CHAPTER THREE
The moon was up as he lead her down Market Street. and into an all-night cafe. They ordered coffee and sat looking at each other over the weak steam.
She worried her thin delicate hands and he scratched at his head like it had fleas.
"Look," he said finally. "I thought Giles, or Angel, or somebody would have let on about me."
She shook her head. "That's everybody trying their best to protect me. The poor ex-slayer-girl who can't cross the street without her safety orange."
He leaned forward. "Buffy, there's nothing to fear with me. I didn't go mad and I didn't lose my soul." He slapped his chest as if that somehow proved it.
"But when Angel came back..."
"I'm not Angel." She flinched. That came out harsher than he'd wanted, but he meant it. When it came to monsters, Angel took first place in every race.
"I'm sorry. I just...it took a very long time to find you."
"You were looking for me? How long?"
"I had a feeling some years ago, but when I couldn't catch your trail anywhere I gave up. I was just, living, and then I found you here when I came out for the restaurant. But you kept away and I knew I had to come back to find out why."
"You felt me watching you," he said.
She looked at him. "Hello, slayer here...of course I did. And I wanted to drop everything and see you but..."
"...you had your family with you," he finished for her. No use delaying it.
She looked confused, began to say something and then much to Spike's dread, burst into laughter. She covered her mouth at his hurt, but couldn't help herself.
"It's not funny, Buffy."
She coughed and drank a swallow of coffee which sent her coughing even more.
"Here," he said, sliding his water glass to her.
She took a drink and blew her nose on her napkin. "Stephen is my business partner, and gay. That's his adopted son, Harry. I'm sorry, but he'd find that hilarious."
Spike felt like he'd been dropped off two stations back. "Stephen?"
"We came up here to look into buying out a foreclosure on a restaurant in the Mission. I'm...in the business. I help Stephen run a small chain down south, but it doesn't matter - the deal fell through." She looked sad then and Spike felt compelled to reach for her hand. She pulled back and dropped her hand in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down. "I guess there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."
"Well my story's easy enough," Spike said. "I died, went to Hell, got out on good behavior, annoyed Angel and his minions for a spell, ran about with some young slayer freedom fighters north of here until they got sick of me, came to the city, got a flat, bought three pieces of furniture and called it home. The End."
"Hmm, I don't know if I can top that. Saved the world with a little help from my friends, lost the house and everything else I owned in a big pit, got an apartment with Willow and Dawn and scraped by on a waitress' salary, Willow met a great girl and moved to Oregon where they married, Dawn went off to college on scholarship, Xander's bought up half the construction companies in the western hemisphere, married, has four kids and is always moving. I got into restaurant management and thought I'd try to buy a store of my own and blew it. That's all there is to my story."
"No husbands...?" Spike couldn't help but ask.
She shook her head. "Some almosts, but no. No husband-types stick around me for very long."
"Bloody bastards," Spike muttered.
"I'm sorry?"
He shook his head. "Where are you staying?"
She sat up straighter. "Oh, I'm near the Wharf, a hotel. It has a nice view of that...pier with all the flashing lights on it...and the sea lions. It's very pretty. Do you really live in an apartment?"
"I do. Four walls and a door. The crypts around here are filled with bloody bums. Finish your coffee and I'll take you there."
They fell into talk during the walk up. It was late for her, he could hear it in her voice, but she was determined to keep up with him for the moment and that made Spike glad inside. They talked about old times, old friends, stupid things they'd both done during the Hellmouth years. They talked about their former days of chivalry, when they all fought together. Having her here had suddenly brought it all alive again as if it were yesterday and not a yellowed newspaper headline. For all their chatting, they kept careful from touching on their own past. Perhaps that was best.
She was nuts about the flat. She tore through the rooms, marveling at his salvation store furniture covered in fitted sheets to hide the wear. Her low heels clicked across the hardwood floors as Spike watched her move from bedroom to bath and back again, like a young girl playing house. She checked broom closets and pantry, oohing over his toilet rolls and towels. She even poked her nose in the fridge. It only held one item and lots of it. "Oh..."
He laughed, "You forget I drink blood?"
"It's been a while since I've been in a vampire's kitchen," she said, closing the door and leaning back against it, looking at him with a fondness that made Spike feel like his belly would melt.
