CHAPTER SIX
Buffy awakes. When she is coming into consciousness again, she is murmuring her lover's name. But he is not there.
It's a shock, not seeing him there. She calls his name, loudly this time.
"I'm out here, luv," he says from the hallway.
She reaches down for her tee-shirt and for her panties and puts them on swiftly. She is out in the hall now, searching for Spike who is looking through her linen closet. He is fully dressed. Black tee, black jeans, black duster…why?
"What are you looking for?" she asks.
"A blanket," he says.
"For what? Are you cold? I can warm you up if you are," she says, grabbing him from behind and latching onto his ear, kissing him there.
"No, I need a blanket because I'm leaving."
"I told you I'd go get the blood for you," she says.
He sighs. She doesn't like this sigh. And she doesn't like the face he presents to her next as he turns around in her arms. He can't look at her as he tells her again, "I'm leaving."
At first she takes this as a joke and is prepared to laugh with him. But then she sees the seriousness in his eyes.
"What do you mean, you're leaving?"
"I'm leaving now, Buffy. I'm going away."
His words from last night trickle down into her head as she remembers, potently, when he took her again at 3:00 in the morning. "Oh, Buffy, I need you so much," and then, "Buffy, I need you always."
"Why?" she says, hating the stammer in her voice. "Why are you going away?"
"Because I have to," he says.
"That's not a reason!"
He sees the tears swimming in her green eyes. She will not acknowledge them, but he will. Oh, God, I wish there were a better way to do this...
He takes her face in his hands, running a thumb across her cheek. "Slayer," he says.
She pulls away from him, wishing she had more clothes on, wishing she hadn't taken them all off for him now that he's saying these things.
"So that's it? You fucked me and now you've had your slayer fix. So you're leaving?" she flicks away the tears on her face, hoping that he's seeing her pull back the hair that has fallen in her eyes.
"No, Buffy. And I was afraid you'd take it like this," he says, approaching her, his hands reaching for her.
She turns away. More tears are coursing down her face.
"Well, how else should I take it?" she says, trying hard not to sniff. I guess you thought laying the Slayer would be this big major deal, and now you're disappointed because I'm just like all the other girls you've had your dick in."
Finally he grabs her and spins her around in his arms so that she is facing her. Her nose is red and her eyes are pouring tears and he's never hated himself so much in his life.
He leans in close and places his lips on her. He feels her lips trying to separate, stubbornly, but eventually they comply. He has her up against the wall and he is made keenly aware of the fact that she is wearing very little clothing. He can't extract the thought from his head that a few doors down her bedroom door is still hanging by a thread on its hinges and the bed is still unmade. His hands caress the curves of her backside and all he can think about is that bed. Apparently, the bed is on her mind too because she whips one leg around him and begins grinding softly into him.
When their lips finally part, her eyes are still closed and her mouth is still open. He puts his forehead up against hers. "Buffy, I love you more than anything in the world. And you've got to believe it's killing me to have to leave you. After last night…God, it was all I could ever wish for. The fact that I was lying so close to you and you were not turning me away. The fact that I could reach over and touch you and you touched me back. You gave yourself to me, Buffy. And it was more wonderful than I could have imagined. And then when I awoke this morning, you were right there. I must have spent the better part of an hour just staring at you and trying to make myself believe that I was really there with you. For all these years, we've hated each other. And just one night, we loved each other, completely. You do things that the Bionic Woman would have to be reprogrammed for. But as good as it was, I woke up this morning, a smile on my face, and a song in my heart, and I knew that something was amiss." He kisses her again because he senses that his voice is about to break. "Buffy, we could never make this work," he says. "You know it. Things could never end up at the happily ever after stage between you and me."
There is logic in this and she has known this all along, but after last night, after he held her, made love to her, she wants to believe that he loves her and wants to be with her. There were promises in his touch last night. He told her that he loved her before. But last night he showed her how much he did. And she woke up in love with him.
"But why do you have to go now?" she asks, not quite willing to give up yet.
"Because if I stay any longer it will be impossible for me to leave. It's nearly impossible for me to leave now," he says, pulling her closer.
As they are embracing Buffy knows he is speaking the truth. She has come to this same conclusion herself, but she has not scheduled her acceptance of this until a few days later. Or a few weeks later. Anytime but now.
This isn't the cowardly exit of another Parker telling her she has been used and discarded. This is a deep and abiding apology. He does love her more than anything in the world. That is not an exaggeration. She can feel it in his arms.
"Oh, God, Buffy. If I could make it work…if I could twist the neck of this thing and make it work, I would. I would. You remember what I told you at the Bronze, don't you? About what makes you different from the other slayers? Your family. Your friends. Not me."
