This time there’s no silence. This time, within the first fifteen minutes, they bicker.
“No, seriously, I want to drive.”
“Yeah, and the answer hasn’t changed. No chance in hell, Slayer.”
“Why are you being like this? I’m not going to wreck your car. Even if I did, it’s already scrap metal on wheels! It would only be… more… scrappy.” Buffy trailed off, frowning slightly.
Spike looked at her, disbelief clearly etched across his face. “I remain deeply skeptic of any skills of yours that don’t involve the slaying of the undead. Get off the subject, you’re not driving.”
“But – ”
“No.”
There was a long, sulky silence, and he glanced over at her. “Christ Slayer, are you sitting there pouting? Now I know where the kid sis gets it from. Speaking of, did you call her? I don’t need her telling your Watcher that you didn’t call and have him drive out here to kill me.”
She huffed angrily. “Of course I did. And I’m not pouting, I’m silently fuming. There’s an entire leap in maturity there.”
“Whatever you say. You’re still not driving.” The silence stretched out again, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “‘Sides, we’ll be there by daybreak.”
Buffy blinked. She’d thought it would take longer. Turning to look out the window, she saw only shapes in the darkness flying by. She swallowed and found her tongue. “Good. I have to get back to Dawn, to Sunnydale.”
“You’ll be there soon enough. Try to enjoy the time away.”
The long handle of the passenger door creaked under her hand. It struck him, as she slowly turned to look at him, that that had been the wrong thing to say. “Enjoy?” Her voice was the embodiment of silent fury. “You want me to enjoy ‘the time away’? This isn’t a vacation, Spike!” And suddenly the fury was not so silent. “This is not relaxing, play time!”
“I didn’t mean – ”
“My mother is dead. My boyfriend left me for being too closed off, while he was off, finding more satisfaction out of getting suckjobs from vampires.”
“Buffy, I – ”
“My sister isn’t real, but she’s real enough to die and tear the whole world apart if I don’t kill a god to stop it from happening.” She laughed, short and jagged. “A god. They expect someone made to kill a vampire to kill a god.” There was a pause, and Spike, torn between trying to keep his eyes on the road and his eyes on Buffy, thought he caught her wiping her cheek. “I can’t relax. I don’t get that option.”
A chill ran down his spine. Not for her problems, he knew them already. Not for the burden, he knew that bit, too. But for the sound in her voice. The sound and look and movement that he’d come across twice before. Resignation. “The hell with that,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” she asked, voice small.
Ignoring the question, he abruptly put on the brakes and began pulling over to the shoulder of the interstate, gravel crunching under the tires.
“Why are we slowing down?” There was a dangerous edge to her voice this time, like she knew the answer and really didn’t like it. He didn’t answer, just continued to bring the car to a halt. “Spike…”
He shifted into park roughly and twisted in his seat to face her. In the moonlight he could see her eyes, tired and puffy. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she sat, arms crossed, resolutely facing forward, not looking at him. He kept his hands clamped on the steering wheel, afraid that if he didn’t, he’d reach out to touch her and she definitely did not look receptive to that. “Buffy, pet…” he started, hesitantly. He felt as awkward as he had that night he found her on the back porch with her hundred yard stare.
“Don’t call me that.”
His jaw tightened. “Now, look. I know things are right hard at the moment. Like everything’s hittin’ all at once. But you’re made of tough stuff.” He vaguely thought back to the days when he’d still been trying to kill her. “Really tough stuff. You’ll get through this, and things’ll ease off a bit.”
“Yeah,” she chirped. “And then all the crap will start all over again. Like it always does.” She paused and the lines in her body softened. “It doesn’t stop.”
He shook his head with frustration. He was a sodding vampire. How the hell was he supposed to know what to say to a Slayer? Much less a twenty-year-old human girl? “Maybe it doesn’t. But it’s not like you’re alone in this. You got your bloody Scoobies. Got your Watcher.” She snorted. “Got the kid sis.”
Now she did turn, eyes blazing. “You mean the little sister that’s not actually real?”
