12.
They were in her bed, limbs entwined, his flesh warm and sticking to hers under the sheets, fingers tangling in her hair as his lips drew on her, his tongue soft in her mouth, making her dizzy. Her hands cradled his head, pulling him into her, hooking her chin over his shoulder in an effort to hide her face, hide the feelings she was afraid to tell him of...and then....there he was. Standing in the shadows at the foot of the bed. And suddenly she was gasping with the reality of it, the horrible tearing guilt of her betrayal. That he could find her in this bed, making love to William, the bed she had always denied him access to? Her sanctuary, her private place. She felt the tears start to her eyes as she saw his expression, filled with total disbelief and grief, the gravity of what she had done slamming into her like a fist.
"Oh...Spike...no! It isn't...like that...he's just...."
And then scrambling to reach him as he turned with a swirl of black leather, gone into the dark, his figure receding as she desperately fought to free herself from William's gentle grasp, his voice soft and insistent,
"What's wrong? What is it, love?"
And then she was awake again, sweat beaded all over her body. Alone in the darkness.
Every night now for a week the dream had come, sometimes tacked onto the end of a longer one, sometimes in the few seconds she allowed her eyes to close before getting up for work. Always the same dream, always the same expression on his face, always the same feelings of guilt and horror at what she had done, feelings that stayed with her when she awoke, colouring her whole day. She didn't understand it, but she couldn't shake the sensation that she had done something terribly wrong, had caused him pain. It didn't make any sense. William was Spike, Spike was William, they were differences that was certain, but essentially they were the same person. Why was it that she just couldn't seem to marry the two? The vampire and the man.
She lay back on her pillows, blinked her eyes in the gloom, making out the dim outline of her clothes on the chair. The shape of the doorway. It had been so real. A second ago he had been there, just as he had before in the long distant past. A feeling jerking her out of sound sleep to find him standing motionless, at the foot of her bed, always with some excuse, some terrible news or crisis that had to be dealt with and even then she had known. Long before she felt anything but irritation in his presence, the sexual charge between them, so insanely heightened by his ability to enter her bedroom silently at night. Even before she had wanted him.
And to give in to that? To allow the vampire into herself, entirely, that had been the most terrifying, the most erotic thing of all. Giving in to every one of her dark, night time fantasies, feeling herself sinking into him, losing herself in his cool, pale body, letting him absorb her. It had felt like dying and at the same time as if she was being born, every night. She had craved it and loathed it in the same instant. Needed him and hated him, but occasionally...there had been the moments of peace. Just a few times when she had felt the two halves of herself, of him, find their perfect balance. The girl and the slayer, the vampire and the man. She had loved him then. Felt the knowledge enter her as easily as he did, completing her. And then it was gone. He was gone. Lost in a terrible storm of events that had forced her to admit that she had been wrong, that she had been such a fool to ever think they could be together.
She rolled over, let her feet find the rug, padded across the room to her clothes, still a little unsteady. She couldn't go back to sleep, didn't want to think about it anymore. She need to clear her head and as far as she knew there was only one sure-fire way of doing that. She pushed the sash up, slid herself through the open window, down the porch roof, landing both knees bent in a crouch, catlike. What she needed was some late night slayage, a few circuits of Sunnydale's demon hot spots would wipe away any worries she might have. Every bit as effective as hard drugs and without the unpleasant addictive side-effects.
She took off at a sprint, her sneakers making virtually no sound on the tarmac, her breathing rhythmic. Let the muscles in her legs carry her effortlessly and, as a light, humid drizzle began, she lifted her face to it. No sound but the fast, soft pad of her feet on sidewalk, the soft cadence of her heartbeat, the warm dark night enveloping her like an old friend. Took a left on Oakland, heading for the playground, made the length of the road in fifteen, maybe sixteen strides or more.
