2000, alternate take
"I heard the funniest time travel joke tomorrow." – Willow to Spike, autumn 2000
Buffy had been so good every time she'd gone back to the past. But Willow and Spike had practically ordered her to fix her biggest regrets. It was wrong, borderline evil even. She wasn't even sure past-her would be able to stomach it. But she hoped that killing Ben – or even hurting him badly enough to keep him out of work and therefore away from her family – would make this year a happier one. If she was really lucky, Dawn might never end up on that tower at all.
The nausea was the best it had ever been. Definitely there, but nowhere near strong enough to force Buffy out of bed. She woke up in her dorm room, alone, which was odd. As far as she remembered, she and Riley had been sleeping together every night of the school year until next week, when her mom collapsed for the first time. It was a lucky break, though. Buffy didn't need anyone's help today, and she especially didn't need Riley's demon-equals-bad, human-equals-good help. Not for what she planned to do.
Then Dawn called to tell her that Riley was there with his most desperate puppy dog eyes, making every kind of breakfast food known to womankind and if Buffy wanted any bacon she better hurry. So Buffy went, deeply resenting Riley for keeping her from the one thing she needed to do that day. She just wished she could remember why she was so sure killing Ben would make a difference….
Frustrated as Buffy was at delaying her trip to the hospital, there was a silver lining. Riley reminded her that today she was supposed to be running around after the skinless wonder with his magical rod of doom. She'd completely forgotten that the week before Dawn met Ben for the first time, Xander was split in two by a demon. And given the lack of anyone else strong enough to kill it, she definitely needed to keep on top of that situation. Unfortunately, Riley was being an overprotective ass about it. He was all 'your job makes you a target' and 'I don't like you facing off alone with these creeps'. She'd forgotten how fixated he got on protecting her. But much worse, Dawn overheard the argument and immediately tattled to their mother, so now her family was freaked out, too, for no good reason.
Buffy was painfully aware how important it was to past-her for Riley to feel okay about being physically weaker and nowhere near as good in a fight. And she hadn't forgotten how much she'd invested in having a nice, normal relationship, either. But she could only pretend she cared about Riley's feelings for so long, and he just wouldn't stop pushing! In the end, Buffy got so frustrated she told him outright she'd been sneaking out every night after he went to sleep just to get some real slaying done, instead of the hollow mockery of a patrol they did together.
After a hilariously red-faced Riley stormed out, Buffy decided she might as well go to the hospital via the sewers, just in case the monster of the week was there. She'd spent her original day hunting him in the smelliest places Sunnydale had to offer, but got zilch until he showed up all by himself at Xander's apartment. Buffy was pretty sure the demon was nocturnal and the rod could somehow track what it hit so any daytime searching would be a waste of time. But a slayer couldn't be too careful. Not with all these changes to her timeline, anyway.
By the time Buffy (uneventfully) reached the underground entrance to the hospital, she'd accepted she couldn't just run in there waving a sword and take Ben's head. The hospital was a big place with lots of witnesses, and she definitely couldn't risk getting arrested for murder. So Buffy opened up her slay-bag and considered her options. Almost everything in there would be overkill and/or too messy for a human. Throwing daggers seemed the best bet: they were versatile, and wouldn't leave too big a hole. Buffy slipped one into her boot and another into her sleeve, and stashed her bag behind some rocks.
Next, she considered clothes. Her current comfort-and-utility look was far too casual to pass muster under a white coat, so stolen scrubs it would have to be. Added bonus, no one would notice blood on scrubs. Buffy's stomach lurched at that mental image. She'd seen blood gushing out of a wound before, just never by her own hand. Or at least not human blood. She shook it off. She knew the way to a man's heart well enough: angle up between the fourth and the fifth ribs.
