At some point in the night, Spike must have fallen asleep. Exhausted from emotion and exertion, he had to have drifted off. Because now he was waking up, and it was impossible to wake up if you had never fallen asleep. Spike shrugged the blanket away from his chin and stretched his arm slightly, expecting to encounter soft golden hair and skin, only to find empty air. The other half of the pillow was still warm, and it still smelled like her. She had to have been here only moments before. With a sigh, Spike sank facedown back into the sofa. Buffy was gone, and he had no idea what was going to happen now.
***********************************************************
Feeling curiously blank inside, Buffy let herself into her home, intent on a shower and bed. She had already left a message on Dru’s answering machine to let her know Buffy wouldn’t be at work today. It had been so tempting to stay with Spike, curled in his arms, content to sleep the morning away, or perhaps engage in a repeat performance of the previous evening. So tempting, that she knew she had to leave before he woke up, or she would never be able to.
Buffy tiredly entered the kitchen, slinging her bag and keys on the counter, and stopped in her tracks. The very last person she wanted to see was sitting at the breakfast bar, head in hands, a steaming cup of coffee nearby. She had been sure that despite the early hour, Angel would already have left for work.
Hearing the clash of her keys on the granite, he looked up. “Buffy,” his voice ached with exhaustion and his eyes were beyond bloodshot, just red orbs occasionally creased with white.
She held up her hand to cut him off. “Not now, Angel," she said, attempting to move past him. In the hard light of day, she wasn’t afraid of him. Things that happened in the quiet of a dark bedroom couldn’t happen with the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and the sound of a lawnmower droning somewhere in the distance.
“Buffy. Please.” He turned those injured eyes to her, silently begging her to just stay and listen, just for a few minutes.
She hadn’t seen him look that way in quite a while. So open and vulnerable. With a sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “Okay, Angel. What could you possibly have to say to me?”
“Buffy, last night was…I don’t really remember exactly what happened, but I know it was bad. And I am sorry for whatever happened. I don’t know if you remember, but I was in court yesterday,” he paused and looked at her for confirmation.
Lowering her eyes, she shook her head slightly. She hadn’t remembered.
“And we lost the case. The one we’ve been working on for months now.” She started to interrupt, but he cut her off. “And that’s not an excuse. I’m just telling you what happened. And then,” he paused to rub his forehead. “This idiot paralegal told me they had seen you in some tabloid, getting up close and personal with Spike Giles. He actually asked me if I could get him an autograph.” Angel laughed in disbelief. “I didn’t even know you had seen him recently.”
Buffy blushed slightly. It must have been when she had left the recording studio last week. Spike had followed her out to say a private goodbye. She hadn’t seen any photographers, but Spike had mentioned that he and the band were getting more and more publicity, sometimes of the unwanted kind. God, what that must have looked like…Frantically, she tried to remember exactly what they had done. Buffy didn’t think it had been anything other than an innocent hug, but after last night, every single seemingly innocuous touch was imbued with extra meaning.
“Angel, I’m so sorry –“ she began, but again he cut her off.
“Let me finish, okay?” When she nodded, green eyes troubled and wan, he continued. “So then, I came home and you weren’t here. No note, no message, nothing. I didn’t know what to think, Buffy. And I’m not proud of this, but after that I started drinking. I’m guessing you came home after I’d just about finished the bottle of scotch.” Again he rubbed his head, groaning a little with the aftereffects of all that alcohol.
“I know we’ve been married awhile, and I understand about little flirtations. I’ve had them, too.” Buffy’s eyebrows came up, and he quickly continued. “But to be with him, and get yourself photographed by some dirty paparazzi,” he stopped, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you would do that.”
“That day,” Buffy began, feeling the need to explain herself, “The day the picture must have been taken, I was in the city picking something up for Dru, and I knew the band was in the studio. So I just stopped by to say hi. Spike,” she stumbled a little over the name, desperately trying to hide her guilt,” he just walked me out. Nothing happened there. We were on the sidewalk, in front of dozens of people.” Almost involuntarily, she moved closer to him. He looked so sad… “And last night, I was out with Willow. My very female friend. I didn’t leave a message because,” she shrugged and looked at him carefully. “I didn’t think you would be here to get it.”
“So what now?” he asked, evenly meeting her gaze. “Do you want me to leave?”
“What? No.” Another step closer, drawn by, she wasn’t really sure what. Memories, maybe. Shared history. Guilt.
“I am sorry, Buffy. I would never hurt you, not really. I wasn’t trying to hurt you last night. Just to be close to you,” he looked at her somewhat reproachfully now, and she, knowing that after her time with Spike he had much to rebuke her for, drew another step closer. Now she stood a little behind and to the side of his seat at the bar, a hairsbreadth away from touching him.
“I’m sorry, too,” she breathed.
Slowly, he turned in his chair and drew her close, one arm around her waist, his face at her shoulder. “What now?” he asked. “Can we move on from this?”
