Author's Notes:
Joss and ME own everything. Sadly.
Later that day, they sat together on the balcony of the suite, watching the slowly sinking sun reflect brilliant colors onto the lake.
After bandaging her wrists and ankles, Spike had left her unbound the entire afternoon, but he did watch her constantly, never allowing her the chance to escape or more. She'd thumbed through the various brochures on the area, imagining she was there on vacation, and had nothing more pressing on her mind than which attraction to see tomorrow.
And now they were sitting together, admiring a sunset after basking in the sun, and talking like actual friends. Spike had, apparently, had quite a fascination with gunslingers and the Wild West as a fledgling. None of his vampiric family had shared his interest though, and so he'd never traveled to the Old West during its heyday. Still, he knew the local lore about outlaws and the silver and gold rushes, and was sharing it with Buffy, who found it interesting to hear history from his perspective. Especially since several outlaws had been demonic in one way or another.
"You know, you'd be handy to have around when I have to write papers for history, since you've lived through most of it".
Indignation flitted across his face. "Oi! I'm not that old! You make me sound like I'm centuries old!" He stopped, reconsidered. "Although, actually, that's a complement to a vampire…"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "If it weren't for the fact that you're so old," she gave him a mischievous grin, "I'd totally forget you're a vampire. Seeing as you're here sitting in the sun, eating chocolates from the mini-bar and doing nothing more evil than conversing with the Slayer".
"And again, 'm not sure if I should be insulted or not".
"Oh, definitely insulted". Her lighthearted mood fell away. "Of course, if you get your way, I'll never have to write a history paper again. Not sure if I should take that as a positive or not," she mused.
Glancing over at him, she was surprised to see he looked uneasy at her declaration. "What, having second thoughts?"
Spike looked startled. "Me? No. No, still going to kill you". He didn't sound very convincing.
"Spike, what is this? What are we doing? We're not friends. We'll never be. Why do you want to pretend we are? That I'm here voluntarily and not your captive?"
Buffy didn't think he was going to answer. She moved to get up and go inside, but then he said, "The ring's giving me a new perspective. With it, I can be as much of a man as I want instead of just a monster. This is nice, innit?" he looked at her pleadingly. "Sitting in the sun with me? Not fighting?"
She sat back down, heavily. It had been nice, enjoying the conversation and the sun, covertly examining him to see if he were tanning or burning (neither, apparently). She realized she had even been feeling comfortable with him, and it scared her, so she snapped, "The only reason we're not fighting right now is because you have me drugged and worn out. But don't think for a second it makes me your friend. You're not a man. And I can't forget it".
"No, I suppose you wouldn't".
He spoke so quietly, she felt uneasy, as if she had let him down. "Look, today you might feel like playing at being a man, but what about tomorrow? Next year? There's nothing to stop you from being full-on evil once again".
"Nothing but myself. Same as any man".
"Do you have a conscience? You don't feel remorse. So why would you stop yourself?"
He rolled up off the chaise long and went to the door. He paused and spoke without looking back at her. "For the right reason, I would. I'd do anything". With that enigmatic statement, he went inside.
Buffy let him go alone, staring out at the crepuscular sky and attempting to marshal her scattered thoughts. She pondered what Spike had said, about him being the only one who would stop himself from evil, the same as any man. She couldn't deny he had a point. After all, there were plenty of humans who didn't stop themselves from doing wrong. Who was to say a demon couldn't stop being evil… if they had the right reason.
But what would that reason be?
And would it be enough to last?
When the night air became too cool for her sun-kissed limbs, she went inside, no less confused than before.
Spike was on the bed, apparently waiting for her, and Buffy remembered that she was still for all intents and purposes only a prisoner. She paused in the doorway, unsure of where they stood. He regarded her impassively, silently, and she fidgeted.
"Look, um, about what you said. It's hard for me to believe it," she began in a rush. "The only vampire I've ever really known, outside of a short and dusty relationship, is Angel. And well, without the soul…" she twisted her hands in anguish. "I thought the difference was pretty clear. No soul means evil. Never mind what the council told me, I've seen it with my own eyes".
"We're not all like Angel, luv".
