Cars sped past at the speed of Spike's own thoughts as they whipped down the highway. He hadn't yet asked Buffy where exactly she wanted to return to, was just heading to his house automatically, assuming that's what would be best, almost scared now of breaking into her thoughts to actually ask her. The flight back from California had been hellish. Unable to get a direct passage on such short notice, they had detoured through Minneapolis and gotten stuck there for several hours due to mechanical failure. Then after finally being allowed to board, they had sat on the tarmac for nearly another hour before being told to disembark while another plane was found. Now that they had finally touched down back on the east coast, located his car in the labyrinthine lot and inched out of the exit queue to finally make the interstate, it was nearly dusk. And Buffy had been getting quieter and more withdrawn with every minute.
She had woken up more subdued than the day before, when the glowing haze of denial had cloaked all their actions, but really he had expected that. What he hadn't expected was her continual withdrawal until she seemed to hardly be able to meet his eyes and only answered any questions in a clipped, monosyllabic tone. He tried not to take it personally, knew she was confused, probably scared, but his body was tightening up, zinging with the tension of not knowing where her head was.
Buffy jumped when the ringing phone shattered the settled quiet, startling her momentarily out of the daze she seemed to have fallen into. As the day wore on and they encountered one delay after another in getting back to New York, she had gradually realized that while fun, the day of denial hadn't actually accomplished anything when it came to her making the hard decisions, may have in fact made things more difficult. She nearly felt like a different person, and the things that had come before were something that she heard about once, that had happened to an acquaintance or maybe even just something she had seen on tv. It certainly had all the elements of a made-for-tv movie, she thought bitterly. And how was she supposed to make decisions based on something that seemed to have happened to someone who was not her?
She realized that Spike had steered to the side of the road, letting the other cars pass them, while he answered the call. “Hey, Ahn, “ he said in a tight voice. “What's going on?”
“Spike, I don't know how to tell you this...” his stomach clenched when he heard her hesitant voice. What the bloody hell else could possibly happen to them? Were they never going to be allowed a moment's peace? Or maybe they had used up all they would ever get yesterday...
“Just spit it out,” he told her tersely.
“There are reporters,” she started slowly. “At your house. Camped out. Waiting for you.”
“What?” he exclaimed into the phone, making Buffy jump again with his vehemence. He offered her a small, apologetic smile before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat in an effort to stay calm. “How the bloody hell did they figure out where I live?”
“Spike, I don't know. We did everything we could to keep it a secret. The only thing I can think is maybe someone from the studio...”
“Bloody buggering hell,” he mumbled, more to himself than either girl within earshot. Firmly rubbing his head, thumb and forefinger smoothing down the sides of his face in an effort to ease the tension, he told Anya he would call her back soon and clicked the phone shut. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, giving them both another moment of quiet before they would have to deal with the new problem.
“What's wrong?” Buffy asked in a small voice, turning her face up to him, breaking the stillness.
“Luv,” he turned to face her and reached out to take one of her hands in his, stroking her palm soothingly with his thumb. “That was Anya. There's a problem with the press. Some idiot gave out my address, and now apparently there's a bunch of 'em camped out, waiting for something newsworthy to happen,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm and frustration.
“Which turning up with me would be,” she answered flatly, pulling away from him and staring down at her palms.
“Probably,” he replied honestly. “But sweetheart,” Insistently he reached out and latched onto her hand again, holding it more firmly, trying to send comfort through the link. “We can go anywhere else you want. Could stay with Willow, or at the band's flat in the city. Could get another hotel room, here or there. Whatever you want, we'll do.” Spike tried as hard as he could to make his voice sound reassuring. He really would do whatever she wanted, whatever he could, but he was unsettled by the thought that the place where they had already shared so many moments, that he knew she considered a kind of sanctuary, was now off-limits.
The silence seemed to stretch out forever while he waited for her answer. Buffy suddenly felt incredibly weary. Was this just going to keep happening? An endless cycle of things not working out for them? Xander's words, never truly forgotten, just pushed away by circumstance and, she thought, by her own stubborness, crept back into her head. This wouldn't be happening to him if it weren't for her. Spike could be happily esconsced in his house, press-free, with some beautiful unattached girl....And suddenly she couldn't get the image out of her mind. Spike, happy and relaxed, smiling at some unseen girl, and that part really made her want to claw her own eyes out, but in the end she desperately wanted him to be happy.
“Buffy?” he asked softly. Her fingers had tightened on his, nails making small indentions in his skin. Abruptly realizing what she was doing, she forced her grip to relax, made her fingers lie down and behave and not mirror the fierce pain echoing in her heart.
“Maybe,” she said, voice even softer than his. “Maybe I should just go to my house.”
