Inspiration from Taylor Swift's song "I Almost Do" from her re-released Red Album.
Set 8 months after Chosen. Spike has already been resurrected, and Buffy is in Europe. Goes non canon away from Angel and the comics.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the brilliant Buffyverse nor this song.
Chapter 4. Confessions and Regrets
Turning in the mirror, Buffy groaned in annoyance.
She tugged on the sleeves of her white blouse and frowned. This one seemed too 'working in a stuffy office cubicle' which was definitely not the look she wanted for this date.
Ugh. There I go again.
She rolled her eyes at herself as she changed tops to a lacy red camisole.
Who am I even kidding. It's probably not even a date to Spike, not after I blew him off and ignored him for months. Not exactly a romantic invitation...so he probably just wants to catch up. Anyway, why does it even matter if it's a date or not?
But she knew she was in denial - why else would she care so much about what she was wearing? The pile of discarded clothing on her bed taunted her attempts of denial in caring about this maybe or maybe not date. That, along with her drifting mind as she coasted through her entire work day in a distracted, dream-like state.
Her eyes flitted to the mirror and widened. The deep plunging neckline on this red top was way too 'come and get it' for her to feel remotely comfortable wearing.
"Fuck!" She whined loudly, pulling off the red camisole and sending it flying across the room. "Am I Goldilocks here?!"
On the other side of the shared wall, Spike smirked to himself.
Standing by the open window, he took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled. He thanked the stars he didn't ever have to worry about what to wear anywhere. His uniform of all head to toe black clothing made things so much easier.
But that didn't stop the feeling of his stomach doing backflips and the lump gathered at the back of his throat.
He took a last drag on his cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray. Closing the window behind him, he sighed to himself.
Bloody hell. Are you a sodding schoolboy taking your first girl out to the dance?
Shaking his head, he drifted to the dining room and poured himself a glass of scotch. He felt his skin nervously hum with anticipation. Hopefully some liquid courage down the hatchet can subdue that.
A small part of him nagged doubt in his mind if this was even a date to her. After all, she did ignore his efforts in contacting her for months, so why the hell would she even be interested in him now (while sober)? But he tried to brush off this uncertainty for it wasn't doing him and his nerves any favors.
He sighed. In all his undead life, he never recalled feeling so uncomfortable in his skin before taking a girl out. That was the bloody ponce William - not cool, smooth-talking, self-assured Spike.
"I hope this will do."
Buffy emerged in a low-cut, figure-hugging black dress that skimmed to the middle of her tan thighs. Her golden hair lay loosely in waves instead of her everyday ponytail. Her knee length leather boots were snug against her defined legs, simultaneously dressing down her outfit with practicality while pairing nicely with her black dress.
She liked to call this her red alert outfit - when all else fails and in case of style emergencies, bring on the little black dress to save the day.
Spike almost dropped the glass of scotch to the floor.
"How do I look?" A teasing gleam shined in her eyes as she smiled shyly. She turned around slowly to give him all the angles as he gulped.
He blinked, his mouth slightly open and completely stunned.
"Stake me through the heart, why don't ya, pet?" He rasped weakly, scratching the back of his head.
She tried not to laugh. She knew the effect she was having on him and it was definitely a needed ego boost. It had been forever since she had any sort of reason to dress up beyond her basic jeans or sweats combo with a plain tee. She felt uncertain at first pulling on this dress that had been gathering dust in her closet, but now it was as if a part of her felt like her old self again.
Thank you trusty little black dress to save the day!
Gathering himself, he cleared his throat as his eyes roved admiringly over her in amazement, drinking her in. "You look absolutely beautiful. Bloody stunning."
"Thanks," she beamed brightly. "You don't look too bad yourself."
She winked and tossed her loose blonde tresses over her shoulder. A wave of her vanilla and strawberry scent washed over his senses, and he felt a buzz that wasn't just from the scotch.
Months of dreaming about her could never top this. Not even remotely close.
Date or not, just seeing her in this dress was a fever dream come true. He silently thanked the PTB for bestowing him a whole score of good fortune he doubted he deserved since his arrival.
Buffy reached into the coat closet and grabbed her leather jacket, nodding to him to head out.
He finished the last of his scotch in one gulp.