The swing-set was empty, silent, the seat drifting slowly at the end of it's chains, she slowed, came to a stop by the roundabout. No action here tonight. Usually there was always at least a vamp or two hanging out here, reliving past glories. She trailed a hand along the railing, remembering the night they had come looking for Dawn here, one of the first times she had chosen to be alone with him. Also the first time she ever remembered noticing how human he could seem, so concerned for Dawn's safety, guilty over inadvertently leading her to the truth about herself.
She had apologised to him, told him he had been right, she had been wrong to hide things from her sister and he had shouldered half the blame, said all the things he knew would make her feel better, assured her that Dawn would be fine. That had been the first time he had seemed real to her, a person. It had been the start of the change in her feelings for him. She snatched her hand back from rail. Bad move coming here. Set off again running, pressing herself a little this time. This wasn't what she'd wanted to do, a tour of their haunts, reminisce. She needed not to think. She needed to kill something. Took a left on Kennedy, heading in towards town.
And what about William?
She let her pace slow again as she recognised the stretch of road leading down to the Ramada. He was down there, just two blocks away. Probably up late, reading, he hadn't quite got his whole biological clock thing sorted yet, still found it hard to get to sleep before dawn. Sometimes, towards the end of a patrol she let herself take a detour, spend a few minutes outside before heading home. His room was on the ground floor, near the back and easy to see from the bushes. Twice she'd thought that he had sensed her, saw his head turn slightly in her direction, but then she reminded herself that that was an impossibility now. He wasn't like her in that way. Not any more. No sixth sense that could tell him when his mate was nearby.
So often, she'd watch him, sometimes for up to an hour, as he slowly turned the pages of the paperback he was reading, took the occasional swallow of beer. Sometimes he wrote in a black notebook, but she couldn't see what. A journal maybe? More poems? She considered breaking in when she was sure he wouldn't be around, but uncertainty about his reaction stopped her. She invaded his privacy once, wouldn't make that mistake again. She felt drawn to him, like a magnet to metal, wanted to enter that room, his bed while he slept, be with him, understand the person who was so familiar in some ways, so completely mysterious in so many others.
But she held back. Something always held her back. She turned away from the hotel, headed back along Roseland at a slow jog. He was Spike...and yet, he so wasn't Spike. He was a man now, a human man, no vampire there at all. The occasional fleeting glances of the creature she'd known before came so few and far between, she'd begun to realise that it might all be her imagination. Like when parents see the resemblance between a new baby and themselves. Barely there at all...just wishful thinking.
She shook her head, quickened her pace. There it was again. Wishful thinking? Had she really just thought that? Wishful thinking that William might actually become...the monster again? That the kind, thoughtful man she was growing to care so much for, would suddenly turn on her. She felt a sick feeling in her gut. Spike had told her once that she was addicted to misery, yet another of his astute observations. He had been a part of that misery. William was not. So had he been right then? Did she only want the Spike that caused her pain?
She couldn't believe that of herself. Didn't want to. There'd been a time maybe five years ago when she might have thought it. After Angel, when it seemed that torture and passion would always be inextricably linked for her. Her love for him had been rooted in danger and fantasy, sometimes seeming almost theatrical. She had been so immature then, but the feelings she'd had for him weren't. They overwhelmed her, swamped her with the understanding of what it meant to be the Slayer, to understand her power and acknowledge that most private part of herself. With Angel she had merely tasted it. With Spike, she had welcomed the darkness in.
But it was wrong. She had known that. Balance was needed...otherwise the result was chaos. His lack of a soul had always been the sticking point, the one obstacle she could never allow herself to circumvent. But in the months after his departure, the weeks since his, since William's reappearance, she had begun to suspect a terrible truth. She had recognised the man in Spike, had loved him, but, although she had never allowed herself to trust the demon, the vampire half that had so disturbed and reviled her at first, she had loved him too.
The drizzle began to subside, creating a soft mist that hung over the ground and she realised with only the smallest start of surprise that she had reached the cemetery again. Strange how her Slayer auto-pilot always brought her here if she lost her bearings or if she allowed her mind to wander for more than a few minutes or so. She made her way between the familiar shapes of the gravestones, heading for the crypt.
