Buffy stood in front of the mirror, nervously straightening her soft cream linen dress. On the bed behind her virtually her whole wardrobe was piled in a disordered, discarded heap. She bit her lip as she smoothed her hair behind her ears. Perhaps she should have stuck with the black… or maybe the pink… but she so rarely wore pink… and the black was a bit sombre… but the cream… and when did she ever wear dresses? She gave a groan of annoyance. Will you get a grip! Spike. It’s just Spike. Coming for supper. With her and Dawn and Andrew. No big. Just Spike. “Check,” she said to her reflection, glaring at it sternly. “Just Spike.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. OK. Better now.
The sound of a knock on the apartment door made her jump, and restarted her flustered efforts to smooth hair and clothes. She could hear the low murmuring of voices in the next room, and found herself straining for the sound of his voice.
“Hey!” Dawn opened the bedroom door. “Are you coming out or staying in there all night?”
“I’m… “ Buffy forced her features into a calmness that betrayed the thundering of her heart. She turned to Dawn with a bright smile. “All set! Is he here?”
“Yep. But you’d better get out there. Andrew’s got him cornered and is quoting Monty Python at him. Something about a parrot.” Dawn glanced at her watch and gave a squeak. “Oh! Look at the time! We’d best be off. The pasta is in the oven, the wine is in the ‘fridge and…”
“Off?” Buffy said weakly.
“Yes… me… Andrew… the theatre.” Dawn gave her a wide-eyed innocent look. “Didn’t I say?”
“Dawn…” Buffy wailed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You do not need a chaperone! Just don't hit him.” Dawn came into the room and took Buffy’s arm, steering her towards the door. “You. Him. Talk. Where's the difficult?” She manoeuvred her sister into the sitting room. “Here she is!”
Spike stood up rapidly from the sofa where he had been pressed into a corner by an enthusiastic Andrew, relief writ large on his face. “Buffy.” He looked over at her, his smile almost shy. No duster, she noticed, and that beautiful soft, dark blue shirt – good colour on him, stylish. Not his usual thing but… good choice. She wondered who chose it for him and why exactly that thought bothered her as much as it did.
She realised that everyone was watching her and she was just standing there staring at him, quite probably with her mouth open, and that the silence had gone on rather longer than was normal and that they probably expected some sort of response. She shook herself. “Spike.” She felt herself blush.
“Right, we’re off then.” Dawn smiled cheerfully.
“We’re going to the opera…” Andrew began.
“Theatre!” Dawn put in quickly, glaring at Andrew. “We’re going to the theatre! Been arranged for weeks. Sorry we can’t join you.” She grabbed Andrew and dragged him from the sofa. “Oh! And, Buffy? Don’t wait up. Because we’ll probably be late getting home. Very late. If at all, actually.”
“We will?” Andrew was gazing at her in bafflement.
Dawn pushed him out of the apartment. “Enjoy the pasta!” she called back to them. “Ciao!” Just before the door closed, she turned and frowned threateningly at Buffy, mouthing “Talk”.
There was an uncomfortable silence, an exchange of nervous smiles. Spike looked round at the candles and the carefully laid table. “Dawn’s made a real effort.” He smiled.
“Yeah.” Buffy’s answering smile was nervous. “But I think she reads too many romantic novels.”
Spike gave a soft laugh and picked up a handful of the rose petals strewn on the table. “It’s… sweet.”
“Sweet. Yeah.”
“You look… nice.” Again the shy smile.
“Nice? You think? I wasn’t sure. I bought this dress and then I thought, you know, when do I wear dresses? But it’s always good to have a smart dress. For interviews and stuff. Not that I’m going to any interviews. And it’s not particularly smart. And honestly? I haven’t really got the shoes, but…then… I…” She caught Spike’s bemused smile and stopped. Oh god. Nervous rambling, much? “You look nice too. I mean…” She paused and regrouped. “Are you OK?” she managed eventually.
“OK?”
“I mean, after the Dru thing.”
“Oh. I’m fine. Well,“ he winced and rubbed his wrist, “mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“The girls liked to play.”
“Oh! What did they…?” Buffy took an unconscious step towards him and went to take his hand. She caught herself, dropped her own hand awkwardly and shook her head. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s OK.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I’m OK.”
There was a silence. “I’m glad Ilona found you.” With her… chest… she pushed back the unworthy thoughts. “I hear she’s pretty good with a stake.”
”Yeah. She’s…” He paused and smiled. “She’s quite something.”
“Good. That’s… good.” There was another long pause as Buffy struggled to deal with the sharp stab of something that felt remarkably like jealousy. Quite something, huh? What exactly… She shook the thought away. “And I hear The Immortal had something to do with the whole Mary thing. Who does he think he is?” There was a flash of anger in her words. “I am so gonna sort him out.”
