it wasn’t a problem you created, Spike. That was mine!”
“Wasn’t part of the reason you left was to avoid me? That makes it my problem too!”
“No, it doesn’t! It’s not all about you, Spike, some things are mine.”
“And somehow they end up being mine just the same, don’t they Buffy. You didn’t discuss moving out with me, you just told me it was going to happen and why, but you never gave me any say in it. You never discussed taking off to Boston with me, you just told me you were going and went. You never told me any of what you were feeling,” he broke off, hoarsely, a sob tearing at his throat. “You just avoided me. You have this whole other life you want, but I thought the whole point of being a couple was to make a life together. You pull me in and then you push me back. You say you love me and you want me, and then you’re pushing me away from you – how do you think that makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry,” she told him through her own tears that were falling freely; “I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me what you want from me, Buffy, tell me who you want me to do and I’ll do it, just give me some direction here.”
“I just want you to be you. I want you to be happy. I want you to…see.” She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. But he’ll never see as long as you’re still there.
The confident man he’d been once upon a time was no longer. He was crumbling before her very eyes and had been for a while. His identity was so wrapped up in hers and he’d been doing so well before…Perhaps he’d been strong then for her? When she needed him, he was everything that she needed and once she’d gotten stronger, he became weaker. He needs to be needed, and if he doesn’t feel that I need him, then he falls apart. But how many times can I show it and say it until he believes that I do need him? I keep saying it, I keep trying to show him, and it’s not going anywhere, just the same crap over and over and over and over…so what do I do? How do I help make him stronger? My presence isn’t a help, it’s a hindrance, so maybe I need to take myself out of the equation…
“I think we should go on a break,” she declared.
He froze. “What?”
“I think we should go on a break, just for a little while, just to clear our heads and think--”
“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Just listen to me--”
“No, Buffy. I told you once and I’ll tell you again until it sinks in that thick head of yours: I’m never letting you go.”
“I’m not letting you go either; I’m just saying I think we need some breathing room.”
“I fucking said no!”
“Too fucking bad! You want me to talk things out with you, but you don’t even want to listen to what I have to say. It’s the same goddamn thing with you – you think I’m saying one thing and thinking the other, you don’t trust me, you don’t have any faith in me or in us and I’m fucking sick of it! You promised to call someone and it wasn’t until I had to give you that ultimatum that you did it. You twist my words and make me the heavy all the fucking time instead of taking responsibility for your own actions. I’m tired of everything being my fault; I’m tired of trying to cater to your wants and needs – what about mine? Do I cease to exist because you’re afraid I’m going to leave you? You want everything that’s me to be tied up in you and it doesn’t work that way. Our relationship that you covet so damn much can’t survive if you’re sucking the fucking life out of me!”
“Then go if that’s what you want to do so bad! Leave! Get out!” Spike shouted at her at the top of his lungs.
Clamping her mouth shut, Buffy walked out of the room on shaky legs, grabbed her purse from the sofa in the living room, and let herself out the door.
Spike stood stock still in the kitchen, staring at the place Buffy had just vacated. When he heard the door shut, he felt paralyzed. That didn’t just happen did it? Did we just…did I just…?
When it finally hit him what had just taken place and that Buffy was gone, Spike ran to the front door and flung it open. “Buffy!”
“That’s okay,” he muttered, “I’ll just go to the apartment and see her. We can work this out.”
Fifteen minutes later though, Buffy was not at her apartment and the neighbors were threatening to call the cops if he insisted on pounding and shouting for her any more. Calling her had done nothing, she’d shut her phone off.
Taking himself home, Spike felt at a loss. He felt helpless and lost, not a feeling that settled well with him. It was the same feeling he’d had when his parents died, when Joyce died, when Buffy left and -- Fuck me.
