CHAPTER FOUR
It is morning.
Through the open window comes the sound of the garbage truck collecting, what sounds like, every bit of trash on the West Coast. Buffy wrestles with trying to shut out the noise and concentrate on getting some more shuteye. She feels exhaustion weighing down her bones and her eyelids as she tries to squeeze out the light. She is shivering now. There is something cold beside her. She opens her eyes for the briefest second, just long enough to see him lying there, staring at her.
He has stayed the night. The whole, long night. At one point the heavens opened up and there was rain on the roof and on the window. A giant thunderclap sounded and left the earth quaking. It was as though something had upset the balance on the universe. While she listened to the late summer storm, Buffy had her head to Spike's chest and heard nothing inside. The Slayer took a vampire into her bed. And thunder broke the skies and seared the clouds.
What is this hold he has over me? she wonders to herself again. She has turned this question over and over in her head, even while she was sleeping. She dreamed of blood. She dreamed of great cascades of blood pouring over everything in the world, turning the oceans red, staining fields of green, flooding streets and homes. She woke from that dream to find him beside her. He touched her. And she had the answer to her question.
"Slayer?" she hears him say to her. "You awake?"
She is, but she doesn't want him to know about it yet.
He is moving against her, invading the warmth of her side of the bed. She protects the warmth, curling up inside it as his hands reach for her.
His mouth is on hers. Her lips remain slack. But she is aware that her heart is beginning to pound.
What is this hold he has over me?
"Slayer?" he says again.
He is not going to let her rest. He didn't last night. Why would he start now?
She opens her eyes. His head rests of the opposite pillow. His hair is disheveled. She's never seen it look this way before. It's always in that perfect, slicked back coif that leads her to believe part of his day is spent at a salon. But this morning, it's everywhere. This mesmerizes her. He almost looks like a different person. He almost looks human.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"Mmmm," comes her reply. Which could mean a lot of things. But mostly, she means it to say, What is this hold you have over me?
She closes her eyes again and nestles her head into her pillow.
"Oh, no. Don't go back to sleep, Slayer. It's morning now, love."
It's been morning at least four times so far. At one, at two, at three, and again at four. Now, two hours later, it seems to be morning again. The kind of sunup that puts the good in good morning.
"Buffy wants to sleep now. Canoodle later," she says in a baby doll voice.
"I've watched you sleep for hours, love," he says, kissing her softly. "So do you trust me now?"
When he doesn't get a response from her, he creeps closer to her. He wedges one arm under her and envelopes her. She still does not move.
"Slayer, do you trust me now. Do you, Slayer?" she feels the tap of his kiss on her forehead and his thumb caressing her chin. "Here I've spent the last few hours, keen to the knowledge that beside me lies the mother lode of the sweetest vintage of blood there is and I didn't take a single nip. I could have guzzled you right here," he says, tracing a finger down her jugular. "Blood there, definitely."
He is putting beats in her heart that the muscles can barely keep up with. She wonders if he can hear it.
"Or I could have popped a vein here," he continues, tracing her arm now. "Good source there." His finger glides further, down her fingers, down to her hips. She flinches as his finger dances across the surface of her stomach. "Or," he says, his voice showing the delight that his girl is ticklish. "I could have tapped the source here," his fingers are now parting her legs and delving into the soft folds of moist flesh. He finds the pea-sized button there and kneads it between his index finger and his thumb. "Oh, yes. There's blood there."
She lets his fingers caress her until, yes, she is ready for another morning.
Afterwards, the two lie very still. His head rests between her breasts. Always afterward he is there. There is no talking for a while. Silence always follows. It's as though they still can't vocally acknowledge what they're doing.
But this morning, she wants him to know something.
"You're amazing," she says.
There's a growling laughter coming from his depths. "Oh, love…" he says, kissing her breast and fondling it gently. "It's so good with you."
Cuddled against her bosom, he is curled up in a fetal position and she holds him tight, stroking his hair.
And still that question haunts her, What is this hold he has on me?
