Angel lay on the floor of the Hyperion lobby, dazed. He hadn't expected Connor to come there, and he certainly hadn't expected Connor to punch him. And hard at that. The kid was strong. Even as Angel winced in pain from pulling himself off the ground, he had a bit of fatherly pride over that. "What was that for?" Angel asked his son, wiping blood off his mouth.
"You sold me out!" Connor yelled.
"What?"
"Those 'people' you so happily signed me over to—the ones you let fuck with my mind—they were Wolfram and Hart lackeys. They weren't my parents. They didn't even think they were my parents. It was all arranged so that they could get to you, and you let them! You sold me to evil without a single care to whether or not I was okay!"
"That's not true! I checked on you, made sure you were with a family."
"Did you make sure it wasn't an evil family? They're Wolfram and Hart, for Christ's sake! Did it not even enter your mind that maybe they were screwing you over?"
"It's not like I had much of a choice!" Angel yelled. "In case you've forgotten, you about to go all suicide bomber on me!"
"I woke up this morning to my mother trying to kill me! I had to fight back! I had to…" A sob choked in Connor's throat, and he fell to his knees.
Buffy watched for a moment as Angel tried to comfort his broken son before she slipped out the door.
*** *** ***
Spike opened his front door and immediately found his arms full of teary Buffy. "Let me guess—Angel?"
Buffy looked up at him and nodded. "I was in the car for a while, trying to make myself stop crying before I came in, but then I decided what I really wanted was for you to comfort me. And I know that's selfish of me, but…"
"Shh. Not selfish, luv. I'm more than willing to comfort you." Spike led her over to the couch, and Buffy surprised him by curling up in his lap, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feel of having her so close, even if it was only like this. "You wanna talk about it, kitten?" he asked softly.
"Yeah, but…can I just cry right now?"
"Course you can. I'm right here for you."
Buffy buried her face against him, his strong embrace letting her feel like it was all right for her to be vulnerable. His hands stroked her hair and back as his soft words of comfort rumbled in his chest. She realized in a sudden flash of insight that this is what she'd wanted from him when she'd first come back from Heaven. She'd been too afraid then to admit to needing this, too afraid to accept anything from him but violent sex. She wasn't going to shy away from the comfort he could give now. In retrospect, she didn't know what she'd been so scared of. It was freeing.
After a while she looked up, meeting Spike's warm blue eyes. "Angel never loved me," Buffy said softly, the statement bringing forth fresh tears, though not like the flood they had been earlier.
Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. Those were words he'd never expected to hear coming from Buffy. "Why do you say that?"
"He…he was human once. Something about demon blood regenerating him. I was there—it was right after he came to Sunnydale that Thanksgiving to stalk me, and I'd gone to LA to talk to him about it. He told me today that we got together then, but some oracles told him I was going to die. He had them turn back the day so he'd still be a vampire, and I wouldn't remember anything."
"Him being human was going to kill you?"
"No. All I can think is they must've meant what happened with Glory. They told him if he was still a vampire, he'd have a chance at protecting me."
Spike's whole body tensed, and Buffy saw the anger clearly on his face. "He knew you were going to die?"
"Apparently."
Spike started to get up, but Buffy held him in place. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"To kill him," Spike replied matter-of-factly.
"Spike!"
"He let you die, Buffy! He claimed to love you, and he left you to die without so much as a warning!"
"I know! Hence the earlier 'Angel never loved me,' statement. But killing him won't make anything any better."
"See, that's where we disagree."
Buffy playfully slapped his chest. "Behave. Besides, when I left things were bad enough that he could be dusty now anyway."
"Don't go getting my hopes up like that, woman. What's going on over there?"
"Angel's son…Connor? Anyway, turns out Wolfram and Hart set him up with a dummy family to fool Angel. I think the guy had to kill his fake mother this morning."
Spike's eyes grew wide. "Wow. Angel's just screwing everyone over these days. Were they fighting?"
"Connor punched him to make his entrance, then there was some yelling, but by the time I left he was just crying."
"Poor kid. He's had it rough up to now anyway. Wesley spilled most of the story to me once in the middle of one of his benders. Wasn't pretty. And now this on top of it…"
"Yeah. I'm thinking serious psychological trauma for lil' Angel."
Spike relaxed some, folding his arms around Buffy. "How are you feeling about all of this?"
"I don't know. Even when I'd really grown past what I had with Angel, I still clung to the belief that what we'd had had been real. Like sixteen-year-old Buffy was still inside of me, and she didn't want to let go. But this… I mean, maybe if he had really done something to protect me, I could have accepted his reason. But he didn't. Hell, the next time I saw him, he told me to stay in Sunnydale because LA was his town."
"Wanker."
Buffy chuckled at Spike's simple response. She knew he could've said—and probably wanted to say—a whole lot more, but the way he was patiently sitting there, watching her, let her know he was giving her the floor so she could vent her own feelings. His anger at Angel was still there, right under the surface, but she needed to get this out, and he wasn't going to let her.