He sat back and did the whole ‘once removed’ thing, he looked at the whole thing as if he were an outside observer of his own life and God, he felt as though he had been an observer in his own life, being a possessive lunatic and just acting, not really thinking, not really seeing anything beyond what he felt. Buffy hadn’t left him, she was right there the entire time comforting him, reassuring him, talking with him, trying to help, and he just took and took and took and when she stopped, he saw it as a sign of her wanting to go.
And how can I blame her for snapping tonight? She was right when I was at her apartment last week; I had been thinking that now we’d just move in together. That I’d sell the house and just move in and Christ, it’s like I don’t have any control over myself. Look what I did to Angel. Okay, so he did deserve to at least be hit, but I pummeled the guy and if Buffy hadn’t stopped me... He shivered at the thought.
Spike fought back the urge to go back out to find her. It was torment to have this hanging there between them, to not know if he’d really done it this time, and if she would be back or if she was really well sick of him. Putting his head in his hands, Spike had himself a good, solid cry.
“Buffy, are you going to be all right?” Willow asked, handing Buffy a box of tissues.
Buffy nodded through her tears, “I’ll be fine. I just don’t know what to do. Should I go see him or stay away? Should I have left? Did I do the right thing?”
Willow sat down next to her friend on her couch and hugged her. “Yes, Buffy, you did the right thing. Some time apart is just what you need and you know he would have gone looking for you had you went to your apartment. You did the right thing, and sometimes doing the right thing is not always the easy thing.”
“Wills, could you call him later for me? Just to make sure he’s all right?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Sniffling, Buffy pondered that. “Okay, you’re right. I’m gonna call Fred, maybe she can do it.”
“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?”
“Uh, yeah…got any valium?”
Chapter Fifty-four
Sitting in the waiting room of the therapy center, Life Wellness, Spike’s leg bounced up and down with nervous energy. He was going through with it; he was going to see Dr. McClay. He wasn’t entirely convinced that since a sort of enlightenment had hit last night that this wasn’t something he couldn’t work through on his own, however, enlightenment had hit when he’d pummeled Angel and he’d still carried on as if nothing had happened. Rather, as he’d found out last night when Fred called to see how he was (and he was sure Buffy had something to do with that), Buffy had picked up that mess for him. She’d taken him in, away from the situation, and gave him a reprieve from reality. That was a mistake. He’d used that opportunity to try and worm his way in and then gotten angry and hurt when she’d told him he had to go home.
Okay, so maybe she needed to be better at making boundaries, but he shouldn’t have to rely on her to do that. He should have known. Boundaries between them were so skewed though; Spike had to agree with her: he didn’t know where she began and he ended. While half of him didn’t see the bad, the other half knew that wasn’t right and not necessarily conducive to a healthy relationship.
If they even had a relationship at this point.
When Fred had called last night, she hadn’t said that Buffy had put her up to calling, but Spike liked to think that he was so in tune with his girl that he was correct in his assumption that she had. Especially when Fred had disclosed how Buffy had asked her to talk to Angel about not pressing charges. He’d asked how that had gone over, and Fred just said that she knew a few things about him that she could use as leverage and Angel knew it, and feared it. Spike didn’t question further, but merely thanked her and made a mental note to thank Buffy.
“William?”
Spike’s head shot up and he found a dirty blond with kind blue eyes and small smile looking directly at him. She was dressed in corduroy pants and some kind of ruffled maroon blouse and black flats. She was short, and didn’t look scary at all.
He stood. “Here.”
Her smile grew and she waved him toward her and through the door she was holding open. “Come on.”
Holding his breath, he followed her down a narrow hallway to another door that she opened and gestured for him to enter. Coming inside, he found two loveseats, a coffee table, a desk and a swivel chair.
“Wherever you want,” she told him.
He sat down one the loveseats on the far end of the room, exhaling finally, and she took the across from him. Crossing her legs, she grabbed a notebook. “How are you today, William?”
“Can you call me Spike?” he asked.
“Nickname?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Sure, I can call you that. As long as you call me Tara. So, how are you today, Spike?”