“No need. It’s sorted.” Spike shrugged dismissively.
“Yeah, but…”
“It’s sorted,” he said firmly.
She looked up with a puzzled frown. “Oh! OK.” You don’t need my help… right... She swallowed nervously. “Oh… umm…pasta. Dawn’s very proud of her pasta.” Buffy gestured toward the door. “Should we eat?”
“Be rude not to after the little bit went to so much trouble.” He followed her into the kitchen.
“Trouble. Yeah.” Buffy gave a wry grin. “Dawn and trouble – now there are two words that seem to go together way too often.” She bent down to take the dish from the oven. “There’s wine in the ‘fridge. Beer too. You wanna fetch?” She could hardly control her hands; she was shaking with bottled-up emotions swirling uselessly through her body and mind. And there he was, looking so… calm. She drew a steadying breath.
Spike opened the fridge door and took out a bottle. He gave a snort of laughter and turned the label towards Buffy, raising an eyebrow. Stuck to the bottle was a bright yellow PostIt! note with the word “TALK!!!” written on it in large, emphatic letters.
Buffy gave an embarrassed laugh. “Dawn… thinks we should talk.”
“You don’t say.” Spike shook his head. He held out the bottle to Buffy. She reached out to take it, covering his hand with hers.
She looked up into his eyes. “I think she’s right,” she said softly.
******
They sat next to each other on the sofa, a few inches and an ocean of unsaid words separating them, both waiting for the other to make the first move.
“Where did you go?” Spike asked eventually. “After the Hellmouth fell in.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “We set off for Cleveland.” Buffy winced at the memory of those first few days after the euphoria of survival had faded; of the ache of loss, of the fierce pain of victory, of the careful silences, of the confusion. “We didn’t quite make it. Giles…” Giles had taken charge of those left, clutching responsibility to him, galvanised by guilt. “Giles decided to head back to England… to try and pull together what was left of the watchers…”
“Figures,” Spike snorted.
“We needed them.” Buffy shrugged. “It was… We came across this girl… she’d…” she closed her eyes against the pictures in her mind. “The whole power thing, it did something to her. She didn’t know what was happening. She killed her family.” She heard Spike’s indrawn breath, sensed him reach towards her. She wrapped her arms around herself, shutting him out. No, not yet. Not ready. Not nearly ready. “We tried, but then she killed herself too. So it made us see. There were so many of them. We needed to find help… to help them. So we went to England. London.” She paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and went on. “England was a mistake,” she said flatly. “Because you were everywhere. And you’d died.”
“Buffy…”
She looked over at him. “No. Listen. I need to say this. What you did back there at the Hellmouth, it was… wonderful… you were wonderful. It was noble and brave and good and you were a hero… a champion.” He looked away, shaking his head depreciatively. “No. Don’t. Don’t belittle what you did. But you know how I felt? Afterwards, when it was all over, when all the fuss died down and I was on my own and I had time to think? I hated you.” Her eyes fell away. “I hated you because you left me. You told me you loved me but you didn’t love me enough to live for me.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He stared at the ground, lost in the memories of fear and the stinging of his soul and the sudden clear calm knowledge of what he had to do and of fire and of pain and of nothingness. “It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about anything – except maybe it was about me.” He spoke carefully as if this was the first time he’d thought it through. “For the first time in as long as I can remember, love, it was about what I wanted to do for me. It was what I needed to do.” He looked up at her with a puzzled frown. “Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” You were a hero. “I see that. I didn’t say this was logical.” I didn’t want you to be a hero, not if… “It was just… I told you I loved you.” And still you let yourself die… you let yourself die…
“But you didn’t.” His voice was calm. “You didn’t love me.”
She looked at him, the lie trembling on her lips. Eventually she sighed. “I thought I did. No. You were right, what you said. I didn’t love you - but I wanted to so much.” She closed her eyes against the memory. “You deserved to be loved. I wanted what I was feeling to be love.” She gave a small shake of her head. “But I couldn’t love anybody, not really. I hadn’t got… time.” Her voice was bitter. "I’ve had a lot of time since,” she said softly.
“The Immortal.” Spike pressed his lips together and looked away.
“The Immortal?” Buffy’s looked at him in confusion.
“Time. Now you have time to… to love someone.” Despite himself, he couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice.
