Repercussions, Part 9



The ground floor hallway of the apartment building was quiet and dimly lit. She heard a door open and then close again a couple of floors up, followed by footsteps on the stairs. They ended with the front door being opened and closed with a bang on the floor above her. Most people would still be at work, although it was late afternoon and they would begin arriving home shortly. She had considered calling and letting him know she was coming, but she didn't really want him to be that prepared. He knew her too well already.

Buffy screwed up her courage and knocked tentatively on the apartment door. I can do this, she thought. If I can save the world a half dozen times, I can tell a guy I like him. She waited. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time. When the door didn't open immediately she began walking quickly back down the hall and toward the stairs. The door opened when she was halfway there.

"Slayer, where ya goin'?"

She turned and walked towards him. "Oh, I thought, maybe you weren't home, or were asleep. Or something."

"I'm here," he said. He took a step back and opened the door a little wider in invitation, and she stepped across the threshold. The room was dark, but warm and inviting, lit by a few small table lamps. Music was playing softly in the background. It was neither his beloved punk, nor classical, as she imagined William might have listened to. Instead, it was something bluesy. Guitars and saxophones. Spike was wearing black jeans, with a blue cotton shirt unbuttoned over them, his feet bare, his hair tousled.

"I woke you up," she observed. She wondered if he could here her heart pounding. No one had ever had such a physical affect on her.

"Not really." He raked his hands through his hair, trying to straighten it, and then began buttoning up his shirt. "Can I get you somethin' to drink maybe?"

"No. No thanks. How's your head?"

He reached up and touched his cheek, where there was a small abrasion. "Feels o.k. How's it look?"

"There's just a little scrape. Don't worry. You're still as handsome as ever." An odd look passed over his face. She'd made him uncomfortable again, and she almost lost her nerve. She took a deep breath. "Can we sit down?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry, go ahead," he said, nodding towards the living room. She sat on the sofa, but instead of sitting next to her, he chose the chair.

He sat there silently, staring not at her but at some point just to the right of her head, and she had the distinct feeling that he knew exactly why she was there. He used to be all coiled energy, unable to keep still. Now he was calmer, more centered, and somehow, to her at least, more intimidating. Again, she almost got up and left. But she decided she owed it to him to go through with this, even if he made her feel like a fool; she'd made him feel that way too many times.

"I wanted to talk to you about...us." He looked at her now, swallowed hard, but didn't say anything. "I...I would like, oh boy," she took a shaky breath. "I have um, feelings for you, and I know what you said before, about being just friends, but I wondered, if maybe we could try, you know, to be more than friends." His expression didn't change. "Look, if you could say something, anything at all, it would be helpful, because otherwise I'm liable to keep babbling...."

"Buffy," he sighed, "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"I know, given our history, it seems that way. But, things are so much different now."

He closed his eyes for a moment. God, this is what he always wanted, wasn't it?

"You mean, because I have a soul?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"Not just that. I've changed, too. But, isn't that why you did it? So that we could be together?"

"Yes, that's what I thought before. But, I just wish...."

"You wish I had loved you without a soul. And now that you have a soul, you don't want me anymore. Let's pause and appreciate the irony." She stared at her hands which refused to remain still.

"I never said that." He put his hands to his head and exhaled a frustrated breath. "A part of me will always love you. I just can't go back to what we had. You said that being with me was killing you. And our relationship, if you can call it that, did practically kill me. Things have changed, Buffy. I've changed."

"I treated you beyond badly. I know that! I thought you forgave me. And I did have feelings for you. I told you that before, Spike. I just couldn't, I couldn't...." She began to cry.

"I know, and I do forgive you," he said gently. He got up from the chair and walked behind it, gripping the back with his hands. "What do you want to hear, Buffy? That I'm barely hangin' on? About the nightmares I have every time I close my eyes? That every time I look at you I see your face like it was that day in your bathroom? You ask me why I look tired. It's 'cause I hardly bloody sleep. I'm tryin' to get through this, but I just can't take any high drama right now. I've had enough. I don't trust myself right now and I certainly don't...." He turned his back to her and leaned against the chair.

"You don't trust me," she finished. She gave him a moment to compose himself, then went and stood in front of him. "I'm sorry you're in so much pain," she said, " because of me."

His eyes welled up with tears and he shook his head vehemently. "No, not your fault. My decision."

She walked slowly to the door and opened it. "Are we still friends?"

"I hope so."

"And maybe more some day? Come on, throw me a crumb." He looked up to find her smiling teasingly at him, but her eyes still shone with tears.

"Yeah," he said, returning her smile and wiping his own tears off his face with the heels of his hands, "someday."

She stepped into the hall and started to close the door. Hesitating, she looked back at him. "You know what I see every time I look at your face?"

He didn't trust his voice, and just shook his head.

"I see the man who said that every night, he saved me."

She shut the door, and when he heard the click of the latch he walked quickly to it and put his hand on the knob.

But he didn't open it.



TBC