The door hung open now, the wind making itself at home inside, stirring up the scattering of autumn leaves that covered the floor. She stepped down, let herself drop onto the last stair, smoothed back her damp hair. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Keep coming here like the place might hold some kind of answer for her? She covered her face with her hands. Why couldn't she allow herself this chance of happiness? Why couldn't she move on?
The sound came in the darkness, making her heart leap, made her lose her breath with the sudden onrush of associations that went with it. The sound of a Zippo lighter being flipped open, being lit. A tiny light flared in the furthest corner of the room, illuminating a face, a figure achingly familiar to her, dressed from head to foot in black, a long leather coat drawn close around his narrow frame. Her throat tightened as his hand cupped around a cigarette, brought his head down to light it, revealing the pale shock of his blonde hair that seemed almost to glow in the light of the flame.
"Spike?"
her voice sounded like a little girl's, a slight quaver. She saw his head come back up, close the lighter with a snap,
"Slayer!"
He took a step or two towards her and she found herself scrambling a little in her haste to get to her feet, her back firmly against the wall.
"What are you....doing here? I mean....I thought you'd be at the Ramada..."
She saw his head cock in the darkness, his eyes narrow a little. The cigarette glowed.
"And why would I be there? Convention is there? Annual Vampire Dinner & Dance?"
She frowned,
"No...I mean....you still live there...don't you?"
His laugh was cold, abrupt,
"Live there? What'd I want to live there for? Got this place fixed up pretty good now. Sweet little pad as far as Sunny D goes."
What the hell was going on? Had he snapped, had William snapped? Or worse still? Had he been re-vamped? Since...yesterday? She screwed her eyes shut, shook her head. No, his hair and then there was the coat. He had the coat on, his coat, and she'd seen him burn it, watched as he'd doused the leather with petrol and flamed it. No, it had to be her. She was going mad. God, this was as bad as the asylum thing....so real, not like a dream, like a full-on auditory, olfactory hallucination. She took a breath, opened her eyes again.
"What's up?"
He was looking at her with real concern now, stubbing out the cigarette on the edge of the door. God, please God don't let him touch me. And then his hand came out, stroked the length of her forearm and his touch was cool, sending prickles of ice shooting up her spine. God, why had he done that. She felt her knees starting to give, wanting to let herself go to him.
"So this just a business call? Or will pleasure be involved at some stage?"
He'd moved back a little, pulled himself up to sit on the nearest sarcophagus. She blinked, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. It had to be another dream, like the one she'd been having about...and then it came to her.
Of course, this had to be her mind helping her to come to terms with everything, giving her a chance to see him again, to explain. She gasped with the relief of it. Of course, clever Buffy's Brain! She'd realised subconsciously that she'd needed to see Spike, the old Spike and now here she was. In her own tailor-made illusion. She drew a breath, forced herself to look at him again.
"Spike. There's some stuff I need to tell you."
She saw his eyebrows come up a little, sudden discomfort and she remembered. He had always been so ill-equipped to deal with complex human emotions. She moved towards him and saw him lean back a little, wary of her.
"Hey...look..if it's about the egg thing again...."
She took his hands in her's, felt his surprise as he relaxed a little,
"It's not. There's something I've needed to tell you for a while but....well, you haven't been around and I've been...pretty preoccupied with...other stuff."
He smiled,
"Yeah, well, a Slayer's work is never done."
She nodded slowly,
"Right."
He slid off the plinth, bringing himself face to face with her,
"So what, you come for a bit of time-out?"
She searched his eyes,
"No, I came to tell you." God, this was so hard. "Spike. I love you."
His eyes widened, the mouth dropping open a little in amazement,
"You....?"
"I love you. I don't know...but I think I might always have. You make me feel like a whole person, like I'm really alive for the first time in my life. I look into your eyes and I see the other half of myself. I'm so sorry I could never tell you before now, but there was some stuff I had to work through first, things I had to....come to terms with. But I'm sure now. I just...wanted you to know."
She reached up, let her hand trace his cold cheekbone, kissed him softly on the lips. She felt a tremble go through him and felt herself wanting to hold him against her, wrap herself around him but instead, she turned, walked to the door.
