Title: He Looked Like He Needed a Friend.
Rating: PG
Description: Spike comes back number 4194. Sorry, I couldn't resist again. This is about Buffy and Spike friendship. Buffy POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It all belongs to ME, FOX, etc.
A/N-I'm kind of unsure if this is meant to be a one-off short story, or something more. I guess it depends on you, Faithful Reader, whether I add more chapters or not. If you, Faithful Reader, like the story, let me know and I will be more than happy to continue it.
When they found out that not only was Spike back, but that I had known about it for at least a month, they all asked me why I didn't stake him. Well, all of them except Willow. She didn't say anything about it. I was slightly surprised by Dawn's reaction; she grabbed a stake and declared she would do it herself.
It was hard to explain it to them. Just like it had always been hard to explain Spike to them. They just never understood, and to be honest, I didn't think I did either. Spike had always been so easy to read, yet such an enigma to me. To all of us.
While he was gone, I got a new job. I started working as a mentor at Dawn's high school. I wasn't qualified to be a guidance counselor, but the kids know me as a friendly face and someone they could talk to. I love my job; it's given me a new direction in life, other than slaying. The First Slayer had said the greatest thing about me is my capacity to love, and I loved every single one of my kids.
I had worked through almost all of my demons over the summer, and my new job helped me deal with the ones that I couldn't get over before. I was finally in a really good place. The first time I saw Spike, I thought he would destroy my happiness. I could almost hear my new, strong foundation start to crack and crumble.
I panicked. He never saw me coming. He was walking through the cemetery, minding his own business. He looked smaller without his duster, less intimidating. Of course, his tousled hair, slumped shoulders, and shuffling gait didn't help the intimidation factor. I didn't see any of that. I just attacked.
I jumped on him, driving him to the ground. He didn't even put his hands out to catch himself. I flipped him over on his back and straddled him, stake at the ready, fist cocked. Fortunately I took a second to really look at him before I hit him, because it gave me the chance to see his face. Fear shown clearly in his clear blue eyes. Fear, and something else. Resignation. I realized that he wasn't even going to try to fight me. He would let me pound on him, beat him, scream at him, and stake him. As quickly as I saw the emotions, they were gone. Suddenly it was the Spike I used to know staring back at me.
Only, not. His smirk wasn't quite right, and as if realizing this, he slowly let it slip from his face. His eyes weren't quite as guarded, and I saw a flicker of something new in their depth. He didn't speak, and after a few seconds, wouldn't even look at me.
Alarmed and confused, I jumped off of him, as if he burned me. He jumped up as well, but he didn't run into the night like I had expected him to. He just turned around and continued his slow shuffle across the graveyard. He looked dejected.
He looked like the teenagers that shuffled down the halls every day, bent protectively over their books. He reminded of the girls who found themselves pregnant while they were still kids, because they were looking for some sort of love, affection. He reminded me of the young men who experimented with drugs, looking for a way to escape the pain that plagued their lives. He looked like the depressed children who cut their own wrists in a desperate plea for attention and a hopeless gamble to make it stop. He looked like I must have looked the year before. He looked like he needed a friend.
In short he looked like the very person I had dedicated myself to saving. And he was the very person I was chosen to save the world from.
I didn't follow him that night, but I kept my ear to the ground to hear any mention of him. Apparently nobody, not even Willy, knew he was back in town. I checked at the local butcher's, but nobody had been buying animal blood recently. I checked the morgues for fresh bodies and the graveyards for fledglings that would point back to Spike, but I never found anything. Two weeks after I ran into him, I began to seriously doubt that I had met him at all. Maybe I had dreamt it, or imagined it. Maybe it was part of some wacky spell, or someone pulling a trick. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
I checked his crypt every night after patrol, though I never found him there, or any evidence that he had been there. Clem had left town about two months earlier. He didn't really tell us why or where he was going, just asked us to keep an eye on the crypt in case Spike returned. I promised him I would.
I heard him before I saw him that night. The crypt was dark, he hadn't bothered to light any of the candles that Clem had left behind, or turn on the TV that was still there. I could hear small sobs, almost silent. I stood just inside the door and let my eyes adjust to the dimness. Thank God for enhanced Slayer senses. I could never see as well as in the dark as my vampire lovers could, but I could see much better than the average human.