In the clutch of vulnerability, she clings to him, whispering heavily, "I do need you."
He pulls her away. He wants her to see the reality of things, and not what lust and anger have presented for her and have made real.
"You don't need me. Not to do the sort of thing you asked me to do for you. You can protect Dawn all by yourself. And if this Glory bird ever shows her face again, she's no match for you. There's not a being in any dimension who's a match for you."
She supposes this should flatter her. But she's too wounded now. She is dealing with the pangs of a definite goodbye and it hurts so much she wishes the Slayer powers extended to muting emotions at will. But she is just a young woman, after all, in that respect. A young woman with feelings exposing them to a creature who's not supposed to have feelings. But he does. For her.
In the linen closet, she finds a blanket that's tough enough to withstand the harsh rays of the sun against any vamp.
"This belonged to Angel," she says, holding it, caressing the fibers. "He left it here."
When he takes it, he gives it a sniff. "Still smells like the poofter, too."
She chooses to ignore the blunt cut against her former lover because she's caught up in the oddness of her feelings for the blanket and whom it will be protecting now.
She follows him down the stairs. His steps are quick. It seems he can't wait to leave. But it's not that way at all. He just wants to get the pain over with, doesn't want it to linger on her face. He can't stand to look at her when she's in pain.
At the door, she wonders where he's going. And he doesn't know.
"I'll hide out in the sewers until dusk," he says. "Then I'll plan my next move."
"You'll let me know," she says, hopefully.
He grabs her hand and kisses her knuckle. "I'll let you know."
She doesn't know if this is entirely true, but she relies on the hope that she will hear from him. Somewhere.
He takes her into his arms one more time. There are lions in his grasp. And she tries to tame them all, hoping her whip will change his mind.
"Dawn will be crushed that you didn't say good-bye to her," she says over his shoulder.
He squeezes her still tighter. "You say good-bye for me."
"I will."
She knows the door within his reach. He knows it too. And the pair struggles with this final moment. He loves her. She loves him too. But she won't tell him that. Instead, in a whisper, she tells him something that sounds like a confirmation of her love for him.
"Thank you," she says. "For everything."
"Oh, Slayer," he almost groans. "It's been worth it. In spades, my love."
As he is about to depart for the door, he turns to her one more time. He wants to see her, just one last time, and to say this.
"Buffy, with each encounter with a Slayer, I've taken something with me. With the first, there was the scar," he says, pointing to his eyebrow. "With the second, I took this duster," and he smooths the lapels on his coat.
"And with me?" she asks.
There is that slight, smug smile that she has grown to love. "We had last night," he says.
It is early morning and Dawn is due in at any time. The sun is hot already and Spike secures the blanket around him as he walks out onto the front porch. She follows his racing form all the way down the street until she sees him no more. Since she doesn't observe a burst of flame, she assumes he's all right and that he's found his way to the sewers without complication.
Buffy goes into her room. She is still crying an hour later when Dawn comes home and wonders what's wrong.
It's about noon when there is knock at the door. Buffy is sitting up in her room, by her window. It takes her forever to get to the door. Her movements are slow. She's feeling ancient, drained and she is wearing a blanket draped around her shoulders, even though it is sunny, bright and warm outside. She holds the blanket around her for security.
For some reason, Giles is the last person she expects to see at the door. It's been weeks since she's seen him, it seems. It's almost as though she's forgotten what he looks like.
There's concern on his face. There is intention in his visit. And it's not just to say, "Hello, how are you doing?"
She gives him a hug, and the blanket slips away from her shoulders. Underneath she is wearing just the panties and tee-shirt she put on that morning when she awoke alone. She feels Giles stiffen in her grasp and she wonders if he can smell Spike on her. She can. She can still feel his touch, his kiss, his presence inside her.
She knows she looks a mess. Her hair has not been combed and her eyes are puffy and red. But she wants him to see this, see the hurt. Then maybe he will understand when she tells him what has happened in the past two weeks.
"Buffy, I was just…in the neighborhood…" he is moving through the living room, cautiously, peering behind the furniture. "And I just thought…thought I would…see how you are…"
She follows him into the kitchen. He trying for stealth, but his curiosity is pathetically obvious. Especially when he looks in the fridge. And later when he goes to the basement door and turns the knob.
"He's not here," Buffy says.
"Who?" he says.
She smiles at his attempts at concealment. "You can look down there, but you won't find him. At least I don't think you will. I haven't checked in the last five minutes."
"But he was here?" Giles asks.
She nods her head slowly. "Yep, he was here."
"For how long?"
"Almost since the funeral."
"Oh, Buffy…" there is disappointment in his tone. "For God's sake, why?"