"It's good to see you, Buffy," he whispered as the passing cars cast red and blue light over her face.
They sat on the couch in the dark, watching an Iron Chef marathon and eating potato chips until dawn threatened to break through the shades. Eventually, her head fell back against the sheet-cover and her eyes closed. Spike found her a blanket and removed her shoes, lifting her legs up onto the cushions so she could sleep on undisturbed. He wound down the shades, but tiny muted strips of light fell across her nose and over her flitting eyelids. He had meant to go to bed and leave her in peace, but her sleeping face drew him in as he sat on the armrest and filled his eyes. There were more lines to her face, delicate ones that somehow made her look even more beautiful. To see her again and to hear her voice was more than he had ever hoped for. To talk about old times with a friend, to talk about anything with a friend, was marvelous. But there were things she was keeping from him - important things, he felt. Things that were weighing her down. Things that would not all break to the surface in one evening.
If she leaves tomorrow, I won't be able to bear it, he thoughtHe'd go and sleep now a little, but if it meant singeing half his skin off, he swore to stay close to her.
The click of the front door woke him some hours later and he grabbed the sheet about himself and chased her halfway down the entry hall stairs.
"Where are you going?"
She heard him and stopped, a flush of amusement crossed her face. "I'm...going back to my hotel for a while. You know - take a shower, change clothes, eat food - that sort of thing. Maybe I can see you later?"
He gripped the rail. Steady on, mate; don't frighten the lady.
"Later? Later is good," he said casually. "It's perfect, in fact. I've got lashings of things to do today anyway and I'll come around after..."
"Spike. It's daylight. You're unemployed. I'm not catching a train. Why don't you meet me at that over-lit pier around...?"
"Six-thirty? Sun goes down about then."
She nodded, perky. "Six-thirty is good. I saw a Merry-Go-Round. Meet me there." She smiled up at him as the big door opened and the light poured in below, taking her away.
He slipped out at six, kept to the shady side of the streets until the sun dipped below the buildings, hopped a trolley and made it to the Pier 39 carousel by 6:20. He found her there licking a wad of pink cotton candy and tossing skee-balls for tickets.
"Hey."
"Hey to you, too," she said, handing him her sticky cone to hold while she bent and threw the wooden balls. He sniffed at the sickly sweet fluff and held it away from his shirt.
"I used to bring Dawn to a place like this in Sunnydale. We'd buy popcorn and ride the carousel until it got dark."
"I'll warn you," he said with a nod to the spinning equine. "Those whirling dervishes make me puke."
She wrinkled her nose and bent to collect her tickets as they punched out of the machine. "That I'd rather not live to see. Look, we can get a teddy bear!"
Bear in hand, he followed her out the back door to the wooden walks that circled the pier overlooking the Bay below. It was a breezy night and she walked close to him for more of a windbreak than warmth.
"You cold?" he asked. "Want to drop in for a bite somewhere?"
She eyed him as they walked. "You don't eat...really."
"Sure I do. When I feel like it."
"Bar food, as I recall."
He tried to look hurt. "I'll have you know, living in San Francisco has given me quite a taste for squid."
"Calamari," she corrected.
"Right, well, whatever the bloody hell they're called, I like biting off their squiggly little legs."
That made her laugh. She was in one of those silly moods that used to drive Spike batty trying to figure out if he was being mocked or entertaining.
"All I'm saying is, I'd like to buy you dinner - a proper one."
She hooked her arm in his. "Lead the way, sailor."
Her mood settled throughout dinner, turned more cautious and guarded. Maybe it was the dim lighting or the bottle of wine he did little to help her drink, but her eyes stayed more to her plate and the windows than to him. He sat back in the curved booth and stretched his legs out under the table as the waiter collected their plates.
"Buffy, why are you here?"
She looked at him now, wiping her lips on her napkin as if she wished she could hide under it. She knew he was serious.
"I wanted to find you," she said. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to see how you were."
"Well that's all done now. You've found me. You've seen me. What now?"
She shrugged. "I...check out the sights for a few days, buy a return flight and go home."
He was silent some moments.
"Why?"
Her eyes darted from his and looked as if they might spill over with tears. Her lip trembled and she sighed to keep it off.
"Spike..."
He sat up and leaned an arm on the table, waiting. She kept her head turned as if the floor would open up and an exit would appear just by wishing.
"Please," she whispered.