And suddenly his hand was gone, he was gone, and the door had slammed so hard that the whole car shook with reverberations. She sat for a moment, in shock, watching him through the windshield as he slumped down onto the hood, head held angled behind a neck thickly corded with tension and hands fisted at his sides. Four, five, six cars flew past their spot on the side of the highway before she could force her body to move, find the nerve to mechanically get out of the car and take up a place beside him.
She opened her mouth, not really knowing what she was going to say, but he stopped her with a hand flung out in front of her body, like he was trying to keep her from flying out of a car during a crash, and a word muttered too low for her to hear. “What?” she asked quietly, more statement than question, her inflection as tangled as her thoughts.
He looked up at her then, just barely turning his body towards her, but she could see his eyes and suddenly it was hard to breath. The swirling blue had darkened to nearly black, and she could see anger and love all twisted up together, veiled by something that looked like posessiveness, something that had her own body instinctively tightening and responding to. “No.”
“What do you mean, “no”...” she trailed in a whisper.
“I mean bloody no, Buffy!” His tone was harsh, but this was absolutely the end of his limits. She had pulled the rope holding his self control intact just a little too far and now it had sprung back on her. “You are not going back there! I don't fucking care what I have to do. I don't care if I have to just hold you down until you get it. I will not let you go back there. I will not let you go back to him!” he roared the last word at her, forcing her a step back, and the uncertainty in her green eyes, the mar on her forehead and the last of the bruises that she couldn't quite cover up snapped his anger and abruptly forced him the other way, making him nearly choke as he reached out for her, once again desperate to feel her and know she was safe.
“Buffy, you can't, you can't make me do that again,” he pleaded with her, skimming shaking hands over her pliant form in a way that was way too familiar for the side of the road, but Spike didn't care, too far gone in remembering what it felt like to see her hurt, remembering the agony he had suffered when she was missing. “I just can't go through that again. I need to know you're safe, Buffy!”
“Spike,” she began soothingly, a little awkward in this role reversal where he was the one that needed calming. “It's okay, it's okay, I can go somewhere else, Willow's maybe, and you can go home. They won't bother you if I'm not there.”
“No,” his voice desperately sad. “I need to stay with you. Need to know you're okay.”
Buffy put her arms around his neck and leaned her head into his chest in a effort to calm them both. “Okay,” she whispered, leaning into him, acquiesing both because she wanted to and because the desperateness in his voice, the pain in his eyes, frightened her. “Okay.”
Slowly, his rapidly beating pulse begin to calm, and he begin to speak again more softly, words muffled slightly by her hair. “ I can't tell you how scared I was, luv, when no one knew where you were. Can't even begin to describe it. Kept remembering how you'd been hurt before. Kept seeing your face, your eyes. I was bloody out-of-my-mind terrified,” his arms tightened on her reflexively. “Buffy, you can't ask me to go through that again. If he hurts you again, one more time, and it's because I let you go back there, I won't be able to live with myself.”
“Okay,” she repeated, pulling back slightly to look at him. “I'm sorry I scared you, Spike. I never meant - “
Shaking his head, he shushed her. “Don't have to be sorry. Not really your fault, luv. Just a mad jumble of accidents and misunderstandings.” He sighed and let her go, leaning against the hood once more and staring out into the slowly darkening sky. It was almost sunset. Unconsciously, she mirrored his position, so they were side by side, but no longer touching, eyes suddenly unable to meet. For awhile the only sounds were the whirring of wheels spinning away on the concrete of the highway, the occasional jangle of music from a passing car, and the steady, slight rustle of their breathing.
Buffy laid her palm on the still warm metal of the hood, trying to put her thoughts into some kind of order. What she wanted, was pretty sure she needed even, was warring with the words Xander had said to her. The words that had pretty much started this latest disaster. Just because she had handled things badly, though, didn't mean those words were untrue. And she couldn't just ignore them, like she had tried to the day before. She knew Spike loved her, and she knew she loved him. She couldn't yet work out the details, or imagine the scenario in which it would happen, but she knew in her heart that her marriage was over. But she didn't want to be with Spike if that meant making him unhappy.
Almost before she realized what she was doing, Buffy was speaking, throwing her concerns quietly out into the open. “Spike, did Xander tell you...” she paused briefly, not wanting to cause friction between the man she loved and his best friend.
His jaw clenched. “Yeah, he did. And Buffy, he had no right to say those things to you. What' s between us is our business and he had no right to interfere.”
“Yes, but,” she waved away his words, wanting to get to the point. “But was it true?” Unable to face him, she kept staring straight ahead, out toward the miles of pavement and the sun that was beginning to sink into the horizon.
“It doesn't matter,” he turned to look at her, caught her face in profile, her hair and skin golden in the rays of the sunset and was caught up yet again in how very much he loved this woman. Nothing mattered but her.
“Spike,” she drew out his name in a slightly agrieved tone. “It does matter. Was it true?”
Heaving a sigh, he brushed a hand tiredly through his very mussed hair and gave her the truth. “In a way. Some of it.”