Finally my eyes found him in the corner, curled around himself, his body shaking with sobs. I paused, frightened. Honestly, at that moment, I was more frightened of Spike than I have ever been before. He had always been a very emotional being, he wore them on his face for the world to see and he dared anybody to make something of it. But I had never seen or heard him cry before. I guess tears didn't fit in very well with the Big Bad image, but then, neither did falling in love with the Slayer.
He may or may not have noticed my presence. I'm sure he did, he always sensed when I was near. But he didn't give any indication that he recognized I was there. I walked across the crypt carefully, wary of the wreckage strewn across the room. Apparently he tried breaking everything in the crypt before he resorted to crying. I knelt beside him, looking for the right words to comfort him. I didn't know what was wrong, what could be wrong. I didn't know why he was back. I didn't know why he looked like half the man, half the vampire, he used to be. I didn't know what to say. So instead I opened my arms and pulled him into a comforting embrace. I held him like I held Dawn after mom died.
He didn't say anything. I spent the whole night with him, and he didn't utter a single word. He didn't stop crying, but his tears slowed until they were a mere trickle rather than a storm. Finally I could feel dawn approaching and knew it was time for me to go home. I was uncertain if I should leave him, but it's not like I could spend the whole day in the crypt. It was Saturday, so I didn't have to go to work, but I still had chores to do, errands to run.
I let go of my embrace and rubbed my stiff arms. "I have to go," I said.
He nodded, still not speaking or meeting my eyes. I longed to ask him what was wrong, but I knew he wouldn't answer me. Besides, I suspected I probably knew anyway.
As I was walking out the door, he stopped me.
"Buffy," he croaked. It sounded like he hadn't used his voice for a very long time. Spike loved to talk, he was fond of the sound of his own voice. When nobody was around to hear him, he talked to himself. He talked to the TV, he talked to the demons before he killed them. Sometimes I doubted I would ever get him to shut-up. And now it sounded like he hadn't uttered a word for months.
"Yes?" I said, turning around. The crypt was growing lighter by the second and I could clearly see how weak he looked, how tired he was, how pale.
"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, but I easily caught them. I could have told him that "sorry" wasn't good enough. I could have told him that nothing he could do would ever be enough. I could have told him that the shock and betrayal of his actions were still stinging my heart. I could have turned and walked away without acknowledging his words at all. But I knew that none of that would matter. I could forgive him a million times over, but something in Spike had changed. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he was different. I knew it would come to me eventually. I also knew that nothing I could do or say would ultimately matter because he would never forgive himself.
Forgiveness is an act of compassion. Giles told me that once, and I could see it plainly now.
"I know," I said quietly. "I know, and thank you. That means a lot to me."
He didn't respond, just lowered his eyes again.
I came to his crypt every night for the next two weeks after patrol. I knew he would be there, and he always was. Huddled in the same corner. Some night he was crying, some night he wasn't. Some night he would look at me, and I could clearly see how grateful he was for my company, I could see the sorrow weighing down on him, I could see the pain tearing him apart. Some nights he just could not meet my eyes, and studied the ground at my feet studiously, as if it held all of life's secrets. He never spoke though. He spent all night, crying on my shoulder, but he could never talk to me. Except every morning before I left, he would apologize.
At first I thought he was apologizing for attacking me in the bathroom, and I'm sure he was. But I slowly began to understand that he was trying to apologize for everything. Every wrong, every harsh word, every time he hit me, every time we fought. Every time he didn't die at my hands.
"Spike," I finally said one night, as gently as possible. "Can you tell me what happened?"
He shook his head sadly.
"Can you tell me where you went?"
"Africa," he whispered, his voice wet with unshed tears.
"Why did you go to Africa?"
"Had to see a man about something I lost a long time ago."
"Did you find it?"
Spike nodded, looking at his hands. For the first time I noticed that they were scarred.
"Spike? Was it your soul?"
I expected him to jump up and deny it. I expected him to declare that he would never be like the "poofter in L.A." I expected him to scoff and say "yeah, that would be the day." Or alternately, I expected him to confirm it and try to kiss me. I expected him to act like it changed everything between us.
