I don't mind spending everyday
Out on your corner in the pouring rain
Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile
And she will be loved
She will be loved
Tap on my window knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful
I know I tend to get so insecure
It doesn't matter anymore
It's not always rainbows and butterflies
It's compromise that moves us along
My heart is full and my door's always open
You can come anytime you want
I know where you hide
Alone in your car
Know all of the things that make you who you are
I know that goodbye means nothing at all
Comes back and begs me to catch her every time she falls
Tap on my window knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful
An excerpt from "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5
Sometimes his humanity overtakes him. He swears he can feel his heart beating in his unliving chest. It's times like these that get him into trouble. Not bloody, violent, chip-activating trouble. Trouble with love. It's times like these that he wonders why he chose to stay love's bitch.
"I love you, Slayer," he told her.
She stared up at him with frightened green eyes. He was leaning against the tree in the front yard of her house on Revello Drive. He didn't mind spending every day out on her corner. Even in the puring rain. She had been sitting on the front steps hugging her knees to her for nearly ten minutes before she acknowledged that he was there. She had been crying. He knew it before he even saw her face. He could smell the tang of her tears, the sweetness of her skin and richness of her blood. He could never forget the scent of the Slayer. It was imprinted on his soul.
Soul. Now, that's a funny thing, he thought. He gets a soul, the very thing that separates the men from the monsters in her eyes, and she still couldn't figure out that he'd changed. He hadn't needed a chip or a soul to help him do that. But she thought he did. He was lovesick for her long before he'd been neutered or enlightened. The day that she saw that is the day that she would say those three words back to him, or at least he hoped.
The words were petal-soft through the air, but she'd heard them. He knew as much. Bollix things up you wanker, he scolded himself inwardly. Those words had been her constant cue to bolt as soon as they'd been uttered since she'd come back all wrong. And, yet, he foolishly let them escape his lips every time he saw her.
She didn't say anything to him, but looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there. She pulled the bell-sleeves of her caramel sweater over her knuckles, gathering the crotched yarn in the palms of her hands. She was looking off in the distance, at nothing, to her right. Not at him.
He cleared his throat. "So, um... rough day at the office, Slayer?" he asked, trying to abruptly change the subject.
"Just... rough day," she sighed, her gaze still averting his.
"Oh." He furrowed his brow in thought. "Well, then, I'll be going. Let you have your Buffy-time," he told her, using finger-quotes as he said 'Buffy- Time.'
He caught a half-smile forming on her lips as he turned to leave. His beautiful girl with the broken smile. Keep walking, he told himself. Let her come to you.
"Hey, uh... Spike?" she called, stopping him. "Come sit?"
He released a grateful, however, unneccessary breath and went to join her on the steps. He sat near her, their knees and elbows sometimes touching. Neither one of them said a word for what seemed hours. She leaned back against the bannister and he could feel her looking at him.
"I... I couldn't remember my mother's hands," she confessed to him. She sounded like such a little girl, lost and scared.
He looked to her. She was staring at her own hands as her eyes threatened to spill over. He tried to remember his own mother's hands but couldn't. It didn't bother him as much as it once had. But it bothered him nonetheless. He knew how it must hurt for her to think that she was forgetting her mother in any way.
"Slayer," he said to her. "Buffy."
She looked at him and forced a weak smile.
"Sounds silly, her only being gone for such a short while compared to how long it's been since you've seen your mother," Buffy told him, as if she was reading his mind.
If she saw the bit of surprise in his eyes, she didn't let on. She stared up at him, her lip still trembling. Comforting her was such a gamble. While most women would appreciate a gentle touch, a little kindness and maybe even take comfort in the whispered words 'I love you,' she would likely find something offensive about taking sympathy of any sort from him. Better to steel his trap and just let her be.
"I just miss her," she said as the words caught in her throat. The tears began sliding down her cheeks as she stared at him. "I just miss her so much and I'm afraid, Spike. I'm afraid I'm going to forget her bit by bit everyday until there's nothing left."
