Out In The Open
By Sabrina
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Spoilers: Takes place after Buffy's resurrection in an imagined mid-Season Six episode.
Disclaimers: None of this is mine, all of it is Whedon's, ME's, Fox's and UPN's.
Summary: Buffy tells Spike once more that it will never work between them. He is royally pissed off. She is surprised and chagrined. What happens next is my dearest wish for the show (which of course will never actually happen). Thanks to Kevin Smith for plaguing me with romantic scenes that will never take place anywhere, in real life or otherwise.
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Buffy turned the corner into the cemetery and heaved a sigh of pure boredom. She was alone for a change, and glad of it, but the quietness of the evening was almost annoying. Now does the mantle of the chosen one weigh heavily on my shoulders, she thought morosely. The same old same old. Another patrol, another dollar. No, wait; faulty cliché. I don't get paid for this. Yet another of the wonderful perks of being a slayer.
It was probably enough that since her resurrection her main activity in life had been dealing with being the head of the Summers household. Hello, major responsibility. But after all the insanity and pain of the last year -- her mother's death, finding out that her baby sister was actually some thousands-of-years-old parcel of mystical energy, and then having to fend off a very pesky hellgod who was after her -- her Slayer activities had slowed to what was first a blessed, then a predictable, crawl. It seemed as if all the demons and vamps in Sunnydale had either taken a long holiday away from the Hellmouth, or were holed up somewhere planning the next Armageddon. Great. A truly lovely prospect.
It was weird. The most action she'd seen lately was dealing with those dimwits Warren and Jonathan and their new pal Andrew. Big woo. Their meager threat made the absence of a new Big Bad all the more glaring. Buffy knew she should be glad about this down time, but hey -- even in the best of times every Slayer needed a little demon whoop-ass to break up the monotony. And that's how everything was now: downright monotonous.
Buffy stretched her arms up slowly as she walked, trying to work out some tightness in her shoulders. She reached up, pointing the stake in her hand skyward like the Statue of Liberty's torch. Give me your undead, your evil, your demon masses yearning to rip throats… Boy, talk about perverting the memory of Mrs. Stowe's fourth grade class Freedom Pageant. Poor lady's probably spinning in her grave. Gee, I know how that feels, she thought brightly.
She sighed again, shoving the stake in her back pocket. Where were all the damn vamps?
As if on cue, she smelled cigarette smoke and heard the slight creak of leather behind her. Without turning around, she said, "Hi, Spike."
He caught up with her then, matching her stride. "Slayer. You're out again. Anything special on for tonight?" They glanced at each other, both looking away almost immediately.
"Nope. Business as usual. The finding and staking of various unredeemed vampires."
"Ha. Very funny."
"Wasn't meant to be."
"All right. Where are the others?"
"Occupied. Xander and Anya are checking out chapels and other alternative wedding sites. Dawn's doing her homework. Willow and Tara are spending some quality time together, though if you ask me, all their time together is quality time."
"Huh. A little jealous of the Wiccas, Buffy?"
"No. Why should I be? I like my friends to be happy."
"But…it irks you a little, doesn't it, pet?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just saying maybe you're missing something in your life."
"Don't start. I'm all right."
"Oh, I know. Right as rain." His eyebrows went up, part of an overly elaborate, completely ironic "innocent" expression he'd perfected over the years.
She shot him an annoyed look. "Oh, I get it. Mr. Perceptive strikes again. You think you know me so well. Well, you don't. I wish you'd just lay off all this "ooh, I can read into your soul, Slayer" stuff already. It's boring."
He snorted. "Sorry. Obviously I've hit a nerve."
"See? There you go again. Spike, you so do not know everything about me. Especially not now."
"And why not now?"
"I mean, now that I'm back and in control of my life."
He looked at her incredulously. "Well, how soon they forget. You're an ingrate, you know that?"
"Ingrate? Who's an ingrate?
"You are. Tell me, who've you been running to for the last three months, every time you had some "oh-dear-I-was-dead" flashback? Don't recall Harris staying up with you all night to talk about how disoriented you felt, or how overwhelmed you were about finances. Ever tell Willow how scared you were when Bite Size started acting out last Halloween, or call up Giles long distance to bitch and moan…"
"Stop! Okay! So you've been there for me, I'll admit it! Jeez, what do you want, a medal?"
"No. Just what I've asked for about ten thousand times before -- a little respect and consideration."
"Fine. Respect and consideration. You've got it. Happy now?"
"Wow. Thanks. What's wrong with you? Other than the bitch being back and all, that is…"
"Spike! Stop. Just…stop. Be quiet and patrol with me, or go somewhere else."
"Fine. Quiet."
They walked along for a few minutes in silence. Finally, she spoke.