Buggerin' fuck. Get yourself together, you ponce.
After sharing two flights of whiskey between them, the initial jumble of nerves and anticipation between Spike and Buffy seemed to ease down, the conversation freely flowing as much as the refills of scotch.
"So why Scotland?" Spike mused. "Clearly you didn't pick it for the culture, after livin' here for almost a sodding year and not doing shite."
She shrugged, absentmindedly sipping from her glass. "Truth or lie?"
He raised an eyebrow, sipping the last of his scotch and setting his empty glass aside.
"Lie. I wanted to explore somewhere new. Far different from Sunnydale." She picked at the worn wooden edge of the bistro tabletop.
"Truth? I wanted to be far away from everyone else. No one was setting up base here in Scotland as we drew up the plans. So I took it and ran."
She stared coldly at her half empty glass, her gaze expressionless. "It was difficult to watch everyone else move on with their lives like nothing happened. Like we didn't just lose our homes…lost everything."
Her eyes flickered for a moment with grief before resuming their steely expression.
"To them, Sunnydale collapsing was like nothing. Let's all hurry up and move on to the next chapter." She slowly traced her fingers along the rim of her glass, the bitterness veiled behind her icy stare.
"But I stayed behind, stuck in place. It's as if I never left Sunnydale, like my house at the bottom of that pit." Her voice was hollow, void of any emotion.
Spike searched her cold eyes. She took a long sip of scotch, the amber liquid burning a path down her throat.
"All I have left of my old house is a box of photographs and Mr. Gordo. It was all I remembered to grab and throw into a backpack to bring to that school bus."
Buffy paused. "I regret not grabbing more things. Like the photo albums Grandma made for us. Or Mom's jewelry that she always wanted me and Dawn to have. Dawn loved that locket necklace that Mom usually wore…it had a picture of the three of us. And I always wanted that ruby ring of hers…I imagined wearing it one day…" She trailed off wistfully, lost in her train of thought.
She suddenly realized she had never confessed any of these things to anyone. She usually kept all of this tightly locked away, throwing the key far from the reachable parts anyone else can come close to reaching, even herself most of the time.
This scotch must be working its magic. Some kind of truth serum.
She came back to herself, sighing. "Everything else is lost in that pit. All those things that meant so much, just gone. So it's hard to look at those pictures I did save. They're all still in that box and I just can't open it. Because they remind me of what I lost from that time of my life, not of happiness."
"…So is that why your walls are so bloody empty?"
Buffy shot him a withering glare.
Spike threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oi, do something with those sodding walls! At least hang up an art print here or there. The bleakness is an eyesore to look at," he grumbled.
Despite the seriousness of the subject before being interrupted, she couldn't help but smirk at him.
"William the Bloody, who has rampaged throughout Europe and seen the unimaginable, can't handle some menacing blank white walls?"
He glowered. "So much empty space, wastin' their bloody design potential."
"The blank walls really bother you that much, huh?"
"Obviously!"
"Then in that case, I like them that way," she shot back, amused.
He rolled his eyes and glared. "You stubborn bint. What I'd do to those walls…make them real posh."
She shrugged, smirking to herself. She finished her scotch and set the glass aside along with Spike's. A server quickly passed by and picked both glasses up, and they both nodded for a refill.
Spike shifted his gaze back to her and watched her closely, the teasing reflected in his piercing blue eyes fading to a darkened sorrow.
"So is that why you didn't call me? Am I like those pictures, you can't deal with me since I'm part of that past life to you?" He asked quietly.
He tried to hold back on asking the question that has been weighing on his mind for so long, but it seemed the scotch whittled away at his remaining reservations.
Buffy stared at him, her steely gaze broken.
Where do I even begin…
"I thought about you every day," she confessed truthfully. "But I was afraid."
"Afraid of what, pet?"
"Afraid to say goodbye again."
There it was. Her somber confession only confirmed what he already sensed was the truth, and it hurt him to see her drown in her fears.
Spike reached out across the bistro table, gently taking her small hand in his. "I'm not going anywhere, Buffy. Like I said before, I'm here to stay as long as you'll have me."
He realized that she needed this - this verbal affirmation from him as a reminder he wasn't going to vanish again from her life like everyone else. Like what he did not that long ago.
