A Spark of Love
Chapter Three
Previously: Buffy fervently denies any feelings for Spike, while he tries to convince her they'd be good together. When she runs into him at a party, however, she invites him to come to the Bronze with the gang.
It was like he'd stepped into some wild alternate reality. The Slayer inviting him to hang out with her little gang? A year ago he would have laughed himself silly over the idea and now he was trailing behind her like the whipped mutt he was.
She was hardly welcoming him with open arms, but he reckoned it wouldn't be too long before she fell victim to his charms again. Or so the Spike part of himself told him, anyway. William was a little more pessimistic.
God, just thinking about the Slayer made him have multiple personalities. This was sad.
She was out on the floor, living it up with her mates – or most of them. Tara alone hung back, looking all pensive. He wondered if that look was what had drawn Red to her. The witch had taste, he had to admit it. Tara seemed like a decent sort, and she was definitely good-looking. Not to mention she was open-minded, which made her a breath of fresh air in Spike's opinion. The bloody Scoobies didn't deserve her.
As he was thinking this, he suddenly realized that he'd been staring at her the whole damn time. There goes her open-mindedness, I'm sure.
Instead, she offered him a shy smile. "I…I don't really like dancing. Except slow dances, sometimes."
Tara was trying to start a polite conversation with him. Spike felt himself grin back, almost without realizing it. Red had done something right. "Dancing's a bit of all right, as long as you've got the right partner. Why don't you steal your girl away? They can do without her for a few."
There was some kind of look in her eye, he noticed. Some glint that hinted of something beyond her sweet exterior. "Well, I can't. If I did that, Buffy wouldn't have anyone to dance with."
Huh. Was that her game? She was on his side?
Well, God have mercy on her bleeding soul. "I don't think Slayer'd dance with me," he said carefully. "I've offered before."
Tara looked out at the dance floor again. Spike followed her line of sight to where the other four were whirling around to the tune of some mindless pop tune. Buffy was right in the middle, gleaming like molten sunshine. Her every movement went beyond dancing: she was sex, death, poetry. Everything he loved in this world.
"Maybe you haven't been asking right."
Following her. Fighting with her. Working with her. Trying to kill her, way back when…okay, that had been flawed.
But kissing her, that had been entirely right. And as she smiled (even if it wasn't at him) – he had a feeling she knew it too.
"Yeah," he said, suddenly breathless. "I reckon that's true."
So he moved to her, step by step, weaving through the crowd. Couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he'd seen her, moving in this same little club with her same little friends to the same kind of music. But he wasn't the same anymore. Back then, all he'd wanted to do was rip her throat out, dance with her in the deliciously violent way he still craved – but he'd never wish her dead now. He'd die again before he'd let that happen.
She wasn't the same, either. Older, stronger, wiser. More cynical, but also more beautiful. Time and trials had hardened her, but not past the point of no return.
Hell, he didn't even know if there was a place like that. You'd think he would have reached it by now, but even after a hundred years of murdering the innocent, he turned into the same puddle-of-goo wanker he'd always been at just the sight of her.
God, he was close now. He pushed his way through the crowd more quickly, ready to reach her, ready to ask her because in that moment, he felt like he could.
He was almost there…
The air that had caressed her warm body was empty, and the warmth growing in the pit of his stomach faded. She was gone.
Buffy shoved her way through the bathroom door and heaved a sigh. She'd felt the familiar tingles and knew that Spike was watching her. That had been okay. Then he'd come closer and, well, she'd bolted like a bolting thing. She just wasn't ready to deal with any of this weirdness. It was way too awkweird trying to straddle – no, that was not a good word to be thinking right now – to stand on either side of this line between enemy and friend and partner and ? - it was just a catastrophe of badness.
Plus, she really had to pee.
She did so, and as she was washing her hands, Willow came in, looking a little sweaty but none the worse for wear. Whatever that meant. The redhead pushed back a stray hair and smiled, but before Buffy could leave, her friend grabbed her arm.
"Buffy," Willow said, in that tone that immediately pressed Buffy's panic button. Was everyone okay? Were there vamps in the building? Had something happened to Dawn? "I, uh, need to ask you something."
"What's wrong?"
She looked aside. "Nothing's wrong, exactly, just…what's with this whole Spike thing? Because I gotta be honest, I'm not buying that talking it out solved all your problems. I mean, normally your vampire stalkers are a little bit harder to shake."