Instead he just nodded again.
I was right. Spike needed a friend.
After a long silence Spike finally spoke again. "It hurts."
It hurt me to see him like this. This wasn't Spike. But I couldn't let him go, I couldn't turn my back on him. The First Slayer said love, give, forgive. She said I was full of love. My job was to save the world from the forces of evil, and I learned the previous year that oft-times, those forces come from within. It was my job to save the world, and if I had to do that one person at a time, then so be it.
I stroked his hair gently, "I know it does. But you're not alone."
"I'm a monster."
"You was," I admitted.
Spike shook his head, "Still am."
"I want to help you Spike."
"I don't want your pity, Slayer."
I was elated when he called me Slayer. A peek of the old Spike! He could fight through this red and black haze of torment and guilt because this was **Spike**. He was nothing if not resilient. He would bounce back from this, and be a better person for it.
I knew this, not because I was a wide-eyed innocent, but because I knew Spike. Nothing could keep his down for long. Nothing ever had.
I lifted his face and looked him in the eye, "Spike, listen to me. I don't pity you. I know this hurts, but I also know that it's probably nothing you don't deserve." I had to be blunt with him He wouldn't listen to me otherwise. Spike was always straightforward, and I knew he respected that in a person. "But you need a friend, Spike. You need help. I'm not going to let you go through this alone."
"Why do you care?"
I had heard this question countless times from all the kids who visited my office. They weren't asking why I, Buffy Anne Summers, cared about them. They were asking why anybody would give a fuck about their pitiful existences.
"Love, give, forgive," I answered simply. "Death is my gift, but so is love. Do you want me to help you Spike?"
He thought about it for a moment. I knew he would understand. I wasn't so much offering as giving him a chance to ask for it. And if he asked for it, I couldn't deny him my gift.
"I need you to."
I smiled at him, "Then I will. Friends."
"Friends," he repeated, as if he had never heard the word before.
"I'll see you tonight," I promised as I stood to leave.
This time when I walked out the door, he didn't say what I expected to hear. Instead of an apology, I heard, "Thank you."
I stopped and turned, "You're welcome."
Rating: PG
Description: Spike comes back number 4194. Sorry, I couldn't resist again. This is about Buffy and Spike friendship. Buffy POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. It all belongs to ME, FOX, etc.
A/N-I'm kind of unsure if this is meant to be a one-off short story, or something more. I guess it depends on you, Faithful Reader, whether I add more chapters or not. If you, Faithful Reader, like the story, let me know and I will be more than happy to continue it.
When they found out that not only was Spike back, but that I had known about it for at least a month, they all asked me why I didn't stake him. Well, all of them except Willow. She didn't say anything about it. I was slightly surprised by Dawn's reaction; she grabbed a stake and declared she would do it herself.
It was hard to explain it to them. Just like it had always been hard to explain Spike to them. They just never understood, and to be honest, I didn't think I did either. Spike had always been so easy to read, yet such an enigma to me. To all of us.
While he was gone, I got a new job. I started working as a mentor at Dawn's high school. I wasn't qualified to be a guidance counselor, but the kids know me as a friendly face and someone they could talk to. I love my job; it's given me a new direction in life, other than slaying. The First Slayer had said the greatest thing about me is my capacity to love, and I loved every single one of my kids.
I had worked through almost all of my demons over the summer, and my new job helped me deal with the ones that I couldn't get over before. I was finally in a really good place. The first time I saw Spike, I thought he would destroy my happiness. I could almost hear my new, strong foundation start to crack and crumble.
I panicked. He never saw me coming. He was walking through the cemetery, minding his own business. He looked smaller without his duster, less intimidating. Of course, his tousled hair, slumped shoulders, and shuffling gait didn't help the intimidation factor. I didn't see any of that. I just attacked.
I jumped on him, driving him to the ground. He didn't even put his hands out to catch himself. I flipped him over on his back and straddled him, stake at the ready, fist cocked. Fortunately I took a second to really look at him before I hit him, because it gave me the chance to see his face. Fear shown clearly in his clear blue eyes. Fear, and something else. Resignation. I realized that he wasn't even going to try to fight me. He would let me pound on him, beat him, scream at him, and stake him. As quickly as I saw the emotions, they were gone. Suddenly it was the Spike I used to know staring back at me.