She decides to go right to the source.
"Spike, I need to know something," she says tentatively. "And I want you to be as honest as you possibly can."
"What's that, love?"
She considers her words very carefully, trying them out in her head before she says them. What is this that we're doing? What exactly are we doing? What's going on between us? What is this hold you have on me…
"Spike," she swallows hard. "What's going on now…between us…this sex thing…are we just doing it or…" She's making an idiot of herself. As the words are coming from her mouth she wishes she could take an eraser and wipe them out before he has a chance to hear them.
He is stirring now. He lifts his head and looks directly into her eyes. There is curiosity in his brow. "What are you trying to say, love?"
She issues out a frustrated breath and tries again. "I was just thinking…is this all about the sex or…" There I go again…damn!
"That depends," he says. He props himself up on one elbow as he stretches out beside her. He touches a finger to the tip of her breast, circling the areola. "How do you feel about me?"
This she does not know with any clarity. And it's easy for her to believe she does feel something for her when he's touching her so intimately. She grabs his hand and pushes it aside. She reaches for his face. She traces the deep, imposing cheekbones, curves her finger around his jawline. She has seen his face so many times before. In darkened cemeteries. In dank alleyways. In crypts. Under the colored lights of the Bronze's dance floor. Now in her bed.
"We have such a history," she begins, as her fingers press against his mouth. "Not a lot of it pleasant. If history repeats itself, I don't wanna be around for the retread of what went on between us when I was in high school. You were the Big Bad---
"Hey!" he says, eyes flashing. "Be careful with the use of past tense there, love."
She shakes her head. "That's what I keep telling myself too. I look at you and I see your past. Our past. It's always there. No matter how I try to look beyond it. But then, sometimes, I see something else. I see you for what I'd like you to be. What I've glimpsed at you being capable of. I remember then the Spike who came to me when I needed someone, who offered support without being asked, who risked his life and reputation with his blood-sucking brethren to help the Slayer. I guess I never thought you could act so selflessly. It surprised me. I thought, maybe he does have a sort-of-soul somewhere, lurking under all that blackness and blond hair."
He rolls his eyes. "Finally!" he says. "It took a bleeding six months, but finally! Isn't that what I was trying to tell you before? But you said, 'No. You can't have feelings. You're a vampire. You have a chip, not a soul. Blah, blah, blah." He shakes his head. "You asked me to look after Dawn. And do you know why I did? You weren't pushing any money my way. You weren't offering to outfit my De Sota with a new set of white walls. I did it because I love you. I love you so much that it drains me sometime. I love you so much I offered to kill my first love for you. I love you so much I listened to boy bands with your sister. I love you so much that I slept in a basement for two weeks just to hear your footsteps overhead. I love you so much that I'm willing to put off any thoughts of killing another human being so that I can lie in your arms. And it hurts me to know that you are still holding onto that doubt about your feelings for me even after you've felt the passion we have for each other burn and sizzle in your own bed." He takes her head in his hands, a bit roughly at first before relaxing his grip when he sees her wince. "Buffy…" There is something in his eyes that stirs her. He's grabbing for sympathy. He looks like one of those poor, starving children on UNICEF cans at Halloween. "Buffy, you're the first human I've ever made love to."
She peers deep into his eyes to see if she can catch a lie there. But he doesn't blink while he says this. He wants her to know this is the truth. And she can take it for what it's worth. And it does mean something to her.
"You mean, before Dru, there was no one?" she asks.
"No one at all."
She thinks about this. Dru was his first. Angel was her first. They both lost their respective virginities to vampires. She remembers her first time and Angel's vulgarity as he mocked her performance. The experience had left her more than a little scarred. She always thought, maybe I do bring out the worst in men. She had made Angel evil. She had made Parker run away. And Riley, he preferred anonymous bloodletting with vampires to making love to her.
She thinks that Spike may be reading her mind because the next thing he says seems to be a reply to all she's been thinking.
