Inspiration from Taylor Swift's song "I Almost Do" from her re-released Red Album. Possibly a one-shot but very likely can continue this.
I always wanted to explore the emotions post Chosen and the emotional turmoil Buffy would feel upon hearing the news of Spike's return.
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 1. It's Wine O'clock
Closing and locking the door behind her, Buffy sighed heavily and tossed aside her bag on the floor. She yanked her phone out of her pocket and threw it on the couch as she passed by the living room. It was a long and trying day, training the new Slayers. She quickly made a beeline to the wine rack. It was times like these that she was grateful to not have any roommates to engage in fruitless conversation with about her day when all she wanted was to drown out the noise.
Day in and day out, it was the same routine. Get up after a sleepless night, chug down her morning coffee, head over to the academy to go over assessment training exams with the classes of Slayers, get pulled into meeting after meeting with fellow instructors to review progress reports and lesson plans, leave to go on evening patrol, and then finally back home to her apartment. Maybe stop for an errand or two to grab groceries and restock the regularly depleted wine rack or liquor cabinet.
Going through the same damn motions. Same old routine for months now ever since…Buffy quickly made a grab for the nearest wine bottle and the wine opener.
Nope. Can't go there.
After twisting out the cork, she grabbed a wine glass and began to pour.
I bet
This time of night you're still up
I bet
You're tired from a long hard week
I bet
You're sittin' in your chair by the window
Looking out at the city
And I bet
Sometimes you wonder 'bout me
Buffy's eyes widened when she realized she absentmindedly filled her wine glass dangerously close to the brim. She placed the bottle on the counter and bit her lip. She stared at the glass, briefly considering pouring some of the overfilled vino down the drain then shrugged to herself. Who is she even kidding? She took a long sip and closed her eyes. Blue eyes filled her mind before she could stop herself. Those piercing blue eyes as the world as she knew that was him ended.
And I just wanna tell you
It takes everything in me not to call you
And I wish I could run to you
And I hope you know that every time I don't
I almost do
I almost do
Buffy made her way to the couch, collapsing into the leather cushions. Another long sip of wine passed through her lips as she eyed her phone. She bit her lip and sighed.
His phone calls had gone unanswered, missed along with the numerous other calls from her concerned friends.
I bet
You think I either moved on or hate you
'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply
I bet
It never ever occurred to you
That I can't say "Hello" to you
And risk another goodbye
It has been months since she found out about him being resurrected in Los Angeles. She remembered that exact moment hearing the news, how it felt…the wind being knocked out of her lungs, as she gripped the phone to the point of almost crushing it into plastic bits in her hands. Shock, denial, wonder, hope…that last one scared the shit out of her. And it was snuffed out just as quickly as it flickered upon learning he returned as a ghost. He returned, but noncorporeal.
Of course.
Buffy bitterly scoffed to herself, raising the wine glass to her lips and taking several long sips. The universe- or rather, the PTB- had a sick fucking sense of humor to dangle that bit of hope in front of her and crush it just as quickly. Her longing to feel his skin against hers, to touch his face as she embraced him…to see him but not even be able to touch him was a twisted irony that made her sick with grief, as what little hope she felt for the first time in months shattered her.
It was in that moment of soul crushing hope that she realized she could not do this. She could not let herself believe that he was truly back. She could not let him back into her heart and her world, only to risk watching him get snatched away from her again.
She barely survived it the first time.
No, don't do that. Don't go there.
Buffy quickly got up in a vain attempt to pull herself out of her spiraling thoughts. She needed to refill her empty wine glass anyway.
Upon emptying the last remnants of the wine bottle into her mouth- there really wasn't a lot left- she hastily grabbed another bottle off the wine rack. She twisted off the cork and raised the bottle to her lips, taking a long drink as she tried to drown out her thoughts. Intense blue eyes kept staring at her every time she closed her green ones.
Fuck.
She abandoned the wine glass on the counter and took the wine bottle with her as she returned to her post on the couch. She didn't need the glass anyway at this point in her routine.