"Do you know what the worst part of it is? I think I knew. Sort of anyway. It didn't click until after Angel told me, but I kept having these dreams, starting right after when I came back from LA that time. I'd dream Angel and I were in an apartment together, or that we were standing on the pier, kissing in the sunlight. I was always happy in those dreams, and I felt like he was, too. Later, when I saw the inside of the apartment he lived in before the Hyperion for the first time, it registered that it was the same one from my dream, but I dismissed it. Years of Slayer dreams make déjà vu really common, you know? But I think now that I was remembering parts of that day." Buffy was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "We were happy. But it wasn't enough for him. I wasn't enough for him. I'm never enough for anyone."
"You were always enough for me."
"No I wasn't. I never gave you enough, Spike."
Spike grasped her shoulders and turned her to look at him. "Hey. Listen to me. You gave me more than enough, Buffy. All I asked you for was crumbs, remember? And yeah, you may not have given me the whole bread loaf, but I think I got more than the crumbs."
"I think I gave you the stale crust," Buffy muttered.
Spike chuckled. "You gave me more than that, pet. Those nights you let me hold you—and that last night in Sunnydale when you let me make love to you the way I'd always wanted to—that was more than stale bread crust, and a hell of a lot more than crumbs."
"I told you I love you, too."
"Yeah, you did."
Buffy settled back down against his chest as they both grew silent, letting the moment stand. And then it hit her. This was love. Not the play she'd acted through with Angel, where everything was romanticized and Shakespearean. Not what she'd had with Riley where she searched only for stability and comfort. It was this. She and Spike had torn each other apart time and time again, both done things that still horrified her to think about, and yet here they were. She needed strength now, and he was giving it to her, no questions asked and demanding nothing from her in return. Good, bad, it didn't matter. He was here. He loved her, and he was here.
She realized it now, although with what she'd come to associate with her lot in life, it was a little late in coming. She'd let him go when she shouldn't have, and now they'd both moved on. She'd have to go back to her life in Italy and leave him here with his life in LA. Then this would be gone. She clutched his shirt tightly in her fists, needing the contact with him more than anything.
Spike stroked her back, figuring the realization of what she'd lost with Angel was finally really hitting her. He'd always known his grandsire was a moron, but to do this… To have Buffy and let her go… And for what? If he knew Angel as well as he thought he did, Spike would bet that whatever the motive was behind Angel's actions, it was a selfish one, even if he tried to make it count towards his carefully cultivated long-suffering hero image. Spike knew he'd give up his own newfound humanity in a second if someone told him it was the only way to keep Buffy alive, but he certainly wouldn't follow that up by turning around and abandoning her. That only made sense in the way that didn't. You didn't do that to someone you loved. You didn't leave them to die.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, with Buffy in his arms crying so hard her whole body shook, but he let her stay there as long as she needed, even after his leg started to cramp and his arm tingled from poor circulation. Finally, she looked up at him, her face red and splotchy, but her eyes no longer forming tears. "I'm sorry I fell apart like that," she said, her voice scratchy from a now-raw throat.
"Don't be. I'm always happy to be your shoulder to cry on, Buffy. You know that."
"Yeah, I do," she admitted. "I got your shirt all wet…"
"Pity, too, since it's not like I have a million other black t-shirts."
Buffy smirked. "Smart ass."
"It's cute, too, y'know."
"So I've noticed."
There was a hint of mischief in her eyes when she spoke. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't want to ruin the moment the way he feared that would. He didn't have that with her anymore. Instead, he looked away from her, and Buffy stood up, stretching her arms.
"Do you think maybe I could take a shower?" she asked.
"Of course, pet. Want me to find something for you change in to afterwards? I think I have some sweats."
"That would be great."
"I'll be right back." Spike went into his bedroom, reemerging a couple minutes later with a t-shirt ad sweatpants for Buffy. He'd changed his shirt during that time as well, though the only way she could tell was by the fact that the one he was wearing now was dry.
"Thanks," Buffy said as she took the clothes from him. "I'll be out soon."
"Take as long as you need."
Buffy gave him a warm smile before going into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Spike sat back on the couch and turned on the television, hoping it would take his mind off thoughts of wet, naked Buffy in his apartment.
*** *** ***
Buffy wondered if it should feel strange to be standing in Spike's shower. It didn't, and she had a feeling she'd be a lot more uncomfortable showering at the Hyperion. She felt relaxed, and was glad that Spike seemed okay with her staying with him while she was in LA.
She couldn't help but smirk at the bottles of KMS color vitality blonde shampoo and blonde treatment, complete with weathered but visible tags that announced their salon origin. The bottles boasted that their contents would "control unwanted yellow, warm, and brassy tones" as well as "balance moisture while adding shine and body." Leave it to the Big Bad to secretly care about that.