"Buffy!"
He looked utterly confused, awe-struck but at the same time completely elated,
"Aren't you...going to stay?"
She smiled, tried not to let her voice betray the uncertainty she felt,
"No. There's somewhere I've got to be right now. Someone I've got to meet. Maybe..." hope seeped into her last words, "I'll find you....in a little while?"
She turned away from him, walked out into the night, headed slowly back in the direction of her house. Back to the bed where she could end this, wake up to reality, the reality of her life, her future with someone she knew she could begin to accept now.
***********
Behind her the crypt door swung closed and a dark figure shrugged out of the clothes he was wearing, folded Tara's leather coat back into the hold- all that lay hidden behind one of the pillars.
"So you think it worked? She didn't suspect at all?"
Clem's face appeared through the hole in the floor, a worried frown creasing his already heavily rumpled face. William gave a small laugh,
"No, I think it was the hair that did it. Bloody crap's going to be hell to dye out."
Clem hauled himself up, tipped out the bucket of ice-water William had asked him to bring along. He shook his head uncertainly,
"And what was the point of all this again? I mean you did explain to me but...."
His friend shouldered the bag, gave him a gentle slap on the back,
"It's called closure, mate. One of things you need before you can move on...you know, with your life, with someone else?"
He made his way to the door, opened it a crack to check that she had really gone,
"And that was...what just happened?"
God sometimes, for a thick-skinned demon? He could be a trifle...thick- skinned.
"That's right."
"Only...I mean...it seemed to me...that she was saying...I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't she say she was....in love with...you know...Spike?"
His friend frowned with exasperation. Was he really this dense?
"I am Spike, Clem. But I'm William too. That's the whole point."
And with a smile he turned, headed out into the darkness, just as Buffy had done a minute before. Turned left onto Roseland, heading back towards the Ramada. Probably a good idea to get a good's night sleep tonight. Try to look his best. After all, he was expecting a visitor tomorrow.
They were in her bed, limbs entwined, his flesh warm and sticking to hers under the sheets, fingers tangling in her hair as his lips drew on her, his tongue soft in her mouth, making her dizzy. Her hands cradled his head, pulling him into her, hooking her chin over his shoulder in an effort to hide her face, hide the feelings she was afraid to tell him of...and then....there he was. Standing in the shadows at the foot of the bed. And suddenly she was gasping with the reality of it, the horrible tearing guilt of her betrayal. That he could find her in this bed, making love to William, the bed she had always denied him access to? Her sanctuary, her private place. She felt the tears start to her eyes as she saw his expression, filled with total disbelief and grief, the gravity of what she had done slamming into her like a fist.
"Oh...Spike...no! It isn't...like that...he's just...."
And then scrambling to reach him as he turned with a swirl of black leather, gone into the dark, his figure receding as she desperately fought to free herself from William's gentle grasp, his voice soft and insistent,
"What's wrong? What is it, love?"
And then she was awake again, sweat beaded all over her body. Alone in the darkness.
Every night now for a week the dream had come, sometimes tacked onto the end of a longer one, sometimes in the few seconds she allowed her eyes to close before getting up for work. Always the same dream, always the same expression on his face, always the same feelings of guilt and horror at what she had done, feelings that stayed with her when she awoke, colouring her whole day. She didn't understand it, but she couldn't shake the sensation that she had done something terribly wrong, had caused him pain. It didn't make any sense. William was Spike, Spike was William, they were differences that was certain, but essentially they were the same person. Why was it that she just couldn't seem to marry the two? The vampire and the man.
She lay back on her pillows, blinked her eyes in the gloom, making out the dim outline of her clothes on the chair. The shape of the doorway. It had been so real. A second ago he had been there, just as he had before in the long distant past. A feeling jerking her out of sound sleep to find him standing motionless, at the foot of her bed, always with some excuse, some terrible news or crisis that had to be dealt with and even then she had known. Long before she felt anything but irritation in his presence, the sexual charge between them, so insanely heightened by his ability to enter her bedroom silently at night. Even before she had wanted him.
