Chapter 3: A Long Night Gets Longer

It's been a long night, Buffy thought as she and Spike entered his crypt, three hours later. Between searching the street for Dawn, disposing of a few stray demons and vamps here and there, and withstanding the strained awkwardness between Spike and herself, she was exhausted. "DAWN? DAWN ARE YOU HERE?" she yelled through Spike's dank crypt.

Spike went downstairs to check if Dawn was there and to get a pack of cigarettes. "She's not here." He informed Buffy when he came back up.

Buffy sighed and collapsed onto a ratty couch. Spike raised an eyebrow, expecting her to be out the door immediately, but was trying to disguise his pleasure that she seemed to be staying.

"I don't know what to do about her." Buffy said, aware that she should have left moments ago, but was too fatigued to do so.

Here we go, Spike thought. She's gonna expect me to sit here and listen as she whines about all her problems and pretend like nothing happened between us. Spike lit a cigarette with contempt. He was tired of being Buffy's shoulder to cry on whenever she damned well thought she needed it and then being told he was a monster every time she had a temper tantrum. Secretly, he knew he would rather have Buffy trust him enough to let him into her problems, which she more than deserved to reflect upon and let out than nothing, but now he couldn't hide his bitterness at the knowledge that he was simply a human punching bag for her.

"Nibblet you mean?" he asked, trying to conceal his impatience with indifference.

Buffy hardly heard the change. "I think she's upset with me because I have no time for her all. I try, but I just have way too much to do."

"You?" Spike asked with mock shock as he lazily lit up a cigarette. "A college dropout without a job who somehow maintains a killer wardrobe?"

"You have no idea what the hell you're talking about Spike." Buffy's voice rose in hardened anger although she could tell he was kidding. "My life is so many different levels of busy that a lazy-ass, soap-opera obsessed vamp like you couldn't understand." She frowned and started pacing, verbally outlining all of her duties. "There's Willow, for one thing. Her magic withdrawals have got so bad that she needs someone to just sit with her to get through them. And with Dawn goose stepping every time she gets near Willow's room, I'm the only one who's up for the job."

"Babysitting Red isn't a real job luv." Spike snorted.

Buffy ignored him. "Then there's the Magic Box, which Anya seems to be neglecting with all the wedding plans. I'm working there without pay since Anya is so possessive of the money. And then there's my sulking sister who gets herself reliably in trouble just so that she can brag that her sister, the Slayer will bail her out of it. Oh YEAH, and there's the whole saving-the-world-from-the-Hellmouth bit, which is not exactly an easy feat. I've got the whole twice dead thing to affirm that."

Spike paused when he could see the pure hurt that lied behind Buffy's eyes. He knew how raw she still felt after being brought back and despite all the fronts that she promptly put back up, insisting that she was over it, he knew that she felt as scared as she did then, tearing her way up from beneath the ground. He decided to probe further.

"Yeah well at least you still have so much available time to whine about it don't you luv?"

Buffy stiffened. Frustratedly throwing up her arms, she felt that old familiar flaming anger boil within her. It was a feeling that only Spike could evoke. "You know what Spike? I don't need to justify myself to you."

"Yeah you don't. But I think you need to justify it to yourself."

Buffy cocked her head. "What would you know about it Spike?"

"I know that you weren't telling me all of your laundry list of things to do because you thought I cared. It's cause you you're trying to convince yourself that you do."

Buffy hesitated. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed. "Face it Buff. These things have been on your mind. And you're not too happy about them. You're asking yourself why you even bother doing them when you don't want to."

"I do them because I have to," Buffy gritted. "They're my responsibility. I don't have a choice in the matter. I haven't had a choice in the matter ever since I became the slayer."

"You know that, but you don't feel it anymore. You always knew that you had a duty, which was hard. But now that you've had a taste of being free from your responsibilities, from the drudgery of duty, it makes it all the more hard and hurtful to do it." Spike gazed deeply into Buffy's eyes, which were a telltale blurry hazel. God, how he wanted to go up to her and wipe away the tears and envelop her in his strong arms and tell her everything was fine. But he knew she wouldn't let him do that.

Buffy swallowed down the remaining tears as she continued to stare into his blue orbs. The look of concern, passionate, yet tender, she found in them sent shivers throughout her body. She locked her hands behind her back in order to hide the fact that they were shaking. Why the hell could he always be so on the nose about everything? She had gone through life always pushing the persistent, nagging thoughts deep down until they arose to tear apart anything she truly wanted.

Riley. Angel. She pushed them away because deep down, she knew that her duty as the Slayer came first, even though every fiber in her being had said to try to make it work. But with Spike, nothing needed to be dug up. He already seemed to know her through and through and accepted her role as the Slayer, and had admiration for that role. Not like Riley, who felt only intimidation, or Angel, who felt it was a barrier for their relationship.

And that's what scared her most. That Spike seemed to love the places and spaces of Buffy where Riley and Angel couldn't--- the darkness, the lightness, the hardness, the softness, the woman, the slayer. That Spike---he could be the one. The one Buffy knew Riley would never be and the one even Angel couldn't be. And the fact that it was Spike---smirking, insulting, disgusting Spike, Spike who had consistently tried to kill her for four years . . . well that scared the hell out of her.

"Buffy?" Spike inched towards her, concerned at her silence. He lightly touched her shoulder, and backed up in frustration when she immediately jumped. "God, Buffy!"

"What do you want from me Spike?" Buffy asked agonizingly, hearing the tone of impatience in his voice.

"Everything, Slayer." Spike lunged back at her and grabbed her arms before she could jump away again. Yet he just as soon backed away again when he saw the confused, wounded look in her Buffy's eyes. ". . . And nothing."

"Then that's just what you got comin' to you," Buffy said as she hurriedly began to gather her coat and walk towards the door. She hoped, though, that he would stop her before that happened.

"Buffy, wait."