"You know -- I know why you're doing this, always bringing up stuff about how lonely and isolated I am and how it's altering my personality."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"I know you think someday I'm going to have this great big epiphany and realize how much I, um, need you…"
He started, annoyed that she'd seen through him. "That's…not true."
"Oh yeah? Be honest. You still feel the same way about me, right? Come on. Let's get it all out in the open."
The both stopped walking. Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away while Buffy stood before him, arms crossed.
"Well?" Buffy stared at him as if challenging him to lie.
"Ahhh. Okay. I'll admit it. Nothing's changed for me. What did you expect?"
"I expect you to respect my wishes in this matter."
"Well…that would be fine, if I knew what your wishes were."
"Spike." Her tone and expression softened a little. "I have way too much to think about in my life right now. I can't think about you, or anyone else. I have to think about Dawn first, and how we're gonna rebuild our lives. It's nothing personal, it's just how it is. You have to understand that."
Spike looked straight up as if appealing to some god for guidance. He lit another cigarette, then smiled at her sardonically, taking a bit of paper off his tongue. "Nothing personal. Uh huh. Mean to tell me if I was a nice, normal human man lapping at your heels and doing any number of accomodating things for you all the time, you still wouldn't give me the time of day?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Probably not."
"Oh. Right. As they say back home, pull the other one, dear."
"Spike! We've been over this before! You're a vampire. Granted, you've got a chip in your head that keeps you from killing anyone, especially me, but who knows how long that will last?" She started counting off, finger by finger. "You're undead, you don't have a job, you're up all night, you dress in unrelieved black…"
He gave a little cackle. "Yeah -- and I spent the better part of your last death experience protecting your sister and helping your precious Scoobies keep old Sunny D as demon-free as possible…
"Which you only did because you're in love with me. Don't pretend you did it because you've really changed."
"What are you saying? All that time you were gone I was just pretending to be good? Watching over Dawn, killing vamps -- it was all just a big show 'cause I thought you were looking down from on high, watching my every move?"
"No! I mean, yes. No. Argh. Why do you always have to make this more complicated than it is?"
"Oh -- sorry. I forgot. I'm lame. That's right." He flicked his cigarette away with an impatient fling of his arm.
"Spike." Buffy stopped, closing her eyes. This wasn't coming out right. "Look. I'm sorry about that lame thing. I was angry and I was drunk. You know I didn't mean it."
"Right. You know something? I think you did mean it. I think no matter what I do, or say, or bloody demonstrate or think or feel, it will never, ever be good enough for you. So you know what? I give up." He shoved his hands back in his pockets and started to walk quickly away from her.
"Spike!" Oh, this was too much. Now he was walking away! The nerve! "Spike, stop!"
He ignored her and kept going. This felt good, he thought. The anger was superceding his usual pain and longing for a change. It almost made him feel buoyant, especially when he heard her running footsteps behind him.
"Spike, I said stop!" She grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You're being totally unreasonable about this." She paused, trying to catch her breath. "I do appreciate everything you've done for Dawn and me and everybody else. I mean that. I never said I didn't want to be friends, or that I want you out of my life. I don't. It's just this other stuff -- it gets in the way."
He stared at her. She'd never get it. Unbelievable. "Sorry. How stupid of me." He turned, and looked up at the starry sky, hoping for some stray meteor to fall and vaporize him. "I forgot -- the world revolves around you, and what you think and feel." He snorted, his bitterness taking shape at last. "Actually, that's exactly how I felt for a long time. The world revolves around the Slayer. How can I make her notice me? How can I make her see me? How can I get her to realize that of all the creatures in this ridiculous sodding world, I'm the one who loves her completely, without reservation or condition?" He swallowed hard, and turned to stare at her, his gaze inexorable. "This is too hard. Even for me, too fucking hard. You know -- I think I've reached my limit."
He waved his hand at her vaguely and suddenly sat down hard on the ground. He drew his knees up and crossed his arms over them. He seemed sapped of all energy, something odd for such a kinetic being. "Look, Buffy. I will always love you. I will always want you. It's so much a part of me I could never separate it from myself even if I tried. But I can't keep running into this…wall of yours. I'll never be enough for you. Okay. I get it. Horrible vampire, unworthy of love. Point taken. Run along now."
She looked down at him, feeling an uncharacteristic knot of apprehension in her stomach. She knelt down beside him. "Spike. It doesn't have to be this way. Why is it so either/or with you? We can still be friends, we can still patrol together, even hang out…"
"NO!" He sprang up furiously. "None of that is gonna happen anymore! Even if I have to leave this bloody town…" He stopped suddenly, controlling himself with an effort. "No. No, I won't leave this town. I won't leave the Niblet, and God help me, I won't leave you. But that doesn't give you license to torment me, to treat me like some goddamned pet -- " He stopped again, looking at her with real anguish. It hit her with almost physical force.
