Part One
It had been a hell of a day. Or, well, seeing as hell was an actual thing Buffy had dealt with on days before, a day worse than that. Her brain was too tired to think of a better metaphor. Point was, things were bad. Wayyy bad.
Normally, if Spike told Buffy to come around and see him she wouldn't. On principal. He needed the reminder that things were on her terms. But this day? She really, really didn't care about principals.
Barreling in through the door of his crypt so fast it almost smashed against the wall, she had her lips on his within moments; her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She groaned at the contact. Then groaned again – an altogether different kind of sound – when he started pulling away.
"What are you doing?" they said at once, making Buffy glare and hop down off him again.
One second in and he'd already ruined it. Why? Why on this day of all days?! She crossed her arms across her chest, ignoring the feel of her erect nipples through her top.
Spike had taken a deep breath and was obviously readying himself for something. It made the Slayer feel even more on edge.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, ignoring the little bit of concern that slipped into the question. It wasn't like he was in the habit of saying no. She hadn't thought he was capable.
Not looking at her, he said, "We need to stop, Buffy."
Buffy did stop. Every thought in her mind shut off in an instant as she stared at him, unable to process what he was saying.
"Buffy?" Spike took a tentative look up then pursed his lips and took a step towards her, waving a hand in her face. "Did you hear me?"
After another long moment, she reached out and smacked his hand away.
"Right, course," he said, sighing. "You're probably in shock or whatall. I should explain."
"Yes," said Buffy, voice like steel. "You should." She watched as he began to pace.
He started by saying, "I was talkin' to Clem," at which point the muscles in her face pulled even tighter.
"You did WHAT? You told him about us? Oh, god! Who else knows?"
"Now wait," said Spike, raising his hands pleadingly, "It ain't like that. It's just him, and he's not one for passin' on secrets."
"But why would you-"
"Why shouldn't I?" he shot back, cutting her off, voice suddenly raised. "It's not a dirty secret to me, is it? And why can't I have something? Did you ever consider that I might need-" he stopped, shaking himself in a whole body shudder.
"Go on," said Buffy, "Tell me more about what you need." There was murder in her voice and she didn't give a damn.
"Nothing," said Spike, softly now. "It doesn't matter. That's actually kinda the point."
Buffy frowned, intrigued despite herself. "What does that mean?"
"It means… look, I planned out how to say this, okay? Would you just let me-"
Buffy waved him on, the movement more sharp than inviting. "Go ahead, give me your speech. I'm so in need of someone telling me where things are going wrong in my life."
"Just stop, would you? Please?"
He sounded pained when he said it and she grudgingly resolved herself to hear him out. She gestured a second time for him to continue and he did.
"I was talking to Clem," he repeated. "Was ranting at him, truth be told."
Buffy rolled her eyes. She didn't doubt that Spike probably had prepared something to say, but she guessed that bit was ad-libbed. He couldn't help but interrupt even himself. Annoying vampire.
"I just kept goin' on and on about yer mates, an' how they treat you. How they don't treat you."
Okay, that took and unexpected turn, but this was Spike, the unexpected should always be expected with him. Giving him a wary look, Buffy decided to him an extra minute to explain. The desire to interrupt and ask questions – to rant at him – was almost overwhelming, but she reined it in, wanting to see where he was going with this.
"Anyway," he continued, "I went from ranting about them to ranting about you."
Okay, thought Buffy, fighting down a resurgence of her irritation.
"And then Clem goes and says the damnedest thing." Spike paused to laugh. Actually laugh. Man, did she want to sock him one!
"Because I was ranting about them, see? For expecting too much from you, and not giving you what you need, and I'm wanderin' about like a wanker, tellin' you it's not right, but then I'm forcing you, init? I tell you don't have to take the shit they give you – all the pressure, weight on your shoulders tripe – when I've been shovin' you towards telling them stuff you're not even admittin' in yer own head. Clem pointed it out and it's like I was seein' it for the first time. Bloody thick, I've been."
He stopped again, his eyes refocusing on her, the rest of his expression expectant. Buffy had no idea what the hell he expected, but it was something. What was she supposed to say to any of it?"
"So," said Spike, almost making her roll her eyes again. He could never put up with silences. Ever. "That's it," he finished.
"That's it?" Buffy repeated, blinking.
"Well, yeah?" for a moment he had actually looked proud of himself for getting it all out, but then he looked uncertain.