Her voice became very small again and she wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself against the slight chill she was just beginning to feel. “I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt you anymore. But it seems like no matter what I do, I am hurting you. Please tell me, Spike, what can I do?”
Caught by the helplessness in her tone, he gently placed his hand under her chin and turned her so that she had to meet his eyes. Finally she peered into his face, wariness, fear, hurt and love all mixed up in her gaze. Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before shifting her away again so she could see the honesty painted in his expression.
“Buffy, do you love me?” He knew she did, had heard her say it, but had never asked the question straight out before, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting, even though nearly certain he knew the answer.
“Oh, Spike...” she breathed and tears leapt into her eyes, barely trickling down to the corners. “I love you.”
Another breath and an even more difficult question for him to ask. “Do you want to be with me? Really be with me?” His eyes bore into hers, holding her still with only the force of his emotions, willing her to finally admit out loud what he had known since nearly forever. It was time to stop hiding behind assumptions and equivocations, time for the truth to be spoken out loud. “Buffy, are you ready to leave Angel, end that facade of a marriage, and be with me?”
He didn't even realize he was afraid of her answer until she met his gaze and nodded slowly. “I want to,” she gasped tearfully, almost afraid of admitting it.
“Are you going to?” He pushed her, relentless, hating to see her cry but needing the answer for both of them before they took one more step, made another move that could plunge them back into despair if they didn't have a clear guidepost.
Moisture still shining in her eyes, magnified by the last of the sunset's ray, she finally lifted her chin, defiant. “Yes,” she answered clearly this time. “I am.” Decision made, show of defiance over, she collapsed into him, shuddering with something that felt like relief. It was done.
His breathing eased as he caught her, and something seemed to click into place for both of them with her heartfelt admission. “Then it's easy,” he said, looking adoringly down at her, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Just let me be with you. No more worrying about what Xander said or about Angel...Buffy if you'll just stay with me, let me take care of you, I swear that's enough, more than enough to make me the happiest man on earth.” And I'll make you happy, he promised himself fiercely. No matter what he had to do, who he had to hurt, however much money he could throw at the problems to make them go away, he would do it.
He kissed her then, unable to hold off a single moment longer without having the taste of his girl on his lips. She was still crying and the tears deepened her usual sweet flavor, but she responded enthusiastically, pressing herself against him, relief and love pouring through her veins, thrumming between them like a living thing. It was never enough, but after a few minutes they broke apart, simply standing together, silently acknowledging the depth of this new step. The wind grew colder, making them shiver and by silent agreement they broke apart and headed back to the car. Reluctant to let go before absolutely necessary, Spike walked her to the passenger side, opened her door and with an even deeper level of tenderness than before, made sure she was tucked carefully into the seat before circling and getting back in on his own side.
“So,” he said, a segue into the issue that had started the confrontation, and the sound was so normal, that Buffy couldn't help the small bit of laughter that bubbled out.
His mouth quirked in response, but he continued talking, fiercely wanting to get them settled somewhere for the night. “I know it seems a bit anticlimactic now, kitten, but where do you want to stay tonight?”
And just like that, the sadness was back, not nearly as thick as before, but still covering her like a scarf draped on a lamp, just muting the glow. “I'm not sure,” she answered. “Wherever you want is fine.”
Mind working, Spike drummed his hands on the steering wheel. It was clear she wanted to go back to his place, and truth be told, he really did too.
“Sweetheart,” he began consideringly. “What if we could get into my house tonight, without being hassled? Would you still want to go there knowing the rag pushers could show up again another time?”
She hesitated, “Can they get in?”
“No. Absolutely not,” he answered firmly.
“Then yes,” her answer was quick and sure. “But...”
He held up one hand. “Wait a sec, luv.” He pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial for Anya. She answered immediately, sounding harried. But as he explained what he wanted, her could feel her usual enthusiasm for a challenge take root, and by the end of the call she was assuring him that it would be taken care of by the time he and Buffy arrived and remonstrating with herself for not coming up with it in the first place.
“Do you really think it'll work?” Buffy asked when he had hung up, her words tinged with hope.
“Don't see why not,” he smiled at her. “A little diversion, a fake tip that we're checking into the Plaza and they'll be camped out there all night and half of the morning before they realize it was a lie. Not sure why I didn't think of it earlier, except we were both so tired.” And confused, he added silently, but knowing she understood the unsaid words.
Buffy leaned over to snuggle briefly into his shoulder as he started the car. “But now everything's going to be okay?” she asked, easy tone masking a host of emotions she couldn't identify. They both knew she was asking about more than the house, but he answered her with what he sincerely prayed would finally be the truth.
“Yeah, luv, everything's going to be fine.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Finally, another chapter up and it's a long one! Spike and Buffy have a lot to deal with, and they just really haven't talked plainly about what needs to happen next, so that's what this is about. I still feel like I've kind of lost the rhythm of this story, but I'm determined to finish it no matter what! Please review!