Buffy shrugged and leaned back against the sink, bracing herself with her palms. The cold surface reminded her uncomfortably of the feel of Spike's skin when she had…
"Everything's fine," she insisted quickly. "I'm handling him. I mean, it. No, that's not - I mean, not – not physically handling. Just ora – verbally. Verbal handlage."
"Uh-huhhh."
Willow wasn't buying it. Buffy tried harder. "Look, it's major league weird but that's what we deal in. I think everything will be fine."
The other woman bit her lip. "Buff, it's not like I don't have faith in you but – we were talking about how crazy these things can get and I'm worried. If you keep working with Spike like this…he's going to think he has a chance, with you. Which is crazy. Right?"
Buffy felt like her skin was suddenly transparent and all of her feelings could just bubble up to the surface, right out there for Willow to see. She swallowed at least three times and became really good friends with the floor.
It was crazy. Because even if, by some weird freak accident happenstance that could never, ever be a thing…she couldn't be with him. Not because of her, not even necessarily because of him, but because of the whole life thing. The Scoobies would never be okay with it, her mom would never be okay with it, Giles would kill her…and they'd all be right.
Just because Spike wasn't all souly didn't mean he couldn't flip out and start killing people all willy-nilly. Giles had said more than once that if the vampire had really wanted them dead, he could have made arrangements with other demons. What if he started taking out her friends? Or what if the chip stopped working?
Or, worst of all, what if none of this happened and she would have to cope with the reality of these feelings for Spike and they'd end up kissing again and maybe, you know, other stuff, and then there would be immense badness and her mom would cry and Xander would probably move to Poland or something and she'd be kicked out of her house and she'd have to live with Spike in his crypt and…
Okay, far-fetched. But still. Every path she thought of led to badness, one way or another.
"Buffy? You still here?"
She swallowed one more time, for good measure. "Yeah. I'm here. You're right. I shouldn't let him think that it's even the remotest of remote possibilities. Complete life-shutting-out is the way to go."
Complete life-shutting-out was definitely easier in theory, she thought as she opened the door only to be confronted by Spike.
Had his eyes always been that blue?
He offered her a disarming smile, which only made her hate him a little more. Things had been so much easier when they were just mortal enemies, even if they had been really bad about letting each other live. At least then they had pretenses to hide behind.
"Thought you'd been spirited away, love," he said, in that not-at-all-sexy accent that didn't even slightly make her melt. At all.
She was strong!Buffy. "Yeah, I had to go take care of human needs. Uh, so, I don't think the robot is here and you know, I'm…really tired so I'm just gonna hit the hay. With my head. I'm gonna go to bed."
Then, suddenly worried that he would pick up on the unintentional innuendo, she added pointedly, "Alone."
He smirked, but he seemed more hurt than seductive. Great. Just what she needed, an overly sensitive vampire stalker. That she didn't like. Like, at all.
God, she sucked at denial.
"So I'm gonna go."
But she was really, really good at running away from her problems. She grabbed her stuff, said a quick goodbye to her friends, and left Spike standing there at a loss.
For about a minute.
"Slayer, wait!"
He sprinted after her, matching her pace with a little effort. She turned to glare at him and – it was wrong to think this now, when she was obviously upset, but she was hot as hell when she was angry. That little pouting lip and the way her eyes got all big and ferocious…her breathing sped up and he could almost feel her blood pumping and rushing and driving that pretty little tongue as it carved out cruel words for him…
Cruel words that she was speaking right now.
"Spike, are you even listening to me?"
Now her hands were on her hips, those lovely hips. He liked them better when she was dancing, though. Or fighting, although with her the two were one and the same. Another thing they had in common – a proper appreciation for the arts of the body.
"'Course I was," he answered promptly. "Leave you alone, you're tired, no more patrolling for nasties tonight and also probably some unimaginative insult."
"My insults are not unimaginative, you…stupid radioactive-haired vampire!" she said, nearly hissing out the words.
Spike tried not to smile at her, he really did. She was just so…cute.
(And he was so far gone that even Angel could have taken the mickey out of him for being a sap).
"Right, well, anyway, I just wanted to walk you home. Not right to end a date so abruptly," he said, making his voice intentionally low and silky.
Yeah, he was pushing her buttons. Wasn't his fault that was how she liked him. He could see the way her pupils dilated and her breath caught when he called it a "date", and he silently resolved to do it again at least once before the end of the night.
"This was not a date, Spike."