And I just wanna tell you
It takes everything in me not to call you
And I wish I could run to you
And I hope you know that every time I don't
I almost do
I almost do
God…I miss you. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Were you there with me?" "I was."
The tears streamed down face as she let out a shuddering breath.
Memories of her mourning for him flashed through her mind, her steely self control of not allowing herself to feel anything crumbling into pieces all around her as the alcohol flowed freely through her veins. In the outside world, her steely controlled nature held a neutral front to never let the emotions rise to the surface with anyone. But here, in the confines of her living room, she can let her emotions overflow as much as the wine.
Is this how he felt in those one hundred and forty seven days I was gone?
Another long drink from the wine bottle passed her trembling lips.
He was robbed from her right when she professed her love for him all too late. And that sad smile of his as he denied her confession, knowing that if he allowed it, that he could not follow through with what was about to happen. He had to save her and the world, and get her out of there.
There was no stopping the sobs now.
Her scars of past abandonment- her father, Angel, Parker, and Riley- were ripped right open when she mourned him.
He died a hero's death. He left her- to save the world. But the wound of abandonment saw no difference to rationalize the reason. He was gone. He died. They all leave her.
And she was left alone yet again as she withdrew from the world and her friends to drown in her sorrows.
Buffy plummeted into darkness and she had no idea how, but like her literal grave she managed to claw her way out of it and made it to the surface. Just barely. And so there was no way she could buy into the idea that he was truly back without abandoning her again. Her surviving another abandonment could be the final blow to unravelling her and she could not let that happen to herself.
So the calls were left unanswered, never returned. She hid behind her familiar walls, the numbness enveloping her as she denied herself to feel anything again with the risk of losing herself to the final blow that she could not crawl out of next time.
She shut everyone out, only managing the bare minimum of human social interaction while working at the academy before retreating back behind her walls night after night of numbing solitude and booze.
It was killing her to not speak to him…but she could not let herself believe he is here to stay. Noncorporeal, corporeal…it didn't make a difference right? They all leave her. To believe that he was here to stay would mean allowing herself to have hope again. And what was hope but a fleeting, damning thing?
Often late at night, as Buffy stumbled into bed, she would indulge in those longing thoughts of him…allowing the piercing blue eyes to haunt her as her fingers trailed across the dips and valleys of his marble skin, his lips pressing against hers as she moaned. This was the most she would allow herself to briefly feel, replaying memories of them together in her mind on a loop as she slipped away into her restless dreams.
Oh, we made quite a mess, babe
It's probably better off this way
And I confess, babe
In my dreams you're touching my face
And asking me if I wanna try again with you
And I almost do
A loud knock pounded at the door, breaking her out of the deafening silence and her drowning thoughts. She blinked owlishly. Who the fuck is here at two in the morning?
Buffy stood up a little too quickly and wobbled on her feet. Those two bottles of wine were catching up to her as the room spun. Another round of knocks pounded at her door, urgently demanding her to answer.
"Um. What the fuck?" she said aloud.
Despite her better judgment, she staggered her way to the front door. Maybe it was the alcohol talking…or she truly just didn't care anymore. If this is how I'm going to go, just take me now.
And I just wanna tell you
It takes everything in me, not to call you
And I wish I could run to you
And I hope you know that every time I don't
I almost do
I almost do
She flung open the door and gasped.
This is a dream right? Surely she had way too much wine tonight- and so this must be another wine drunk induced fantasy. She must be asleep at this point, tossing and turning in her bed.
But the all too familiar intoxicating smell of leather, cigarettes, whiskey, and spice flooded her senses and she suddenly came crashing back down to Earth.
I bet
This time of night you're still up
I bet
You're tired from a long hard week
I bet
You're sittin' in your chair by the window
Looking out at the city
And I hope
Sometimes you wonder 'bout me
"Spike?" she weakly whispered. She leaned against the doorframe, feeling her legs go weak.
Piercing blue eyes shimmered under the moonlight.
"Hello, cutie."