"I don't wanna talk about it." She made no further attempt to explain why she was sitting on the verandah looking as though the world was ending.
Spike nodded imperceptibly and sat down beside her, laying down the gun. He couldn't use it now; Harmony had been right, in a way. Awkwardly, and not quite knowing why, he half-patted, half-stroked her shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing and comforting manner. He didn't know what else to do or say, so he just sat there.
Buffy sat there, too, trying hard not to cry. This evening had been awful. Spike had upset her, Riley was off patrolling with the gang, which always worried her, and now her mom was sick. All she needed now was for Angel to die again, and that would really be it.
"Sure you don't want to talk?" asked Spike, as she sighed.
She shook her head, and said in a slightly tremulous voice, "No. My life sucks. What else is there to say?"
"Why it sucks?" he suggested. A lone tear threatened to fall, despite her efforts. Noticing, he patted he shoulder again. "Don't cry, goldilocks..."
At the show of kindness from her mortal enemy, she burst into tears, and immediately felt his arm go round her to hug her. She clung to him, sobbing, unable to stay strong any longer. "Sh, pet, sh... whatever it is, you'll make it through." She clutched at his t-shirt, her tears soaking through the material. "What is it, love? What's happened?" he asked with as much gentleness as he could muster. "Talk to me... tell me what's wrong." He brushed away her tears with his fingertips, and smoothed her hair.
She sniffed. "It's mom. She's sick."
Spike's spine suddenly stiffened, and his entire world seemed to tilt off course. He liked Joyce; she'd been kind to him in the past. He didn't like the idea that there was something wrong with her. "What is it?"
"She's been having these really bad headaches. At first she said it was nothing, now the doctor thinks there might be something there. She's going into hospital to have it checked out."
A feeling of dread passed over him. He hadn't realised until that moment how much he cared about Joyce. She was the only person, after all, who actually cared about him - who'd been there for him. The idea of her being sick or hurt made him feel suddenly ill. And he realised that he'd never be able to hurt Buffy because of it - because hurting Buffy would be hurting Joyce, too. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "But there's no point worrying until you know what the results of the tests are."
"I know, I just - I can't help it. It's like, I suddenly have to be the responsible adult."
"You can take care of yourself."
"There's Dawn to think of as well, though. I've never been good with her, we're just too similar. I don't know how to tell her about mom, or how to look after her when mom's in hospital, or anything."
"You've got your watcher, and your Scooby pals - they're bound to help," he said confidently.
"I know, but it's still - I dunno, it's just the responsibility, and not having anyone to lean on - even Riley, I can't lay everything at his door." She sighed, and added in a small voice, "I wish Angel was here."
A shot of jealousy coursed through him, but he just said, "why don't you call him? You might feel better for talking to him, even if he can't drop everything and come back."
"Pride, I guess. I don't wanna admit to him that I need him. Or anyone else, for that matter."
"Sometimes, love, you do need someone else. No one can function in isolation. Remember what I said about how you've managed to last so long?"
"Yeah, I know, but this is different."
He shook his head. "No it's not. You're still going to need support, especially if your mom has to stay in hospital any length of time. Believe me, your friends'll be there for you."
"I know. But what if there's something really wrong?"
"If she dies, you mean?" he lit a cigarette. "Cross that bridge when you come to it, buttercup."
"But..." 'I'm scared,' she wanted to say.
As if reading her mind, he pulled her closer, petting her hair. "It's scary, isn't it? My mother was very ill, once - I suppose I was about the same age as you are now. I had no other family - my father died when I was a child, and I had no brothers or sisters, Didn't have any close friends, either. It was just me and my mother..."
"What happened?"
"Oh, she pulled through, eventually. She - didn't last long after I was turned, though. I'd become her reason for living, I think. Broke her heart."
"More than having an evil son?"
He chuckled. "Ah, I wasn't evil then."
"I thought you said you'd always been bad?"
"Mm - well, I was. In a way."
"Meaning?"
"I was a bad poet. A good man - if weak; but an excruciatingly bad poet. However, that does nothing good for my credibility."
"I won't tell."
"Damn right you won't," he grinned, tapping the gun.
"So you came to kill me, huh?" she asked, her heart suddenly sinking even further.
He shrugged. "Changed my mind."
"Why?"
He gestured helplessly. "You - well, you were upset. I couldn't just - I just - decided to leave it for a better time."
"So you decided to play nice to get ammunition to hurt me later?" she said, slightly bitterly, kicking herself for believing in his kindness.
Without letting go of her, he took the bullets out of the gun and dropped them into her hands. "That answer your question?"
