His voice was raspy with disuse, and there was an odd, unpleasant flavor haunting his mouth. But in all honesty, that was an afterthought.
He was looking at Buffy. And she was looking back.
A still air huddled the atmosphere, daring them to break the solace of non-understanding. Non-understanding was good. It was safe and refrained from the harder issues that would only hurt once deciphered. The sparks drawn between their gazes alone were enough to drown the most capable of beings.
Then she was speaking. “I…uhhh…water. Would you like a glass of water?”
A glass of water?
His look must have grown skeptical, for she immediately flushed and glanced down, hands clasping nearly piously in front of her. “I…your throat sounds hoarse.”
“’S a li’l scratchy.”
“I can get you a glass of water. That’ll help.”
There was a pause as he attempted to collect himself. Gathering the bearings of all that had occurred while maintaining a pathway to a simpler self-structure. “What happened?”
“You’ve been out for a couple days. I found you, and you were out.” She smiled softly, returning to his side with a glass of water. Spike snatched it from her grasp without fully realizing the hand that offered, guzzling it down as though his body suddenly depended on it.
“More?”
He nodded. She disappeared and returned again with a refill. His previous cynicism forgotten, he drank as though there was no bearing end. So much that dribbles rolled down his chin—unshaven? Strange—but he didn’t care. And somewhere in the middle of it all, the lasting strands of the final battle came soaring back, and he threw his head back with a gasp.
“What happened?” he asked again.
Her eyes were calm and betrayed nothing. She was simply studying him. “You and Angel took on Wolfram and Hart, remember?”
Spike thought for a minute before he nodded. “Did we win?”
There was a kind, respectful smile at that. “Yeah.”
“Did everyone make it? ‘S Charlie an’ Illyria an’ Peaches…where are they?” His brow furrowed in concentration. “Wes’s dead. I remember that. Where’s everyone else?”
“Illyria’s the blue one, right?”
He nodded.
“She’s alive. Recuperating. Angel’s fine, too. He left to go find his girlfriend or something.” She cast her eyes downwards. “Charles Gunn? Is that the other one you mentioned?” There was another nod of confirmation; he knew where this one was going. “They’re saying he didn’t last long. He took down what he could, but he died.”
Spike couldn’t find reaction at that. He opted for the safer silence.
Before it finally dawned on him that he was sitting here, talking with the Slayer. His Slayer. That she was with him at all.
And he looked up again in astonishment.
“Buffy…what are you doin’ here?” He squinted and attempted to sit up, the motion causing shards of pain to itch through injured skin and attack every raw nerve that remained vibrant with verve. A small groan edged through his lips, and he shook his head to wane the feeling away. “Come to think of it…what am I doin’ here? Where are we?”
She pursed her lips and considered him. It was then he noticed she was trembling. His Slayer was trembling. Well, that was odd. He was still half-convinced that he was dreaming or—at worst—dead, and thus did not inquire. The idea that she would be here with him now, of all times, was inconceivable.
“We’re in a hospital.”
He couldn’t help it; he quirked a brow. “A what?”
“A hospital.”
“A real one?”
She shifted slightly and a humorless chuckle rumbled through her lips, touched again with a bit of her own nervousness. It was such a strange color on her. Despite everything, Spike didn’t reckon he had ever seen the Slayer thoroughly unhinged to the point where she didn’t know what to say. At least toward the end. In the disastrous turmoil that had been their relationship, she had often come unglued, but never to the point of losing her ability to voice what she was thinking. “Well,” she replied, voice oddly high-pitched. “It’s not a movie-set, that’s for sure.”
He merely looked at her.
“Uhhh…Giles said it was some infirmary for beings of the demonic persuasion.” She shrugged. “It was the only place we could think to bring you.”
Well, that explained the searing pain.
“Bring me? What happened?”
And suddenly, she was in control again. Just like that. No transitional period of adjustment. No collecting herself for his benefit. In a flash, her insecurity vanished and she was as he remembered her. A tower of strength. Fortitude pouring off her body in waves so powerful he was amazed that he hadn’t yet drowned, even if such was impossible.
