Chapter Three
Spike had spent the day in a darkened hotel room, restless and itching to find Andrew. He didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary in London, not with Giles and his merry band of Slayers only a few miles away.
He had sensed a Slayer presence almost as soon as the cab had come within city limits - more than one, too. All Spike wanted to do was find the boy, knock some sense into him, and be on the next plane back to good old L.A., before he ran into anyone he knew – or worse, a Slayer he didn’t know.
As he walked down the brightly lit corridor, searching for flat 2A, he had the strange sense that like all of his plans, this one would fall through disastrously.
Spike approached the door with some trepidation, and then shook himself and sneered. What was there to be worried about? It was only Andrew, who – yes, okay – was a pretty frightening breed of fanboy, but nothing for a big bad vampire to be scared of.
He rang the doorbell, and listened to the chimes echoing through the flat. He heard footsteps, and then Andrew’s voice chattering away excitedly. Spike barely had time to blink before the door was open and Andrew was in his arms, screeching his name over and over.
“Spike! It’s you!”
“Er, yeah.” Spike reached behind his neck to disentangle Andrew’s arms, but the boy was clinging on like a leech. “Look, mate, I don’t want to - well, actually I do want to hurt you – but I’d rather it be with my fists, yeah?”
Andrew released him, and took a step backwards into the apartment, broad grin still in place. “Welcome to my humble abode. Please, do come in.”
Spike raised an eyebrow at the formality, but put it down to another of Andrew’s odd and annoying little quirks. He stepped into the flat, and was immediately assailed by the stench of chemicals, artificial lemons and a hint of something that he recognised but couldn’t quite place.
He followed Andrew down the hall and into the living room, where the boy smiled guiltily as he set a can of air-freshener down on the sideboard.
“So,” Spike began, prowling forwards. “D’you know why I’m here, Andrew?”
“Um,” Andrew’s smile wobbled as he backed up a little. “You missed England so much you couldn’t stay away a moment longer?”
Spike shook his head, an evil grin on his face as he stalked his prey.
“You had an intrepid romance with the vampyre Angelus, but things soon went afoul and you’ve come to England to grieve for your lost love?”
That brought Spike up short. “Bit of a vivid imagination you’ve got there.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t a compliment.” Spike cracked his knuckles and continued to move towards Andrew, who had scuttled as far back against the wall of the lounge as he could.
“Oh. Erm…”
“Not really in the mood for playing games,” Spike said, as he came nose-to-nose with Andrew. “Laptop. Now.”
Andrew shot a sidelong glance to the desk in the corner of the room, then his eyes darted back to Spike’s. “Don’t have it.”
“You’re lying,” Spike said, his voice soft and smooth. Seductive. “I can smell the lies.”
“Really?” Andrew said. “Wow. You’re so cool.”
Spike gritted his teeth and took a step backwards. “I’m not trying to be bloody cool, I’m trying to be scary!”
“Oh.”
“Did it work?”
“Little bit.” Andrew gulped, and looked towards the desk again. “But mostly, you were cool.”
“Oh, bloody hell!” Spike turned away, and took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling and jaw clenched.
He saw Andrew edging towards the computer table, and in a sudden show of vampire speed, Spike was standing in front of it, the laptop in his hand.
“What are you going to do with it?” Andrew squeaked, looking positively terrified at the sight of Spike holding his most prized possession. Well, after the mint condition Boba Fett figurine he’d managed to buy off ebay, anyway.
“Think that smashin’ it’d be a good place to start,” Spike said, and raised his hand to do just that.
“No! Smashing it wouldn’t do anything, everything’s backed up to a remote server and I don’t think Bu-” Andrew stopped suddenly, and looked away, eyes wide.
Spike narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
“Buh-ill Gates! Him! He wouldn’t be very happy if you smashed one of his fine computers now, would he?”
As though a veil had been lifted, Spike suddenly began to notice things around the flat that he hadn’t taken into account before. Things such as the bottle of perfume sitting haphazardly on the mantelpiece, or the clothes-rail on the radiator that was filled with tiny thongs.