Only, not. His smirk wasn't quite right, and as if realizing this, he slowly let it slip from his face. His eyes weren't quite as guarded, and I saw a flicker of something new in their depth. He didn't speak, and after a few seconds, wouldn't even look at me.
Alarmed and confused, I jumped off of him, as if he burned me. He jumped up as well, but he didn't run into the night like I had expected him to. He just turned around and continued his slow shuffle across the graveyard. He looked dejected.
He looked like the teenagers that shuffled down the halls every day, bent protectively over their books. He reminded of the girls who found themselves pregnant while they were still kids, because they were looking for some sort of love, affection. He reminded me of the young men who experimented with drugs, looking for a way to escape the pain that plagued their lives. He looked like the depressed children who cut their own wrists in a desperate plea for attention and a hopeless gamble to make it stop. He looked like I must have looked the year before. He looked like he needed a friend.
In short he looked like the very person I had dedicated myself to saving. And he was the very person I was chosen to save the world from.
I didn't follow him that night, but I kept my ear to the ground to hear any mention of him. Apparently nobody, not even Willy, knew he was back in town. I checked at the local butcher's, but nobody had been buying animal blood recently. I checked the morgues for fresh bodies and the graveyards for fledglings that would point back to Spike, but I never found anything. Two weeks after I ran into him, I began to seriously doubt that I had met him at all. Maybe I had dreamt it, or imagined it. Maybe it was part of some wacky spell, or someone pulling a trick. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
I checked his crypt every night after patrol, though I never found him there, or any evidence that he had been there. Clem had left town about two months earlier. He didn't really tell us why or where he was going, just asked us to keep an eye on the crypt in case Spike returned. I promised him I would.
I heard him before I saw him that night. The crypt was dark, he hadn't bothered to light any of the candles that Clem had left behind, or turn on the TV that was still there. I could hear small sobs, almost silent. I stood just inside the door and let my eyes adjust to the dimness. Thank God for enhanced Slayer senses. I could never see as well as in the dark as my vampire lovers could, but I could see much better than the average human.
Finally my eyes found him in the corner, curled around himself, his body shaking with sobs. I paused, frightened. Honestly, at that moment, I was more frightened of Spike than I have ever been before. He had always been a very emotional being, he wore them on his face for the world to see and he dared anybody to make something of it. But I had never seen or heard him cry before. I guess tears didn't fit in very well with the Big Bad image, but then, neither did falling in love with the Slayer.
He may or may not have noticed my presence. I'm sure he did, he always sensed when I was near. But he didn't give any indication that he recognized I was there. I walked across the crypt carefully, wary of the wreckage strewn across the room. Apparently he tried breaking everything in the crypt before he resorted to crying. I knelt beside him, looking for the right words to comfort him. I didn't know what was wrong, what could be wrong. I didn't know why he was back. I didn't know why he looked like half the man, half the vampire, he used to be. I didn't know what to say. So instead I opened my arms and pulled him into a comforting embrace. I held him like I held Dawn after mom died.
He didn't say anything. I spent the whole night with him, and he didn't utter a single word. He didn't stop crying, but his tears slowed until they were a mere trickle rather than a storm. Finally I could feel dawn approaching and knew it was time for me to go home. I was uncertain if I should leave him, but it's not like I could spend the whole day in the crypt. It was Saturday, so I didn't have to go to work, but I still had chores to do, errands to run.
I let go of my embrace and rubbed my stiff arms. "I have to go," I said.
He nodded, still not speaking or meeting my eyes. I longed to ask him what was wrong, but I knew he wouldn't answer me. Besides, I suspected I probably knew anyway.
As I was walking out the door, he stopped me.
"Buffy," he croaked. It sounded like he hadn't used his voice for a very long time. Spike loved to talk, he was fond of the sound of his own voice. When nobody was around to hear him, he talked to himself. He talked to the TV, he talked to the demons before he killed them. Sometimes I doubted I would ever get him to shut-up. And now it sounded like he hadn't uttered a word for months.
"Yes?" I said, turning around. The crypt was growing lighter by the second and I could clearly see how weak he looked, how tired he was, how pale.