Bugger the odds, he thought as he inched closer to her. He was surprised when she threw herself into his arms. It reminded him of the Bit, the way she heaved herself at him with wreckless abandon. He held her tight and stroked her hair as she shook in his arms.
"Oh, God," she keened. "Why couldn't they just leave me there?"
She was referring to heaven. The only place she'd ever really felt happy. The last place she saw her mother. She'd been throwing all of her energy into slaying and her day job. He'd noticed how little time she actually had just for herself. It was either working, slaying or playing mother to Dawn. And then there were the do-gooders, her meddling friends. The whole lot of them must have been blinded by their own neediness so much that they couldn't see the hollow sliver of pain etched in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Pet." He was listening to her ragged heartbeat. He could hear the emptiness echoing around it.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were so full of concern and compassion. And love. She saw all the love he had for her in them and it scared her to death. But she was just too tired to run.
"Spike, I--"
"I know, Love." He recognized that look in her eyes and decided to take the higher road. "I'll go now."
"No, wait," she said, stopping him again.
"That's not what I was going to say." She looked at the step next to her and then to him in a silent invitation.
He nodded and returned to the spot next to her. She looked like she was thinking. He watched as she absently picked at her nail polish. She seemed to snap back to reality when she rested her eyes back on him.
"I'm the one who's sorry," she told him. He was all ears now. She was sorry. That was a new one.
'You look... all freaked out," she observed. He stifled a laugh when he realized how serious she was.
"Oh, Pet... I just... let a poor bloke recover from shock," he smiled to her. She felt her lips curling up in a genuine grin as she playfully slapped at him.
"Knock it off, Spike," she mock-chastised him. "I am. Okay? There you have it... the Slayer is not invincable to a sense of conscience. Happy now?"
He couldn't help but smile at her jocularity. It wasn't like the Slayer to be all amateur night at the Apollo. She was usually too serious.
"More... a bit taken by it, is all," he mustered.
She nodded her head. "Yeah, I'm just all full of surprises. Must be that little bit of demony-goodness I got to keep when I came back."
"Oh Pet, you know that's not it," he said to her. "There's no demon in you." He had to stop and take an unneccessary breath because he wanted so badly to add "but it could be arranged, wink wink... nudge nudge." It was the ever-present whisper of the devil that still spoke to him. Just not on a go-out-and-kill-something level. More of a humane devil than that. He chalked it up to the new soul. Balanced him out, it did.
"It's just a... well, it's pretty jarring to the system, I imagine, to go from where you were back to Sunnyhell. Must make it seem even worse than you remembered. You're just going through a readjustment phase. It'll pass. Always does," he told her.
"Well, demon or not, I'm not the same Buffy. I just don't feel the same. I just don't..." She searched for the appropriate word. "Care," she sighed.
She shook her head and looked up at him, searching for understanding.
"It's just not fair. Th-the powers that be or whoever," she yelled. "They give me my gift. They give me death. And it was all rainbows and butterflies and gossip over milk and cookies with Mom. And then... THEN... they decide that they're gonna go and be indian-givers. They're gonna take it all back because Willow wants to work the dark magic and be the big bad- ass. And then, to top it off... they send me back WRONG so that I can only be happy when I'm truly miserable... and the only time I feel anything at all is when I'm with you."
He wasn't sure who had been more stunned by her outburst. Her hand shot up and clamped itself over her mouth when she realized what she had said. She's not running, he thought. That's progress.
"'s okay, Love. Don't have to go and elaborate on anything. Not right now, at least," he said giving her a Mulligan. He'd use that bit of information to torture her some other time when it would serve him better. But not now. This wasn't about making the Slayer squirm as foreplay. This was about a woman who had shut herself off to the people she loved and opened herself up to the one she swore she hated. It was a vulnerable moment and he didn't want to do anything to take it away.
"You're... you're being nice." She tried to sound emotionless. It nearly worked, but he noticed the tear escape from her eye.
"Not really." He couldn't help but reach over and wipe away the tear with his thumb. "Just... hate seeing you all knackered up. Too young and pretty for that ," he said, hoping she'd appreciate the concern and not kick him in the shins for it.