He couldn’t help the growl he let loose. “She’s real enough, ain’t she? Fucking feels real enough when she cries, and when you hold her,” he demanded. “That blood pumping through her veins is real enough. Can bloody well tell you that. And it’s yours. Yours and your Mums.” He slowed, and she could see the earnestness written all over his body, the smallest bit of desperation leaking into view. “We all started out in this world a hell of a lot differently than we are now, and this is what counts. Here. Now. This is what counts, this is who we are. Right now, Dawn’s probably all tucked up in her beddy-bye, waiting for you to come home. And those dreams she’s having of some prancing nancy boy from school are real, too.”
The rush of words stopped pouring out, and the second they did he became very aware that those big hazel eyes had locked onto him and weren’t moving. He glanced down, tongue suddenly thick. “And for what it’s worth… you got me, too.” Dead silence greeted him and he rushed on. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”
“Spike – ”
“No, I know I screw up sometimes. But I’m trying. I really am. Glory – did right there, didn’t I? Didn’t let you down.”
“Spike.” Her voice a little more forceful this time. But he couldn’t stop, if he stopped he may not ever get another chance.
His eyes were fixed firmly on the dashboard. Every mark and scrape from years of abuse were all he could focus on. Couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look up and see that horrified expression she got when he first told her. “I know the thing with Dru, and the bot were dumb. I know that. I’m a right sod, sometimes, but I could be good to you if you gave me the chance.” He couldn’t stand it any longer. He tore his eyes from the dash, and blue met hazel. Her eyes were huge and wet, her cheeks flushed. His hand darted out seemingly on its own accord, and he smoothed a crease in her brow with the sweep of his thumb. “I could be good to you,” he whispered.
He expected a lot of things. Anger. Horror. A good sock in the jaw. He did not expect her to crumble into tears.
Shame gripped him. Red and hot, it left him defenseless in a way he hadn’t felt since Cecily. Since Buffy repeated those words that high-class bitch had said so long ago. It was like a knife to the gut and his hands shook as he hurriedly smoothed back her hair and wiped at her tears. “Hush, hush, it’s not so bad, really. Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I know it’s not what you deserve, but – ”
She shook her head and looked up to meet his eyes. “It’s not – I can’t – ” She choked down a sob and struggled to catch her breath. “I can’t give you what you want. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”
He looked at her in confusion, some of the debilitating shame starting to loosen its hold. “Pet, I’m not asking for anything.”
She dismissed her words with another fervent shake. “I can’t give you anything. Can’t give anything to anyone. There’s nothing left.”
He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
It was what she had tried to tell Giles. The words went grudgingly, each one like prying a clam from its shell. “I am dead inside.” And it was heartbreaking; the concern on his face. Because he did care. He proved that with Glory. Proved it a thousand times over. And it didn’t matter if she was attracted to him or not. It didn’t matter if there was the possibility that maybe, maybe he could be good. Because she had nothing left to give. “I am dead. Do you understand that? I don’t have anything left to give. That’s why Riley – ” she swallowed hard, “that’s why Riley left. This work? Saving the world day after day? It’s taken all I have. It’s taken everything that was soft, everything that was good and, and girly. Everything that was Buffy Summers, it’s taken away.” Her throat hurt. She was tired of crying. It was all she did these days it seemed like.
Calloused and cool hands cupped either side of her jaw, tilting her face up until he was peering into her. “Who filled you with such ideas? Why would you – ”
She tried to jerk away but he held fast. “It’s true. Even the crazy, tribal Slayer told me. The first one.”
“The first - ”
“I went out into the desert and Giles did a chant with his gourds. And I talked to her.”
“You talked to her?” His voice was firm now, all desperation and insecurity gone.
“I asked her. About why I feel this way. And you know what she said?”
He shook his head wordlessly.
“That death was my gift. Death, Spike.” Spike just looked at her, his expression unchanging, clearly not seeing the significance. “That’s the cosmic joke.” She gestured futilely with one hand at the dark world outside the Desoto, bitterness tingeing her voice. “The thing they don’t tell you in the Slayer handbook. That if you live through it all, soon enough it’ll be all that’s left of you. Pure Slayer.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This is what the Slayer was frettin’ about? This? Her sobs had quieted as she spoke, but the tears were still slipping like raindrops through her lashes. “Buffy, love, you’ve got this all backwards.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she started backing up, retreating. At some point they had ended up in the middle of the bench seat, thigh pressed to thigh, arms and torsos invading one another’s space. He caught her by the arms, just below her shoulders, not letting her go. “No, no. You listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Not a thing in this world.”