After silence fell back between them and she could see him start itching to babble his way through it again, she went first and said, "What are you telling me, exactly?"
His face fell. Buffy felt a little bad about that, but what did he expect? Sure he'd said some stuff. It mostly made sense. But now what? If he was expecting her to know the answer it would be just too hypocritical for words.
"Tell me you understand?" he said, sounding desperate. When she still didn't say anything he pressed, "Tell me you can see why I'm doing it?"
And then it hit her. Two tons of bricks, right in the chest.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, feeling at a loss for air. "You're breaking up with me? I mean, you are breaking up with me? How is this happening? If this is a joke you're not gonna live past the punch line, I swear."
She expected him to start yelling and telling her to quit being such a bitch, but instead he smiled a little to himself – a sad, exhausted smile – and said, "It's not breaking up if it wasn't a real relationship."
Buffy's jaw clamped shut on the next batch of bile she had been storing up to throw at him. It burned her throat but she swallowed it down, glaring daggers instead. It clearly got the message across well enough. Spike's ever changing expression became one of great concern. Good, she thought, he should be concerned. He should see how he likes it!
After another unquantifiable length of time, in which she hadn't trusted herself to open her mouth, he was at it again with the words.
"Buffy, love?" he said, a double batch of wariness in his eyes and voice. "Are you gonna stake me for this?"
She didn't stake him. She took a step forward and slapped him instead. "Don't you dare!" she spat. "Don't you dare stand there and try and make light of this!"
"What else can I do?" he asked, the earnestness behind his words infuriating her further.
"Just stop, okay? Just stop!"
"Well, that's what-"
"No! I said stop it. Stop talking!"
His eyes hardened. "Buffy-"
"No!" she yelled. "You're doing it again. Even now, you're looking at me like I should be doing or saying something, but this is all your stuff. Why do I have to be the one to process it?"
He paused, frowning, as if seriously considering it.
"I mean what the fuck, Spike? What do you want from me?"
"I want you," he said, hard passion returning to his voice. "Full stop. End of bloody story. But, failing that, I…" he swallowed, "I just want you to be happy, Buffy."
"Well fuck you!"
His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"
"Everyone wants Buffy to be happy," she spat, beginning to pace and gesticulate with her hands. "But no one's willing to give Buffy the things she needs to actually make her happy!" she turned her furious glare back on him, pinning him to the ground where he stood.
"And what's that?" he dared to ask, his voice cautious.
"How the hell should I know?!" she screamed. "Just let me figure it the fuck out!"
"Okay, okay," said Spike, "That's what I'm trying to do. Yeah, I'm fucking it up, but I'm bloody trying!"
"Good for you!" she sneered. "You're trying. What do you want, a medal? You think I should pat you on the back when you don't drink from dying disaster victims, and should stand here grateful when you do this to me?"
He turned his face away, shaking his head.
"No," he said, finally.
He didn't want to look at her? Well, fine! She didn't need this shit. She stormed out the door, slamming it behind her and hearing part of it crack first off the wall and then the floor. Then, a moment later, she turned on her heel and stormed back, ready to yell at Spike all over again. What she heard when she got back to the door, however, made her pause.
He was – god! – he was crying. Not even quiet, dignified cries. He was almost in a coughing fit with the tears.
Buffy felt her chest tighten as her feet rooted to the spot. Why did he always have to do that? Get her all mad and convinced he wasn't worth it, and then go do something to remind her that – what? She shook her head, not wanting to finish the thought.
Inside the crypt, the cries got louder. Part of Buffy was jealous that he could just let go like that. If she wept like she wanted to there would be bloody intervention. Ugh! She hated when her internal monolog used Spike-words.
Heaving a deep breath, she pushed open the door and saw his eyes ignite on hers the second she was back in sight. The unearthly noise coming from him halted just as suddenly. He was obviously waiting for her to do or say something. That almost made her angry again, but she took another breath. It wasn't his fault and she knew that, she did. He just… god, he looked so pitiful. Like the time he'd almost got himself killed to protect Dawn's secret.
The memory pulled at Buffy and, slowly, she walked over to him, her lips shaking with all the things she couldn't say. For an eternity, there was everything and nothing between them.
Then she leaned down, kissed his forehead and said, "Thank you, William."
Another tear ran down his cheek at the name.