"When I lie here with you sometimes, I can feel you thinking about all your past loves. How they mistreated you. How they hurt you. But when I'm in bed with you, in my mind, it's just you, babe. It's all about you. I can't think of anything else, but your warm body, your sweet caress, your kisses…" He kisses her, gently, letting his lips drag on hers as he speaks again. "I know it's foolish of my to expect you to feel even a quarter of what a feel for you, because that simply isn't possible. All I'm asking is for you to try to understand that this is real. This is why I returned. You are everything---everything--- in the world to me. And if it takes a century to make you understand, then that's how it will have to be." He kisses her again. "I've got the time."
As she gives into his kiss, taking him into her arms, a chill passes down her spine as one, clear thought echoes through her head.
I don't.
There is noise now down the hallway. Buffy is momentarily distracted as she hears a door open. They are not alone. The second Summers sister is awake and padding down the hallway.
"Mmmm," she says, unsuctioning her lips from his. "Dawn's up."
"Mmmmm…?"
"When she sees you, she'll want to know why you were here," Buffy says.
"Surely she knows about the birds and the bees at this point in her life," Spike says.
"Yeah, but she's never had them flying around her when she's trying to sleep in the next room," Buffy says.
Oh, God, I'll bet she heard everything…
She pries herself away from him. "Honey, I've got to go talk to her."
He is so stunned by this unexpected term of endearment, he doesn't make an effort to restrain her. Honey…she called me honey…
She can hear Dawn in the kitchen. As she's pulling the robe on around her, Dawn is pouring cereal. When Buffy enters, Dawn pretends she doesn't see her. She just sits there, leveling the spout of the milk carton over her frosted flakes.
"Hey," Buffy attempts.
Dawn remains silent, closing the mouth of the milk before reaching for her spoon.
"I hope that's not the last of the milk. I know we were about out."
Dawn plunges her spoon into the cereal, tossing the flakes around once or twice before taking a bite, keeping her chin close to the bowl.
"I'm going to the store later, so you may want to make a list."
Dawn is chewing slowly, contemplatively.
"So far I know we need milk, eggs, bread. Oh, and Capri Suns! I know how you like your Capri Suns."
Dawn slowly finishes her mouthful of cereal and swallows hard. Finally, she reaches for a piece of paper there on the table and shows it to her sister.
"Do you know what this is?" Dawn asks.
"Umm…a flyer about free termite inspection?"
Dawn grimaces. "This is paper. As in, what the walls are made of here. And do you know what this is?" She puts the paper in front of her face. " 'Oh, Spike…Oh, Spike…Oh, oh, oh, Spike. Oh, it feels so good…it feels so good…'"
Buffy reddens at her sister's spot on imitation of her in the throes of passion. From out of the mouths of babes…
Dawn slams the paper down on the table. "That is what I heard all night. And that is the reason I didn't sleep at all. And that is the reason I may not ever speak to you again."
"Oh, Dawn…" Buffy says, rushing over to the table. "Let me explain." She flexes her fingers, popping a few knuckles, not knowing where to begin. "Dawn, honey…when two adult people come together…sometimes…they make a decision between themselves to…to be together…and it must be completely consensual. That's the only reason to ever…and it must be done between two adults. Two adult people who make a consensual decision to be together…"
She feels a presence moving up behind her. Strong arms go around her waist and she is grateful for the support.
"What your sister is trying to tell you ever so delicately and with ever so much erudition, is that she boinked old Spike last night and she wants to know if you're OK with that," Spike says.
Dawn is glaring both at them. "I don't care who Buffy sleeps with. Just so long as it doesn't keep me awake."
"Dawn, I'm sorry. I am really, really sorry. Can you forgive me? It won't happen again."
"It won't?" Spike asks.
Buffy elbows him in the stomach. "I was a little out of control last night, and I am deeply, deeply sorry. And there's something else you should know." She takes a breath and considers the one by her side. She takes him into her arms. "Spike and I are going to try to have a relationship."
Dawn holds her spoon above her cereal. "You mean, as in boyfriend and girlfriend?"