"I told you that day in the magic shop," she says as she sits down at the table. She remembers the incident with the chair. And then the table. The fridge might work, though, she remembers him saying. His little quirky words keep coming back to her. Some of them make her smile. Some make her regret. All make her ache. She wraps the blanket around her.
"You told me that he was to be coming by in the evenings to look after Dawn, not becoming a member of the household," he says accusingly. He is standing over her with a deep scold on his face.
"That's how it started out. But things happened. He kept getting attacked by vamps because, apparently, his association with me isn't making him Mr. Popularity with the other undead. So I realized if he was going to be around to take care of Dawn, I had to take him in."
"You were protecting him," Giles says.
"Yeah," she says.
Now Giles sits down across from her, slowly, with all sorts of questions running through his head. It's as though he's trying to sort out which ones he has to know and which ones he doesn't want to know, but will find out about anyway. He's preparing himself to know the truth and it's not going to be pleasant.
"But now he's gone. Well, not totally gone. He's probably down in the sewers right now. That's where he said he was going to think about things." She lays her head on her shoulder and sighs. "Dawn cried when I told her. She accused me of kicking him out."
"Did you?"
Hardly, she thinks. "No. It was his own decision. Not mine."
"Well, what was it that finally convinced the bastard that he's not wanted here?"
He is wanted here. He's needed here. Right here in these empty arms that are holding onto a blanket in his absence.
Buffy says nothing. She only stares at Giles. Suddenly he can see her broken heart and her loss. He has seen this look lingering in her eyes since her mother's death, but the sadness in her eyes is new, recently acquired. But there is confirmation of all his fears in her eyes as well. The biggest one comes blindingly clear to him.
"Buffy, did you…"
She doesn't want him to know everything. She's not obligated to share everything with this man. But she thinks he should know that whatever happened is over.
"Giles, there's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already beaten myself up about a thousand times over in these past weeks. So don't even start. All you have to know is that he's gone. Completely. And I don't think he's coming back this time." She runs her hands through her hair. It's sticky with old perspiration and smells, wonderfully, of him. "I always send them packing at some point. I guess he was just getting that part over with before we could get any further."
Giles' face has now gone from mild shock to disbelief. Presently, there is a look of acceptance growing on his face and she is relieved. She hopes he won't ask her anything more, because she's too tired to come up with answers.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
She smiles, a little. "I don't know. I'm feeling like I just left Bizarro Buffy world or something. Like I just saw another side of myself that I didn't know existed. And this Buffy did everything I would do, except one. She let someone into her life who probably shouldn't have had an invite. She fought with all her might to keep him at arms' length, but eventually…things happened. Things got complicated and the world inside the Summers' house got a little too small."
This summation suffices for Giles. He is not here to accuse her of anything anymore. He is here to comfort her.
"Where do you think he'll go this time?" he asks.
"I don't know." She has thought about this. Probably L.A. She's thinking L.A. because Angel is there and she sent him away wearing one of Angel's old blankets. He'll want to tell Angel all about what happened. "Hey, Poof, your ex wanted me to return this to you. And by the by, I slept with her. You were spot on about the smelling-like-vanilla thing. She's the sweetest spice in the rack," she can hear him say.
"Something tells me he'll be back. Sunnydale is too much of a playground for him," Giles says.
She wants to believe this. She has kept saying to herself that there's always a possibility he'll reconsider. He's made similar exits before. Not quite like this one, but he has turned his back on Sunnydale in the past with every intention of never returning. But he always finds his way back.
"If he does come back, it won't be for a long time. He'll move around for a while, try to be the Big Bad somewhere else where there are already too many Big Bads and he finds himself outnumbered. I know somehow Spike will always be a part of my life. And I can honestly say, I'm OK with that now." She hears her words and nods in agreement with herself. "Yeah. I'm OK with that."
On a lonely stretch of highway a little north of the Sunnydale city limits, a man walks alone in the night. The moon is bright overhead. Almost full. The soft, milky white lays its beams down on his pale face, illuminating the expression of someone who's on a mission, who's on his way…somewhere. The people passing by in their cars regard this solitary figure with suspicion, probably wondering why he's out so late, walking in darkness and wearing all black, tempting fate along the side of the road. All it would take would be for some motorist to veer a little off the shoulder and it would be all over for him. But something like a car crashing into him wouldn't put an end to him. They don't know that this man who walks alone hasn't felt a heartbeat in his chest for decades. They don't know that this man has no soul. They don't know that this man can walk as he does, without fear, because there is only one thing that will put an end to his life. The old stake to the heart. No, they don't know this man is a vampire. No, they don't know his heart is stilled in his chest. And they don't know that his heart is broken because he loved a woman so much he had to leave her. They only know he's walking. He's walking away.
Le fin