Chapter Two
The next night
The amused, story-telling voice of her mother startled Buffy when she finally got home. Her investigation of the train for clues had led to nothing but the sight of a number of taped body outlines and she felt weary at the prospect of trying to hunt down leads. As she ventured further down the hall she became aware that her mother was not telling her tales to Dawn, and the buzzing tingle that informed her of a vampire’s presence finally made it through her preoccupied haze and she realised that Spike was here. Here!
Oh God. She paused for the barest shift of time, reflecting on her outfit and had to make a tremendous effort to prevent her fingers from doing a crisis comb through her hair. She closed her eyes briefly in disgust, more so at herself than at Spike, and swallowed hard in resignation. Except for that little pit down deep and almost hidden in her belly that was warming with excitement that she was to see him again.
She had spent the better half of the day fighting herself and her opinion of Spike, trying but not succeeding in finding any way to allow his crush to be acceptable. She couldn’t do it. As fuzzy as the thought of his feelings made her feel, history and memory arose to shout it out. She had been down this road before, with nothing less exceptional than a vampire with a soul, and look where that had gotten her.
No. She had to be out of her mind to even allow a seconds entertainment of a romantic life with Spike. Her friends would go nuts; her mom would freak. It just wasn’t possible. A year ago, even less, he wanted her dead. Just what the hell was he playing at now, making Dawn think he was in love with her?
It was wrong.
On so many levels.
Like Xander said, it couldn’t be real. She shouldn’t take it seriously. She wouldn’t.
Even though he had been waiting specifically for her, Spike still seemed surprised when she finally made it to the kitchen. She had felt every single step down the hallway, and now she felt so tense that she could feel her teeth squeak. Joyce’s story slid to an easy end but with the prospect of a new beginning, and Buffy found herself almost wanting to kiss Spike for interrupting and redirecting the action.
He ushered her away from her family and told her of info he held in regard to the train massacre. Shuffling her feet nervously, she tried to fob him off until finally giving in and collecting her coat and ‘pointy sticks’. With a sickening sense of dread, she followed him to his hunk of junk car and got in.
The trip to their destination did nothing to relieve Buffy’s discomfort. She was jumpy, and she knew it. So did Spike after she nearly dived out the door to prevent his touch as he reached over her to get his hip flask. She actually shrunk back in the seat in embarrassment when she realised his intention. With nothing left to do but wait and listen to his banal singing, she chose to study him and almost reeled in shock.
He looked different. Not so harsh. In fact, a lot of the black was missing. His pants were olive cargos, loose around his strong legs…legs she had always known were strong from his tight jeans. In fact, those jeans had merit. Wonder why he traded them in? The shirts had changed too much more subtle and flattering and with a gasp she conceded that he actually looked really good with the change. Her face flamed when she caught him noticing her stare, and he smiled at her tentatively.
The duster was gone, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Her fear escalated as she did a quick count back and realised that his new look had been going on for a while now. Dread swallowed her breath as she finally accepted that maybe Dawn was right on the money.
Two loser looking vamps strolled into their view and she almost leapt out of the car to get away from what she was starting to understand. Not just understand, but believe. Her confusion over how she felt was digging in and she felt disorientated, and slightly out-of-control. Until anger suddenly gripped her and compounded with her tiredness. She had these vamps pegged from the start: losers and cowards. And the way Spike was trying to communicate with her had her wigged big time.
Sweet and gentle cooperative.
The urgency to get away from him possessed her feet and she nearly ran for the door, only to come to a screaming halt when he pulled it open for her.
Asking him if he considered the time they had just spent together to be a date just flew out of her mouth, and it was way too late to take it back. Without properly preparing herself she had thrust herself into a conversation she both didn’t want and wasn’t prepared to have. Her refusal to allow any form of her past imprint her future allowed her brain to release the vitriolic words that fell from her mouth.
“Are you out of your mind?”
She wanted to put her hands around his throat and squeeze him until his head popped off. Red lightening bolts of terror were shooting through her in a frantic rush and her mouth kept time alarmingly well. While the inside of her head fought a raging battle of flashing red, she fought hard for composure rather than wailing on him with her fists. His comments of feelings, and in the work place, made her hitch her breath in horror, the possibility of his being right too shocking to bear. As she backed away from him, and he continued on a determined path toward her, her heart squeezed violently knowing what was to come. And she couldn’t stop him. But what got her even more was that little hidden part of her that didn’t want to stop this.