"Yeah, I see that. I've spent enough time with you to know that you're pretty different from Angel – Angelus – and I… I'm very confused now. I suppose if any vampire could choose to not be evil, that makes my job harder, doesn't it? Am I supposed to have a conversation with each one before I kill them, make sure they deserve it?"
Spike had moved to her, wrapped a fluffy robe around her to stop the shivering. "I guarantee you that 99.99% of vampires that you'll meet will deserve to be staked – from your point of view, of course. Most enjoy being evil. When I say that some vampires aren't, you have to understand that it's extremely rare. It's just… it can happen. Hypothetically". He kept his hands on the robe, holding her near him.
Buffy didn't pull away. "Oh". She considered this. "And you want me to believe you could choose to not be evil. Hypothetically".
"Uh-huh".
She blew a strand of hair out of her face, and Spike used a finger to secure it behind her ear. "I'd have to see it to believe it. It would be pretty hard to convince me that you'd gone good. You're about as far from a paragon of virtue as you can get".
They were standing practically nose-to-nose in the doorway, eyes locked on each other. "Not saying I'm good, luv. Don't know if I could ever be good".
"Un-evil, whatever".
Spike stepped away, hooked his hands in his belt and leaned back. His intense demeanor slipped away and turned depreciating. "S'just hypothetical for now. Funny little thought knocking about my head, and I shared it with you because I could. You being a captive audience and all".
She gave an un-amused laugh. "Yup. Have to say, the balance is still firmly on the side of evil for you. But… thanks for showing me your un-evil side today. It was a really weird and surprising change".
"And nice?" he asked hopefully.
"I'm still confused about why you care, but, yes. And nice".
"Any chance you want to keep it that way, Buffy?"
His use of her name, so rare, made her irritated. Like they were friends. How could they be? "Spike, see, this is the part that reminds me how not human you are. You've been a – a real asshole. And - You. Are. Planning. On. Killing me. It's hard to keep up the nicey-nice with that looming over my head".
"Well, at least you could die happy. Why spend your last days unhappy if you have a choice?"
"There are so many things wrong with that statement I can't even begin to explain it to you".
He threw up his hands, angry. "Fine, be a bitch. A bloke tries to be nice to you and this is what he gets".
"You…! Seriously?" She spluttered, incoherent with rage. He thought she was a bitch because she wasn't happy that he was being nice to her before he killed her? "And there's the real you, Spike," she spat. "Should have known better. Won't be long 'till you threaten to rape me now".
She stormed into the living room, and he caught up to her. Forgetting her weakened condition, she whirled on him and attempted to knock him to the ground, but all she managed was making him wince in pain. He caught her wrist, roughly, and she gasped when he squeezed the bandages. "You like this better then?" he growled, backhanding her. Her head snapped back with the force, and she staggered, but he held onto her tightly. "Like it better when I hurt you?"
"Like it?" Buffy jeered. "No. But at least this way we're both clear on just what you are". She tried to pull him towards the front door of the suite.
"Where the bleeding hell do you think you're going?"
Buffy was desperate to get out of there, desperate to forget she had almost been thinking of Spike as decent, especially when he'd been torturing and practically raping her only yesterday. "Let's leave, alright? Put this fake, sick little fantasy day behind us and get going, get this over with. Don't you want to hurry on to Drusilla instead of loitering around with me? Get back to your regularly scheduled wicked ways?"
Spike yanked her back towards the bedroom, picking up the handcuffs from where they'd been casually laying on the coffee table. "Paid up for tonight, and we're staying. Get your sodding potty break over with, you're done for the day.
She soon found herself back in the bed, one wrist handcuffed to the center of the headboard and one ankle to the foot of the bed. She gave several experimental tugs, but she was quite stuck.
The muttering vampire shut the doors to the outside, then tossed the remote at her. "I'm going out for a bit. You can watch the telly if you're bored. Or you can scream if you want, but these walls are good and thick and there's no one else on this floor, or above or beneath us. No one'll hear you. He eyed the area around her critically, looking to see if she could escape or use anything as a weapon. Appearing satisfied, he picked up his duster off a chair, shrugged it on, and left in a swirl of black leather.