Buffy regards her lover. There is surprise in his eyes. Then there is a brief period in which she can almost hear him say, "God, I love you" with just a look.
"Yeah, as boyfriend and girlfriend," she says.
Buffy's fist connects with the hard, rubber surface of the practice dummy. She winces from this one. She takes another jab. She is covered in sweat and she feels that the knuckles on her hands are quickly being stripped of all their skin. She's been in the training room for over three hours. She's been at this for all but fifteen minutes of that time.
There is a hand now on her shoulder. Her fist flies in the direction of the person behind her.
A startled Giles ducks just in time.
Buffy's eyes widen as she covers her mouth.
"Oh, God, Giles! I'm sorry!"
"That's quite all right," he says. "I just noticed the time and thought you might need a break." He is holding a water bottle for her.
"Can't stop now," she says, plowing her fist into the side of the dummy again.
Giles says nothing, but she can almost hear the thoughts forming in his head.
"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothin'. Just making up for lost time. I've been working a lot lately. Haven't been training enough."
"I haven't seen you go at this dummy with such ferocity since…"
He knows, she thinks. Damn, can't at least some things be private?
"Buffy…"
"What?"
"Is there something or…someone…bothering you again?"
"No," she says.
"Oh, I think there is."
Buffy kicks the dummy and sends it flying. When it comes back at her, she kicks it again. She stalks away, breathing heavily. She mops the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and grabs for the water Giles has brought her.
"You're right, Giles. I could use a break. It must be, what, six o'clock now? I need to get a few things at the store." She takes a drink of the water and hands it back to him. "See you tomorrow."
When she arrives home, it has been dark for about an hour. She is carrying two bags of groceries and one is precariously positioned to slip onto the floor. She supports it with her knee and hefts it back into her arms as she struggles to get her key in the door. When the door is finally open, she hears Spike say, "Wait a minute!" and the door slams shut again.
"Spike, what are you doing?" she asks.
"Just a second!" he says.
She rolls her eyes and contemplates putting the bags on the floor. Her muscles are aching from training and the added strain of holding two giant grocery bags is taxing even her Slayer strength.
But in a minute the door is opened again.
He stands by the entrance, door man style, and bids her admission with a wry salute.
"You may come in," he says.
As she walks in, her senses are enveloped all at once by the sight and smell of about a hundred candles burning, all around the apartment---on the TV, on the in tables by the sofa, on the bookshelf, on the stereo, along the counter in the kitchen, and on the table. In one inhalation it smells like church; in another, sweet fields of lilac. There is something else in the air, too. Roses. At her feet is a trail of rose petals. She follows them briefly, until she sees where they lead. To the bedroom. And she can see even there, the bed is illuminated by candlelight and the white sheets are spotted with dark red rose petals as well.
She stands there, stunned, for a moment even forgetting that she is carrying such a heavy load, until the heavier bag begins to descend again.
"What do you think?" he asks eagerly.
"I think I'm about to lose my security deposit," she says. She sets the groceries down on the floor as she gazes around. "Wow…"
He is smiling, waiting for some kind of thank you. Something more than, Wow.
"How long did it take you set all this up?" she asks.
"Dunno. An hour or so. Little Bit helped. I told her I was sort of hoping to show you my romantic side tonight," he says.
"Where is she?" with her responsibility mode kicking in.
"I sent her to the pictures."
"But she didn't have any dinner," Buffy says.
"There was money for that, as well," he replies.
"Oh, yeah. Whose money?" she asks.
"Some that I found in your drawer," when she starts to protest, he says, "I'm only joking. I had some. Little Bit and I made a trade. If she went to the butcher's shop for me, I'd give her money for that new Matt Damian flick."
"Damon," she corrects him. She is smiling back at him now. She supposes after the rough and tumble games they've been playing lately, he thinks she has been secretly waiting for something like this. And she has. She strides up to him and takes him into her arms. She kisses him and says. "You sly creature. Thought you could sweep me off my feet with roses and candles."
"Mmm, doesn't seem to be working," he says, kissing her back.