Spike’s eyes swept the room, his gaze falling on a cluster of photo frames on an end table. A smiling blonde woman and a girl with long, dark hair.
Buffy and Dawn.
Spike put the laptop back onto the desk, and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t expected this, that Andrew would be living with his girls. He mentally shook himself, and snorted. What right did he have to call them ‘his girls’ anyway?
“Spike?”
“I…” Spike trailed off, not sure what to say. Now that he had realised it, he could see and scent traces of Buffy and her sister all over the apartment. Suddenly, he was filled with a sense of panic. He couldn’t see them, either of them – not now! He wasn’t ready, had nothing planned, no idea of what he would say to explain why he hadn’t contacted them after he’d come back.
Spike shook his head, trying to clear it, and started to walk towards the door.
“Wait! Spike, wait!” Andrew’s voice was panicked.
“I can’t be here,” Spike said, and pulled the door open, stepping out into the corridor.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong! Buffy doesn’t live here, if that’s what you’re thinking and I think that’s what you’re thinking, right?”
“I have to go.”
“I’m in love with her!” Andrew blurted, looking shocked at the unexpected lie. “With both of them! That’s why I stole the pictures… and their underwear!”
It was too late. Spike had stepped into the lift, and the doors had closed.
Andrew pouted, and slumped against the wall. “Buffy’s going to kill me.”
***
Spike didn’t know where he was going; he just knew that he had to get away from that apartment. Far away.
On some level, he knew he was being a coward. He knew that he should have stayed and made small-talk with Andrew whilst waiting for Buffy to get home, that he should have stayed to tell her he was back, that he loved her.
But he was terrified.
Buffy had told him that she loved him, down in the Hellmouth. He hadn’t believed her at the time, had even told her so, but there was a small part of him that wanted to pretend. To pretend that she had meant it, that the words had been more than a sop to a dying man.
He was scared that if he did see her again, he would find out that she didn’t love him, and he wanted to hold on to that part of him – no matter how miniscule it was – that believed her when she’d said ‘I love you’.
Spike ran his fingers through his hair, breaking the hold the gel had over his unruly curls. He sighed, and looked up, then chuckled to himself softly at the irony.
He’d wandered into a cemetery, the gravestones and empty tombs playing silent vigil to his inner anguish.
Spike moved to sit on one of the tombs, and closed his eyes, enjoying the relative silence of the night. In the distance, he could hear the hum of a busy road, and the thud-thud-thud of music in a nightclub.
He was torn. That small part of him that believed in Buffy’s love for him wanted to stand up, get off the sarcophagus and walk back towards her apartment. But the scared and cowardly part of him was winning, and for the moment, he stayed where he was.
It was sort of nice, just sitting. He hadn’t had much of a chance to do anything like this in L.A., not with being a ghost one minute and having his arms hacked off the next.
Spike closed his eyes again, and took a deep breath, letting his senses reach out. There was a cat, somewhere in the cemetery, hunting a mouse if he wasn’t mistaken. A group of teenagers had walked through earlier in the night; the lingering smell of sweat and teenage hormones hung heavily in the air.
Spike breathed in and out, and in again and then stopped dead, frozen as a scent he knew better than his own reached him.
He could feel her, standing in front of him. The vampire part of him that always alerted him whenever a Slayer was nearby, and the Spike part of him that always knew when Buffy was near.
“Spike.” Her voice was soft, awed.
He raised his head, and opened his eyes to see Buffy standing right there, not two feet away from him. Her eyes were wide, and shining brightly, and she looked as beautiful as ever.
“Buffy.” He ducked his head nervously.
“You never told me you were back,” Buffy said, a few moments later, breaking the silence. “I had to find out from some stupid videos Andrew posted on the internet.”
Spike opened his mouth to say something, but Buffy interrupted him.
“D’you know how much that hurt? Seeing those videos and finding out that everyone… Angel, Andrew – god, even Harmony – knew you were back, and you hadn’t even bothered to tell me?”
“Buffy, love, I’m sorry-”
“I mourned you! Do you even know how much-” she stopped, seemingly unable to go on speaking.
