Buffy
When Buffy arrived at the Galleria and finally managed to find a parking spot without having to put up too much of a fight, she noticed that something was different about Dawn. Her sister was very cheerful, more cheerful than Buffy had known her to be in days. No, more like weeks. Dawn tucked her hand in the crook of Buffy’s arm and dragged her to the ice skating rink to see the Christmas tree and then to the Cheesecake Factory where she insisted they have lunch together.
After they split a lunch portion of the Asian chicken salad, Buffy ordered a slice of white chocolate raspberry cheesecake to share. As they took small bites of the decadent dessert, Dawn chattered on about the holiday season and the spirit of giving.
“You do realize we don’t have money for presents, right?” Buffy hated reminding her sister of their lack of funds. Most of the time, she hoped that Giles would figure out the financial situation before her two credit cards were maxed out. At least, Giles’s name was on the accounts, too, so she wasn’t alone with the burden. Her Watcher was paying her, Willow, and Xander’s bills out of his own funds, which Buffy tried not to feel guilty about. They were all working incredibly hard.
“I know that,” Dawn said, still with the exuberance. “But we should do something to celebrate even if it’s small. Like buy a little Charlie Brown-type Christmas tree or something. Mom would want us to, especially now that we’re not in imminent crisis.”
Buffy found herself smiling at their mother’s insistence that they always mark the holidays with something special. “You’re right. How’s your day off been so far?”
Dawn licked a trace of cheesecake off her fork. “So relaxing. I mostly window shopped and treated myself to a hot chocolate. Best idea I’ve had in ages. You should try it sometime. The day off part, that is.”
Buffy noticed that her sister’s words came out a little too fast. She was definitely hiding something. Not wanting to disturb the moment, Buffy decided not to call her on it. “Maybe I should.”
“How was your day so far?” More eye contact avoid-age.
Buffy followed the obvious deflection, “Same old. Claudia is still being a diva. You’d think she’d be a little bit humble about her calling.” The Houston slayer was extremely demanding despite her humble background. What was it with slayers like Claudia and Faith?
Dawn smirked. “You should just leave her alone in the cemetery one night.”
Buffy remembered when she and Spike shut all the little girls in the crypt with the vampire in Sunnydale. A small smile played about her lips. “Maybe I should.”
“Want me to talk with her?” Buffy knew that Dawn could tell her a thing or two about the slaying business and the danger therein. Maybe the girl would listen to someone closer to her age.
Buffy sighed and poked her fork at the mound of whipped cream. “I don’t know. I’m considering having Giles assign different slayers here. Claudia belongs somewhere else and not in a city the size of Houston.”
“I thought she grew up here.”
“She did, but she can’t handle the intensity and scope of slaying in the city. I’m thinking she might need a small town with only a few cemeteries.”
“Houston needs like three slayers.” Dawn took a sip of water.
Houston was really sprawling. “Three at the very least.”
A light shone in Dawn’s eyes. “Let me try. I’ll suggest a sleepover at her place. Give you a night off.” To Buffy’s surprise, Dawn touched her hand. “You need a night off. It’ll be like. . . like your Christmas present.”
Buffy studied Dawn’s face. Her little sister was serious. “All right, but let me talk to her first.”
Dawn grinned. “Deal.” Then, she took a huge bite of cheesecake.
“Hey! Thought we were savoring it.”
“Savoring, schmavoring.”
* * *
After another week of Claudia’s constant complaints, Buffy took Dawn up on her offer and agreed to take an evening off. As soon as Buffy drove Dawn to the slayer’s apartment and said slayer opened her mouth, Dawn not-so-surreptitiously widened her eyes at Buffy. Then, with a set of her jaw, Dawn virtually pushed Buffy out the door, waving off Buffy’s silent offer to leave.
Buffy stared at the closed door for a moment and then heard the lock slide into place. A weight slowly lifted off her shoulders, and she smiled.
The drive home was leisurely, the sunset painting the sky in brilliant streaks of pinks and oranges. She even stopped at the grocery store around the corner for a pint of pistachio almond. She surprisingly liked the Bluebell. It was the right-colored green and wasn’t skimpy on the nuts.