Buffy stared at the darkened TV, angry with herself. Maybe she should have played nice; she might have found an opportunity to escape. Several fruitless tugs later, all she'd managed to do was make her wounds bleed. Clicking the remote, she consoled herself with the thought that only one wrist and ankle were cuffed, so she could at least wriggle around.
Spike strode through the night, heedless of his surroundings. What on earth was wrong with him lately? Oh, I can be good, Slayer, he mocked himself. What a bleeding tosser.
He didn't know why he'd said those things to her. The truth was, without Dru, he had felt different. He still reveled in the hunt, the chase, the fight, but the thrill of the kill itself was gone. Of course he enjoyed feeding; vampire, after all, but the dark exhilaration he had felt at ending a human life was missing without his black beauty egging him on, enrapturing him with her own excitement over his kill.
Now, viewing it through the prism of Buffy's censure rather than Dru's manic glee, the act of killing seemed almost… pointless?
Had he gone daft?
And, hold on, when the hell had she become Buffy instead of the Slayer? Spike snorted in self-disgust. The same time, he supposed, that he had wanted her to realize he was, not a person, exactly, but an individual. A man, even.
There it was. He wanted her to see him as a man. He had feelings, dreams, hopes, and if that didn't make him a man, what did?
He knew what her answer would be. A soul. Like the great sodding poof. He had needed a soul to behave like a man.
He kicked angrily at an empty can, then turned a corner and found himself in front of a bar. He went in and ordered himself a bottle of whiskey and a table in the corner.
Spike mulled things over. He had enjoyed talking with Buffy today. Honestly enjoyed it. She'd listened to him, and they'd had a semi-intelligent conversation. True, she was young and ignorant, but she'd been okay. It was a hell of an improvement over being with Harmony. Or even, and he felt like a traitor for admitting it, Drusilla. His princess wasn't much for conversations outside of whom to kill or barmy ramblings about the stars and Miss Edith.
Bloody Slayer. It was her fault everything was bollixed up like this. Her fault Dru had left him. Her fault she had to look so shaggable and smell so delicious and taste so sodding pure that he had kept her alive.
Now look at the sorry state he was in. Ruminating on the Slayer and her precious sanctimonious self, contemplating her passion and drive , her funny little quips, the way she never gave up. Instead of thinking about his savior, Drusilla, who had rescued him from a dreary and pathetic existence.
With each swig of whiskey, he sank further into moroseness. His sire had made him feel wicked and powerful, strong and unafraid. He'd thought that, in death, he'd felt alive for the first time. Until now. Being with Buffy today, sitting and laughing in the sunshine, he realized he felt more alive than ever.
Foolish whimsy.
Bloody Slayer.
He'd still kill her, of course. She'd been right, he might feel like playing at being a man today, but it wouldn't hold. He had no reason to give up evil. So he'd do her in, make things right with the one he belonged to, and put this lunacy behind him.
Having drunk himself sensible, Spike headed back to the hotel. After a quick check to make sure his prisoner was asleep and secure, Spike sprawled out on the couch and fell asleep.
Buffy lay in the bed and listed for sounds from the front room. She'd woken when Spike had come in, having slept fitfully for the last few hours. She had a plan, and she needed the vampire to be out cold, which, based on the smell of alcohol that had washed over her as he checked the handcuffs, was more than likely.
Still, she made herself wait another half hour on the clock, and then she turned the TV on with the volume low, to cover any noises she made. When Spike didn't come in to check on her, she edged herself as close as she could to the nightstand. She'd discovered earlier that she could just reach the phone cord. It had been a painful decision to wait until Spike had come back. She'd been afraid that it would take her awhile to get the phone pulled over to where she could dial, and she hadn't known when he would return. It would be no good if he walked in on her before her mission was completed.
So now, she hooked the phone cord with her middle finger and used it to pull the unit toward her. When it was at the very edge of the nightstand, she considered her options, and then decided it would work best if she got it onto the bed with her. Otherwise she might accidentally knock the phone off the table while dialing.