Ben had first appeared in a waiting room off Emergency, so Buffy figured that was as good a starting place as any. It was all disturbingly easy. Particularly the being-in-a-hospital part. Buffy had never grown out of her fear of them, but the antiseptic smell didn't even make her queasy this time. It was nice. Odd, but nice. She found a women's changing room within minutes, where not only were there stacks of one-size-fits-none scrubs but also masks and hats to match. She checked herself out in the mirror once she'd changed. In this get-up, no one would be able to say anything about her other than 'short, white human'. Perfect.
Buffy wandered the halls, walking as purposefully as she could while looking surreptitiously into the rooms on each side. Despite her resolve, she couldn't stop dwelling on the reality of what she was about to do. Ben had been a pretty nice guy, after all. Took really good care of Dawn. But Willow hadn't said Buffy did her best work on instinct for nothing. If those instincts said 'Ben needs to be slayed', there was a reason, even if she didn't know what it was.
Buffy only just resisted the urge to scream. She couldn't remember ever being so angry with herself. Willow warned her she couldn't change anything big directly, but had she listened? She had not. She wasn't ruthless enough – wasn't strong enough – to sacrifice one person to save the world, and now she'd wasted an entire trip into the past. Maybe even destroyed the future.
Ben had been right there in front of her, all smiling and open, totally trusting. Vaguely flirty, even. She'd easily led him off into a deserted corner where no one was around to see or hear. The knife was in her hand, all ready, and she'd chickened out. Visions of how messed-up Faith got after killing that Deputy Mayor overwhelmed her. If future-Buffy couldn't justify killing this man with anything better than a hunch, how could she possibly expect past-Buffy to live with it?
She needed to kill something. Preferably lots of somethings. Maybe even without weapons: tearing heads off with her bare hands sounded very therapeutic right about now. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the day, which drastically limited her options. But anything would be better than staring at herself in the mirror of the women's changing room and listening to the recriminations and self-hatred screeching inside her head. Then Buffy had an idea.
She barely had to think to remember the way to Glory's penthouse. To her great joy, it was full to bursting with minions. They tried valiantly to defend themselves and the apartment but were no match for a raging slayer with a broadsword and twenty-eight years' experience. As her final parting shot, Buffy picked up the matches next to what looked like votive candles on a shrine, and set the curtains on fire. She could hardly leave the bodies to be discovered by the police, and besides, fire was pretty. It might never make up for her failure to kill Ben, but at least she could live with herself afterwards.
Covered in cuts and bruises and blood – both demon and her own – Buffy felt emotionally drained and physically exhausted. She couldn't face the prospect of having to talk to anyone, but neither could she face being alone. So she went where she always had when she needed to be alone with someone else: Spike's place.
The first thing Buffy saw when she entered the crypt was a half-mannequin in a halter-top and a blonde wig lying in bits all over the floor. That was when she remembered the stalker shrine Spike was probably building right about now. And quite how very creepy he'd been while trying to work out if he wanted to kiss her or kill her. Just as Buffy decided to go back to her dorm room and take a shower like a sensible person, Spike emerged from the shadows with a crossbow cocked and pointed straight at her.
"Well, well. Just can't stay away, can you?" He was holding the weapon casually enough, but it was aimed at her heart and there wasn't a waver in sight.
His eyes were wary and cold as ice. At least before she'd revisited their past, her memories of when he didn't love her were distant and fuzzy. Now they were all she could see. Buffy turned and fled.
As she ran through the cemetery, the sky that had been steadily blackening all day opened up and it poured down with rain. By the time she reached her building, Buffy was soaked through and shaking with cold and emotional fallout. Once in her room, she stripped off and went straight for the showers.
When she returned, clean and warm and calmer, Spike was sitting on the floor outside her door, legs out straight in front of him and blocking the hallway. His hair was wet and plastered against his face, and his coat was dripping puddles on the floor.
He stared up at her, expression unreadable. "We still got a truce?"
"How did you know?" Buffy was suddenly breathless and very aware she wasn't wearing anything but her grotty old robe and a towel in her hair.