“You tell me,” she replied coolly. “Three days ago, I was in Italy, minding my own business, then I get this call from Giles that says Angel’s taking on Wolfram and Hart. And here’s the really funny part—he said you were alive.”
Spike blinked and ignored the pain that jabbed his side for no reason other than it was there and wanted to be remembered. He was staring at her with such intensity that he nearly forgot everything else.
“Not alive, pet. Still dead. Jus’ less dead than the last time you saw me.” He offered a dry chuckle, wincing as he moved to sit up a little more. “Guess I owe that last part to you an’ the Scoobs, right? Bloody rot, what does it take to keep you an’ yours out of every apocalypse? We had this one handled.”
“You were dying.”
“Vamps don’ die from picks at our sides, luv. I’d hope as a Slayer, you’d’ve picked that up by now.”
“If Willow and her coven hadn’t been there, you, Angel, and that blue girl would’ve been lost. But goddammit, Spike, that’s not the point.” Her eyes were wide now; demanding, imploring. She looked to be on the edge of collapse already. As though seeing him lent pause to every vibe of internal strength she had ever mustered. “You’ve…you’re here. You…you…”
“Yeh. An’ I’m noticin’ you are, too. Don’ you have some bloody replacement to be snoggin’ right about now? Talk, dark…soulless, I might add.” He shook his head with an ironic, bitter chuckle. “Y’know, I can’t decide what’s funnier. The endin’ result where you come here actin’ like I’ve been a righteous wanker when you’ve obviously been havin’ the bloody time of your life, or the part where all of a sudden, you don’ care if your current lay has a sparkly conscience in his benefit. Gotta say, Slayer. Love your versatility.” He snorted and turned away, doing his damndest to ignore the sparks of pain that shot behind her eyes. “Guess I can’t begrudge you, though, right? Gettin’ a soul was for my own good. ‘m so glad that it still matters to you.”
The imminence of her tears grew even sharper. “That’s not fair.”
“Ask me ‘f I care. Guess I owe you one for the rescue bit, but for everythin’ else, consider us even.” He cocked his head heatedly. “Jus’ don’ come here preachin’ that I’ve wronged you by not ringin’ you up the bloody instant I got mojo’ed back ‘f I was so bloody expendable.”
She stared at him for a long, silent moment. He still refused to look at her. It was strange, changing seasons so effortlessly. The instant bout of glee that had burst through his system was immeasurably beat down for reminder of everything he didn’t want to remember. Flashes of death alongside the image he had done his best to eradicate of her and the bloody Immortal shagging like bunnies. The days following his leave of Italy had been easier to deal with than they could have been because he knew what lied ahead. Ignoring what was eating away at his insides was simply a matter of prioritizing. Forgetting what he had seen. What he knew.
But despite everything, he couldn’t block it all out. And in the few beats he had allowed himself between trying to figure out why Angel was suddenly playing for the wrong team to deciding what poems to read for his audience, the frustration he had felt in Italy had transcended to hurt and anger.
Buffy with The Immortal. With the soulless Immortal. As if his gift to her had not meant a thing. As if everything she had put him through when he was trying to win her heart was in vain. As if everything they had ever shared meant a resounding and definitive nothing.
Thus he had blocked it. Refused himself to consider his angered hurt.
It was different with her standing here. And God, why was she standing here? Why now? To rub salt on the many wounds he was sporting? To make it hurt worse? This was not what he needed, especially with the face he knew she wore. The narcissism of it all only served to deepen the scorn.
Didn’t bloody matter how much he had looked forward to seeing her again. How much he had missed her. All of that was gone. It couldn’t be up for sale. And now that he was back to himself, he remembered everything.
When she spoke again, he could hear the steady slide of tears in her voice. The same that she covered well but not well enough. “This is not how I imagined it,” she whispered. “Not how I imagined our first…after you woke up.”
