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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Thank you for your support for this fic. It is still one of my faves that I wrote.
Luv, Spuf
Chapter 33: ‘I Can’t Love You’


A/N: Strap on the seat belts, Spuffy lovers, it’s going to be a ‘bumpy’ ride! Thanks, Luv, Spuf


Sunday evening, Spike sat alone on his couch, drinking a beer and watching some stupid soccor game on the telly. He couldn’t get the sound of Buffy’s tone out of his mind, ‘something wasn’t right about it. Almost as if she had been crying or was ready to,’ he thought nervously.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he reasoned trying to push the uneasy feeling he had away. Spike ‘knew’ Buffy in every sense of the word. At this point in time, there was nothing they hadn’t shared or done together, emotionally or physically, so he knew when something was off about her. Something was definitely off here.

Picking up his phone, he called Clem at home, this being his night off at the bar.

“Hello,” came his friends deep voice. “Clem, it’s Spike,” he responded, “I’m wondering mate, are you sure that Captain Cardboard’s crack bunch of investigating boys got that information I had you send them, on Angel?”

Clem burst out laughing at his friend’s nickname for Captain Riley Finn, the guy really was a stiff SOB and Spike’s moniker for him always cracked him up.

“Yes, Spike,” he assured him, I’m more then certain that the Sunnydale Police Department, inept morons that they can be, got the info and even as we speak are trying to figure out what to do with it.”

Spike talked briefly about the bar with his friend, then hung up the phone.

“I cannot wait to watch your sorry arse get hauled off to prison, Peaches,” he said out loud with a smirk.

“I’ll have to be sure to be standing right next to my Buffy when it happens, a big smile on both of our faces. We can both wave ‘bye bye’ as they drive you off. Hope Finn’s the one driving you!”

He got up and got another beer, resisting the urge to skip into the kitchen like some bloody ponce. If everything went right, the timing of this plan of his, everything, he and Buffy could be together, officially in no time at all and he would finally have everything he’d always wanted.

Tossing the beer cap into the kitchen trash can, he went back to the rather boring soccor match on TV.

‘Wish Buffy was here,’ he sighed wistfully, ‘nothing’s right when we’re not together.’

Spike tried his best not to think about Buffy and Angel, together at their beautiful, huge house tonight. It made him extremely jealous and tempted him to just go over there and kick their door in, pulling Buffy out of that prison she shared with Angel.

Buffy hadn’t said it to him, not once, but he just knew she loved him, Spike, not that overbearing arse she was married to, not anymore, anyway.

“Maybe she’ll say it tomorrow,” he mumbled softly, his mood brightening, “maybe Buffy’ll admit she loves me like I know she does.”


Buffy went to bed before 8:30 PM that Sunday night, pleading an oncoming migraine as an excuse to not spend time with Angel. He had come home from his ‘business’ as promised about 5:00 that evening, whistiling jauntily and gave her a roguish wink and a smile in greeting.

The moron hadn’t even noticed Buffy’s pain, never even realized she’d been crying for hours. Right at that moment, Buffy hated Angel Travers more then anyone else in the world, even more then Xander Harris.

‘Angel gets to be happy,’ she thought, her jaw clenched tight in anger, ‘Xander gets to ‘win’ as he put it. I have to break Will’s heart and my own in the process.’

Traitorous tears began to spill down her swollen cheeks and she was thankful that her horror of a husband was not paying one bit of attention to her.

Even at supper, Angel virtually ignored her, chowing down the perfectly marvelous roast beef dinner Maggie had produced that day. Buffy only picked at her food, actually just stirred the slices of meat and potatoes around to make it ‘look’ like she ate something.

Her stomach was so bound up in knots that she couldn’t have eaten a thing, but she could down her wine in no time flat. Reaching for the bottle of cabernet on the table in front of them, Buffy noticed Angel finally watching her with actual interest in his expression.

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” he asked, concerned, “you never have more then a glass of wine with dinner. Something troubling you?”

She averted her eyes from his puzzled brown ones, “no,” she mumbled, “I’m tired and feel a headache coming on. No big, okay.”