"What was it missing, hm? Went to a party, had a nice spot of violence, then went to the club with your mates. I offered to buy you a drink, not my fault you turned me down. And, of course, the goodnight kiss…but that's yet to come, right, pet?"
Buffy was walking faster, not looking at him anymore. "What was missing was a guy. A human guy that I could actually be with. I don't care what you think I'm feeling, none of it matters. This is just some sick daydream and you need to…get over it."
"I need to get over it?" he repeated incredulously. "You're the one deluding yourself into thinking that there's nothing between us!"
That was it, apparently. She rounded on him, full Slayer fury directed at one relatively defenseless vamp.
"There is nothing between us!"
Damned lies. He could feel her light up from his touch, and he almost wished they could fight again just so he could experience her intake of breath every time their bodies brushed.
"I can't be with you!"
The hell was she even talking about? Was as simple as just being. Should come naturally. Seemed to him that they were the only thing that made sense, as messed up as it was. It still almost disgusted him, the depths of feelings for her.
But he'd gotten over it.
"I can't love you!"
That was…
He didn't deserve her. Spike knew that, at least. He wasn't a complete idiot. She was perfection embodied, she was the bloody Slayer and he…well, he was just an ex-killer who watched too much telly.
She didn't love him. He was pretty sure that he knew that, too. But all of this was resting on the idea, the notion that she could, someday. Because he felt a connection, and assumed it would be as natural for her as it was for him.
Maybe it wasn't.
He suddenly remembered the alley, memories he'd tried to push away months ago. "You're beneath me."
That whole scene had been eclipsed later by her allowing him to comfort her and to hold her in his arms. Didn't mean it didn't happen. Maybe he was too far beneath her to ever mean enough to her. Maybe everything she'd been saying was true, and he was just being a wanker about the whole thing.
Unless…
"Can't, love, or won't?" he asked gently.
They were close to her house now, and it wasn't long until morning. The very first whispers of sunrise would steal their way any minute now. If she was going to tell him a hard truth for her to admit, it would be now, before the light made things real.
Buffy didn't look at him. "Can't," she said quietly. Her voice trembled slightly, and her hands were balled into fists.
There was something else in her tone that made his heart swell like the sudden leap of a violin. Bloody hell, he really was becoming that ponce William again. Buffy brought out the best and the worst in him, and he wasn't sure which category this rush of poetic description fell into. As long as he kept it to himself, he supposed it wasn't too bad. God forbid the Slayer got a hold of one of his notebooks. He'd probably stake himself right then and there.
Despite this new sentimentality, however, Spike had the stones to do what William never would have dared. It was a rough choice, potentially losing the Slayer either way, but he went with his intuition, as he often did.
Spike asked another question.
"Can't, love, or don't?"
For a second he thought the sun had come up and he was on fire, the way her eyes caught onto his. He felt fevered, a sensation he barely remembered. A shock pulsed through his body, like the echoes of a long-lost heartbeat.
"Can't," she said again, voice hushed, eyes not breaking away from his. "I…I just can't."
Buffy began to disappear into her doorway. He reached forward to catch her arm.
Oh, no, she thought desperately. This couldn't be happening.
It was like everything was in slow-mo as his hand touched the invisible barrier. This hadn't been how she wanted Spike to find out. In fact, she hadn't wanted him to ever find out. She had been planning on covertly re-inviting him so it was never an issue, because she hadn't wanted to see the look on his face that was there right now.
His eyes were so blue as they met hers, wounded and vulnerable. He looked almost like a human, almost like a little boy, almost like a man.
It was too much for her.
She wrenched her arm out of his grip. "I'm sorry."
Buffy didn't want to hear the words she could see forming on his lips. She didn't want to see him at all. It was like Willow had infiltrated her brain and all she could think of was that look on her face.
Willow's concern. Spike's hurt. Dawn's apprehension. The images flicked through her brain. She was so tired of hurting her loved ones with her choices. This wouldn't happen again. Even if she was hurting Spike, it would be better for him in the end.
No chance with me. No chance with me.
She didn't get happily-ever-afters, especially not with soulless creatures. She was the Slayer, little more than a sacred duty. She had people to protect.
So she shut the door. It felt like she'd slammed it on her heart, but she refused to look back.
Buffy crept up to her bed, careful not to wake her mom or Dawn. It was almost sunrise, but she felt like the life had been sucked right out of her.
Being tough with Spike hadn't been so hard before. It was like, somehow, he'd wormed his way into her heart and into her life, like by kissing him she gave him some magical in to her thoughts and dreams.
