that’s why I try to keep away.
be a hundred percent when I'm with you
and then a perfect heart's length away
Conversation flowed between them almost like water falling into the sea. At first it was just trickles of words, him saying that they should sleep or her wanting to keep going to wherever the hell it was they were meant to be going. And then it became more. He talked of what he had done in LA, of hell and the women that he had found there. He spoke of lonely nights with nothing other than his soul for his comfort and of days spent wishing that the hellmouth had simply swallowed him whole.
It was on the fourth night in a dingy hotel that he told her about the women in more detail.
"Rose is about the nibblet's age now. She's jus' like Dawn too, all long limbs and teenage angst. Blue is barely there most of the time. She doesn't like our world anymore then Twilight did…" Spike had faltered for a moment as Buffy's lips trembled and then kept talking, words tumbling from his mouth in an effort to hide his error. "The others… I can barely remember how they all came to be livin' in the house. One minute 'was mindin' my own business and then they were screaming for help."
"You saved them." Buffy's words were more a statement then a question. She realised, almost instantly, that he had become a hero in his own right. It was something that almost made her jealous. Spike had once been good simply because he loved her. Now, he had become someone complete. He doesn't need me at all.
Spike continued on, oblivious to her inner musings. "I guess so. Didn't know that the beastie had already gotten to their family when I stepped in. Couldn't leave them to the authorities, couldn't walk away either. Jus' took 'em with me."
It was three nights more before Buffy could muster the courage to ask Spike a question.
She had been lying on a single bed, her leg hidden beneath several blankets. He had without question taken the floor. It was folded neatly as a makeshift pillow.
She rolled over until she was peering down at him from the bed. His eyes were closed and yet she knew that he had not yet fallen into slumber. His chest still rose in mirror with her own. She had spent enough nights at the crypt to wake with fear when the chest beneath her did not move. It was one of Spike's quirks to breathe at all. "What do you expect will happen when we get to this 'home'?" Her mouth twisted around the word as though it was a foreign language long forgotten.
He had sighed and stretched, muscles rippling in a way that reminded her of a time when she had forgotten herself in his embrace. "Don't know, Buffy. Haven't really figured it all out yet. 'M taking you to the edge of the property. 've got a house there where you can be your usual Slayer self. Don't figure that it will all be sunshine and roses. A general will have trouble fitting in with a bunch of scared girls and a vamp, I expect." He grinned at her sheepishly and then faltered at her angry glare. "The girls will have to get used to you an' you them." He opened one eye to look at her, cheekbones catching the afternoon light as she stared back helplessly. "'M not who I used to be, Slayer. We all have to accept changes in the other."
She remembered shaking her head at him. Change was something that she had fought against as long as she had been breathing. A slayer was meant to stop whatever some big bad had planned, she was meant to be the coda to the battle between good and evil. In her heart being a slayer had come to mean protecting the status quo. She never truly won. She only stopped things from getting worse, from changing into some nightmare. She and Willow had fiddled with the very fabric of the world when she sought to accept change. And it had only brought her pain. Buffy couldn't express the fear that welled up in her throat at meeting these people who had changed Spike. He could handle his metamorphosis and had only improved in time. She had only become something darker and more lost. She could not handle facing anyone else. Maybe as Anne; but not as me. Not as Buffy the cripple.
"The girls are expectin' you." His voice was a smooth baritone, each consonant clipped as her head rested against smooth glass windows. They were close to their destination and he had begun to feel that returning thrill of home. The very air smelled familiar and welcoming. "I had to practically beg the chits not to follow me and even then they were wonderin' what you would be like." He ignored the way Buffy shuddered with self-consciousness, his voice remaining hopeful. "Had to remind them that you lot don't walk around in capes with fancy outfits and what not." A shadow crossed his face. "TV has twisted everyone's minds of what a Slayer is. Soddin' Harmony had everyone thinking that vampires were like the Adams family. Had more than one silly fool try and make friends with me." He scoffed for a moment and Buffy had stared as Spike chewed his bottom lip with irritation. ""M a fucking vampire for peat's sake. Had to show the bumpies and nearly bite the bugger 'fore he left me alone. It was the night before I visited you at the Whelp's abode." Without thinking of the consequences, he asked the one question that had haunted him, "why'd you run?"
Buffy had stilled then. Such a loaded question. It was too much to traverse such ground. Her emotions were still too raw. How could she explain that her shame to him? Spike had died to save them all. She had nearly wiped out existence with a kiss. Her mouth opened and closed several times but she couldn't form the words. Spike had looked at her as though expecting an answer and then nodded almost with disappointment when her face remained impassive. She couldn't be open with him. She couldn't be open with anyone anymore.
There were still some words that couldn't be breathed out loud.
The next night Spike finally acknowledged that they were 'home'. He parked the car in front of an old barn and quickly took the bulk of his belongings inside the foreboding building. Buffy noticed with some anger that one small pack was oddly familiar. The vampire must have taken her belongings from the hospital when he abducted her. Her eyes focused on the barn, weariness settling into her shoulders. She didn't know why he was wasting all this effort on her. Gods knew she hadn't been kind to him. She hadn't done the right thing by anyone.
The barn unnerved her. The colour had long since leeched out of the wood but she could see that efforts had been made to fix the wear and tear of years of neglect. It loomed into the night sky like a beacon.