Impulses slipped through her like leaves in a stream. She should cut him off and break his hold. Push him away and demand that he start driving again. But she didn’t. Didn’t want to – not while he was looking at her like that. Those blue eyes wide and earnest, pale hair and pale skin gleaming in what little light there was. He was so close; it was like being tangled up in that warm hotel bed all over again. In that bed where it’d been just the two of them, the heavy drape shielding both of them from the outside world, letting them both just be Spike and Buffy. Just two people. He was a golden net and she was caught, well and truly snared, no matter how she tried to fight it.
One hand moved from her arm to the center-left of her chest, fingers splayed. Her hackles rose up out of sheer habit, but he cut her off quick, insisting, “Nothing.” The pressure of his hand over her heart seemed to force it directly to the surface. Its hard, rushing beat sprung up in her throat even as he continued, words forceful. “The reason you feel like this, Slayer, is because you love so much. Because you care.”
She started to scoff, but he held her, unflinching. “Listen.” His hand pressed harder. “All this… emptiness you’re feeling? It’s because you’re shell-shocked, you care so much. Because yeah, everything’s hitting all at once. If you didn’t feel a little numb at it all, there’d be something wrong.”
She didn’t think she believed him. But it sounded very nice. She sniffed, rubbing the heel of her hand across her wet cheeks. “And the Slayer?” she asked quietly.
Spike finally moved his hand, if only to smooth back the wayward strands of her ponytail. “You save the bloody world, pet. Gotta kill evil things to do it. Don’t think she meant any more than that.”
Buffy fiddled with the zipper of her jacket, not meeting his eyes. “Maybe,” she conceded softly. She couldn’t help the nagging feeling it had meant more than that, but now she just wanted this conversation to be over. She was just so tired. So damn tired of all of it. A fresh burst of tears started to spill out, and she laughed, slightly manic. “I can’t – ” a sob caught her voice and it began to warble, “ – stop crying.”
He looked at her, this woman capable of so much, so utterly torn down, and he couldn’t help himself. With hands cupping either side of her face, he tilted her chin upwards and kissed her. It was the softest, most brief of kisses, but it made his entire body quiver. From spine, to fingertips, to calves, he shook. Before she could respond, his lips moved to her cheek, and then to one closed eye, and then to the other. When he stopped, his mouth was a hair’s breadth away from hers. Her eyes remained shut, and she wasn’t pushing him away, so he let his brow fall to hers. “You’re so fierce. Whether it’s with your heart or in the fight. And I don’t know how to make you see that.”
The tremble that had started with the kiss was now in his voice, and he knew he sounded like a desperate sap. Had been sounding like one ever since he’d stopped the car. But he couldn’t help it, and he didn’t care. Not when she was so close, the smell of her skin and the rush of her pulse driving him insane. Not when every small gasp for air from her crying and his kisses that fell from her mouth stoked the fire of something hot and consuming building up inside him.
Some tiny, faraway voice told him he should stop, stop before she turned him to dust. And she would, some day, one way or another. There was no doubt about that.
But then she shot forward, mouth crashing into his, and the hunger in her kiss and in her hands, those tiny, impossibly strong hands that had an iron grip on the lapel of his leather and the curve of his neck, raced like wildfire. It spread, ravenous and compelling until there was no thought left except for a single, unyielding demand: More.
More and more, and somehow she was straddling his lap, all pressure and heat against his aching cock. He couldn’t help but thrust up into her and the needy gasp that fell out of her mouth, and the hands that automatically clenched in their grip on the back of his neck almost made his fangs drop.
She tore her mouth away, gasping for air, and he immediately began planting nibbling little kisses along her jaw and down the smooth column of her throat. One hand cupped her ass, pressing her against him as he ground up into her, while the other worked the elastic from her ponytail, letting all that blonde hair tumble free. He bit down lightly into the side of her neck and the way she rocked into him had him seeing stars. “Buffy,” he husked against her skin, and then she was rocking, rocking against him in a rhythm that matched his increasingly needy thrusts. “So fucking hot,” he rasped, as a strangled mewing sound escaped from her. Spike laved one long lick across her throat as his hand worked its way up her shirt. Cupping one breast, he flicked his thumb over the hardened nipple poking against her bra.