"I'll never make you understand. Never reach you. Thought someday I'd be able to, but I guess it's impossible. So…" His voice hardened. "From now on, just stay out of my way."
She stood up, looking at him helplessly. Oh, God. This is nuts. The shoe is on the other foot, and in a big, big way. This did not turn out right. He wasn't supposed to go all ballistic on her, wasn't supposed to make her feel guilty and sad and …lost. Lost? What? She'd had the upper hand and all the logical reasons on her side, and suddenly she felt like the bad guy. She turned away, heaving a shaky sigh. "Okay. If that's the way you want it." she said in a low voice.
"Yeah," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's the way I want it."
She stared at him, then turned slowly and started walking out of the cemetery.
He didn't follow.
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The walk home seemed to take ages, probably because she kept stopping and turning around, looking back down the streets toward the cemetery. My God, she thought. He means it. He doesn't want me around anymore. I've finally succeeded in pushing him away. The prospect made her decidedly less happy than she thought it would.
I won't see Spike anymore, she thought. I mean, I'll see him, but I won't see him. He probably won't even say hi to me ever again. The thought made her queasy.
But of course I'll see him. He'll come over to see Dawn. But then again, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll meet her at Starbucks or pick her up after school on the motorbike. No, scratch that -- no motorbike riding with Spike, too dangerous. Yeah, like Dawn would obey that rule. Shit. Dawn would still ride with him on the motorcycle. She'd get to ride behind him. Damn it. She'd ride around with him, and sit and have coffee with him, and talk to him, and I… I won't get to see him. God. The little bitch.
Holy shit. What the hell was that? I'm jealous of my little sister, my little baby sister, who hasn't done a thing yet and even if she did, it would be totally innocent. She doesn't think about Spike like that, she loves him like a big brother, or a surrogate dad, or something. What the hell is wrong with me?
No, no, no. This is for the best. He had to know that anything between them would be impossible. Slayer plus vampire equals impossible. It was like that with Angel, and it sure as hell would be like that with Spike.
She walked up to her front porch and sat down on the steps, trying vainly to clear her head. All these images came crowding in on her suddenly: Spike sitting with her on her back porch after she learned her mother was seriously ill, Spike yelling at her about keeping Dawn's identity a secret from her, Spike assuring her gently that she'd find Dawn when she ran away, Spike completely beaten up by Glory, Spike taking the sword through the RV to protect her, Spike standing in her foyer swearing to protect Dawn 'til the end of the world, Spike crying helplessly when he found out she was alive again, Spike with her on patrol, in a demon bar, in the back yard, listening to her problems and fears. Spike all around.
And then she remembered something else, something he'd said to her and Angel years before, when he was heartbroken over Dru leaving him. What was it? Something about she and Angel never being friends, something about fighting and shagging, but never being friends because love is in the blood. Not in the brain, in the blood. He'd also said something about being love's slave or something, and being man enough to admit it. No, love's bitch, that's what it was. Love's bitch. He always overstates everything, she thought, smiling a little.
Man enough to admit it. He admits everything, and I admit nothing, she thought. I'm a coward. I'm the Slayer, and I'm a wimp about everything. About my life, about love, about how I feel…
Shit. I've made a mistake. I've made a mistake. I don't want to be Spike's friend. I've never wanted to be his friend. I've wanted to kill him, I've wanted to punch him in the nose more times than I can count, but I've never ever wanted to be his friend. What do I want, then?
It came all at once, clear and whole. I want him to love me. I still want him to love me. And then she thought, with equal, precise clarity: but if that's what you want, you'll have to love him back. Ack. Is that possible? He's an undead vampire, drinks blood, he doesn't have a job, no money, no home, no nothing. It's still an impossible, horrible situation.
But suddenly, amidst all the disturbing thoughts swirling through her brain, she saw him as he'd she'd last seen him, hunched and utterly spent and hopeless by the gravestones. The image was so sharp and poignant that she stood up and before she even knew what she was doing, she jogged out to the street and turned in the direction of the cemetery. Oh, boy, what am I doing? And then she thought, oh, God, I hope he's still there, let him be there, or in his crypt or somewhere I can find him…
She started to run, pushing all the logical, rational thoughts out of her mind, fixing in it instead that one clear image: lovesick Spike, completely dejected because he thought he'd never make her really see him. Or love him.
She ran through the cemetery gate and down the path, hoping to God she wouldn't meet any stray vampires who needed dusting. She so did not want to do that now. She just wanted to get to Spike and tell him. Tell him what? God only knew -- she'd make it up as she went along. That would be the best plan. Best plan? Right, more like no plan.