“Yeh,” he retorted coldly. “Take it from me, sweetheart, things don’ always go as you imagine them.”
“Spike…”
“In fact, ‘f you take a chapter outta my book, things usually end up pretty shitty.”
“It’s over, Spike.” That coaxed his eyes back to her, his eyes wide and imploring. He wisely ignored the way his chest constricted at the emotion she bade him. Buffy plus emotion equaled him at her beck and call, and he couldn’t stand for that. Not now. Not now when all she had to do was pinch him to make it hurt worse than ever before. “With…I’m no longer seeing The Immortal.”
He quirked his head. “So sorry, luv. Here. Want me to ring up the orderly an’ have ‘em bring you some tissue?”
“Stop it.”
“Well, I understand he is a world-class lover. That must be rough.”
It felt good for the first few seconds; watching her pain deepen as he twisted the knife to see how much he could make her bleed. Anger was easy. He knew anger. And the hurt she gave him extended to the very beginning of their relationship. But as the silence between them expanded uncomfortably, the pang striking his heart cried out its remorse. And suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore.
“You big idiot,” she finally gasped, wiping at her eyes. “I’m the one that ended it. I told him sayonara and came here. To you.”
“Grand gesture, that is.”
Buffy shook her head, hands going to her temples. “You didn’t even try, Spike. Hell, Andrew tells me you told him not to mention that you were alive. That you were all right.” A sob choked through her throat and she sent an impatient stomp to the floor. “Christ, do you know what I went through?”
“So much that you started shagging random vamps to see ‘f all went good ‘cause of you? ‘F so, sorry to disappoint you, Sweets. I’m one of a bloody kind.” Spike sat up a little, heaving a tired breath at his effort. “An’ I tried. Several times. Was ghostly there for a while, but once Wolfram an’ Hart decided to give me my skin back, I was off beatin’ Peaches for some bloody prophecy that turned out to be bollocks. Then things got hairy. People I cared about started dyin’. An’ by the time we received word from you, you were shaggin’ The Immortal. So honestly, tell me, sweetheart, what’s a bloke to think?”
“That he doesn’t know all the facts.”
“Andrew says you snuggle.”
“You and I snuggled.”
“Toward the end when you knew there was gonna be nothin’. Yeh, you let down your walls. Let me have one bloody night when you weren’ judgin’ me. When you let me believe anythin’ about us could ever be real.” Spike sat up further, his eyes glistening with intent. “Don’ get me wrong. We were on the way to somethin’, there. But I guess that ship’s sailed. No more where I come from. ‘m through playin’ at this angle, luv. ‘m through tryin’ to guess what you’re thinkin’. I’ve done everythin’ I can. I turned the world upside down for you, then right side up again. I sought out my soul ‘cause of what it meant for you. For us. I bloody well saved the world so that you could live in it. Me an’ my soul. One cute li’l couple we are.”
Buffy shook her head heatedly, somehow ignoring the tears that were mapping down her face. “You don’t know what I went through,” she spat in return. “Every day after you were gone. It didn’t really sink in until we stopped that night for a motel that you weren’t with us. Not until I realized I was by myself. And then my world collapsed, Spike. My whole world collapsed because you weren’t there.”
“Funny. An’ here, I always thought you wanted me gone.”
“Not then. Not with what we had.”
He chuckled humorlessly at that. “’S that right? An’ what exactly did we have? A house in the suburbs with a white picket fence an’ the two point five kids you’ve always dreamed of? You make it sound like there was somethin’ to salvage. Tell me, luv, when did we ever have anythin’ to save? You spent most nights tryin’ to convince me that my leavin’ was the best thing that could happen to you.”
“Not after you came back! Not after—”
“The soul. Right. An’ you’ve made perfectly clear how much those matter to you.”