But to herself she said, ‘gee Ang, you think something might be a bit off with me tonight? How insightful of you, you worthless, cheating piece of shit! Now, because I’m a stupid, selfish bitch, I’m stuck with you forever, like a major albatross slung around my neck!’

Buffy really did have a major headache, which was probably a good thing at this point. Angel had had that ‘come hither’ look in his eyes just before she had begged off from being in his presence, due to the headache. The last thing she needed or wanted was to have her husband come claim his marital rights on the night before she had to devestate the man she really loved.

However, even though she had taken a pain killer and laid down by 8:30, it was now near 10:30 PM and she still lay awake, tossing and turning in her empty bed. Her husband was downstairs, God knows doing what and she could have cared less about that, or him anymore.

“I really messed things up,” she sighed, starting to cry again, or to continue to cry, really. “I’ve gone and bloody fucked things up royally, Will.” She turned her face into her pillow and sobbed quietly.

Buffy waited until Angel had gone to work Monday morning to arise from bed and prepare for the day. She felt like she’d been drugged, heavily, which wasn’t too far from the truth, since she had to pop another pain killer about midnight to even fall into some form of sleep.

A long soak in a cool tub helped her wake up a little, that and one of Angel’s ‘happy’ pills his Doctor had prescribed a year or so before. Never one for booze or pills, Buffy was not too happy with this turn of events in her pathetic life.

‘If I’m not careful,’ she derided herself, ‘I ‘will’ turn into a Hollywood horror story for sure.’

For some reason, she found it necessary to choose carefully her outfit for the day, “what do you wear to a living funeral? Black, or a neutral grey?” Her sarcastic sense of humour did little to lighten her melonchaly, but at least she could still laugh at herself.

Will was supposed to meet her at ‘their’ park at 10:00 AM, sharpe.

“Just about Monday Brunch hour at the Club,” she reminded herself sourly, while driving to Sunnydale Central Park, “how festive.”

All the way to her destination, Buffy kept reminding herself about how she had to pull this one off.

‘Be strong, Summers,’ she chanted, ‘don’t look into Will’s eyes, you cannot fool him or lie to him, especially when you look into those indigo orbs of his.’

When she pulled up into the huge parking lot of the park, her tummy did a flip flop as she spied Will’s motorcycle already there.

“He must be at the bridge by the lake all ready waiting for me,” she surmised, a monumental longing welling up inside of her. She hadn’t even admitted that she loved Will, not to him anyway, and now she would never be allowed to.

Buffy found Will at the bridge, sitting on the ledge, swinging his long legs over it, ‘just like a school boy,’ she thought wistfully. He smoked a cigarette, of course, and Buffy realized that she was even going to miss that part of him, the chain smoker that he was. His mixed scent of tobacco, leather and sometimes alcohol was destinctfully William’s and she’d remember it until the day she died.

“Will,” she called out to him, although it was unnecessary, he had spied her approaching and stood up, brushing off the back side of his black Levis in the process. Will closed the gap between them and took her in his strong arms, squeezing her tightly to him. “Hello, Beautiful,” he murmered, kissing her passionately.

She let him hold her, for just a moment or two, before she pulled away from him. The look of confusion on his handsome face produced a sharp pain to shoot through her whole body, ‘I can do this,’ she assured herself for the hundredth time that morning, ‘I have to.’

“Will,” she whispered, “we have to talk, really talk here. You need to listen and I need to tell you some truths that neither one of us, no, I mean that you might not want to hear. So please, just let me back up a bit and you stay right where you are. No touching, please Will?”

Her pleading seemed to have made an impression and he just nodded his blond head, never taking his eyes off of her. Buffy stepped back three or four steps, she wasn’t sure and averted her eyes from his, not daring to face him full on.

“We, I mean you and I,” she stammered, trying to find just the right words to say. She had practiced since yesterday, her big swan song with him, but for some reason, the little speech she’d repeated time and again had escaped her when she needed it most.

“Just say it, Princess,” he said evenly, “you and I what?”

Buffy found a focal point to stare at. A mama duck and four baby ducklings quacked and swam around in the lake water, just next to the bridge they stood on.

‘Looking for us to feed them,’ she mused, trying not to cry right then.