“The Immortal? I don’t love…” She felt a surge of panic. “You think…? I never loved him.” You have to believe me, Spike… it was never love… not for him… He looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. The vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache. “I thought you’d gone,” she whispered. She closed her eyes against the prick of tears.“I said I hated you. It was just… it was all so raw.” She struggled to find the words. “How I felt – I just knew that whatever it was, it hurt so bad. And time went on and still it hurt but I began to see… I…” She hesitated, afraid of the words. “…understood. What I felt…really felt…” She shook her head. “And that hurt more.” Because it was too late… might still be too late…
“And now?” She could sense him watching her averted face, hear the tension in his voice.
“And now, I need to know.” She closed her eyes briefly, summoning the courage to ask, then turned to him. “I need to know what you want.”
He gave her a puzzled frown. “This isn’t about what I want.”
“Yes, it is.” Her voice was intense. “It’s completely about what you want. Spike, look at me. Tell me what you want.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I want… I want you to have what you wanted. A normal life. And,” he looked down at his hands, “I want to be part of it. I want us to be together, to… make love, and fight, and have kids and grow old together. That’s what I want.” He gave a short, hard laugh, and looked up at her. “But I can’t have it, Buffy. I’m a hundred plus years and a thousand plus sins beyond that. I can’t give you a normal life. Someone else could.”
“Three out of five is good.” She gave him a hesitant smile.
He took her hands in his. “No. It isn’t. You’ve got your chance to be normal. You don’t need…” He dropped her hands, stood up and walked away from her. She watched the tenseness in his back as he picked up a stake from the coffee table, tossing it in his hand as he pulled together the words. “I can’t give you a normal life. You know that. All I can offer you is this.” He turned toward her and held his arms wide. ”All I have…” His gave a bitter laugh. “I’m not Angel. I’m not gonna sit and brood and think about higher things until I forget what it’s like to live. I’m not looking to earn some sort of redemption from some bloody stupid higher power by helping the helpless for the hell of it. I’ll fight for what I believe in, for what I love.” He looked at her intently for a moment, and then gave a small smile and shrugged. “And because it’s bloody good fun. This is me, love. Not big with the deep thinking, or the careful judgment or the avoiding the fight. And not hardly normal.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I know who you are. I don’t want normal. I want you.” She gave a small smile. “And I’ve kind of missed the fight.”
His eyes locked with hers. She held her breath, willing him to see – to really see – all she hadn’t the words for. She watched the uncertainty fade from his eyes, watched sweet belief take hold, felt her own relieved smile mirror his. He nodded. “OK.” He tossed the stake to her. “Wanna go kill something? Justice, puppies, Christmas – all that.”
She caught the stake one handed. He was looking at her, head tilted, a soft half-smile curving his lips. “No.” She dropped the stake and walked over to him. She reached up to touch his cheek. “Dawn taught me something. Vita non est vivere sed.”
“Oh? Latin is it?” He raised an eyebrow.
“There’s things I’d rather be doing with my life right now.” She slid her hands slowly down over his shoulders.
“And that would be?” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.
“Spike… you… me… it’s not going to be easy.” She was finding it hard to think clearly, her whole body was aching for the feel of him, her heart thundering in her chest.
“No.” His hands trailed cool fire down her back.
“There’s a lot… we’ve been through a lot…” Her hands moved down over his chest, the familiar feel of him bringing surging warmth so intense she gasped.
“Yes.”
She’d forgotten how blue his eyes were, blue deep enough to lose your soul in…“So from now on we talk.” Oh, god, if he kept touching her like that…
“Right.”
“Yes. New start.” She gestured with a hand. “Moving on. Only together.” Oh, together… please… “No more trying to second guess everything. No more mixed signals.”
“Sounds good to me.” A gentle smile. So beautiful…
“Spike, the talking thing?” I’ve missed you so much…
“Yeah?” His voice was deep, husky with emotion.
I need you… She gave in. “Could we maybe do that later and move straight to the kissing thing right now?”
His lips were gentle on hers; hesitant, tender. She sighed against his mouth, twinned her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. And it felt good, so good, and honest and sweet, and she had never felt so open to anyone before, so tied to another, so aware of him, so totally lost in him. He was her life.
And she’d almost lost him.
She broke the kiss with a sob, pulled herself to him fiercely, pressed her face into his neck, breathing the familiar, bittersweet smell of him. Tears choked her, soaked his collar. “When you didn’t come back again…”
“I’m sorry…” he held her close, pressed his lips to her hair.
“I couldn’t bear it.”
“I’m here now.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“I’ll always want you.”
“Spike?”
“Hmm?” He ran his lips softly over her neck. She gasped at the breathtaking surge of emotions the touch of him brought.
“Spike. Look at me.” She took his face in her hands, raised his head until his eyes met hers. “I love you.” She said softly.
He looked at her for a long moment, blue eyes shining. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I know you do.” And he bent to kiss her.
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