She stared at him with wan amazement; the light behind her eyes finally coaxing him to look away again. “You think it doesn’t matter to me?” she whispered, astonished. “You really think that I don’t…that what you did doesn’t…Spike, what you did changed my life. It made me…I don’t even know what it made me, and I didn’t realize how it had changed my life until it was changed. Until…” She stifled a sob, wiping her eyes irritably. “Until you were gone.”
Spike tried hard to ignore how those words affected him. He didn’t want to give her that. Didn’t want to believe anything she was saying. He needed so desperately to remain angry with her. To maintain that much of himself. To remember how he felt the moment that he realized everything he had sacrificed meant…
But with her standing so near. With the scent of her tears perturbing the air…he came close to losing all sense of self. And dammit, he needed his anger.
Perhaps that was all that love had taught him. How to hurt someone before they had a chance of hurting him. It made sense. With everything he knew, everything he had experienced, there was nothing but pain to be bought from reckoning.
“’ve changed, too,” he said a minute later. “’m not some wide-eyed heartsick fool. You taught me how to outgrow that. I don’ need this right now. I have…there are others…you can’t jus’ barge into my life whenever you bloody well feel like it! I din’t with yours. I stayed away. Right where I was s’posed to. I—”
Buffy held up a hand, drawing his gaze back to her. She was as white as a sheet.
“Others?”
“Come again?”
“Are you…” She paused, her own eyes falling shut. “Are you…with someone else?”
Might as well go for below the belt. She had hurt him; turnabout was fair play. “Aside from shaggin’ Harm, no.”
The look that pained her face made him instantly regret that he had even mentioned that daft bint. And that was why he had to run with it. That reason for retribution. For what hurt him the most was the knowledge that he loved her now more than ever before. For who she was and what she gave. The light half to his darkened shadow. Buffy was his light. His goddess. His salvation. He loved her so much, and that gave her the power to hurt him. Whether or not she meant to.
The next breath she took was uncertain and trembled against the strain of her despondency. “You’re with Harmony?”
Spike softened at that. Not much, but some. There was no reason to purposefully mislead her. “No, luv. I’m not. Jus’ once…an’ that was right after I was mojo’ed back in the full. I jus’…I needed to work out the hardware, y’know?”
“Oh, so you got on my case for waiting for months before even looking at another man and you’re off screwing the first leggy blonde that crosses your path?”
“I was thinkin’ about you, ‘f it makes you feel any better.” But dammit, no. He wasn’t supposed to try and make her feel better. And yet, he kept on talking. “An’ she knew. Harm did. She bit me an’ she yelled at me for thinkin’ about you. ‘Course, she was under some wonky spell, but ‘s the thought that counts.”
Buffy nodded sardonically. “And I suppose that’s supposed to make it all right?”
“You tell me. Mine was straight up sex. Yours was a relationship with a soulless vampire.” He cocked his head inquisitively. “Tell me, sweetheart, did you beat the livin’ piss outta him in some alley for offerin’ to protect you with his life? Did you call him an’ evil, disgustin’ thing every time he looked at you? Touched you? When he was whisperin’ sweet nothing’s in your ear, did you turn back to him an’ remind him that he’s not a man, an’ he can never touch that part of you that you reserve for the real heroes in your life? ‘Cause, honey, ‘m liable to get jealous ‘f you did. That was somethin’ jus’ for us. I don’ like sharin’ my song with others.”
She shook her head, glaring at him through her tears. “You bastard.”
“Goes with the territory.” Spike favored her with a long leer. “I don’ bend over backwards anymore, luv. Not for you. Not for anyone. ‘F you thought comin’ here would change my mind…”
“I thought you cared about me.”
He stilled a little at that, battling back the multitude of ‘I love yous’ that fought his mouth and will for release. Fought the urge in his arms that begged him to take her into a comforting embrace and reassure her that he would always be here if she needed him. That a thousand deaths in a thousand years and all the blood in the world could never eradicate how much he loved her. How much he wanted to go to her over the past few months. How he drew himself to the point that he was wasting his own time, wallowing in the pitiful ruins of yesterday.