When the surprised ‘oh’ fell from her lips, he grit his teeth in concentration. If they kept this up much longer he would be coming in his pants and that was definitely not how he intended for this particular scene to end. Opening his eyes, he looked up at her. This beautiful goddess he’d somehow landed in his lap. Her entire face was flush, her lips swollen from his kisses. With a small growl, he surged up, capturing her mouth while simultaneously rolling her down onto the seat. Settling over her, he continued to kiss her, tongue twining with hers as his hands swept from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips. She tugged at his jeans, fingers frantically undoing his belt before moving to the button and zipper. “Spike,” she whispered, and then her hot hand wrapped around his cock and all thought evaporated from his mind. “Need… I need…”
“Know what you need, kitten.” He thrust into her hand before concentrating on unfastening her shorts. He sat up, hooking his hand under one of her knees, and moved her legs to the side to work the shorts down her legs. She shifted awkwardly against the seat, anxious and desperate for more contact, and her calf banged against the steering wheel. The horn sounded in a jarring blast like a foghorn blaring, jerking both of them abruptly back into the present.
Buffy let go of him roughly, and he couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him. She frantically backpedalled until she hit the passenger door. He watched her warily, his breath coming just as harsh as hers, he could hear her heart pounding like a war drum. Her eyes darted around wildly as if she’d just woken up in an unfamiliar place, and he closed his eyes against the look of disorientation and panic on her face.
Pushing off the seat, he shifted around until both feet were back on the floorboard. Painstakingly, he tucked himself back in his jeans, wincing slightly as he pulled the zipper back up. The rapid pounding of her heart hadn’t eased at all and he sighed without looking at her. He ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Buffy - ” he began, just as the click of the door sounded. He swiveled to see her disappearing out the door, not even pausing to shut it behind her.
A shot of anger surged through him. “Oh no you don’t,” he growled and shoved the driver’s side door open. He peered around through the darkness, going into game face just long enough to see her headed back along the way they’d came, arms wrapped around herself. “Slayer!” he yelled around his fangs before shaking them off. He took off after her, jogging to catch up. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” No response. “Buffy!”
“Stay away from me, Spike!” She yelled, not slowing or turning around.
“Not a sodding chance,” he retorted as he caught up with her, slowing down to match her stride. “You gonna walk all the way to Elk City, is that it?”
She turned on him. “I told you to stay away from me,” she snapped, every line in her body screaming with barely controlled energy. “Why can’t you get that through your thick head?” Her fists curled at her side.
“What are you gonna do, love? Hit me?” he taunted her. “Go ahead. Things don’t go right, things get a little messy, just start wailin’ on those that can’t hit back. Ain’t a thing wrong with that.”
“You’re not helpless, Spike. You’re a demon. An evil, soulless demon,” she spit.
He let out a frustrated growl, jaw clenched. “I’ve changed.”
“Oh, that’s right. Because you ‘love me now.’”
“Don’t you say it like that, Slayer. Like it’s just some bit of trash to be kicked to the side.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve changed. That little round of torture I did with Glory? Didn’t do it on a lark, Summers. Did it for you. Did it for Dawn.”
“You don’t have a soul. You can’t – ”
“No, I don’t. I’m not Peaches. And unlike him, I don’t need one. Aren’t I here? Aren’t I helping you out?”
“Yeah, you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Well I’m sure as hell not doing this for your sun shining personality,” he snapped. They both stood there, in the gravel by the side of the highway. The only light for miles around were the headlights of the Desoto. Winged bugs darted in and out of the beams. Both of them were seething with barely reined energy, so much more used to just fighting things out with fists and brawn.
“Then why are you out here?”
He blinked at her changed in tone. Still angry, but subdued and deflated. He spoke, suddenly quiet himself, “Because I love you and want to help.” He paused and looked away from her, out at the black prairie. “And I don’t particularly want to see the Nibblet be bled by that hellbint.”
He looked back up at her. One half of her face illuminated by the headlights, the other cast in shadow, her long hair tousled and tangled. The anger was gone now. Somewhere along the line he’d said something right for once.
Impulsively, he grabbed her shoulders and brushed a kiss across her brow. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode back towards the car. “C’mon, Slayer. If we’re gonna reach that place before daybreak, we’d best get going.”
The few seconds it took before he heard the slap of her flip-flops behind him seemed more like a year. But every step she took brought things back, a little closer to center.
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