She stood in front of him, her hands clasped to her front as she endured his scrutiny. He looked her over from head to toe, trying to get something from her. A memory, perhaps? He didn't know. He just looked, from the top of her head down to her toes and back up. Nothing.
He saw her cheeks stain a deep red, and he knew it was because of him. “So,” he said, breaking the silence. “How do I know that you're telling the truth... I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember your name?” He smirked.
She rolled her eyes. Same old Spike sarcasm. “My name is Buffy. And you can't know for sure if I'm telling you the truth. You'll just have to trust me. I'll answer any questions you have, and then you can decide if you want to believe me or not.”
He pursed his lips, nodding once before walking over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. He motioned towards his chair, silently telling her to take a seat. He knew this conversation would take a while, so she might as well get comfortable. “Right. First, I want to know when I became a vampire.”
“1880.”
He looked at her in disbelief. He knew was a sodding vampire, but he couldn't believe he was that old. His memory only went back a couple of months, and to find out that he had actually been alive for a hundred plus years was a tad disconcerting. “Seriously? 1880?”
“Yep. You were turned in an alley in England. Your sire is called Drusilla.” She ground this last part out, the name like a sour lemon wedge on her lips. Buffy knew she should have told him more about Dru, because she had been a big part of his life, but she felt like leaving that part out, unless he asked.
“Okay... When did I get my soul?”
“You know you have a soul?” Buffy asked, shocked.
“Yeah, the huge wave of guilt that hit me after I fed for the first time kind of tipped me off.”
“Oh, right.” She looked down at her lap, looking at her fingernails as disappointment filled her. She knew she couldn't blame him, he didn't know, but it still hurt her that Spike had killed someone. She pushed that to the side, knowing she couldn't change the past, what's done was done. “You got it about a year and a half ago.”
“How?”
She smiled shyly. “Do you want the long version, or the short?”
“Why not, might as well tell me the long version. I got nothin' but time.” He shrugged.
“Well... let’s just say you and I... You got your soul for me.”
“You call that a long story?”
“No.”
“Fill in the blanks, then.”
So she did. She didn't know where to start at first, but decided to begin with the day she first met him, wanting to fill him in on everything that she knew. She saw a flicker of guilt pass through his eyes every time she mentioned something particularly bad, but he covered it quickly, his face going back to emotionless as fast as the guilt had come. When she was done, he just sat there, staring at her.
Finally, he ran a hand through his sandy brown curls, letting out a deep breath. “Do I even want to know what I did before I got my soul? Before I met you?”
Scrunching her face up, she shook her head. “It's not the greatest story for the soul, but I'll tell you what I know.”
“No,” he said sternly, standing up to pace the floor in front of her. He had so many more questions, but from what he had already heard, he was afraid to find out more. He was sad, guilty, scared and incredibly pissed off. He didn't know what to say or think. He didn't know how to deal. “I don't want to know. I didn't want to know half the stuff you told me.”
“Spike, just calm down. That part of your life is over now. You don't have to feel guilty for it anymore. I certainly don't condone your actions back then, but you've paid for it now. You wouldn't be standing here if you thadn’t. You willingly saved the world a whole bunch of times without your soul, Spike. And--”
“Don't,” he barked, stopping his pacing to face her. “Don't call me that name. I'm not him. I'm not Spike. I'm Matt,” he whispered, shaking his head and backing away from her. “I'm Matt.”
“Please, Spi... Matt, it's okay. Calm down,” she said, taking a step towards him as he kept walking backwards until his back hit the wall. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all this stuff so soon. I'm so, so sorry.”
“Go,” he said, simple and stern. He craved the comfort he knew she could give him, but he didn't want her to see him like this. He felt so down and out. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his weakness.
“Please, don't make me leave. I've been waiting for this moment for so long. I'll call you Matt; I'll do anything, just please...”
Looking at her, he saw the sincerity in her eyes. It was that moment, that second of knowing. This was the girl from his dreams. The lamp on the bedside table beside him was glowing brightly, glinting off her hair and making her eyes shine. Gold and green. 'I'm what you seek. I'm who you need to find out your past. Search for me, Spike. Look for the woman who holds your heart.'
“You're her,” he said, his hand reaching out to touch her hair. A simple, subconscious movement, one that he didn't know if he would regret or not.
Before he could feel the silky strands tangle around his fingers, he pulled his hand back as if she was sunlight. He knew. He could trust her and he knew that she was indeed what he had been searching for. The light in his otherwise dark and empty existence. He just didn't know what to make of it. Instead of feeling elated that he was finally on the right path, he only felt more confusion, more sadness and guilt. He couldn't be around her, knowing that he had lost something monumental. Their past had gone the way of his memories, and there was no chance of getting that back.
“Leave. Now. I know where you live, I'll visit when I'm ready. Just... go.”
He watched as her eyes filled with tears. Tears of despair? Hope? Love? He didn't know. He didn't think he wanted to know. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone, to digest everything he'd just found out.
“Okay,” she whispered as she got up to go, feeling the hopelessness and loneliness renew itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave. She knew he would come around, he just needed time. “I'll wait for you.”
Angel stood outside the motel door, knowing he had found them. Their scent was so strong, it was almost over powering. He hated the fact that Buffy had chosen Spike over him, of all people, and he knew it had to end. He gripped his stake harder, feeling his nails bite into his palms. He had to end this. For Buffy's sake and for the sake of the world.
He swiftly kicked the door down, watching as splinters of wood flew around him.
TBC