After Willow had gone to bed, Buffy continued to sit at the counter, thinking about how drastically things had changed.
Sighing sadly, Buffy finally got up from he stool, and had to grab the side of the counter quickly to stop herself from falling. Apparently the bump on her head, and the blood loss was worse than she had thought, as a wave of dizziness threatened to drown her.
Spike was still standing on the back porch, reeling from every thing he had just over heard. He couldn’t believe a lot of what was said, and refused to believe the rest.
He then surprised himself when he had to physically stop himself from going to her when she almost fell. Shaking his head, Spike turned and sat heavily on the porch steps.
Dawn had left some clothes in her room, and instead of letting her come back and get them, like she had wanted to, Spike had left her at the crypt, and come back himself.
He was too confused right now for a confrontation, so he decided to just wait until everyone was asleep, and sneak in and out without Red or the Slayer being any the wiser.
He listened distantly as Buffy made her way through the house, turning off all the lights. He also took note of the fact that she didn’t bother to lock any of the doors.
‘I suppose that the Slayer and a powerful witch don’t have much need for locks. Probably have some kind of charm to protect against unfriendly demons.’
As he listened to her bedroom door shut, and waited for her to fall asleep, Spike couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
After about half an hour, when Buffy had finished crying herself to sleep, Spike stood and moved towards the back door.
For some reason, the scene of Willow walking out of the kitchen and then coming back in minutes later to say that ‘it’s done’, kept flashing before his mind’s eye.
He had no clue what she had been talking about, and hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but he was thinking about it now, and he wasn’t sure why. Willow’s contribution wasn’t the most important portion of the exchange in his opinion.
Buffy loved him…or had loved him. Again he felt that speculative stab in his chest, and again, brushed it off; this time placing it down to the fact that only his mother and Dawn had ever loved him and no one had ever really given him a thought in a romantic sense.
Shaking off his melancholy thoughts, Spike reached for the doorknob, turned, and pushed it open. Stepping further, Spike went to move thru the now open doorway, and stopped.
Looking up at the house in confusion, he again tried to move through the open door, and again was held back.
It was then that the reality of the situation came crashing down on him.
The house’s natural barrier, the one that he had been immune to for little over four years, ever since he had helped the Slayer take down Angelus, was back up…and keeping him out.
She didn’t…couldn’t trust him anymore.
For a few moments, Spike just stood there in the open doorway, staring ahead into the darkened kitchen.
He didn’t know what to do with him self.
The sharp stabbing in his chest grew to such intensity that his habitual breathing grew harsh and labored, and his hand clutched at where his hart no longer beat.
Spike was so focused on his sudden, unexplained pain, that he never heard Buffy’s bedroom door open, or her come down the stairs.
Buffy had awoken suddenly, thirsty from her crying jag. Walking into the dark room, Buffy froze at the sight of Spike standing in the open doorway.
Spike was forced out of his reverie when her presence assaulted his senses. She reminded him of a fallen angel in that instant; dressed in a thin white lace tank top, and low rise white flannel pants. However, it was when he met her eyes, that he sucked in a breath. Buffy’s face was carefully blank, but her eyes were full of disappointment and pain.
‘I’m sorry’ He thought.
“Dawn left some clothes in her room.” He said.
Buffy was sure to keep her features blank, and nodded. “Ok, wait here, I’ll go get them.” She said, reluctantly turning her back to him.
“Buffy.” Spike called out to her.
She stopped but didn’t turn to face him.
Having no clue what he wanted to say, Spike just mumbled “nothing”, and watched as she continued to make her way out of the room. Leaving Spike to wonder how things had changed so drastically.
When Buffy returned, her arms were full of neatly folded clothes. And if he knew his daughter at all, she hadn’t done it. ‘Just like a mother would…’ Spike was surprised by the unconscious thought, and his face showed it.
“What?” she asked in an unreadable tone.
‘I’m sorry.’
“Nuthen’”
Spike took a step towards her, and felt another pang in his chest when she flinched back from him.
Again Spike’s face showed his surprise, along with another emotion she couldn’t name.
“Sorry, I—“.
Spike looking at her like she had grown a second head made her stop what she was about to say, and wrap her arms around herself protectively.
“What?”
“You’re sorry?!” he asked in an incredulous tone. “How can you apologize to me after everything that’s happened tonight?!” He asked, meaning how he had accused and manhandled her.
Buffy misunderstood.
“I already told Dawn I was sorry.” She said in a small voice, hugging her self tighter, and visibly recoiling from him, before remembering her backbone.
“Look Spike, I really don’t feel like doing this again, it’s not worth it.” She handed him the clothes quickly.
“Goodnight Spike.” She said, shutting the door in his face.
The sound of the latch clicking into place seemed to have an air of finality about it.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a big, gigantic Thank You to everyone who reviewed. I first had the idea for this story back in grade five, (I’m now in college) and it has always held a special place in my heart. The fact that all of you readers out there are truly enjoying it means the world to me. Thank you.