She looked around anxiously in the dark, straining to see him, and suddenly, she saw the gleam of his hair. It was a beacon. He was still there, almost exactly where she left him, standing and looking up at the sky, shoulders hunched, smoking. He heard her footsteps and turned to face her. She stopped, completely disarmed, and just stared at him as every thought was pushed thoroughly out of her mind. His gaze was impassive but steady and, she thought, a little defensive.
"Forget something?" His voice sounded as dry as dust.
She kept staring, and suddenly, it hit her like a tidal wave. What had she been thinking? Was she completely insane? She'd been dead, and she'd come back, and all the time, all the time, he'd been there, waiting for her, just as he'd waited all that time before she died. Waiting for her to wake up and smell the friggin' coffee. Who the hell had ever waited for her before? No one. Not one damn person. But he had. He was always there, waiting. Always certain of what she was just too afraid to acknowledge: that if she let herself, she'd know he was the one she had to love. The only one. The keeper. Jesus.
And with that thought, every doubt and excuse and apprehension she'd ever had about him, no matter how logical or obvious, just shriveled up and blew away, and she did what she'd knew she'd wanted to do for months.
She jumped on him. She just threw herself into his arms and pressed her mouth down on his as hard as she could.
He staggered back a bit under the onslaught, obviously in shock, but soon his arms came around her back and he was holding her as tightly as she was him. They stayed that way for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, sucking on each other's lips and tongues, not breathing, just trying vainly to ingest each other.
It was fabulous.
She broke away first, breathlessly, and began kissing his face, his neck, his ears, all the while murmuring "Spike, Spike, Spike, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He let her go on without saying anything, mainly because he was completely blown away and still not sure if this wasn't just some overheated dream. He held her tightly, eyes closed, hoping this wasn't some damn spell or illusion because it was just too …perfect.
She stopped suddenly, loosening her grip on him, and he opened his eyes, reeling a little and losing his balance. She laughed and propped him up. He looked down at her like a drunk person, eyes unfocused and not a little confused. Incredibly, there seemed to be unshed tears in her eyes.
"Buffy?" he said tentatively, fully expecting her to vanish. She didn't, and smiled up at him with such tenderness he had to shake his head, trying to clear it.
"Spike. You okay?"
"Yeah. I think. What is this?"
"It's me, getting a clue. Weird, huh?"
"Um, yeah. I guess. Getting a clue about what?"
"You. Me. Us. We're not friends, you know. We'll never be friends."
"Huh?"
"You heard me. And just for the record -- I too am love's bitch and man enough to admit it. Took me a while, but I'm officially admitting it now." She grinned at him so delightedly he had to smile back, although he had no idea what they were smiling about.
"What are you talking about? You sound a little, uh, nuts."
"Nah." She slipped her hands inside his coat and around his waist, stroking his back and placing her cheek on his chest. "I'm fine. Really, really fine. God, you smell nice. I've never smelled you before. Well, not like this." She pressed her nose against his sternum and took a deep, slightly shaky breath. Oh, man.
At a complete loss, he decided to go with it and placed his cheek on her head. She straightened up, looked up into his eyes and then down to his mouth, and kissed him deeply, tongue slithering past his teeth. He started, and clutched at her, by turns elated, turned on and about to fall over. She broke off the kiss, leaving his mouth still searching for hers. She pulled her face away from him slightly because she wanted him to hear her. "What do you want to do now?" she whispered.
"Wh-what?" He knew he hadn't heard correctly. This had to be a spell, had to be, but he also had to find out for sure. "Buffy. Love. Is this a spell or something?"
"You mean like, "I put a spell on you 'cause you're mine" or a Willow spell?"
"Willow spell, I guess."
"No. It's the other one."
"You mean the "I put a spell on you" blues thing?"
"Yeah."
"Wait," he said, slowly, trying to focus. "'Cause…you're…mine?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm yours, or you're mine?"
"Both."
"I don't understand this. Weren't you saying an hour ago…"
"Spike. Shut up. Don't question it. Just go with it. Trust me, it'll be nice." She giggled. "Well, no, actually it'll be fantastic. Are you still willing to find out?" She gazed up at him, her face more open and happy than he'd ever recalled seeing, and he thought he'd memorized her every expression.
He shook his head again and thought, as long as I've lived, no one has ever surprised me as much as this woman. Against all hope, she'd finally gotten it. Amazing. He took her hand, brought it up to his lips, kissed it fervently, then pulled her along with such a jerk she nearly fell over. And laughing like loons, they ran -- no, sprinted -- all the way back to Buffy's house.