"I feel very old," she told him. "I must be, like, a hundred... in Slayer years."
Slayer years. He'd never thought of that.
"Slayer years, huh? And maybe that's why we get on so well. Not that big of an age difference after all," he joked.
He liked when she smiled. It was warm. Like his memories of the sun.
"That would make sense. I mean, Dawn is an ancient key, thousands of years old, and she seems more mature than you do most of the time," she said, patting his knee.
He looked at where her warm hand continued to rest on his leg. Slayer was always doing things that took him by surprise lately. Coming to his crypt, kissing him, shagging him silly in various places including some abandoned drum. Not his idea of a proper first time, but as he thought about it more, it seemed more than appropriate considering their history.
"Very funny, Slayer," he said, searching his pockets for his cigarettes and a lighter. He stopped just short of lighting one and looked to her to make sure it was alright.
"It's okay. It's not like it's going to kill you," she joked. "Besides, I can, like, live vicariously through you. You get to do all these big, bad no-nos... like smoke. And drink way too much. And eat chocolate until your sides about split and not gain a pound. No wonder I hate you so much."
He could hear the smile in her voice. Now she was living vicariously through the undead. That was too much.
"Oh, come on, Slayer. I've seen you with the carton of fudge ripple and one spoon more than once. And I don't think I've seen an ounce of it accumulate on your arse." He didn't look at her. Just kept smoking his cigarette, still very aware that her hand hadn't left his leg.
"You've been looking at my... arse? Is that what you're saying?" she playfully accused.
He shrugged and flicked ashes from the quickly disintegrating fag. He still refused to look at her.
"Not completely dead, you know. Know a pretty thing when it shakes my way."
She smacked his leg and but still didn't retrieve her hand. What in the bloody hell was she doing? Didn't she know how just that small gesture made him melt inside?
"Well, I'm not in a staking mood tonight, so I thank you. My... arse... thanks you," she told him. Just like him to notice every little part of her.
They were silent again. Not that it was uncomfortable. Actually, it was kind of nice. The trees rustled as a soft breeze blew through. Kind of like the delicate of calm before the storm.
"Spike?" She was looking at him again. She liked how his jaw set and cut shadows on his face under the porchlight. He looked like something was on his mind. He rubbed his chin, fingers still holding the near-spent cigarette. She watched him take a final drag before squeezing it out between licked fingers with a barely audible "tssss." He put the butt in his pocket instead of tossing it into her yard.
She looked at his pocket after he'd taken his hand out of it. Had he always been this considerate? She tried to put together the words she wanted to say with some modicum of articulation, scared they'd come out all wrong like they always did.
"What is it, Pet?"
She took a deep breath and then locked in on his eyes.
"Why... why do you keep coming around?"
She saw his face darken and realized that the words came out all wrong, yet again.
"No, that's not how I meant it!" she quickly amended.
"I... I meant... I'm not," she thought for a second. "I'm not nice to you. They're not nice to you," she told him, alluding to her friends. "But you keep coming back. You keep... caring. Why?"
"Need something to live for, " he half-lied.
She knew there was more to it than that. She decided to be bold and moved her hand from his knee. She hesitated only a moment before reaching for his. She could see the surprise in his eyes as she slipped her small, warm hand into his cold one. He was even more surprised as she scooted close to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Slayer," he whispered. He could smell the warm vanilla of her shampoo as her hair neared his face.
"I came back all wrong," she said quietly. "And it didn't matter to you. What if I'd come back with something physically wrong? What if I came back deformed or something? Would that have mattered?"
Why was she asking him these things? Sometimes he wasn't sure where all the insecurity came from. And it was always him she would come back and beg to catch her every time she fell. She was beautiful and strong. She had her shining moments of brilliance, although he'd be a liar if he said he'd ever likened her to the shiniest bulb on the tree. She had people who loved her so much that they brought her back. Okay, so they went about it in a way he would have nixed had he been consulted. But their intentions were all good. He knew as much.