His abrupt change in character was what initially put her off-balance. His earlier almost puppy dog eagerness to gain her approval had now stepped aside for the assured vamp she had always dealt with. Oozing sex appeal. But it was mixed with a little shyness she thought, and she just stopped herself from softening.
She couldn’t want this, no matter how good it made her feel; or how special. Spike was no good for her he was no good to any human and the world would be better off without him.
Her derogatory phrases repeated through her mind on a loop, and she took not a second to try to understand why she needed to remind herself of Spike’s evilness. She felt tempted again to violence, though, when he tried to argue her down from her point of view.
At the end of her tether, she threw out her one, damning argument.
“Spike! You’re a vampire.”
She stepped back as he slithered forward a step.
“Angel was a vampire.” His voice reeked with knowledge, with knowing, and confidence that he had shot her argument to useless pieces.
“Angel was good.” She felt desperate, cornered, and she clung to all the old arguments with her life. She was right; she had to believe everything or risk invalidating all her decisions in regards to Angel. There was no room here for Spike to buck the system, to make her question what she had learned. Her experience with Angel was that she could only trust him when he was ensouled. Spike, sans soul, could not be trusted ever. It was a given. He was just playing another trick; it was another scheme to put her off her game. In no way would she let herself wonder why she entrusted her family to him.
His change of tone muddled her perception briefly. His sincerity robbed her of breath and just for one second she was desperate to believe.
“I can be too.” He sounded determined, though hurt. “I’ve changed, Buffy.”
And her walls slammed up in overdrive. This was one she knew. Soulless demons could not change, and she almost laughed at how he almost had her. Her argument came to her fast then and her refusal to accept his claim was almost violent, as was her desperation to just get away from him.
“What? That chip in your head?”
That little nod was a losing effort, for she was determined.
“That’s just holding you back. You’re like a serial killer in prison.”
“Women marry them all the time.” And Buffy scoffed. “But I’m not like that. Something’s happening to me. I can’t stop thinking about you. If that means turning my back on the whole evil thing…”
For one hesitant beat of time she wanted to believe, cling to his words and find truth in his eyes. She almost convinced herself that it was there, but commonsense came to her rescue and she denied it all. She wouldn’t allow him to speak any longer, and with a forceful “You don’t know what you mean…” she was gone, leaving a confused and defeated Spike in her dust.
Spike sat in his car, listening morosely to punk music that made him want to dust himself. He had taken a risk tonight, thinking that he had picked up enough signs that she might not hate him so completely and he might be in with a tiny bit of luck.
Well! Buggered again!
He left the vehicle; feeling bereft of all sense and purpose, and wondered again why he put himself through this. He could understand her opposition. It was a big jump. Her trying again with another vampire. But he knew as soon as that whole thing came up about Angel that it was time to admit defeat. She would never entertain the possibility that he could change. As far as she was concerned, all vampires were mindless lumps who couldn’t think for themselves beyond which little sweetmeat was to be drained. Even knowing him all this time had not altered her mistaken perceptions.
Come to think of it, that raised a number of questions. It was Spike’s belief that, other than the souled Angel, it was unlikely that any vampire had really been studied in depth. So why hadn’t the Watcher taken advantage of studying him, noticed the way Spike had been changing, and getting his Slayer to know the truth about vampires? Other than that token effort when he’d first got the chip when Spike had still been deep in denial the Rupert had made no further effort with him. Perhaps if the silly git had done, then he wouldn’t have to go through this stupid fight now. That he could get her to believe he was genuine about wanting to change. If Buffy would just give him a chance.
As he approached his own welcoming crypt he felt the anger and hopelessness escalate. He hated unrequited love. Hated it with a bloody passion. Why did it have to be another woman that couldn’t see the good in him, the potential? He was ready to sacrifice everything he was for her, and she didn’t care. She couldn’t even sit there calmly and contemplate his gift. She was an instrument of good versus evil and she couldn’t even take the time to consider what he was offering.
He entered the crypt and felt himself on the brink of defeated tears. A desperate sniff had him stiffening his back, and the sense of calamity he had searched the meaning of the previous night was upon him. He froze; knowing that it was crunch time and his fears about his continued existence in this place was about to be challenged.
He called out “Who’s there,” but he knew before she even opened her mouth. It had been a while, but how could he ever forget?
“A happy memory. Look who’s come to make everything right again?”
Her soft hypnotic voice curled through him in relief. Finally some comfort, some acceptance; he almost sighed, then felt a strange stirring of guilt. He felt lost in her presence, felt hope. Wanted to seize her with her promises, claim back the night and his person. But the more he tried to remember who he had been the less clear he became of who he now was.