"Not at all," she says, endeavoring for another kiss.
"So I suppose all my efforts were in vain," he says, connecting with her lips again.
"Totally," she says.
She pulls him closer to her and they kiss there in the middle of the room, a cold grocery bag against her bare ankle reminding her that there are things that need to be refrigerated. But there's a cold mouth against hers and she wants it to stay there, for a while.
When she finally breaks away, she says, "Honey, I've got to get out these clothes."
"I can help you with that," he says, flicking his tongue across her upper lip.
"And take a shower…" she realizes she's just adding more fuel to the fire.
"I can also be of assistance in that area," he says.
She gives him a warning look and walks off in the direction of the bathroom. "You can put the groceries away, if you want," she says, pulling the elastic off her ratty pony tail.
"Oh, goody!" he says. "Hard labor rewarded by more hard labor. Doesn't seem quite fair."
"You'll be rewarded," she teases as she pops her top over her head and tosses it back to him. "Handsomely."
He holds the shirt in his hands for several seconds, fighting the inclination to follow her into the bathroom. He puts the shirt to his nose and breathes in deeply. As he exhales against it, he cold breath brings back the sweat and toil of the hours spent training that day.
"Mmmm…" he says. "Slayer musk."
Once she is out of the shower, she finds him sitting on the sofa, one leg draped across the other, his foot shaking slowly to the tune of some unknown song he seems to be playing in his head. He sees her and makes room beside him on the tiny two-seater. She is still toweling her hair and continues to do so until she's certain that it's dry enough not to dampen the furniture. Then she tosses the towel aside and plops down next to him in a sigh.
Before her on the coffee table, among the myriad of votives, is a bottle of wine and two glasses. He starts to pour, but she stops him.
"Uh, Buffy and alcohol are not really on speaking terms these days," she says. "But don't let that stop you from partaking."
"Not at all?" he asks.
"After an incident involving college kids, cavemen and beer back a couple of years ago that's just too strange to explain right now, I learned my lesson."
"Really? That actually sounds like a story I'd like to hear."
"Trust me. You're better off with the Cliffs Notes version I just gave you."
He seems to be satisfied with this and the two relax together. She puts her head on his shoulder and he smells all the sweetness of her freshly shampooed hair. He thinks she must use one of those herbal concoctions he sees advertised on TV, the kind that make women orgasmic in airplane toilets and courtrooms.
He drinks his wine as she snuggles against him. It strikes her as odd that she seems so comfortable and it occurs to her that she should perhaps exercise a little caution. Maybe this is somehow part of his plan. If he thinks he can make her so relaxed in his company, then he has her just where he wants her---vulnerable to some sort of devious plot he's been concocting since the moment she gave into him. But just under her hairline, she feels his kiss as he draws an arm around her. He's not planning anything tonight, she thinks to herself. Nothing but a little seduction and she's up for that.
"How long has Dawn been gone?" she asks.
" 'Bout an hour, I suppose. Not long."
"Was she going with anyone?"
"Whoever her chatty pals are that she keeps hanging on the telephone line all day," he says.
"She loves this new freedom she's experiencing. This summer has been like a whole new life for her, almost. I've been letting her go out as much as possible. I don't think she's used to it yet. She calls me still whenever she's out, just to let me know she's OK. It was weird for me for a while too. I still felt like Glory was lurking around. But Willow and Tara took care of things. Permanently."
"Dawn was telling me a little about that. They teleported the hell gods straight back from whence they came."
"Yeah. All three. Willow and Tara were sick for the longest time. Willow was actually in the hospital afterward. She still gets headaches every once in a while. What can I say? I get by with a little help from my friends."
He knows this is true. Had the Chinese and New York slayers had a group like the Scoobies behind them, he would have been their trophy, he is certain. He thinks that's why it's so hard for him to like them sometimes.
"But then after that, there was an even bigger demon waiting 'round the bend," she says. "In the form of my father."
"You've got a father?"
"Did you think I was conceived by the Midi-Chlorians or something?"