Fighting the urge to shudder, she forced herself to try and relax. It didn’t matter that his embrace felt so alien; he was her husband and she was going to have to try and remember that. “I think we can,” she responded quietly.
At this, Angel wrapped his arms fully around his wife, gently playing with her hair, eyes burning with relief and satisfaction. He had her back.
***********************************************************
"Bloody hell!" Spike kicked the microphone stand in disgust, sending it crashing to the floor.
This was possibly the worst recording session the band had ever had, and it was completely his fault. Oz and Xander eyed him dubiously from behind their respective instruments as he once again choked on the lyrics, effectively stopping the recording once again.
He had arrived at the studio determined to include “Fall at Your Feet” on this album. After some initial resistance from the producer, Spike had gotten his way, but now he couldn’t seem to sing the fucking song. His head was full of Buffy; images from last night kept kaleidoscoping through his mind and his concentration was crap today.
“Okay, guys,” the weary voice of the mixing artist came over the intercom. “Why don’t you take five? Spike, you have a visitor.”
He spun quickly around, catching a flash of blond hair inside the booth and jolted out the door. Buffy was waiting for him, her hands twisting around and around in nervousness. She knew she had to see him today, but wasn’t at all sure what kind of reception to expect. Her first thought had been to wait until evening and go to his house, but her heart had complained loudly at the thought of revisiting the scene of last night’s intimacy and not being able to repeat it. So she had decided that this would be better. A public place where she could be sure to catch him, and where they couldn’t indulge in any behavior likely to get them in any deeper than they already were. But now, he was looking at her with such naked emotion on his face; hope, love and torment all rapidly taking their turn in his stricken blue eyes, and she was no longer sure this had been the best plan.
Xander looked from one to the other, and quickly took control of the situation. Clapping the mixing artist on the shoulder, he said, “Steve, it’s been a rough morning. Why don’t you let us take you out for lunch?”
“Ummm, I don't know.” Steve was a little confused by the tension thrumming in the room.
Catching Xander’s eye, Oz steered the man toward the door. “C’mon mate, we owe you.”
As he was leaving, Xander shot Spike a significant look over his shoulder, but Spike was too engrossed in an intimate perusal of Buffy to even notice. Sighing, the drummer closed the door, hoping to God that his friend knew what he was doing.
“Spike,” Buffy spoke first, her voice a whispering caress. She had once again forgotten what an effect his physical presence had on her. She wanted nothing more than to run over and throw herself into his arms, forgetting about the rest of the world and all the hard things she was here to say.
“Buffy,” his words an answering prayer. “You were gone. I woke up and you were gone.” His deep blue eyes were stricken and his words held a hint of reproach.
Wanting nothing more than to go over and sooth him, she instead took a deep breath and fisted her hands. “I know. I’m sorry,” she offered. “I needed to think. I was afraid that if you were awake, I’d never be able to leave,” she tried a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes and she knew it.
“Would that have been so bad?” he took a hesitant step forward, desperately wanting her in his arms.
“Spike, stop.”
Her words effectively halted him, freezing him in place, arms still slightly outstretched. “We can’t. You know we can’t. We talked about this last night. Angel’s my husband – “
“Aren’t things just a little different now, Buffy?” he pleaded in a hard-edged tone. “I’m in love with you!”
“I know,” she repeated her words from last night, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. “But last night, that can’t happen again.”
“And you can’t say you don’t have feelings for me,” he ignored her words. “I know you can’t.”
“Please, Spike. Please don’t.” Her tears spilled over, washing silently down her cheeks.
Bleeding fuck. He had made her cry, and after last night, he wouldn’t have thought she had any tears left. Defeated, he ran his hands through his hair and tried to tamp down his own anguish. “Okay, pet,” he sighed. “You win. Where does this leave us?”
“Friends?” she offered weakly.
“Friends. I’ll try, luv, if that’s what you want, but honestly, Buffy, it might be easier if…”
“If what?” she demanded, panicky.
“If we just didn’t see each other. A clean break.” His heart ached, and the words burned coming out of his mouth, but he had to suggest it. It was almost impossible to think that he could just be her friend after what they had shared last night. To think he could cheerfully send her off to her husband night after night and not constantly wonder what new atrocity might send her running to his front door again.
“No!” Buffy was truly alarmed now. He couldn’t possibly, she couldn’t… “Please no,” she softened her voice, green eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m not ready for you not to be here.”
Spike cursed himself as a sodding wanker, knowing he would deserve every ounce of pain this caused him. “Okay, Buffy. For you, I’ll try.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This isn't going to be anyone's favorite chapter, but we all knew it would probably happen this way, right?
A big huge thanks to whomever nominated me at Love's Last Glimpse! And major thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. It means so much to me! Please keep it up!
A big huge thanks to whomever nominated me at Love's Last Glimpse! And major thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. It means so much to me! Please keep it up!