Minutes later, she entered the quiet apartment, dropping her keys on the table by the door and her bag on the end table by the sofa. Swinging the plastic bag in a jaunty little way, she headed to the kitchen, intent on stowing her ice cream in the freezer and then taking a long shower, preferably until the hot water ran out because she didn’t have to worry about saving any for her sister or Andrew.
She was about to shut the freezer when a bright color caught her eye from the direction of the dining area. Slowly turning, she saw a red gift bag on the oak surface. Her eyebrows moving together, she approached the large bag, running her fingers over the curled ribbon on the handles. The tag read, “Open me. This is not a Christmas present. Love, Dawn.” The “not” was underlined three times.
Buffy smiled again, and she pulled the tissue out and set it aside, peering inside. She discovered a small jar of what turned out to be some sort of probably-expensive bubble bath that was a swirly mix of blue and green. It supposedly smelled like lavender. Interesting.
Buffy reached in for the next item and drew out what at first glance seemed to be a bottle of wine. She immediately felt a mix of anger and worry, but then, she read the label and breathed out a sigh of relief. Dawn had purchased a bottle of nonalcoholic wine. Now, Buffy snorted in amusement.
Her hand found the final item, which was merely a slip of paper. She recognized Dawn’s writing again before she even unfolded the creased note.
“Dear Buffy,
Enjoy the bubble bath and faux-wine. (It’s the best I could do given that I’m under 21 and no longer a klepto.) I want you to enjoy this evening. You get so few lately. Once you run your bath and pour yourself a glass, I need you to text the number below. I love you!
Love,
Dawn”
Buffy was thoroughly confused by this message. She stared at the number Dawn had written. Buffy wished she could call Dawn, but her sister didn’t have a cell phone anymore. (Buffy would have to remedy that and soon.) Claudia had a cell, but Buffy didn’t know the number. Damn.
Buffy stood next to the dining table for a long time, chewing her lower lip. Then, she decided that maybe she shouldn’t waste her evening being broody, uncertain girl.
Scooping up the bubble bath, she entered the bathroom and started the water in the large garden tub. The jets didn’t work anymore, and Buffy didn’t have time to wait around for maintenance, so they’d remained inert. She kept meaning to ask Dawn to do it and promptly forgetting.
Mental note written, Buffy perched on the edge of the tub and focused on the steady stream of water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. Then, she unscrewed the jar of bubble bath and poured half of it into the flow. The bubbles sprang up and quickly infiltrated the water until they formed a thick layer over the clear liquid. The scent of lavender filled the small space.
She stood and shed her clothing before adjusting the light in the bathroom to the dimmest setting. Then, relishing the freedom, she walked naked through the apartment to the kitchen to pour the “wine.” Full glass in hand, she re-entered the living room to head back to the bathroom. Halfway there, she hesitated and then retrieved Dawn’s note and her cell phone.
Buffy’s heart rate picked up for some unknown reason, and she tried not to examine the reasons why too closely. Instead, she found her way into the now deep water and slid down into the tub, allowing the fluid and bubbles to slip over her shoulders like a warm blanket.
She laid there with her eyes closed, hair half-immersed, for several minutes until the bathtub was completely full. Turning off the faucet with her foot and shaking the water off one hand, she picked up her phone and stared at the damp note underneath. She didn’t recognize the number, but then again, she really didn’t know any numbers anymore. Her head was too filled with other important life details that she kept forgetting.
“Dawnie, this better not be linked to some magic spell,” Buffy murmured. That said, she wiped her other hand on the towel hanging from the rack over her head. Adding the number to her phone, she typed a simple message, “Hello?”
When nothing immediately happened and her world didn’t explode, she set the phone aside and took a sip of the grape juice. She tried to pretend the beverage had alcohol in it, but that was a massive fail. She sighed. Not that she liked alcohol anyway.
A few minutes passed and then her phone beeped. Buffy didn’t generally text anyone, so the unfamiliar trill startled her.