"Sla--" he stopped himself. "Buffy. Do you think it's how you look that makes your friends and family love you?" He looked down at her and saw she was focusing intently on their clasped hands. "Love," he reached down and tipped her chin up with his finger so that he could see her face. Her eyes were clouded with unshed tears. "Do you think that Dawn would love you any less if you'd come back different? Or the witches? Even the whelp?"
She shook her head with a silent "no." But he could tell she was unconvinced. He stroked her cheek softly, barely touching her. As soon as he made contact with her skin, she closed her eyes and her tears began to fall. He held her close to him, trying to comfort her as best as he could.
"You are so loved, Pet," he told her, fighting back his own tears. "Your mum, she adored you with everything she was. Platelet... she idolizes you. When you were--" he choked on the words for a moment as memories of that lonely stretch of time passed before him. "While you were gone, she cried for you, prayed for you. She hurt so badly. Blamed herself for so long for your being taken away. Took everything I had to convince her otherwise."
"What about you, Spike?" she asked, searching his eyes for truth. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for me being... taken away?"
He shrugged, dodging her gaze.
"Mom once told me that living is about choices and about free-will. I made a choice. And I was at peace with my decision. Nobody forced me to jump into that portal. I chose to do it. Nobody forced you to stick by Dawn even after it was all over. She could have gone to Dad. Or... or Willow and Tara would have taken care of her. You chose to stick around. You chose to keep her safe."
"Did it for you, Slayer. You made me promise," he reminded her.
"And you didn't have anyone there to make you keep it. That promise was made between you and me. Nobody else knew. It was your choice. Your free- will. Nobody made you do it. But you did."
She felt his hand tighten on hers.
"I... I love the Bit. Couldn't let Big Bad take her away from... everyone." From me, is what he meant.
"I know, Spike. I know you love her. So do they. And it scares the bejeezus out of them that you -- someone that's supposed to be all evil -- can actually love in a greater capacity than they can."
She had lost him.
"They didn't tell you. Because they knew what they were doing was wrong. And only you and Dawn could have stopped them. They... they could have done a spell to locate me. If they could bring me back from the dead, I'm SURE they could have figured out where I was. And then what?" she asked. "I think they still would have brought me back. And I'm not knocking them for it, Spike. I know they love me," she explained before taking a deep breath. "But you love me more. Only someone whose love is as deep and as... pure... as yours could have let things be."
He stared down at his boots. It sounded like the Slayer was admitting that he could possibly love her of his own volition, wanting nothing in return. That just couldn't be happening. He was digusting and vile and dead. Undead. Wasn't he?
"You and Dawn wouldn't have let them bring me back. And they knew it. That's why they went behind your backs. And they used you to keep her occupied and out of the loop. And a part of me hates them for it."
He saw the anger darken her eyes and took on a whole new strain of confusion.
"I need you to know something. And I need you to not analyze what I'm saying. Just... just take it for what it is."
He nodded and waited for her to continue.
"I know I loved my mother. And I still know that I do. And I love Dawn. I can feel that love here," she said, pointing to her chest. "I thought I loved Angel. But if I really had and he'd really loved me, wouldn't my love have saved him?"
He wasn't supposed to be analyzing, so he tried not to do it. Besides, it wasn't really so much a question as an affirmation with which she was presenting him.
"Spike, I died. I died. Gone. And for all you know, I was gone forever. You never tried to bring me back. But more importantly, you never let me go. Not where it counted. I know you love me. I feel your love for me and I see it when you look at me the way you're looking at me now. And I am scared to death because what I feel for you..."
He felt her trembling. Knew she was on the verge of some sort of big discovery.
"It's more potent than anything I've ever felt. It consumes me and it demands nothing less than all that I am. As much as I'd like to deny that I can give that, everything in me screams 'yes you can.' And I'm petrified of what that means."
He felt the tears stinging the backs of his eyelids. He heard every word she'd said and in his definately unanalyzing mind, he'd heard her loud and clear. She loved him. And if she never said it, it would still be enough just knowing it.