And to give in to that? To allow the vampire into herself, entirely, that had been the most terrifying, the most erotic thing of all. Giving in to every one of her dark, night time fantasies, feeling herself sinking into him, losing herself in his cool, pale body, letting him absorb her. It had felt like dying and at the same time as if she was being born, every night. She had craved it and loathed it in the same instant. Needed him and hated him, but occasionally...there had been the moments of peace. Just a few times when she had felt the two halves of herself, of him, find their perfect balance. The girl and the slayer, the vampire and the man. She had loved him then. Felt the knowledge enter her as easily as he did, completing her. And then it was gone. He was gone. Lost in a terrible storm of events that had forced her to admit that she had been wrong, that she had been such a fool to ever think they could be together.
She rolled over, let her feet find the rug, padded across the room to her clothes, still a little unsteady. She couldn't go back to sleep, didn't want to think about it anymore. She need to clear her head and as far as she knew there was only one sure-fire way of doing that. She pushed the sash up, slid herself through the open window, down the porch roof, landing both knees bent in a crouch, catlike. What she needed was some late night slayage, a few circuits of Sunnydale's demon hot spots would wipe away any worries she might have. Every bit as effective as hard drugs and without the unpleasant addictive side-effects.
She took off at a sprint, her sneakers making virtually no sound on the tarmac, her breathing rhythmic. Let the muscles in her legs carry her effortlessly and, as a light, humid drizzle began, she lifted her face to it. No sound but the fast, soft pad of her feet on sidewalk, the soft cadence of her heartbeat, the warm dark night enveloping her like an old friend. Took a left on Oakland, heading for the playground, made the length of the road in fifteen, maybe sixteen strides or more.
The swing-set was empty, silent, the seat drifting slowly at the end of it's chains, she slowed, came to a stop by the roundabout. No action here tonight. Usually there was always at least a vamp or two hanging out here, reliving past glories. She trailed a hand along the railing, remembering the night they had come looking for Dawn here, one of the first times she had chosen to be alone with him. Also the first time she ever remembered noticing how human he could seem, so concerned for Dawn's safety, guilty over inadvertently leading her to the truth about herself.
She had apologised to him, told him he had been right, she had been wrong to hide things from her sister and he had shouldered half the blame, said all the things he knew would make her feel better, assured her that Dawn would be fine. That had been the first time he had seemed real to her, a person. It had been the start of the change in her feelings for him. She snatched her hand back from rail. Bad move coming here. Set off again running, pressing herself a little this time. This wasn't what she'd wanted to do, a tour of their haunts, reminisce. She needed not to think. She needed to kill something. Took a left on Kennedy, heading in towards town.
And what about William?
She let her pace slow again as she recognised the stretch of road leading down to the Ramada. He was down there, just two blocks away. Probably up late, reading, he hadn't quite got his whole biological clock thing sorted yet, still found it hard to get to sleep before dawn. Sometimes, towards the end of a patrol she let herself take a detour, spend a few minutes outside before heading home. His room was on the ground floor, near the back and easy to see from the bushes. Twice she'd thought that he had sensed her, saw his head turn slightly in her direction, but then she reminded herself that that was an impossibility now. He wasn't like her in that way. Not any more. No sixth sense that could tell him when his mate was nearby.
So often, she'd watch him, sometimes for up to an hour, as he slowly turned the pages of the paperback he was reading, took the occasional swallow of beer. Sometimes he wrote in a black notebook, but she couldn't see what. A journal maybe? More poems? She considered breaking in when she was sure he wouldn't be around, but uncertainty about his reaction stopped her. She invaded his privacy once, wouldn't make that mistake again. She felt drawn to him, like a magnet to metal, wanted to enter that room, his bed while he slept, be with him, understand the person who was so familiar in some ways, so completely mysterious in so many others.