Not bothering to sit up, she dried off both hands again, bubbles running down her arms. Then, she opened the message.
“Who is this?”
A flash of annoyance flitted through her. Well, hello to you, too. She was just doing what she was told. “Who are you?”
“You must have the wrong number.”
She frowned and remained vague in her next text. “Actually, no. I was told to text this number.”
“By who?”
Not wanting to name names, Buffy replied, “By my sister.” She held onto the phone this time, but there was no reply for what felt like an ocean of time.
Then, the next message took her breath away. “Slayer?”
No one called her that except for one person. Well, a lot of vampires called her that, but they were usually in cemeteries, and they certainly weren’t dragging cell phones out of their grave and texting her. She sat up, water rushing over her body with the abrupt motion. She honestly felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest, and she almost gasped but didn’t.
It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.
He was dead. She’d seen him start to disintegrate in that cavern in Sunnydale when she told him that she loved him and he didn’t believe her. Her stomach churned with acid. She thought she might throw up.
Fingers trembling, she typed one word, “Spike?”
Then, she began criticizing herself and thinking that she’d completely lost it and was crazy-cakes. Might as well buy her a one-way ticket back to the asylum.
There was no response, so she hurriedly wrote the next message before she chickened out. “Dawn gave me this number. Who are you really? It’s not funny. Really not funny.”
As soon as Buffy pushed enter, she realized that Dawn wouldn’t do this to her because she knew how much Spike meant to her. . . didn’t she? Buffy swallowed past the lump in her throat. She hadn’t really talked with Dawn about it, not since Sunnydale and L.A. when Giles was documenting what happened and they were all in mourning for various reasons.
“Oh, pet. I’m so sorry you found out this way.”
Buffy’s anxiety was so high that her stomach heaved then, and she scrambled out of the tub and slipped on the tile, catching herself on the edge of the toilet where she proceeded to throw up the juice she just drank. The sobs came rolling in as soon as her stomach was empty, and she sank back against the wall with her head in her hands. She cried until she could cry no more, and then, her cell rang, the old-fashioned phone ringtone strident on her ears. The phone switched over to voicemail, and she was grateful for the quiet.
Then, as soon as she felt like she could breathe again, the tone resounded again. Her fingers scrabbling for the device that had landed on the bathmat, she pushed the green symbol to answer the call.
She slowly put the phone to her ear and waited.
His familiar voice was deep and gentle, “Buffy? Pet?” She hiccupped into the receiver. “This is why I didn’t reach out before.”
The tears flowed freely again, hot and swift, over her cheeks. Anger flared anew. “What is why?” Her voice cracked on the “why.” Too weak sounding. Her brain feeling heavy, she shifted the words around, forcing them to sound clearer and stronger, “Explain the why, Spike.”
There was a long silence and then, Spike replied, “There were a lot of reasons. One of which was not wanting to upset you.”
“Oh, you think I’m upset, do you?” she retorted, sounding more hurt than pissed. Damn it.
“Yeah but – ”
“No buts. H-how long?”
“How long wh –?”
“Since you’ve been back. How long?” She hugged her knees to her chest. She’d never felt so exposed. More questions spilled out before she could stop them, “Where are you? What happened? Are you hurt? Why didn’t you come find us?” She meant her and Dawn.
“I didn’t think –”
She kept cutting him off, but she didn’t care. “Damn right, you didn’t think. I love you, you asshole.”
The connection went dead as Spike ended the call, and Buffy’s heart shattered. She thought her heart was broken before, but she really had no concept of how much damage it could take. She threw the phone. It landed with a soft splash in the bath water. She didn’t care. She sat there unmoving, her heart feeling like someone had stabbed it with a crudely-carved stake, splinters haphazardly digging their way into her flesh.
There was a soft knock on the door, but her muscles wouldn’t work. She had no energy to stand, much less put clothes on the way a person did when he or she answered the door.
The knock became more insistent, and Buffy worried about the neighbors complaining. She and Dawn couldn’t afford to lose their apartment, especially so close to Christmas.
