REAL
Summary: A Buffy/Spike friendship story. A short story with an alternate ending for the episode "Intervention." What were Spike and Buffy thinking when Buffy came to him, posing as the Buffybot?
Disclaimer: The television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and others. I am not making any profit off of this.
Archive: As long as due credit is given to me and you tell me you want to post it, I'll be happy.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nothing, except possibly the episode "Intervention," and since this is an alternate ending, nothing much.
Author's Notes: This is my first posted Buffy fic. *looks nervous* Don't worry, I've written fanfiction, just not for BtVS. It's short and definitely sweet, but I wouldn't call it a romance. It's a Buffy/Spike friendship, I guess. This is also just my idea of what the ending of "Intervention" should have been, in my not-so-humble opinion. I've never seen the ending, but I know basically what happens. (Thanks, episode guides!) Hope you enjoy.
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Buffy leaned over and pressed her lips to his, mindful of his injuries. Her lips were soft and warm as they covered his own. It was a gentle kiss--almost a chaste kiss, but not quite.
Spike leaned in at first, but sensed something wrong. Something different. This wasn't one of the Buffybot's lame attempts to satisfy his desire for Buffy. This was a real kiss.
From a real person.
He drew back, startled, and looked into Buffy's eyes--searching for something, but not quite sure what. They were jade green, clear and bright, accentuated by the crystalline tears filling her eyes.
Real tears. Real eyes.
"But--you're--you're not--" he stammered. "I mean--why--are you--?"
Buffy cupped his cheek with her hand, and he stopped talking. The sensation of her cool fingers against his face was cool and soothing to the assorted bruises and knife wounds. He pressed the side of his face into her hand, marvelling at its softness. Dimly he was aware of her speaking, her soft voice falling on his ears like rain from Heaven.
"Spike--" Her lower lip trembled. "Spike, I--I mean, I'm not sure what to say. What you did for--for Dawn, for the rest of the world . . . I don't know. It was amazing."
"I didn't do it for the rest of the world," he said, his throat raw and voice hoarse. "I did it for Dawn. And for you. You should know that, Slayer." His voice was weary.
The tears were coming faster now. She took a deep breath, tried to hold them back, swallowed, tried to dam them up.
"I can't pretend to--to feel the same way about you that you do about me," Buffy said, tracing a fast-healing scar on his jawline tenderly. "But I--maybe I was wrong . . . when I--when I said that you have to have a--a soul to love. Otherwise you would have no reason to wind up with this,"--she touched a bruise on his cheek--"or this,"--her fingers brushed a cut under his eyes--"or this,"--and she gently touched an open sore.
"You could've told her, you know," Buffy continued, beginning to choke up. "You could've spilled everything about Dawn. Told Glory that she was the Key. But you didn't. You had everything to lose and nothing to gain. She could've easily staked you. But you didn't say anything."
He looked down, away.
She knelt down before him, forcing him to look her in the face. "Spike. Please. Thank you. That's all I wanted to say. And that I was wrong." Pause. "I'm not trying to lead you on or anything, but what you did was wonderful. I won't ever forget it."
Buffy stood up and, placing her hands on either side of his head, leaned in and kissed this broken creature on the forehead--possibly the only expanse of skin that hadn't been mauled or mutilated.
"Thank you," she repeated.
Then she left.