She looked down at them. It was as though it was engraved on them in gold, 'I won't hurt you.' It seemed almost like a pledge - he was giving her ammunition, and keeping nothing back for himself that he could hurt her with - one tiny gesture with so much significance. She closed her hand around the bullets. "I guess so."
He sighed. "Looks like Harmony was right. I'll never be able to do it."
"Mm? Why?"
He shrugged. "Couldn't do that to your mom, for a start. Not that I realised that till I heard she was ill."
"How is Harmony, anyway?"
He rolled his eyes. "Dear God, don't even ask!"
"That bad, huh?"
"Well, she's not exactly the brightest."
"Never was. Why did you go out with her, anyway?"
He looked slightly sheepish. "Well, I... got rather drunk and slept with her - and apparently declared my undying love for her." Buffy giggled. "'S not funny!"
"'Tis. Jeez, Spike, Harmony? How drunk were you? Sure, she's good-looking, but... there must be other vampires out there who'd go for you. Why Harmony?"
"As I said, I was drunk. And lonely. And flattered by the attention. Oh, and missing Dru. Just - generally feeling sorry for myself."
"Bet you feel sorrier now."
He chuckled. "Sometimes. I tried to stake her once, you know, she pissed me off so much."
"Seriously? Wow! You usually do that to your girlfriends?"
He laughed. "No, not at all. But honestly, Summers, that girl... ah, well, we all make mistakes."
"Why don't you just dump her?"
He considered. "Well, she keeps me in blood. And, you know, it gets lonely, sometimes... but yeah, I guess I'm not really being fair on her, cos I don't love her. I think she knows that, deep down, too, which almost makes it worse."
"You should really do something about that."
He sighed. "I know. But there's never a good time, is there? I think, sometimes, okay, tonight I'm gonna tell her, then for one reason or another I can't. I don't really want to upset her, y'know. I don't want to be deliberately cruel..."
"There's a change."
He looked down at her. "Am I being cruel now?"
"Well - no. But, y'know, Big Bad, and everything..."
"It's always a quick kill, Slayer - apart from your two ilk, when we danced a bit first. But I've never been the kind to torture and maim anyone, unlike your precious poof." He caught sight of her face. "Well, I'm sorry, but he did. He drove Drusilla mad, tormented her... he was such a bastard, Buffy, much as you hate to hear it. Yes, I was violent, but I never played mind games with my victims. A quick biting and draining - and you know how good that can feel after a couple of seconds - or I broke their necks, quickly, cleanly, they'd barely have felt a thing. Angel tortured his victims. Played with them. Frightened them. Never appealed to me."
Buffy gave a half-smile. "You're too impatient."
"Yeah, I guess. But all that torture and stuff, anyway... nah, turns my stomach. Blood, violence, yeah, but I like the other person to give as good as they get - have an honest fight, may the best man win kind of thing. 'S why I like fighting with you - well, sparring, now, thanks to the chip. We're so well-matched, physically, that it's like fighting a part of myself - like you're a human, female counterpart, two halves of the same whole. Fighting with you makes me feel alive, really alive - more so than either of the other two."
"Weird."
"You don't feel it?"
"Sometimes. Yeah, I guess I like fighting you, but partly 'cos I know you can't actually hurt me - so it's good training, keeps me on my toes, which is useful. And I do get an adrenaline rush from it, sometimes, when we're both on form. Then - it feels like I'm flying. It's an amazing feeling."
"So you do like the dance, then," he teased.
She grinned wryly. "Yeah."
"Why did you deny it, then?"
"Well - just freaked me out that I did. It really reminded me of something Faith said to me about getting a kick out of fighting, and it wigged me a bit. I really don't wanna end up like her."
"I somehow doubt you would, you're not the type. Anyway, there's different ways of enjoying fighting. Sounds like she just enjoyed fighting for the sake of it. You said you just get a kick out of fighting me."
"Actually, that makes it sound even more twisted."
"No, believe me, you'd need to worry if you got buzzed from every fight. Getting buzzed from fighting one person's nothing to worry about. Unless, of course, there's a latent attraction there that's worrying you?" he ventured, a little archly.
"A-attraction? Like, how? Actually, no, I don't think I want to know."
He smiled, the seeds of possibility already planted in her mind. "As you wish."
She examined her fingernails a little. "So why shouldn't it worry me, then?"
"Like I said - we're evenly matched, physically, each as strong as the other - slayer and master vampire. And, of course, I can't actually hurt you, so... I guess it's almost like a game, a dance... each trying to outwit the other, match each other blow for blow, catch each other off guard. And it gets rid of a lot of pent-up emotion and aggression, beating the hell out of someone, and having them fight back just as hard, so neither side ever wins. You just fight till everything else drains away and you're at peace again. There's nothing wrong with that."