With some careful manipulation, the phone was soon right next to her, on the bed, where she could easily dial. She remained still for several minutes, making sure she was still the only one awake. While she waited, she reconsidered who to call. Her initial thought had been to call the front desk, but she would likely only get any rescuers killed. They wouldn't be prepared to deal with a vampire, never mind Spike and his Gem of Amarra. She'd considered calling Giles or Willow, but when it came down to it, there was only one person she wanted to talk to.
She wanted her mom.
Hiding the phone under the blankets to quiet any sounds, she went through the process of initiating a collect call. She whispered her name quietly when prompted, and hoped it was loud enough for her mom to understand.
It must have been, because all of a sudden she could hear her mom's breathless, worried voice say, "Buffy?"
"Mom, shhhh.."
"Buffy, oh my baby, Buffy, you're alive, where are you?" her mom cried.
"Mom, Mom, listen, we've got to be quiet, okay?"
Her mom was still sobbing, but at least it was softly now. "Honey, where are you? Did you get away from Spike".
"No, he's still got me, but I managed to get to the phone while he's sleeping. Which is why we need to be quiet". She actually wasn't too worried that he'd wake up. She already knew he slept like the dead, pun intended, and he was obviously inebriated too, but it didn't hurt to be careful. "Look, Mom, tell Giles we're in Lake Tahoe right now, and Spike's taking me across the country, I don't know where. Some place on the east coast. He plans to meet up with Drusilla".
"Is that the girl that left him?"
"The girl is well over a hundred years old, and yes. This is his latest lame-brain attempt to win her back. He's keeping me drugged -"
"That's what Angel said!"
"Oh, he's okay?" Buffy asked with relief.
"Yes, Mr. Giles called me earlier tonight, right after Angel had called him".
"Well, good. There's not too much more to add, except that we're obviously on the move now.
"Is he treating you all right? Mr. Giles wouldn't say much, but it sounded like Spike was not treating you very well".
"He is a vampire, Mom," she whispered, exasperated.
"I know honey, but it's hard to remember that. He wasn't so bad when he was at our house last year. I know this is foolish to say, but I felt safe with him".
"You're not the only foolish one," Buffy muttered. "As much as I feel like a crazy person saying this, he hasn't been that awful. Today. In fact, I'm starting to think I might be -"
The words able to talk him into letting me go died on her lips as she felt the phone go flying out of her hands.
With a roar, Spike ripped the cord out of the wall and smashed the phone against the opposite wall.
"Gee, now we're going to have to pay for that," Buffy tried for glib, but she still cowered under his rage.
His fangs gleamed, menacing, as he leaned over her, his voice low and terrifying. "Who were you talking to, little girl?"
"My mom!" she squeaked. "Just my mom. I didn't want her to worry about me!"
His visage melted back to human. "Joyce?" he asked, uncertain.
"Yes!" Buffy was crying now. "She… she worries about me. Because of what I do, you know? And I didn't want her to worry. I wanted her know I wasn't dead. Yet," she added.
"Oh. Right then. Well… You shouldn't have done that. Go back to sleep. We'll be leaving in the morning". With that, he turned and walked out.
She let out a shaky breath. She'd been sure he would hurt her or even kill her, but he hadn't. She decided not to worry about Spike's unpredictable behavior.
And, mission accomplished. She had talked to her mom. Buffy eventually fell back asleep, pleased with herself.
Spike lay awake in the living room, thinking. He was plenty sober now, and the unwanted thoughts rattled in his brain once more.
The Slayer had called her mother. Joyce. Nice lady, had given him a cuppa and a sympathetic ear. He didn't remember much beyond that, having been thoroughly plastered at the time, but he couldn't find anything but good thoughts for her.
Spike imagined her sitting at home, worrying about her daughter, afraid she was dead, and he felt a twinge of… guilt? Could it really be guilt? He searched his memory, his life as William, and decided that it did indeed feel like guilt. That was just going too far. Guilt was not something Spike, William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers bothered to feel. Not in over a century, and by all that was dark and unholy, not now.
He tried again. Joyce. An unpleasant pricking feeling ran through him as he thought of her frantic, desperate to see her daughter once more.
All the bleeding Slayer's fault.
Tomorrow he would get up and he would drive the Slayer as far and as fast to Atlanta as he could, before she could bollix up any more of his life.