"Don't you hate me?" A strange wave of deja vu rushed through her for some reason. Something flashed in his eyes at her question, his lips curving into a smile.
"I don't," he reassured her. "But for what, pet?"
"For not calling you back." For not opening up. For pushing you away like I always push away everyone I love because it's easier.
"I would be lyin' to you if I said I wasn't gutted. Because it did bloody hurt like hell. And yeah, I might have wanted to hate you at times. But I couldn't."
Buffy winced. I deserve that.
Spike sighed heavily. "For a while, I thought you just moved on and wanted nothin' to do with me." He glanced at her eyes that shimmered with sadness. "Or you hated me."
"Why would you think I'd hate you?" She questioned, eyebrows raised in confusion.
"For leavin' you."
"It's hard to hate someone who left because they died saving the world," she scoffed.
"Yeah well, being pulled back to the living kinda stole my thunder," he replied bitterly. "I was afraid you hated me for leavin', and then I wouldn't be the hero you thought I was now that I'm back."
"Of course I still see you as that hero, Spike," she rolled her eyes. "You made that decision to die to save the world. There's no changing that."
Spike was quiet as he absorbed that, letting her words sink in. Under the warm glow of the distillery's bar lights, their eyes met and shared a soft gaze of realized mutual understanding and acceptance.
"You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, pet," he murmured softly.
She smiled, nodding. "Same. To hear that you don't hate me."
"And of course we would think we both hated each other," he smirked. "Not the best at communicating, are we?"
"That's an understatement."
He barked out a laugh, and she couldn't help but join in with a fit of giggles. Their shared track record of miscommunication in their rollercoaster of a relationship was impressively lengthy and colorfully decorated, to say the least.
The server silently returned with refilled glasses of scotch, setting them down at the table as the couple laughed together.
As their laughter faded to a comfortable silence, Spike reached for his scotch and continued. "So for a long while I felt that - wonderin' if you hate me or want nothin' to do with me if you moved on. Bloody terrified to face you. Up until last night, showin' up at your door like I did."
"What changed?" Buffy asked quietly.
"The way you looked at me."
He paused. "I understand you need space and time to work things out, pet. Took a look at you and realized that your grief wasn't targeted at only me - it comes from a deeper place you need to heal within yourself."
Her eyes widened at his words. For the first time in a very long time, she felt seen. Listened to and understood instead of being rushed along to fit the mold of what others wanted her to be. It was unnerving, as she felt exposed after retreating within her walls of isolation for so long.
"Since when did you become so insightful?" She mused.
Spike shrugged and sipped his scotch. "I've come to know you quite well, love."
Buffy blinked at him, blushing.
He understood her fear of abandonment, how it was like to pull up one's walls and hide behind them in isolation. It was a lonely place, but no one could hurt her there. It was a place he remembered all too well, how she pulled and pushed him away after she was brought back from the dead. Out of all people, he would be the one to know her best when it came to her grief. He experienced it, front and center, in one of the worst periods of time in her life.
"So why did you show up at my door if you still felt like I hated you?"
"Just difficult to stay away from you, pet," he smirked. "Figured you can't help yourself around me, too."
"That's pretty bold of you to assume," she challenged him.
"Am I wrong?" He leered.
She couldn't answer him right away. Instead, she sheepishly ducked her head down as she remembered all too well last night's events.
Looking down at the table, she realized they have been holding hands the entire time since he reached out for hers. In her past life, Past Buffy would have recoiled and snatched her hand away in guilt at herself for allowing such a thing. Maybe towards the end, before Sunnydale collapsed, she would have acted differently as the tide of her emotions towards Spike was vastly changing and she knew it then - but only finally addressed it to him when it was too late.
But here we are now…and now, we have time, right? She glanced at their joined hands, still not moving hers away. A feeling of contentment settled warmly over her - maybe it was the scotch? - and she found herself relishing in it.
She squeezed his hand affectionately and smiled softly. Spike's eyes lit up at the contact, the previous playful teasing replaced with an unmistakable tenderness.
"Christ, how I've missed you, Buffy," Spike whispered.
He traced his thumb in gentle circles along the back of her hand. He added, "We've all missed you. Especially Dawn."