“We have to stop seeing each other,” Buffy mumbled softly, ‘there, she’d said it, hope the Powers that be were satisfied.’

“What!” he gasped, taking a step closer to her, even as she backed up two.

Spike could not believe his ears! What the bloody hell was his love going on about? Stop seeing each other! Jesus, it’d be a cold day in hell before that could or would happen!

“Buffy,” he rasped, desperation overwhelming him, “what the hell are you saying?”

She finally looked up at him, her green eyes filled with pain and the hint of tears, somehow giving him a false sense of hope.

“We need to break up, Will,” she responded hoarsely, quickly averting those beloved emerald orbs again.

“Why!” he roared, whether then asked, “what the fuck is going on here, Princess? What’s this about?”

Breaking the ‘closeness gap’ rule, Spike stormed over to her, clutching her to him possessively.

“Why are you saying this, Buffy?” he asked, huskily, searching her eyes for the truth.

“Because it’s true, Will,” Buffy’s words were barely audible to her, much less him.

She pulled away from her darling Will once again.

“I’ve decided,” she began weakly, trying to find some strength in her tone, “to try and work things out with Angel. He’s my husband Will,” she whimpered, ‘great Buffy, wimp out now,’ she chided.

“Last night, we talked, really had a couple discussion and he wants to make things right, so do I,” she lied so easily now, that is as long as she didn’t look Will in the eye.

William grabbed her roughly, “well I don’t want you two to ‘work things out,’ Buffy,” he cried harshly, “I could give a fuck in hell whether Angel’s decided to come ‘round now and be ‘Husband of the Year’ or not. And I know you, Buffy,” he growled, “you’re past caring if your marriage works out or not. Besides,” he whined, “you don’t love Angel anymore, you love me!”

Buffy forced herself to look at him, sternly she hoped anyway, “when did I ever tell you ‘I loved you’ Will,” she said coldly.

“Didn’t have to,” he insisted stubbornly, pulling her flush against him once more, “don’t you think I can feel what’s between us? Think I’m a complete moron, Buffy? I love you and you love me, that’s just the way it is. Ain’t going to change, now or ever!”

She began to shake her head and pushed him away from her, turning her back on him.

“I don’t love you, Will,” she lied again, “I love Angel. He wants children now,with me and…..”

Will grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him, “so do I!” he shouted hoarsely, “I want you, children and a future with you!”

Buffy felt her resolve crumbling at that but took a deep breath and once again looked down at her perfectly pedicured feet, “I’m just using you Will,” she whispered.

“I used you to make myself feel stronger and better about ‘me’. It was wrong and cowardly and it’s killing me,” she stated in a strong, but shaky voice.

“I’m sorry William. I can’t love you. But if you love me, really love me like you say you do? You’ll let me go and do what I ‘have’ to.”

Spike just stared down at her, disbelieving the line of obvious lies this woman, his woman, was telling him.

“You do love me,” he countered forcefully, “I know you do, Buffy.”

She just shook her head again, still staring down at her french tip toe nails, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Do you love me, Will?” she finally mumered sadly.

“Yes,” he answered immediately with a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomache.

“Then please let me go on with my life, my marriage. Don’t hurt me anymore, Will, please. Don’t contact me, come around me, and please, Will, don’t ever tell Angel about us. It would kill me, I mean that,” she choked, “it would break my heart. And, I know you would never purposely hurt me, would you?”

Buffy chose that moment to finally meet his loving gaze.

“No,” he rasped, his vision blurred with his own tears.

“Goodbye, Will. Please don’t follow me or try to stop me,” Buffy pleaded softly as she turned and hurried back across the bridge to her car.

Spike on the other hand just stood where she left him, staring after her, tears of pain streaming down his face.


A/N: Okay, I toned down the angst here, really. Made this chapter a lot shorter then I had intended because, frankly I’m having a ‘spufette’ angst party going on here at home and couldn’t take much more. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter (!) okay, maybe not enjoyed, but got something out of it. I’m going to give a little heads up here: This ‘does she/doesn’t she’ stuff isn’t going to drag on too much here. Personnally, I couldn’t take another BTVS season 7 if my life depended on it! Please read and review. Thanks, Luv Spuf





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