"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, but I easily caught them. I could have told him that "sorry" wasn't good enough. I could have told him that nothing he could do would ever be enough. I could have told him that the shock and betrayal of his actions were still stinging my heart. I could have turned and walked away without acknowledging his words at all. But I knew that none of that would matter. I could forgive him a million times over, but something in Spike had changed. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he was different. I knew it would come to me eventually. I also knew that nothing I could do or say would ultimately matter because he would never forgive himself.
Forgiveness is an act of compassion. Giles told me that once, and I could see it plainly now.
"I know," I said quietly. "I know, and thank you. That means a lot to me."
He didn't respond, just lowered his eyes again.
I came to his crypt every night for the next two weeks after patrol. I knew he would be there, and he always was. Huddled in the same corner. Some night he was crying, some night he wasn't. Some night he would look at me, and I could clearly see how grateful he was for my company, I could see the sorrow weighing down on him, I could see the pain tearing him apart. Some nights he just could not meet my eyes, and studied the ground at my feet studiously, as if it held all of life's secrets. He never spoke though. He spent all night, crying on my shoulder, but he could never talk to me. Except every morning before I left, he would apologize.
At first I thought he was apologizing for attacking me in the bathroom, and I'm sure he was. But I slowly began to understand that he was trying to apologize for everything. Every wrong, every harsh word, every time he hit me, every time we fought. Every time he didn't die at my hands.
"Spike," I finally said one night, as gently as possible. "Can you tell me what happened?"
He shook his head sadly.
"Can you tell me where you went?"
"Africa," he whispered, his voice wet with unshed tears.
"Why did you go to Africa?"
"Had to see a man about something I lost a long time ago."
"Did you find it?"
Spike nodded, looking at his hands. For the first time I noticed that they were scarred.
"Spike? Was it your soul?"
I expected him to jump up and deny it. I expected him to declare that he would never be like the "poofter in L.A." I expected him to scoff and say "yeah, that would be the day." Or alternately, I expected him to confirm it and try to kiss me. I expected him to act like it changed everything between us.
Instead he just nodded again.
I was right. Spike needed a friend.
After a long silence Spike finally spoke again. "It hurts."
It hurt me to see him like this. This wasn't Spike. But I couldn't let him go, I couldn't turn my back on him. The First Slayer said love, give, forgive. She said I was full of love. My job was to save the world from the forces of evil, and I learned the previous year that oft-times, those forces come from within. It was my job to save the world, and if I had to do that one person at a time, then so be it.
I stroked his hair gently, "I know it does. But you're not alone."
"I'm a monster."
"You was," I admitted.
Spike shook his head, "Still am."
"I want to help you Spike."
"I don't want your pity, Slayer."
I was elated when he called me Slayer. A peek of the old Spike! He could fight through this red and black haze of torment and guilt because this was **Spike**. He was nothing if not resilient. He would bounce back from this, and be a better person for it.
I knew this, not because I was a wide-eyed innocent, but because I knew Spike. Nothing could keep his down for long. Nothing ever had.
I lifted his face and looked him in the eye, "Spike, listen to me. I don't pity you. I know this hurts, but I also know that it's probably nothing you don't deserve." I had to be blunt with him He wouldn't listen to me otherwise. Spike was always straightforward, and I knew he respected that in a person. "But you need a friend, Spike. You need help. I'm not going to let you go through this alone."
"Why do you care?"
I had heard this question countless times from all the kids who visited my office. They weren't asking why I, Buffy Anne Summers, cared about them. They were asking why anybody would give a fuck about their pitiful existences.
"Love, give, forgive," I answered simply. "Death is my gift, but so is love. Do you want me to help you Spike?"
He thought about it for a moment. I knew he would understand. I wasn't so much offering as giving him a chance to ask for it. And if he asked for it, I couldn't deny him my gift.
"I need you to."
I smiled at him, "Then I will. Friends."
"Friends," he repeated, as if he had never heard the word before.
"I'll see you tonight," I promised as I stood to leave.
This time when I walked out the door, he didn't say what I expected to hear. Instead of an apology, I heard, "Thank you."
I stopped and turned, "You're welcome."