Before she could prepare, Spike was picking her up and carrying her from the car. Her moans of pain had him halting in the driveway. "Your leg," he said softly, grasping the stump as he clutched her to his chest. "Does it hurt?"
Buffy rolled her eyes and immediately regretted it when Spike's face darkened. "No, I'm just peachy. What do you think?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
Spike almost growled and shifted her again as carefully as possible. The bint was infuriating. He didn’t know how to deal with the sadness which almost perpetually welled in her eyes. He did however know how to deal with Buffy's anger. "Do you regret going back to slaying?" he asked.
She kept her gaze focused on the ground beneath her. It was enough that his arms were wrapped around her frame, in the way that one would carry a babe. Useless. "I regret a lot of things", she said bitterly. Part of me still regrets you. "All I ever seem to do is make the same mistakes over and over again." She didn't dare to look him in the eyes as Spike paused to peer down at her, his expression masked by a veil of dark brunette hair. She half hoped that he would argue with her, say that it wasn't her fault, how she wasn't to know that something greater than her would use Angel as a pawn… Instead he stayed silent. "I deserve everything that's happened."
A low growl sounded from deep within Spike's chest. "Stop it." He walked over to a large doorway, shoulder knocking the door open as she clung to his thin cotton shirt. The room was warm, rich hues of yellow paint covering the walls. Far too carefully Spike dropped her down onto a bed.
"Don't know what those ninny's at the hospital put up wit' love, but 'm not having it. All this guilt riddled nonsense is doing you no favours." He growled again when she kept her head down, stubborn shoulders tightening. She reminded him of one of those sirens locked on the rocks. She was his ruin, calling to him silently even now. "Christ, 'm a git. For loving you. "Snap out of it, Slayer."
Angry jade eyes met his at the dreaded name. "Don't." She said the word in the way that one would a curse. "Don't call me that."
"What? Call you what pet?" Spike cocked his head, irritation rising with every moment that passed. "A Slayer?" He pushed her back onto the bed until Buffy's back was flat against the mattress, his face mere inches from her own. "T'is what you are. Can't change that no matter how they cut you up." He pulled at a strand of her dark hair and then curled his fingers into the remaining locks. "Believe someone who's tried, pet. You can't unmake a slayer." I tried to drag you into the dark with me and even then you wouldn't go. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her how much he cared when she twisted away from him, scars tightened with anger.
"What do you know about it?" Her voice had started off with a hint of strength in it but the pitch turned high as Spike's eyes bored into hers. "You haven't lost your ability to move. They didn't take what you made real away." She tried to flip herself away from him, away from his furrowed brow and all too human concern.
"You're just a vampire. You can't understand what it is to simply loose your purpose."
Spike stiffened at the insult. His loves had always had barbs for tongues. Drusilla had known the exact words to say after a night spent with Angelus. Cecily had even used her talents to drive him into death's arms. And now the Slayer. He hadn't expected Buffy's words to cut him so deep though. After all these years 'thought I was past it. "You can be as angry as you want, pet. Gods knows that you've earned the right to sulk." He curled his tongue behind his teeth as Buffy's outraged noises echoed in the room. Sanctimonious bint. "From what Nibblet said t'is almost been four months since it happened." Spike rose up to sit on the edge of the bed. She was still burying her head into the covers but now her breathing was laboured as though trying to suffocate the rage which was waiting to pour out. "Another week should be sufficient for you to have a proper good pity party."
"That's not what I'm doing." Buffy's voice was muffled by the comforter but it sounded sulky even to her own ears.
"Certainly looks that way from this angle, pet." Spike had to restrain himself from reaching for her as a quiet sob sounded. "The chip restrained me in ways that a bleedin' leg could never do." Allowed me to see what I had been hiding from, my love for you.
Buffy lashed out then, her arms straining as she pushed herself up to swing at his obnoxious head. "How dare you – " she cried out. Her hand connected with his cheek with far less force then she had hoped for. "I'm nothing now. Don't you see that? The chip came out. This will never get better." She flailed against him as Spike dragged her into his arms. He couldn't stand not to touch her any longer. Her eyesight was blurry with unshed tears and her cheeks felt like stone as her face contorted into a weeping mess.
Can't loose control. I can't cry in front of him… Buffy gritted her teeth, attempting to stave off the emotions which threatened to overwhelm her and then his voice was in her ear.
"Let it go, love. Just let it all go."
And she did, great broken sobs that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. Buffy sank into his iron arms, hands fisting into his shirt until it ripped.
The sobs were nothing new. She had cried in the hospital for herself. She had even cried when Dawn could see, her body heaving deep soul-wrenching breaths of air and tears. Out in the cemetery and in the world she had allowed herself to feel the loss.
But she had never mourned like she did now. Buffy had never let anyone feel the depth of what she had lost. Without thinking she let Spike's arms cradle her even closer, his chest melding with her scarred cheek until she did not know where she ended and he began.
Spike's voice was no more than a constant litany of sounds against her brow. His hands were still the same ones that she had struck against, that had battered her body and brought her to edges of ecstasy. His heart still did not beat. And yet it did not matter, at least not anymore.
For the first time in what felt like years, Buffy finally felt some form of peace.