But she held back. Something always held her back. She turned away from the hotel, headed back along Roseland at a slow jog. He was Spike...and yet, he so wasn't Spike. He was a man now, a human man, no vampire there at all. The occasional fleeting glances of the creature she'd known before came so few and far between, she'd begun to realise that it might all be her imagination. Like when parents see the resemblance between a new baby and themselves. Barely there at all...just wishful thinking.
She shook her head, quickened her pace. There it was again. Wishful thinking? Had she really just thought that? Wishful thinking that William might actually become...the monster again? That the kind, thoughtful man she was growing to care so much for, would suddenly turn on her. She felt a sick feeling in her gut. Spike had told her once that she was addicted to misery, yet another of his astute observations. He had been a part of that misery. William was not. So had he been right then? Did she only want the Spike that caused her pain?
She couldn't believe that of herself. Didn't want to. There'd been a time maybe five years ago when she might have thought it. After Angel, when it seemed that torture and passion would always be inextricably linked for her. Her love for him had been rooted in danger and fantasy, sometimes seeming almost theatrical. She had been so immature then, but the feelings she'd had for him weren't. They overwhelmed her, swamped her with the understanding of what it meant to be the Slayer, to understand her power and acknowledge that most private part of herself. With Angel she had merely tasted it. With Spike, she had welcomed the darkness in.
But it was wrong. She had known that. Balance was needed...otherwise the result was chaos. His lack of a soul had always been the sticking point, the one obstacle she could never allow herself to circumvent. But in the months after his departure, the weeks since his, since William's reappearance, she had begun to suspect a terrible truth. She had recognised the man in Spike, had loved him, but, although she had never allowed herself to trust the demon, the vampire half that had so disturbed and reviled her at first, she had loved him too.
The drizzle began to subside, creating a soft mist that hung over the ground and she realised with only the smallest start of surprise that she had reached the cemetery again. Strange how her Slayer auto-pilot always brought her here if she lost her bearings or if she allowed her mind to wander for more than a few minutes or so. She made her way between the familiar shapes of the gravestones, heading for the crypt.
The door hung open now, the wind making itself at home inside, stirring up the scattering of autumn leaves that covered the floor. She stepped down, let herself drop onto the last stair, smoothed back her damp hair. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Keep coming here like the place might hold some kind of answer for her? She covered her face with her hands. Why couldn't she allow herself this chance of happiness? Why couldn't she move on?
The sound came in the darkness, making her heart leap, made her lose her breath with the sudden onrush of associations that went with it. The sound of a Zippo lighter being flipped open, being lit. A tiny light flared in the furthest corner of the room, illuminating a face, a figure achingly familiar to her, dressed from head to foot in black, a long leather coat drawn close around his narrow frame. Her throat tightened as his hand cupped around a cigarette, brought his head down to light it, revealing the pale shock of his blonde hair that seemed almost to glow in the light of the flame.
"Spike?"
her voice sounded like a little girl's, a slight quaver. She saw his head come back up, close the lighter with a snap,
"Slayer!"
He took a step or two towards her and she found herself scrambling a little in her haste to get to her feet, her back firmly against the wall.
"What are you....doing here? I mean....I thought you'd be at the Ramada..."
She saw his head cock in the darkness, his eyes narrow a little. The cigarette glowed.
"And why would I be there? Convention is there? Annual Vampire Dinner & Dance?"
She frowned,
"No...I mean....you still live there...don't you?"
His laugh was cold, abrupt,
"Live there? What'd I want to live there for? Got this place fixed up pretty good now. Sweet little pad as far as Sunny D goes."
What the hell was going on? Had he snapped, had William snapped? Or worse still? Had he been re-vamped? Since...yesterday? She screwed her eyes shut, shook her head. No, his hair and then there was the coat. He had the coat on, his coat, and she'd seen him burn it, watched as he'd doused the leather with petrol and flamed it. No, it had to be her. She was going mad. God, this was as bad as the asylum thing....so real, not like a dream, like a full-on auditory, olfactory hallucination. She took a breath, opened her eyes again.
"What's up?"