"I just never heard you refer to your father, is all."
"No, I guess in the course of our fighting over the years, I failed to insert that little blurb into my biography. But yes, I do have a father. He doesn't show up very often, but when he does…oh, brother."
"My guess is he wasn't here to pay a friendly visit."
"No. He wanted Dawn back."
"But he's not even her father."
"Well, you know that, and I know that, but he refuses to believe it. And you'd be surprised how well the argument that some monks sent an energy ball in the form of a sister so that I could protect her holds up in a court of law."
"How did you get to keep her?"
"Things got sort of prickly, sort of ugly. But it was decided that Dawn was old enough to decide who she wanted to live with and that person was me. Dad skulked off to his usual place, which is nowhere to be seen, most of the time, and I haven't heard from him since. I loved my mother, but she had the most abysmal taste in men."
She passed that on to her daughter, he is thinking. Good thing I came along to break the curse.
"And then," she sighs as she reaches for the hand draped on her shoulder, "with all the court costs and mortgage payments eating away at what little money Mom had to leave us, I had to let the house go. And that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it was just too much of a burden. It contained a lot of memories, but it was an expensive hope chest to keep around. So I sold the house and moved in here about two months ago."
"Not the spacious digs of your old place, but it's not without its charm," he says.
She inhales and looks around at the cramped space, noting that it almost looks like an alcove of a chapel with all the candles. "You know, normally I hate the place, but tonight, it looks sort of enchanting."
"It's the company, I'm sure."
Damn, egocentric bastard, she thinks. But there's always a self-deprecating tone that goes along with these asides. She can almost agree with him, though. She is feeling a contentment she hasn't felt for a long time, curled up beside him. We're already like two old marrieds, she thinks. She also thinks that her friends wouldn't be quite as shocked by the fact that they have been having sex as they would be to know that Spike and Buffy snuggled quietly on a sofa and didn't have a single cross word to say to one another.
"Buffy, I know you've been through a lot in the last few months, and I am sorry," he says.
"I got through it. I had my peeps around me," she says, mocking cheerfulness. But she grows more serious with the next sentence. It's more than she has wanted to say to him, but she thinks he knows it. And that's exactly why she hasn't told him. "I did miss you, though."
"You did?" he asks. "And exactly how much did the Slayer miss her vampire lover?"
"Mmmm," she gets closer to him. Closer is the only option on a sofa this small. "A whole lot."
He reaches over and puts his wine on the table. He then takes her face into her hands for a kiss. "Why don't you show me how much you missed me?"
"I think I've been doing that, haven't I?"
"Show me again. I sometimes like the re-runs better than the regular season."
Sometimes he just kills her with the cheesy lines. But they work. Especially when his hands are on her. As powerful as his fists can be when they're raining blows down on her, when uncurled they are sweetly seductive and entirely intent on her pleasure, it seems.
He opens the lapels of her bathrobe and kisses her chest. Her hands are across his back. He cups one breast in his hand, kissing it for a brief moment, before returning to her mouth.
The phone begins to ring.
"Don't get it," he says, his words vibrating on her lips.
"It might be Dawn…" she says.
"You have the answering machine on?" he asks, continuing to kiss her.
"Yes," she says, tasting the wine in his mouth.
"Let it do its job, then," he instructs as he pushes her against the arm of the sofa.
While their sighs rise and fall, the answering machine picks up. Buffy finds it weird to hear her own voice in the air while she's lying there being caressed and kissed. It's almost as though her clone has walked in on them.
There is a long beep. And then Willow's voice sounds. "Buffy, it's Wil. We just got your message. We've been up at Big Bear and we just got back. But we'll be right over to reactivate the de-invite spell for Spike. I hope he hasn't been bothering you. See you in a bit."
Spike's lips have now stopped moving. His hands remain on her. He is stone still. But then his face starts to move away from hers. There is fear in her as he rises. She can see the hurt in his eyes turning to madness.
"De-invite spell, eh?" he asks.