She wasn't a fan. Even without the badness of him being in lo – thinking he was in love with her, developing any kind of attachment to a soulless vampire screamed "not a good plan".
He had to be nothing to her. She had to make him nothing to her. It was the only way.
But for now, she could just lose herself to sleep.
The graveyard was empty, and unnaturally still. Buffy took a deep breath and tensed her muscles as the wind brushed against her.
She felt so alive.
A vampire was rising in her grave. Twenty feet away. Buffy sensed it, somehow, and she didn't question how. She knew it like she knew that the vampire had been only a few years older than she was, like she knew she had exactly thirty-two seconds until the fledge would recognize her presence.
She didn't move. She barely even breathed. Her fingers gripped her stake gently, more like holding a lover's hand than grabbing a weapon. There was no fear, only pure adrenaline.
The fledge was behind her now, stumbling a little. Going for the kill. Buffy closed her eyes as the vampire slid her fingers around the Slayer's neck.
Then, quicker than she'd ever moved before, she took hold of the vampire's neck from behind and flipped her, hearing a satisfying snap. The body disintegrated almost instantly.
No stake, no shoes, no problem, she thought, satisfied.
The wind had slowed.
"Hello, Spike."
Her eyes were still shut, but she could sense him moving closer after her greeting. The clouds sped across the sky, casting shadows across her eyelids as the moonlight danced on her skin.
"Can't be as much fun dancing alone," he said, voice very very close to her ear, although he still seemed to her to be quite far away. Her skin cried for his touch. "Need a partner?"
"I don't need anybody," Buffy said, but the words seemed to come from outside her body. They were true, however. "I am power."
He was in front of her now. "Maybe it doesn't always have to be about need."
"Where's my stake?" she demanded, opening her eyes. Spike was gone.
It couldn't be. She reached forward to touch the ground where he had been, sifting the dirt through her fingers.
"What's wrong?" Dawn asked suddenly, taking one of her hands. Buffy looked at her, almost unseeing.
She frowned. "I need to protect you," she explained, cupping the dirt in her hands once more and spreading it over Dawn's forehead like an anointing. "I did what I have to."
Her sister looked at her blankly. "You forgot my gift," she complained, suddenly seeming very small and young. Buffy could remember her being this age, always tearing up over something or the other.
None of it was real. All of it was real.
"I threw it away."
Buffy woke up in a sweat and dashed into Dawn's room.
Empty. Before she panicked, though, she noticed that the clock said it was already 10:30 in the morning.
She shivered as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. Her dream had been so vivid, almost like a Slayer dream. It couldn't be, though. It didn't make any sense.
Of course, her dream years ago about Drusilla killing Angel hadn't made that much sense, either, until later. What if…
She was still too tired to be thinking about this. Buffy resolved to talk to Giles about it that night.
At this rate, he was going to need to nick another pack of cigarettes before night fell. Spike sighed as he lit another, alternately pacing the floor and punching the walls.
What had he missed? Had aliens abducted and brainwashed the Slayer while she was in the ladies' room? Nothing else could explain her change of heart, not when she'd been making those doe-eyes at him and looking all come-hither not half an hour before.
Unless it wasn't a change of heart. She couldn't have disinvited him then, she had to already have. But when? And why?
Sure, he'd been pretty bad in the past, but he hadn't tried to kill her in ages. Matter of fact, even when he was trying to kill her, she still left the open-door policy on her house.
She couldn't be scared of him, then. She never had been, even when she knew he'd taken out two Slayers in his time and was looking to nail a third. Buffy had always been all stuck-up, bitchy, and full of herself.
So if she wasn't scared of him, then the answer was simple. Only one other person she could be afraid of: herself.
Spike knew the Slayer was an emotionally backwards bint, but even from her this was bloody ridiculous. Suddenly angry, he threw the fag on the ground and stomped it out.
He almost envied his past self. Sure, he'd been in love with a cheating lunatic, but at least he'd been happy, for the most part. At least it had been easy enough to deal with Dru's brand of crazy, but the Slayer's, that was a whole different kettle of fish. Her method of emotional coping seemed to be to push away everyone who gave a damn about her.
What was she afraid of? That she'd give in to temptation and ravish him the first chance she got? That he'd finally brass her off so much that she'd stake him? That she'd have to face up to her little friends when the truth came out? It would, naturally. The truth had a way of outing itself.