Spike smiled, crooked and uncertain. "She doesn't look at me like you do." The smile sort of crumpled on his face. "Thought it was you put the chip in me. For the longest time."
"It really wasn't anything to do with me," Buffy said softly.
"You knew what would happen, though. Back in that park. An' you never said a word." His expression was flipping back and forth between outrage and anguish. But there was softness there, for the first time since Buffy'd started travelling in time. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Buffy gave a near-imperceptible nod she hoped past-her wouldn't notice. "I'm sorry," she said. And she was. His worst nightmares were always about being helpless, and the Initiative had figured in them right up until his death.
"She isn't," Spike sneered.
Buffy shrugged. She couldn't regret how the chip had changed him. "You would've killed me."
He shivered. Then said petulantly, "Still would."
Pursing her lips, Buffy crossed the hall to open her door. The edge of her robe was almost-but-not-quite brushing against his shoulder and she could practically feel the burn of his fingers splayed out on the floor just next to her bare foot. She turned her key in the lock and stepped over the threshold, turning her back to him. "Come in, Spike."
There was a moment of silence before she heard him scramble upright and follow her inside, squelching loudly.
Once the door clicked shut behind him, Buffy's first instinct was to drop her robe and see what happened. But that wasn't who they were to each other. Not now, anyway. Instead, she turned to face him and very carefully sat down on her side of the bed. "Why'd you come after me?"
He cocked his head. "Why'd you come visit?"
She rolled her eyes. "I had a rough day."
He was looking at her like she was crazy now.
Buffy laughed. "I know, I know. Stupid."
"Shouldn't you be hitting up tall, square and borin' for the foot rubs and coddlin'?" His eyes had locked onto her upper thigh, just where her robe parted. Buffy didn't think he was aware he was staring.
"I'm not sure we're together anymore," she said. Their fight that morning hadn't gone as far as all that, but she'd humiliated Riley and she couldn't picture him forgiving or forgetting it lightly.
Silence built between them as Buffy temporarily lost herself in a drop of water running down Spike's throat and along the tip of his collarbone until it disappeared into his t-shirt.
"You're soaking wet," she said, jerking her eyes back up to his face. "Did you, um, want a towel or something?"
"Sure," he said softly. "Ta."
Buffy stood up and readjusted the belt of her robe, checking she was still covered. To get to her closet, she had to walk around to the other side of the bed, right past where Spike stood in the scant space between it and the door. She was almost there when his hand shot out and closed around her wrist.
"Buffy?" His voice was high and desperate, almost a whine.
She closed her eyes as his cold, wet fingers set her skin on fire.
Spike stepped in closer and his boots squelched again, breaking the moment. He released her wrist, and Buffy put the closet door between them while she looked for her other towel.
He shrugged off his coat, letting it drop to the floor with a wet thunk. Buffy turned to see him bending over and unlacing his boots. Clearly, he'd realised the squelching was not doing him any favours. Spike stepped out of the boots easily enough, but only just managed not to face-plant on the bed removing his waterlogged socks.
Buffy knew she had a big goofy grin on her face, but she didn't much care. He might be grace incarnate when he fought, but Spike never could take his socks off standing up with any kind of dignity. When he straightened again, her grin was knocked sideways by the way his wet shirt and jeans clung to his skin, accentuating every line of muscle and dimple of flesh. By the time she noticed he was staring at her mouth like a starving man, she'd bitten her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. His fingers sparked against hers as he took the towel, setting her skin alight a second time.
Spike scrubbed at his hair, making it alternately flop over and stick up in a tangled mess. Then he did that thing with his tongue that, over more years than she cared to remember, had made Buffy's knees go weak with startling reliability. She didn't doubt for a second he'd noticed his effect on her, either.
He dropped the towel on the bed and crossed his arms to grab the ends of his t-shirt, slowly and deliberately lifting it over his head with a little shimmy partway through, just to show off his muscles that bit more. Buffy couldn't decide whether to laugh at the spectacle or move in to lick the water off his skin. "I've missed you so much," she said, despite herself.