He nodded. “I’m a little worried.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’m worried because I think I just lost my girlfriend last night and I’m nervous about being here. I’ve never done this before.”
“Well, I commend you for coming. Life is hard at times, and sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to and get things out with someone that you don’t know and know isn’t going to judge you. People often have the misconception that it’s a sign of weakness to come and seek help, but that’s not the case at all. It takes great strength to come and want to tackle the issues at hand head on.”
Spike nodded slowly. “My girlfriend comes here. She sees Lorne.”
Tara smiled, “Ah, yes, he’s a wonderful doctor. She’s in good hands.”
“Is she?”
“You doubt it?”
“Sometimes I think he fills her head with things that makes her stray from me rather than work with me.”
Tara cocked her head to the side. “Oh?”
“She doesn’t agree, of course.”
“Hmmm…Why don’t we start with you right now? Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
“Where shall I begin?”
“How about you start with your family.”
“Well, I don’t have any family. Buffy, my girlfriend, she’s my family.”
“You had to have family at one time.”
“Yes, that’s true, I did,” he said, nodding.
“Let’s start there then.”
Taking a deep breath, Spike launched into his story.
“Buffy, just come out with me tonight,” Willow urged. “Just for dinner and then you can go see Spike or you can go home if you want.”
Straightening the new note cards she’d just gotten in, Buffy chewed her bottom lip. “I hate the way things were left with us.”
“I know, but Buffy, maybe it’s not so bad that you got that break you wanted. You did want it, didn’t you?”
“Well, I mean…yeah.”
“That sounded convincing.”
“Well…” Buffy shrugged. “I wanted it because I thought maybe it’d be good for us. For him.”
“And for you, right?”
“Yeah,” Buffy sighed, “For me too.”
“Then give yourself and him the breathing room.”
“I hope he went to therapy today,” Buffy murmured and grabbed a pink “Get Well” note card. She stared at it and then sighed and reached for a “Thinking of you” note card. “Maybe I’ll just put a note in his mailbox, let him know I’m, you know, thinking of him.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Buffy nearly growled. “Yes! It’s just a note, that’s it. I’m not going to personally hand it to him. You’re going to drive me by and I’m going to give it to him. That’s it. The end of the story. Whatever problems Spike and I have, I still love him. I’m not going to ignore his existence.”
“And if he sees this as a way to insinuate himself back to the way things were?”
“Look, Wills, I understand what you’re trying to say, and I understand what you’re trying to do and all, but I’m not going to blow him off completely.” She smirked in good humor, “That’s not the way I roll.”
Willow giggled. “So, what’s the note going to say?”
“Not sure yet. I’m sure inspiration will hit though,” she said confidently and set about filling the note cards once more.
Heading to the mailbox after having arrived home from his session, Spike felt drained. Exhausted really. Buffy had mentioned the exhaustion she’d felt after she’d started seeing Giles, but he hadn’t realized just how draining it could be. And all they’d done was talk about his history—his parents, Joyce, and then Buffy. He hadn’t gotten to the nitty-gritty much, though Tara had advised him that perhaps letting a day or two pass before contacting Buffy would be a good idea. He didn’t necessarily want to do that, but there was something about the magic of seeing a therapist – he felt he should do as advised, and would.
Opening the mailbox, he found a small baby blue envelope sitting on the top of the other mail with Buffy’s scrawl that simply said: Spike.
With trembling hands, he pulled it out and opened the card. A note card was inside that said “Thinking of You” across the top.
I hope everything is all right. I hope therapy went well. I will be out tonight with Willow, but you can call if you need to talk.
Love you,
Buffy
Spike smiled, feeling some weight lift off his shoulders. Tucking the note in his pocket, Spike grabbed the rest of his mail and headed for the house. He was going to make some dinner, maybe watch a movie, and head off to bed early. And, he was going to work on not calling Buffy. Perhaps though, he’d write her a note back.