Maybe he should just give the truth a little helping hand. See how the Slayer felt when her gang found out she'd been halfway into the Big Bad's lap. Maybe it'd hurt her, but it'd be the good kind of hurt, yeah? Like ripping off a Band-Aid. That kind of denial couldn't be healthy.
He couldn't just up and tell them, though. They wouldn't believe him, and what's worse, Buffy would never give him a second glance after that. No, he had to be craftier. Get her to tell them, somehow.
But how? That was a quandary. What could be more important to the Slayer than her bloody pride? Not him, that's for sure. Dawn. He could persuade her that the Slayer had seriously hurt him in some way, or that he had some kind of info to tell her. But could he really play the Bit in that way?
Well, probably, but it was moot anyway. She'd see right through him.
Spike could just wait until she came to him again, like before. Might get him somewhere, but at what cost? He wasn't the waiting around sort. Better to just go. Maybe talk to the Nibblet, maybe bring Joyce flowers. Anything to get re-invited.
Motivated by an almost righteous frenzy, he leaped up, sliding his duster over him as easily as if it were part of him. He also snatched a ratty blanket before heading down into the sewers. No need to literally burn up for his love.
Joyce answered the door, frowning and looking concerned. Wasn't a good look on her, he noted. In fact, maybe it wasn't just the worry doing it. She seemed pale, and not for the first time he remembered Buffy being upset enough about her mum's condition to cry on his shoulder.
"'lo, Joyce," he managed, remembering his manners a little too late. "Hope you're well. May I come in?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Spike," she said evenly, but despite her evident calm, Spike could tell that her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the door frame.
"Look, I don't know what the Slay – bloody hell," he said suddenly, as her face whitened further. "Joyce, let me in. You need to take a nice lie down."
"I'm fine," Joyce repeated firmly.
But God, she didn't look it. A sudden wave of nausea hit Spike as his predator's instincts alerted him to something that he had already feared. She was almost gone.
Take her now, his demon screamed.
Save her now, cried the man.
"And you need to –"
But he didn't get to find out what it was he needed to do.
She flipped the robot over, holding her down. "Pushing people through windows – is not – responsible behavior," Buffy explained patiently. "And also? The whole 'no one can touch me except my boyfriend' is kind of weird and slavish and disgustingly medieval. Not that it's your fault. I think your boyfriend is the one who needs to be reprogrammed."
April squirmed weakly, obviously running out of battery. "Warren does not need to be reprogrammed! He is perfect just the way he is – brilliant and sexyyyy."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Ugh, have you even seen him? Talk about gross."
"Slayer!"
A few familiar sensations flooded her body again. Ignoring the fire pit in her stomach, Buffy rose and turned to face Spike. "Speak of the devil – or, in this case, an annoying bleached wannabe. What part of get lost was lost on you? Also, I think you're about to catch fire."
She was pleased with her attempt at normalcy until she caught sight of Spike's face beneath the sizzling blanket. He was deathly pale, which shouldn't have been strange for a dead guy, but it was jarring on his usually expressive face. The only sign of emotion was the widening of his eyes. He looked almost…afraid.
"It's your mum."
He was lying.
He had to be.
This was Spike. Truthfulness was, like, his bane. This was some dumb, cruel joke, or some kind of attempt to get into her pants.
Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. She had never seen Spike look so utterly terrified and miserable, even during his post-chip depression.
"Where are you going?" April asked.
Buffy gritted her teeth, afraid she would begin crying if she answered. She gave Spike a quick glance of confirmation before she took off running.
It was like the ground propelled her, making her go farther and faster. She had never run so quickly in her life.
Nononononono was the only thought she was registering as they neared Revello Drive. An ambulance was parked outside. The door was ajar.
She burst through the door, ignoring Spike's warnings. The people from the ambulance were gathered around Joyce like vultures around carrion.
Buffy felt the sudden urge to vomit.
"Is she – will she – can you –" she stammered, unable to look into the man's eyes. He was standing between her and Mom. Why was he standing there? Why couldn't she reach her mother?
The ambulance man said something. She couldn't understand.
Why was everybody acting like this was real? This couldn't be how things went. Reality had monsters, things she could fight.
Mom had to be able to fight.
"No," she tried to explain. "She can't be –"
A cool hand brushed her shoulder.
No.
"Love," he said, unspeakably gentle.
He can't be here.
"She's gone."
At first she thought Spike had said it, or maybe even ambulance man. But the words had escaped her own lips. She stared blankly, still in shock.
If he's here, then the person who was here to do the uninviting has to be…
"She's gone."