“You’re a killer. Born to slash, and bash…” Her seductive madness curled his hand against her non-existent heart and he thought he felt beats, mad determined beats trying to warn him.
A killer. That was exactly what Buffy refused to let go of. She wouldn’t allow him to show her anything different. The irony here made him want to collapse on the floor in hysteria.
A Killer. He felt afraid and filled with trepidation, but somehow hoped that he could finally again be accepted, be at last allowed to fit in. He was just unsure if it was the right group. But Dru gifted something to him, a chance to move on, to regroup and find himself again. Like she had done the first night of her bite. She offered him a home and a family, even if it was with the heaving bitch Darla. He felt her craving, her desire to regain her family, and he knew that she was just searching as well. She also wanted to belong.
How had they all cocked it up so badly? They had been strong a force to be reckoned with and then one stupid flash of conscience had their happy family splintered forevermore. Down deep, though, he thought he wanted Angelus back as well. The certainty of identity then was simple. No one questioned who and what he was. Particularly not himself.
With a determined growl he accepted what the Slayer professed him to be true and followed his dark Princess to where the test of night would come.
Back in black they did nothing less than glide into the Bronze. Spike resplendent in costume placed his arms once again around the one who had been his existence for over a hundred years, and waited. His patience was almost desperation as it suddenly hit him what they were here to do. It had been so long since he had tasted warm, living blood, and he felt fear tinge his experience.
As he followed Dru up the stairs to the balcony and caught her offering, he breathed deeply. He struggled to call up the animosity that would bring forth his feeding fangs, and hesitated. Even with knowing that this is how he fed, that this was how Dru expected him to feed, the twinge of regret he felt in his gut when he caught the girl wouldn’t leave. It twisted and churned until he felt tears well up in his eyes and he knew it was too late. The girl was dead, and he had something to prove. With spiteful determination he brought forward his demon and tore at her throat.
Her blood tasted like poison.
Buffy felt like kicking Willow’s tush all the way to the cemetery and back again. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want to risk any more declarations from Spike, and she didn’t think she could make her disgust any clearer. So why she was heading back there to talk some more was beyond her. Or at least it was until that traitorous little voice piped up and suggested that she actually liked looking at Spike.
She stopped dead. Oh. My. God.
Nerves rioted in her stomach and she quickly made it to a bush where she was able to dry wretch in glorious private.
On the bright side, she hadn’t given Glory a thought all day!
She groaned as she realised that stupid Spike had taken over her entire day with this stupid crush, and she so couldn’t afford to let it go on any longer. That was why she was going to his crypt. To end it once and for all. Yep, that was the reason. And she’d keep telling herself that for as long as she needed to believe it.
Of course, when she got there, he wasn’t home. Her renewed sense of purpose wouldn’t let her give in and sneak off back home so she decided exploring would take up some time while she waited. Finding an entrance to the lower level, she pushed the slab aside and slowly descended the ladder. She was so used to Spike’s morbid personality that she didn’t even flinch at his collection of skulls and coffins littered around untidily. He did, after all, live in a crypt.
She withdrew the lighted sconce and ventured further into the cavern stopping with a feeling of apprehension before a draped shroud. Unmindful of poking around in Spike’s belongings, she drew the sheet aside and gasped. With a sharp intake of breath, she located her missing sweater and vowed silently to apologise to Dawn later. The pictures scared her: photos, drawings…was that her underwear? Refusing to think, she turned tail and ran back to the ladder. Her distressed preoccupation distracted her from taking notice of her spidersense so much so that, when she reached the top again, she was surprised to be confronted by Spike.
Still stunned by the disturbing display below, the blood trickling from the corner of Spike’s mouth refused to register the way it should have. Her stuttered questioning left her unprepared, unfocused and unprotected. And God, why did she feel so hurt? It made no sense, and it left her completely vulnerable.
The sound of Drusilla’s amused voice was followed by the immediate shock of a tazer, which overwhelmed her instincts, and she succumbed. A second shock and she was out.
Spike thought he would feel some measure of satisfaction when Buffy was caught. He allowed Dru the honour knowing he wouldn’t remain standing if he tried but as she collapsed, looking at him with dawning horror and fear on her face, his resolve wavered. He took the tazer from Dru and shocked her out. He seemed better able to handle the look of betrayal from the woman he had loved for over a century. Spike picked up Drusilla and took her below, restraining her with his chains.