Spike stared at her, unable to believe that he was here, standing in front of her after months of indecision.
“I missed you.” Her words were quiet, almost a whisper. “I thought you were dead, but you were in L.A. all along, gallivanting around with Angel and getting yourself a fanbase of screaming women who know how soft your hair is and that you have really, really nice arms!”
“I’m sorry,” Spike said, ready to start in on an explanation for why he was an utter idiot. “Wait, what? Who’re you on about, love?”
“Your stupid army of fans,” Buffy crossed her arms across her chest and pouted. She sighed. “And now they’re ruining our reunion. This is really not how I imagined it would go.”
“Oh?” Spike took a step towards her, hoping that she wouldn’t move away. She didn’t.
“I’ve thought about what it would be like so many times,” Buffy said, her hand coming up to cup his face, her fingers brushing the harsh line of his cheekbone. “And not one of those scenarios had me yelling at you for flirting with Lynn the rabid fangirl.”
“Yeah? How did they go then?”
“There was kissing in some of them,” Buffy said, and put her other arm on his shoulder, curling her hand around his neck.
“Oh?” Spike was surprised at the sudden change in her voice. It had become light, flirty. “Tell me more about this kissing.”
Buffy smiled, and drew his head down to hers. Their mouths met in the softest, sweetest kiss he had ever shared with her. His hands slipped around her head, running through her hair as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against the seam of her mouth and pressing her body firmly against his.
They stood wrapped together in the dark of the cemetery, mouths moving together as they kissed. It was unlike any moment he had ever shared with Buffy. This kiss wasn’t driven by lust alone, nor was it just the prelude to sex. There was tenderness in every brush of his tongue against hers – and, dare he say it – love.
Long moments later, they drew apart. Spike laid his forehead against hers, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I never thought…” Spike trailed off, not sure what to say. “I never… all these months, I’ve been back, and it was hell – literally at some points – not being able to leave L.A. to see you, then not knowing if I should.”
“Andrew told me,” Buffy said. “That you were a ghost. I wish you’d at least called me when you stopped being all ghosty, though.”
“I’m sorry, love,” Spike squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s not much else I can say.”
“How about… ‘I love you’?”
Spike knew that his heart would have skipped a beat or two if he were alive at just hearing those words from Buffy again, even if she had only said them to prompt him.
“I love you.”
Buffy let out a strange noise, a half-laugh, half-sob. “Oh, thank god. I wasn’t sure if…”
“You’re daft then,” Spike said, smiling, and he felt Buffy laugh against his chest.
“You can’t use your silly British words on me anymore. Not now that I’ve been living here and know what they mean.” Buffy’s voice was muffled from where she had her face pressed against him. She pulled away to look in his eyes, and when she spoke, all traces of laughter had gone from her voice. “I love you, too. You know that, right?”
Spike felt like flying, singing and doing a tap-dance on the roof of Buckingham Palace. Instead, he just grinned and tugged Buffy towards him, and kissed her.
They pulled apart, breathless, and Buffy grinned. “You know… some of the reunions I imagined involved a lot more than kissing.”
“Yeah?” Spike raised an eyebrow.
“Yup,” Buffy smiled, swinging their joined hands between them. “None of them ever took place in a graveyard though. Which is weird, ‘cos you know – us.”
“You’ve got that nice flat, probably a big, comfy bed…”
Buffy didn’t say anything, just tightened her grip on Spike’s hand and led him towards the cemetery gates – and home.
-END-
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is the final chapter of this fic, and the one I found most difficult to write. Thank you to xoChantelly for helping me when I was writing, and to PaganBaby for beta reading. Thank you to all the readers of Famous on the Internet who asked for a sequel, I don't think this would have been written otherwise. Check the A/N at the bottom for a couple more notes ;)
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought by leaving a review! Now, this ending isn't what I had originally planned (Lynn was going to make another appearance) - but that didn't fit in with how I did actually end the fic. That said, I think I'm going to write a couple of drabbles of that original ending - which I will then post to my livejournal. I'm not sure when these drabbles will make an appearance, but that's where they'll be posted.