"You make it sound so simple."
"Some things are, including primal instincts like that. Sometimes, Slayer, you should just let yourself go... follow your instincts."
"Yeah? Like, how?"
"Well, what are your instincts telling you to do right now?"
She shuffled her feet against the step uncomfortably. "Promise you won't laugh?"
"Course not."
"Well... to just... give in and be weak. Let someone else be strong."
"Someone like...?"
"Dunno," she said, flustered.
"You want me to be strong for you?" The question was gentle.
"Well, I..."
"I'm here if you need me, Buffy. Just lean on me, and let me take some of the weight off your shoulders. Mine are broad enough to carry a little extra. Just let it all out..."
She sighed, laid her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his waist, turning towards him so she was sheltered by his chest and arms. "I wish..."
"What do you wish?"
"I wish I was little again. Maybe six, seven. That my dad was still around to take care of me. That I didn't have so much responsibility. That mom wasn't ill. That I hadn't been called to be the Slayer. That I got on better with Dawn. That I had a better track record with relationships. That I was better at school. That I could be a champion ice skater..."
"You skate?"
"Well... yeah. County team, for a bit."
"I used to, when I was a boy. The river Thames froze over, and there was skating, and people roasted an entire boar on the ice, it was so thick. There was a general party atmosphere, everyone was happy and laughing, munching on their bits of roast boar..."
"Like a winter barbeque."
"Yeah, I suppose so." He shifted slightly to hold her closer. "Do you still skate now?"
"When I have time." She winced. "Some bad memories, though..."
"Yeah?"
"I was attacked once, at the ice rink, when I went with Angel. Kendra... thinking I was a vampire. And, y'know, me thinking she was one of the Order of Taraka."
It was Spike's turn to wince. "Have I ever told you how very sorry I am for that particular incident?"
"The Order of Taraka? No."
"Well, I am. Now, anyway. You're pretty decent for a Slayer."
She chuckled quietly. "I guess you're okay as vampires go. These days, anyway. The chip's improved you greatly."
He pursed his lips, knowing he should be insulted by the remark, but didn't have the heart to say anything to upset her. "Anything else you wish for?"
"Okay, don't laugh, but... I kinda wish time would stop for a bit right now, with us still being, y'know, friendly. I mean... it's nice, tonight, but... what if we end up fighting tomorrow?"
He twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. "You might feel differently tomorrow. You might feel like beating me up and forgetting this ever happened."
"But it's not what I want now, so it's what I'm afraid of now. It's like, I've suddenly found a new friend who's all supportive, but what if tomorrow it's all like a dream... once I've got used to the idea of having that support, then having it taken away from me?"
"What I've given I won't take away. It's up to you what you do with it."
"More responsibility," she sighed.
He ventured to kiss her forehead. "But friends to help you bear the burden of it. All you have to do is ask."
"Then... would you... stay here a little longer? Just... like we are now."
"If that's what you need."
She nodded. "Just... for... a little...while..." she murmured drowsily into his shoulder, eyes closing with exhaustion.
The back door opened. "Hi, Joyce," he greeted softly, not turning round.
"Spike... what..."
He turned his head to look at her. "I think she's just fallen asleep," he said quietly. Can I bring her inside? She might catch cold."
Joyce nodded. "Of course. Please... come in."
He stood carefully, picking up the recumbent form of the slayer with ease, and taking her into the living room. "She asked me to stay with her and hold her for a little while..." he said awkwardly. "Maybe, if I just sit for a while and talk to you...?"
Joyce sighed. "She told you I'm ill, then?"
He dropped his eyes. "Yeah. She said. Look, I..."
"You don't need to say anything, Spike. But... if anything should happen to me... would you look after them? They'll be so alone, and I doubt Hank will help all that much. They'll need a lot of support... my girls..."
Well, he never could refuse Joyce anything. "Of course," he found himself saying, his heart sinking. "I'll always be here for them."
"Thank you," she said seriously. "It's a great comfort to know they have people they can rely on to support them."
Buffy stirred. "Have I been asleep long?"
Spike looked down at her tenderly. "No, just a couple of minutes. Maybe you should go to bed."
"Mm. Thanks. See you... on patrol..." she yawned, stumbling to the door. "Night, mom."
"Night, honey."
He watched her leave, and turned to Joyce. "Till the end of the world," he said fiercely. "Both of them. They'll have every ounce of protection I can possibly give them." He bent down to give Joyce a swift kiss on the cheek, then swirled back out of the door.