The bitch had done it to him again. Appeared when he thought he had it all figured out, had himself all sorted. She had rejected him disdainfully and he accepted that his love was hopeless. He had asked for help to change and been kicked in the teeth. Dru had tried tonight to reverse it all, rid him of his shaky confidence and restore him as the vampire he was always feared to be. One look at her golden lovely face and he was back in Misery Town.
Gently he lifted his Slayer and positioned her in his armchair, steadily restraining her with ropes so that she couldn’t easily escape him. He’d make her listen to him or be damned!
As Buffy regained consciousness she directed a hard stare his way. Her eyes were wide and flinty, hurt and devastated that he had done this to her. But equally furious. He knew that it was a long shot, that she didn’t trust him enough for this method to really work. But he had almost finished with the pity ditty for the night. He knew she would never allow him a place alongside her. She wouldn’t let him help protect her, the Nibblet or her mother.
The unveiling of his feelings would have her forever on guard against him. Isolating him again. And it bloody hurt that she didn’t trust him. He knew that he had given her little reason to in the past, but he felt that if she had just taken the time to recognise a little bit of something good in him then she would see it, that he could do it.
For her.
He didn’t speak immediately, wanting to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. He knew that the moment he opened his mouth that she would try to shout him down. It had been said already tonight or at least implied but she had been hiding so far within her Angel barriers that she hadn’t truly heard him. To him, it was important that she knew. Whether she accepted was another thing, but he had to make this effort now in case he never had another chance.
“I love you.”
He panicked as soon as her lips separated and she attempted to speak, her anger obvious in the curl of her bottom lip. He slapped a hand over her mouth in desperation and was glad for his foresight in tying her legs as well, when kneeling put his manly package in line with her feet.
“I love you. You’re all I bloody think about. Dream about. You’re in my gut, in my throat. I’m drowning in you, Summers. I’m drowning in you.” For a second he felt hope when he saw the wonder in her eyes, the short seconds of ‘maybe’ that shone in the jewel green. He knew she wanted to argue, to shoot him down, but he’d already had enough of that. Desperate to get it all out while he could, he continued. “You can’t tell me there isn’t anything there between you and me. I know you feel something…”
He dropped his head for a moment, too afraid to look at her, too unwilling to see her hatred, her unacceptance. When he again raised his eyes to hers they were filled with tears, struggling to not escape and destroy his reputation further. Carefully he removed his palm from across her mouth but replaced a finger to stop her speech when she looked ready to let fly.
“I know you hate me. That you think you will never love me. You were right. Angel does have a soul. He was forced to be good, and it took him a century before he still made that choice. But I had the will. I think you broke it tonight.” He smiled sadly at her and his chest ached. “I know you hate me. I know you think I’m delusional. This thing between us? It’s wrong. I know it. I’m not a complete idiot. But around you, I feel different. Like things are possible. But you don’t want to help me and I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stay here and see your disgust every time you look at me, or use me for help and think I only want the money. It’s time for me to go, Buffy.”
And finally the tears broke free, miserable streaks that ran down his cheeks, and for a few stunned moments he was unable to speak. He watched her face frozen in shock, and something else he was unable to see clearly through the blur of his eyes.
He leaned in closer to her face, his lips resting a whisper away from the corner of her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut in his deepest hurt.
“I will always come back if you need me. If things get bad with that Glory bint, or you need help to hide Nibblet, or, just…anything. I’ll be there for you. I’ll be in LA. Angelus should be able to find me.” He paused again before he gave her the last shred of his hope. “I’m not going to look for ways to get the chip out. So, I’ll stay safe for you. Don’t ever be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you. Not interested in killin’ Slayers anymore.” The husky scratch of his voice ceased, almost fully consumed with emotion, sorrow making his heart black and bleeding.
His eyes still closed, he moved slightly to brush his lips over hers, sucking gently and surprisingly without opposition on her top lip. The kiss only lasted for mere seconds, but it blew his mind. He sunk into a depressive state, grieving that he would not see her each day; her smile, her hair, her eyes and her skin.
She was lost to him and he just didn’t have the strength to fight a losing battle. He was tired of women not wanting him.
All the purpose he had reclaimed earlier had dissipated on the winds of uncertainty, and even though he had a feeling his decision now was monumentally wrong, direction was forced and it was time to go. He stood, and stepped away from her, she still and quiet, looking at him in shock.
“Dru’s chained downstairs. By the time you get those ropes undone, we’ll be gone. Tell the Bit, I’m sorry.” A pause, a plea. “Don’t forget me, Buffy.”
He grabbed his duster and was gone.