Buffy stiffened and bit her lip. A swirl of emotions fluttered through her at his words - elation upon hearing the sweetness of him missing her, and immense guilt at the vague mention of the old Scoobies and especially her sister.
And there was something in the way he was looking at her that reflected there was more he wanted to say…but he seemed to hold himself back.
She searched his eyes, unsure of what to make of what his troubled gaze was holding back from telling her. She felt her defenses slowly creep back in.
"I'm sure she does," she shrugged. She gently moved her hand away from his, immediately feeling a loss at the disconnection from his touch.
A glimmer of hurt flashed through Spike's eyes. He quickly tried to mask it with an inquisitive look instead. He cocked his head to the side and stared at her earnestly.
"Who is the Slayer without her friends and family?" He quietly asked.
Buffy took a swig from her drink. She set her glass back down before curtly answering. "A Slayer."
"Rubbish," Spike scoffed.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"But that's not you, love. You know that."
He continued. "You need your friends and the little Bit. That's what makes you different…what kept you fightin' for so long."
"What happens if I'm tired of fighting?" She muttered. "I don't need you to tell me how to live my life, Spike."
"Problem is, you aren't livin' it. And you haven't been for a while, love."
She bit her lip, a lump gathering at the back of her throat.
He sighed heavily. "Your life isn't in the bottom of the pit of Sunnyhell. Come back to the living."
Come back to me.
Buffy stared into his blue eyes that reflected such sincerity and insistence, that she felt a strong tug at her guarded heart. She vividly remembered this look…the look he gave pleading her to not give up and that he believed in her. It was the look that haunted her when she remembered those last days before Sunnydale collapsed. The look that told her that she's the one.
"I'll try," she murmured softly.
She could try. If not for herself - which she barely felt like she could even on her best days - then maybe for him. For the one who believed in her even when she struggled in the darkest of days to believe in herself.
Spike nodded, his lips curving into a smile. That's my girl.
After a few more refills of scotch and further loosening of inhibitions, Spike and Buffy were laughing away as she was recounting stories of training the new slayers at the academy base.
"I swear, the number of holes from botched sparring and throwing weapons has turned our training room walls into swiss cheese," she giggled.
"Blimey," Spike chuckled. "Well, I'm sure your early days weren't so spotless and damage free."
Buffy laughed aloud, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You should have seen what was left of my dad's car."
"Slayer powers or not, that poor car didn't stand a chance against you, love," Spike shook his head, laughing away.
She shot him an annoyed look which spurred on even louder laughter.
They were suddenly interrupted by two glasses of scotch being set on the table in front of them.
"Uh, I don't think we ordered these? We're still good," Buffy questioned, confused. She gestured towards their still almost full glasses.
The server smiled warmly, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She shyly eyed Spike.
"No worries, Billy Idol," she replied with a wink. "Drinks on the house."
Spike raised an eyebrow with an amused gleam in his eyes, nodding. "Ta, pet."
Her eyes lingered over him appreciatively, roving across his handsome features.
"My name's Olivia. I'll be your server for the rest of the night. Let me know if you need anything," Olivia nodded with a bright smile. She walked away with a sway of her hips, her curtain of auburn hair shining behind her under the glow of the distillery's bar lights.
"Well, that was nice of her," Spike mused. He sipped from his glass, staring after her.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Before she could stop herself, a flare of anger surged through her as her green-eyed monster awakened with a snarl. What the fuck was that about?
"What did you do?" she glared at him.
Spike shrugged. "I didn't do shite. Just been sittin' here with you, pet."
The booze was certainly not helping her judgement. But she was too irritated to even bother trying to think beyond the scotch fueled haze of envy and impulse.
She glowered at him, suspicious. "Yeah. Okay."
He groaned. "Buffy…"
After being with Dru for over a century, Spike was all too familiar with reading into the madness of passive aggressive curt responses. This did not bode well for him at all.
"Don't you 'Buffy' me," she shot back sourly, crossing her arms.
He narrowed his gaze at her. "Okay then. Slayer."
Buffy's green eyes blazed in anger. "Fuck off, Spike!" She spat.
She shot up from her seat and stormed off in a huff.
Fellow bar patrons paused in the middle of their conversations, their eyes following the loudly unfolding scene before them.