Suddenly uncertain again, Spike's t-shirt got caught up in his elbows and he struggled more than he should have to get it the rest of the way off. Buffy, not considering the consequences, moved in to help. The shirt suddenly came free, slapping wetly against both of them on its way to the floor, and he was close enough she could feel his chest moving with every breath, for all that they weren't quite touching yet. His fingers glanced off her hips before he took her hands in his, fingers intertwining, and stared into her eyes. He looked lost.
"You a witch?" he asked. His voice was hoarse with what Buffy recognised as want.
"I'm the slayer."
Buffy initiated the kiss. She'd gone too many years without hearing that whimper-growl Spike made in the back of his throat when she bit along his jaw. And it'd be the best kind of fun to flip every single one of his switches when he didn't know her body well enough to retaliate.
It was also her gift to him – and to herself, although past-her might never appreciate it. Buffy wanted it crystal clear between them that she, in full possession of her faculties, had chosen to go down this road. So she shoved Spike back against the bed, letting it buckle his knees for her. Then she firmly placed his hands palms-down at his sides. She didn't trust herself to go slow if she let him touch, and Buffy wanted to relish this. Spike sat up on his elbows to watch as she sank down to her knees and slowly peeled off his jeans, his pupils blown wide and fingers bunching up the comforter to keep himself still.
Buffy dropped his jeans to the floor and licked the inside of one knee before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses up his inner thigh. She was still exactly as she had been coming out of the shower – robe tied chastely around her, hair all twisted up in a towel – while Spike was now naked and vulnerable.
"Keep seein' you," he whispered. "Every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around."
Buffy bit down on the soft skin at the top of his thigh, hard enough to leave a mark. Spike hissed and writhed beneath her, already out of control. She knew from experience the bruise would bring him back to this moment every time he saw or felt it until it faded. No matter how past-her felt about this tomorrow, he'd know it was real.
"Oh, god, Buffy." He sounded near tears.
Staring deep into his eyes, she stood up and straddled his legs, rubbing herself against him while she held his wrists down with her body weight. "Be still," she said firmly.
"Tell me you want me?" he begged.
"I will always want you," Buffy said softly, watching love bloom across his face for the first time.
She forced herself to stay awake when Spike finally passed out, nose mashed between her breasts and periodically kissing and stroking her in his sleep. Deliciously sated and basking in afterglow, Buffy adjusted the comforter around them both and listened to the rain.
When the phone started ringing, she ignored it. Buffy was far too comfortable to move – although the idea of going out to slay things once the rain stopped was attractive. Maybe she'd even let Spike come, if he promised not to steal her kills. She twined her fingers in his hair, idly wondering how past-her was going to rationalise her way out of the last few hours, and if Spike would still need to go through the creepy-stalker stage of abandoning evil this year.
There was a final beep of the answering machine, and then Riley's voice came through: "I know you're still at Giles' place, but I wanted to say again that I'm sorry, and that I love you. When your friends put you back together again, I hope you'll understand where I was coming from. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow." He paused."I really do love you, Buffy." The machine beeped again, and recited the time: nine forty-seven – definitely after the demon had showed up at Xander's place the first time around.
Buffy's heart leapt to her throat. She sat up, half-rousing Spike, who tightened his grip around her middle.
"Quit it!" she exclaimed, gently but firmly pushing him away.
His eyes were just about half-lidded as he rolled off of her, groaning in protest.
"Promise me something?"
Spike became marginally more attentive. "Mmm?"
"Don't ever let me forget that Ben Wilkinson needs to die," Buffy said seriously. Then she grinned at him. "I need to go and rescue the other Buffy now."
Spike burrowed back under the comforter and pulled a pillow over his head while Buffy threw on whatever clothes she could find as fast as she could. She ran all the way to Giles' place, hoping against hope that rod-boy hadn't managed to find weak-Buffy alone and unprotected.