Despite telling Spike she'd be out soon, she stayed in the shower for as long as the water was warm, enjoying the feel of it cascading down her skin and easing her tension. This day had been hard for her, but at the same time it had felt cathartic, at least where her relationship with Angel was concerned. For the first time since she was sixteen years she could honestly say that her love for him was in the past. She'd loved him in the deepest way her young mind could conceive of, and even with all the pain that love had brought her, she still couldn't say she necessarily regretted it. But she no longer looked at it from the naïve eyes of childhood. Angel had not been her knight in shining armor. They hadn't shared some grand love that had transcended all. It had merely been what it was, and now it was over.
Maybe Angel did love her, in his way, but she knew now it wasn't real. It was something that faded with time and distance. He could put a warning of her death out of his mind because he was "busy." She tried to imagine Spike doing the same thing and couldn't. He'd stood beside her in that final battle with Glory, willing to give his life for her and Dawn out of nothing more than love. He hadn't even had a soul.
Buffy realized something about herself then, about why she'd feared Spike's love the way she had. It all boiled down to a simple question: If he could love her, why couldn't Angelus? She'd known the answer to that all along, and she hadn't wanted to face it. It had been easier for her to challenge Spike's love than Angel's, and that's what she'd done. But now she looked back on it with clear retrospective vision and knew the truth.
She turned off the now-cool water and stepped out of the shower, using a towel to rub the excess water from her hair before wrapping it around her. She did feel better now, cleansed in more ways that one. She dried off and slipped into Spike's clothes, deciding in favor of forgoing underwear over putting the same pair back on. She hadn't exactly packed for an extended stay when she'd hurried out of Rome to face this last apocalypse, and she was going to need to do a little shopping soon.
Buffy frowned. How long was she going to stay here? She'd only talked to Dawn once since she got here, letting her know she'd live thought this battle, but not saying much else. She should be taking care of her, being a better sister than this. She really didn't have to stay here with Spike. Giles would be there soon, and he could figure out what was going on without Buffy being present.
But Buffy decided that wouldn't be right, just leaving Spike alone with Giles like that. She'd stay in LA until they had a clearer idea of what had happened to Spike. It was the least she could do.
She walked out of the bathroom, smirking when she saw what Spike had been doing to pass the time while she was in the shower. "Video games, huh?"
Spike paused the game and looked up at Buffy. "Yeah. Got it after my hands were chopped off. Physical therapy and all that. Don't know why I keep playing though. That damn barrel-throwing monkey doesn't fight fair."
"Wait, did you just say your hands were chopped off?"
"Oh. Yeah. That crazy Slayer of yours—Dana—didn't seem to think I needed them anymore."
Buffy winced. "God, Spike, I'm so sorry."
He shrugged. "It's all right. I've had worse. Besides, they got stuck right back on, and they're as good as ever."
"Glad to hear that. Those are some damn talented hands."
Spike raised his eyebrows, but Buffy didn't blush or try to back out of her statement. Instead that mischievous glint from earlier returned to her eyes. Didn't she have any idea what it did to him when she was like this?
Apparently not, he decided, when she sat down beside him and grabbed his arm, running her fingers across his skin. "Where did she cut it off?" Buffy asked.
"About here," Spike replied, pointing with his other hand to a spot on his arm.
Buffy touched him again, and Spike took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. All she was doing was touching his arm, and he was nearing his limit. Why did she still have to have such a strong effect on him?
"There's no scar," Buffy said.
"No. The Wolfram and Hart shamans saw to that."
Spike had thought her touching him had been hard to handle, but it was nothing compared to what she did next. Buffy leaned down and pressed small kisses against his skin, tracing the line where the scar would've been had there been one. She flipped his arm over and completed the circle on the other side, and Spike couldn't help but moan.
The sound made a rush of desire shoot through Buffy. She wasn't quite sure what had possessed her to do that, but she'd reveled in the feel of his skin against her lips. But it hadn't been enough. She wanted more, wanted to feel him inside of her again. However, desire aside, she couldn't let things go that far when she didn't intend to stay. It wasn't fair to Spike. She'd used him in the past, and she wasn't going to do it again. That's what had really been "wrong" about their relationship before—her own selfish, uncaring behavior.
She sat up straight, pulling away from him a bit. "I'm getting sorta hungry. Wanna order a pizza?"
Spike's first thought was somewhere in the neighborhood of "huh?" Was she trying to be a cruel tease? She'd just done whatever the hell that was to his arm, and now she was talking about pizza? Did she still want him, was she playing with his head, or did she honestly not know how wild she could drive him?
He guessed it didn't matter. It wasn't like Buffy was going to throw away her life in Italy and her hot romance with the Immortal to come share his tiny bed ins his dark, basement-like apartment.
"Pizza sounds great, pet."
*** *** ***
Review please. Reviews are what inspire me to write. Without them, there is no story, because then I'll think no one wants to read it…
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