"Nothing's changed, Buffy," he said. "I still love you."
"I know."
"Then, why did you come back?"
The tears were down her cheeks now. "I don't know."
He fingered the edge of his butter knife. "I think you do."
She caught hold of herself, took a finger wipe at her eyes and faced him. "Yeah, how's that? Why don't you tell me since you've got all the answers."
He sat back and blew out a load of air. "What is it you've got back home? A little room, a car, some creature comforts and a cat, I'd wager. A job, helping some other bloke build his dreams while you send your paycheck down the loo in government taxes and video rentals. Am I right?"
She gave a self-deprecating shrug. "It's not so bad. And it's DVDs and a bowl of goldfish, I'll have you know. And there's Dawn and my friends..."
"Get your story straight, love. Last night you told me she was off east - little bit's got herself a nice Catholic boyfriend and a flat, happy as larks. She don't need her mummy anymore. She's got on with her life–just like the rest of the ol' Scoobies. You get a pretty card from them each holiday with a sentence or two and a ring on your birthday if they find the time. Life's just got them all tied up in ribbons, doesn't it?"
"Fuck you, Spike," she said quietly.
"You did, once."
She threw up her hands. "Ugh! I knew it! I knew it would be the same. You just can't let it go, can you?"
He shook his head. "You know I can't. You knew what you would find here but you came all the same. I had the decency this time to keep off."
"But..." her hands were still fluttering. "...you and I have nothing to offer each other and you know it. We've been all through it before. It was a train wreck waiting to happen. We're too…different."
He cocked his head at her. "How do you figure that? What are we really other than two cast-off superheroes with no world to save anymore. They've gotten on without us. They've gotten on without you, slayer. It's what you wanted, your very dream, to be set free. But here's where we differ because I know what it is to be free and it bites like iron claws at you, dragging you down until just waking up in the morning is a fight."
She'd lowered her head again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have a life, it gives me what I need. It's simple. I'm happy."
"But you're not alive."
She looked daggers at him. "Neither are you."
She was angry. That was good. He wanted her to get angry, pound her fists, get some blood in her cheeks again. He knew it wouldn't take much - the strings were still there, those gossamer webs that held them together - it was only a matter of finding the right ones to pluck. She'd kept quiet and broody while he paid the check and shot back his coffee. He'd figured he'd need it to keep his wits one step ahead of hers.
They kept walking together, that was the thing of it. He kept his mouth busy with a smoke while she hurried to keep his stride, arms folded like a moody teen who knows she has to stay with her parents though she'd rather die from the shame of it. He stopped at the Marina where the sailboat bells clang in the dark and the sea lions lie sleeping on the distant jetty. The wind had kept up so she joined him on the stone bench and they sat in silence.
"What was this thing you wanted to do?" he asked at length. "Something about a restaurant?"
"It was a buy-out," she said. "A sandwich shop. Stephen knows some people out here; he tried to help me out by going in with me on a business loan."
"What happened?"
"Banks aren't too keen on lending to an ex-slayer. Too much liability if I drop the soup bucket and take up a stake again."
"What sort of dosh did you need to take it outright?"
"About 20 thousand for the equipment and taxes. Way beyond my credit limit."
"I've got about that much, I think, if you want it."
"Spike, I didn't come here to hit you up for money."
"No, but I'm offering. You've seen my flat; I've got no sights on spending it."
She shook her head. "I can't ask you to do that. Besides, I don't even know if it's..."
"Shhh...you hear that?" Spike turned his ear to the grassy park behind them.
"Hear what?"
He listened for a moment. "Bugger, it's nothing. Never mind it. Go on..."
She'd turned around on the bench, her eyes wide and bright. "What did you hear?"
He hid a grin. "I had a demon following me a month or so back. Never did catch the sod. Liked to hang about under my window while I was sleeping."
"You still have demons here? What kind?"
"Some shadow shifter or other; hides under the light. Long black hair and one eye, tried to mask its smell from me. I chased it all over Golden Gate Park. It socked me in the cods and took off."
She looked at him and snickered.
"Brilliant. I'd like to return the favor if I could find the bloody bastard. You want to give it a shot?"
"You mean patrol?"
He shrugged. "If you like."
"If you can keep up," she said and leapt over the back of the bench into the foliage.
CHAPTER FOUR