“Why did you come here?” he retorted, straying safely to the side of the road that wouldn’t see his efforts instantaneously flattened.
She glanced down. “We had to save the world. Wesley called. I told you that.”
“So you jumped on your sodding white horse an’ came in to rescue all its lovely li’l bits, ‘s that it?”
“Something like.”
“Anyone ever tell you that hell is paved with good Samaritans?”
Buffy rumbled a sigh and looked up again. “You, Spike. I came here for you. Giles told me that Wes wanted me to know, and I came here because I had to…because you were here.”
“You ended it with loverboy for me?”
“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. That’s what—”
“For all you know, I could’ve been with someone by now.” He instantly berated himself for the way her face fell again, but refused to backtrack. “Knew you were lost to me.”
“You told me once that another girl would never mean anything to you.”
“Romantics talk. I was a lovesick fool. An’ even so, you really s’pect me to spend the whole of eternity by myself?” He was lying now. All out lying. Turning his back on every nerve in his body that commanded him otherwise. And the part of him that demanded her blood in turn for all the pain she had caused him called out in jubilee. The rest of him died all over again, only it wasn’t as easy this time around.
“…And are you? With anyone?”
There was a still beat. “Thought I told you.”
“You told me you aren’t with Harmony. But—”
Spike leaned back speculatively. “Well, there was Fred there for a while. Winifred.” He felt the urge to clarify when her eyes widened in astonishment. “Wesley’s girl. Thought she’d taken a shine to me.” One more look from her solidified it; he couldn’t go on pretending. Thus with a defeated sigh, he glanced down and shook his head. “No. ‘m not with anyone.”
“And what you said? What you told me?”
“I still mean every word of it. I always will.”
Buffy cried out in angered frustration, her arms falling to her sides. “Then why…I’m here because I want…I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much. More than I ever thought I could miss a person. And yes, I’ve lived. I’ve moved on. I got over the part where I mourned you and I started to be me again. Dating being one of them. But I didn’t forget you. And I thought…”
“What? That you’d show up, rescue me from the baddies, an’ we’d live happily ever after?”
There was no answer; she shifted uncomfortably but nothing more.
“’F there was one thing you taught me, luv, ‘s that there is no happily ever after. I tried givin’ you the world an’ you threw it back at me.” He shook his head. “An’ the amazin’ thing is, while it aggravated the hell outta me, I always figured at some level or another that I deserved it. I am a vampire. I am a monster. I am responsible for much of the slaughter in late nineteenth century Europe. But I was never that to you. Never. Not after I loved you. But it wasn’ enough, an’ I accepted that. Bloody hell, I proved it to myself the night I…” He trailed off, flinching at the faintest memory of what he had almost done. There was an obligatory pause before he felt he could continue. “But seein’ you in Italy…bein’ that bloody close…an’ knowin’ that after everythin’ I’d sacrificed for you was worth rot. It jus’…there can be no happy endin’ for us. It hurts to even look at you. An’ I can’t get past that.”
The sound of her tear-scented breaths filled the air in place of words, and the torment in her voice nearly killed him when she spoke again. “You…you can’t mean that.”
Spike swallowed hard and gathered himself. If he wavered, he would collapse with her around him, and never let her go.
He had to let her go.
For both their sakes.
Thus, when he felt he could, he summoned the entirety of his conviction and met her eyes with more of what could not be doubted. Buried there beneath the burden of self-discovery. What he knew without wanting to know. The nuisance of understanding burned him to the core of reasonability, but he would not back away. Not now.
Not like this.
He was killing them both just to see if he could get away with it.
“Then how come I do?”
And that was it. All he could say. Everything that he could muster summarized in five simple words. And he watched as the woman he loved dissolved into tears because of his refusal. Because of everything he could not let her have. For all the pain he couldn’t push him through again.
Spike wanted to go to her more than anything. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned away as she continued to weep. Success had never tasted so bitter.
He could only hope she drowned them both with her tears.