He was looking at her with real concern now, stubbing out the cigarette on the edge of the door. God, please God don't let him touch me. And then his hand came out, stroked the length of her forearm and his touch was cool, sending prickles of ice shooting up her spine. God, why had he done that. She felt her knees starting to give, wanting to let herself go to him.
"So this just a business call? Or will pleasure be involved at some stage?"
He'd moved back a little, pulled himself up to sit on the nearest sarcophagus. She blinked, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. It had to be another dream, like the one she'd been having about...and then it came to her.
Of course, this had to be her mind helping her to come to terms with everything, giving her a chance to see him again, to explain. She gasped with the relief of it. Of course, clever Buffy's Brain! She'd realised subconsciously that she'd needed to see Spike, the old Spike and now here she was. In her own tailor-made illusion. She drew a breath, forced herself to look at him again.
"Spike. There's some stuff I need to tell you."
She saw his eyebrows come up a little, sudden discomfort and she remembered. He had always been so ill-equipped to deal with complex human emotions. She moved towards him and saw him lean back a little, wary of her.
"Hey...look..if it's about the egg thing again...."
She took his hands in her's, felt his surprise as he relaxed a little,
"It's not. There's something I've needed to tell you for a while but....well, you haven't been around and I've been...pretty preoccupied with...other stuff."
He smiled,
"Yeah, well, a Slayer's work is never done."
She nodded slowly,
"Right."
He slid off the plinth, bringing himself face to face with her,
"So what, you come for a bit of time-out?"
She searched his eyes,
"No, I came to tell you." God, this was so hard. "Spike. I love you."
His eyes widened, the mouth dropping open a little in amazement,
"You....?"
"I love you. I don't know...but I think I might always have. You make me feel like a whole person, like I'm really alive for the first time in my life. I look into your eyes and I see the other half of myself. I'm so sorry I could never tell you before now, but there was some stuff I had to work through first, things I had to....come to terms with. But I'm sure now. I just...wanted you to know."
She reached up, let her hand trace his cold cheekbone, kissed him softly on the lips. She felt a tremble go through him and felt herself wanting to hold him against her, wrap herself around him but instead, she turned, walked to the door.
"Buffy!"
He looked utterly confused, awe-struck but at the same time completely elated,
"Aren't you...going to stay?"
She smiled, tried not to let her voice betray the uncertainty she felt,
"No. There's somewhere I've got to be right now. Someone I've got to meet. Maybe..." hope seeped into her last words, "I'll find you....in a little while?"
She turned away from him, walked out into the night, headed slowly back in the direction of her house. Back to the bed where she could end this, wake up to reality, the reality of her life, her future with someone she knew she could begin to accept now.
***********
Behind her the crypt door swung closed and a dark figure shrugged out of the clothes he was wearing, folded Tara's leather coat back into the hold- all that lay hidden behind one of the pillars.
"So you think it worked? She didn't suspect at all?"
Clem's face appeared through the hole in the floor, a worried frown creasing his already heavily rumpled face. William gave a small laugh,
"No, I think it was the hair that did it. Bloody crap's going to be hell to dye out."
Clem hauled himself up, tipped out the bucket of ice-water William had asked him to bring along. He shook his head uncertainly,
"And what was the point of all this again? I mean you did explain to me but...."
His friend shouldered the bag, gave him a gentle slap on the back,
"It's called closure, mate. One of things you need before you can move on...you know, with your life, with someone else?"
He made his way to the door, opened it a crack to check that she had really gone,
"And that was...what just happened?"
God sometimes, for a thick-skinned demon? He could be a trifle...thick- skinned.
"That's right."
"Only...I mean...it seemed to me...that she was saying...I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't she say she was....in love with...you know...Spike?"
His friend frowned with exasperation. Was he really this dense?
"I am Spike, Clem. But I'm William too. That's the whole point."
And with a smile he turned, headed out into the darkness, just as Buffy had done a minute before. Turned left onto Roseland, heading back towards the Ramada. Probably a good idea to get a good's night sleep tonight. Try to look his best. After all, he was expecting a visitor tomorrow.