Bewildered, Spike raked a frustrated hand through his hair. "Bloody hell! What are you going off about?"
Spike quickly yanked out a wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it on their table before sprinting after her through the distillery's front doors. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around.
"Buggerin' fuck! What the hell did I do?!"
Her annoyingly beautiful face scrunched up into a fierce scowl, and he growled. "You didn't seem to mind her flirting with you and getting those free drinks!"
He threw his hands up in defense. "Well, they're free! And I can't help who gets attracted to me!"
"Why the hell else would she give you free drinks?!" She shouted. "Did you charm her while you ducked into the bathroom? Sneak a quick one?"
"Bloody hell!" He yelled, exasperated. "No, I didn't flirt with her! I don't have a soddin' clue why she gave me free drinks!"
At this point, Buffy was too blinded by the anger and hurt clouding her judgement - the tipsiness was adding fuel to the fire.
"How could you flirt with someone else on our date?!" She blurted out, the hurt evident in her voice.
"Christ! Are you off your bird?!" He shouted back, incredulous at her circular reasoning. "You were there! I already told you, I never flirted with her!"
He suddenly halted, his mind registering on what she just said. "Wait - so you do think this is a date?"
Buffy froze, eyes wide. "Umm. Do you?"
Spike rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Don't be daft. Why the fuck would I flirt with someone else while I'm on a date with you?!"
"And why the fuck would I be making such an effort to dress up for you if this wasn't a date?!" She shot back.
They stared at each other in shock. The anger left her in a breath. He scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face.
He shook his head and chuckled darkly to himself. "Again, not the best at communicating, are we? Not our strong suit."
"Again. To no one's surprise," she sighed tiredly.
They caught each other's gaze and couldn't help but break into laughter.
"Jealous, huh?" Spike smirked, a teasing gleam in his eye. She blushed furiously.
"I guess I was a little," Buffy admitted in embarrassment.
"A little?" He laughed aloud, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. "All I did was look at the bird in thanks for the free drinks, barely said a sodding word and off with my head!"
She looked away, mortified. "Definitely not one of my best moments."
Damn you, green-eyed monster. And thanks a lot, scotch. Open the reckless floodgates, why don't you?
He winked at her. "Gotta say, pet, the mad jealousy suits you."
The fact that she was so possessive of him was definitely a turn on for Spike, for it awakened a primal part of him - a feeling of being wanted. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"Remind me next time to not drink so much," she sighed, running her hands through her hair.
The mention of 'next time' widened Spike's grin.
"Will do."
Buffy paused. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, clearing her throat. "So…this is me doing that communication-ey thing. You know, the thing we're not so great at. Are you seeing anyone back at home?"
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "No. Like I said, I'm on a date with you, you loony bint."
"I know. But I mean…could there be someone casually waiting in the wings?"
He shook his head, the mix of irritation and affection evident in his intense blue eyed stare.
"No, it's just you and me, love," he firmly said. He held his hand out for her and she accepted it, lacing her fingers with his. "No one else."
She nodded. "Good. No one else on my end either."
They shared a shy look, eyes locked in with each other. She felt those pesky butterflies flutter through her stomach, goosebumps rising on her skin as she stood under his tender gaze.
She was never the best at using words to express her emotions - he understood that about her all too well and loved her regardless. But the way she looked at him in that moment expressed more than even he could muster with his poet's heart.
Spike brought the back of her hand up to his soft lips, giving it a gentle kiss that sent shivers up her spine.
"Now, let's get outta here. Made quite the scene," Spike mused, side eyeing the distillery they rushed out of a moment ago.
Buffy grimaced, suddenly hyper aware of where they were currently at and who could be watching them. She was too ashamed and didn't dare look back at the distillery for causing such a scene.
"So where to?"
A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes. "I was thinkin' getting a proper tour of Scotland. Get my spot of violence in."
She nodded, sharing a similar gleam in her stare. All this pent up tension and stress needed a release. Nothing like kicking some baddies to get a good workout in.
"Thought you'd never ask."
They bounded up the cobblestone path towards the nearest cemetery, hand in hand with a sprint in their steps.
A/N: As always, thanks for reading! I know this chapter was very dialogue heavy. But hey, these two have a lot of catching up to do. Let me know your thoughts! Cheers!