Bracing herself on the wall, Buffy stood on wobbly, coltish legs, a wave of dizziness giving her pause. Then, she snagged her fluffy robe off the back of the bathroom door and haphazardly tied it on. She gained strength as she approached the source of the knocking and threw open the door with hopelessness in her heart.
Spike was standing there dressed all in black sans his duster, his hair the same bleached shock as always, his blue eyes bright with worry and sadness. She almost slammed the door in his face, but then, she noticed the tears on his cheeks. That broke her will, and another sob escaped her lips before she could stop it.
“Please invite me in, love.” He looked so defenseless and helpless standing there on the other side of the invisible barrier that was between them.
Her words came out in a whisper, “Come in, Spike.”
He immediately gathered her up in his arms, and she crashed against him before wrapping her arms around him so tightly that he grunted. He swung the door closed behind him and locked it, and they slid to the ground in a heap. She snuggled closer to him, her head tucked under his chin, and he held onto her, stroking the length of her back with one hand.
They stayed that way for an indeterminable amount of time.
Then, Buffy found her voice, “If you were here, why were you acting so weird earlier?”
“What do you mean?” He brushed a half-dry, half-wet strand of hair off her forehead where it was covering one of her eyes.
“When I texted you, you were acting like you didn’t know it was me.”
“S’pose I was afraid.”
Buffy could hear the slight edge of uncertainty in his voice, and she chose levity, lifting her head up to raise both eyebrows at him. “You? Afraid?”
“Of course. Not much scares me anymore ‘cept how vulnerable I feel with you.”
“Me either,” she admitted, laying her head on his chest again. She liked the solid weight of him beneath her. It made him more tangible and real.
“I’ve been with Angel.”
This surprised her. . . the fact that one of his first sentences to her after so long was about her ex. “With Angel?”
“At first, it was because I couldn’t leave. I was a bit of a ghostie.”
She decided to go with whatever direction he wanted to lead her. “A ghost? Wait. How did you come back?” She stroked his forearm. Still solid.
He leaned his cheek on her warmer forehead. “Turned out I was trapped in the bloody amulet. I honestly think it was meant for Angel.”
Buffy considered this. “Makes sense.”
“And Angel’s crew tried to help me become corporeal again, only it was a dismal failure. I was stuck being go-through-able and unable to leave L.A. until one day a package arrived and poof! I was myself again.”
The hurt rose again but less sharply than before. “And yet, you still didn’t call or come find us.”
Spike held her closer but remained quiet. “I’m sorry, pet. I had a lot of reasons, but now that I’m here with you, they all seem – ”
Buffy couldn’t help but interrupt him again, “Ridiculous?”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling in her ear. “Yeah.”
She hit him lightly on his mid-section. “I was a mess without you. No one knew it. . .” She considered something, “except maybe Dawn. I’m good at hiding things as you know. But I grieved for you every day. I-I didn’t count the days like you did, but every day without you was a weight on my heart. I couldn’t get the image of you out of my head. . . of you dying.” His words echoed in her mind, “Every night I save you.” Her heart ached at the irony of their two positions, so she said, “We lost each other.”
He pushed his hand up under hers and laced their fingers together. “But we found our way back again.” With his other hand, he rubbed the tension out of her arm. “I-I was afraid that if I came to you, you wouldn’t want me around. Maybe you would be ready for me to not be there, and I would go because that’s what you needed.”
Buffy realized in that moment that she still held his heart in her hands, the way she always had, but she was grateful because this time, he had hers, too. She shifted slightly, so she could see his eyes again. “I’m never not going to want you to be here.” She kissed him then, and his familiar, responsive lips slid tenderly over hers. She felt like she had found her way home. Not letting herself get completely lost – not yet, she turned more to face him more fully, relishing the movement of his hands over her hips. With her legs loose around his waist, she held his face her hands, her thumb running over his cooler skin. “Stay? Please.”
His blue eyes were lit with love but not the disbelief that used to linger when she was nice to him in times gone by. “As you wish, pet.”
Buffy nuzzled his nose with hers. “We have a lot to catch up on. But for now, I just have one question.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “What’s that, love?”
“How did Dawn find you?”
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