Her heart begins to pound. She is trapped under him. She wants to move, but can't. He is holding her down. "Spike, I…"
"De-invite spell?" he says again.
"I asked them to come over days ago. When you were here with Dawn and I thought---
"You asked the lover Wiccas to do a de-invite spell?"
She sees him hovering over her, his face contorted into a deadly scowl. His hands won't let go. But then suddenly, they do. She is free of him. He is on his feet, ranting around the small living room of the apartment. He stops at the midpoint of the room and emits a howl that pierces her eardrums and sends chills down her spine. He kicks the table, sending it flying, the contents spilling everywhere. Buffy scurries to put out any flames the candles have caused on the carpet, but it's all wax dripping there on the plush fibers. Wine flows from the neck of the bottle and she rights it before anymore can spill.
There is another howl, and he wanders aimlessly, pounding his head with his fists.
"What are you trying to do to me?" he shouts, kicking the door and sending the toe of his boot shooting through the other side.
He struggles to free his boot, giving her enough time to search for a weapon, something she can use. She looks at the table legs on the coffee table. She strikes it with the side of her foot, crying out as the hardwood collides with her arch. She has knocked the table leg just slightly off position. She thinks that if she can grasp it, she can wring it free. But as she does, he kicks it with his boot and spins it in his hand.
"Is this what you want, Slayer? Something to kill me? You don't need that, love. You've already found another method. I know what you're game is now, love. You can't destroy me in the conventional Slayer-vamp way. So you've found another way. A way that suits your needs quite nicely. Because you get to exact the control, make up the rules as you go along. I have lain beside you, confessed things to you that I wouldn't dare speak of to anyone else, and I have loved you more than an ungrateful bint like you deserves to be loved. And this is how you return your affection."
"Spike, I didn't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't want them to de-invite you now."
"The fact is, Slayer, you don't trust me. And you never will. Even after I told you I can control the violence now. Even after I told you I don't have to kill and I wouldn't kill." He new expression covers his face and she believes that at any moment she might see actual tears in his eyes. "You think I'm a monster, don't you? I'm just one of your quarry, aren't I?"
"Spike, you know that's not how it is," she says, trying to reach for him. "Not now."
"Then tell me now, Slayer. Tell me as honestly as you can. How do you feel about me?"
Her mouth has suddenly gone dry. He is standing a pace in front of her, and takes a step back whenever her hands come near. It's her words that he wants, not her touch.
"I…" she begins, "I…" she can't force herself to say it. Even as he stands there with that sad, hurt look on his face that she wants to sweep away into a corner somewhere.
His lips are curling in a sneer. "You don't care about me. You don't give a damn about me. When we're making love, you may as well be making love to any one of the demons and vamps who escape the point of your stake."
"Spike, don't talk like that. When I make love to you, it does mean something to me. And I resent you making me out to be some sort of vampire whore."
"You're heartless, Buffy Summers. My heart may not beat, but it does feel. Your heart's gone cold. You can't let people in because you don't want them to know how empty you are inside." He presents the makeshift stake to her. "If this is how it's going to be, I don't want to be around for it. I'd rather have you stake me now than have to endure the misery of your cruelty."
"I don't want to stake you, Spike."
"You did before. For years that's all you wanted to do. Until you discovered that I was more fun undead than dead." He throws the stake against the wall, letting it ping to the ground. He turns, finding his leather duster by the door. As he slips it on, he says. "You can tell the lover Wiccas not to bother with the de-invite spell. You won't be needing it. I'm not going to darken your doorstep again, Slayer. Ever. I'm through with this. I thought that what we had was worth fighting for. But, as it turns out, we don't have anything at all but a lie between us." He goes for the door, but before his hand turns the knob, he looks at her once more. "You think about that."
When he is gone, the sound of the slammed door echoes through the apartment and in her ears. The walls reverberate from his harsh exit and his harsher, more damning words. They have fought so many times. But this time was different. This time wasn't a "who-can-hurt-whom-worse" fight. This was an, "I'm-hurt-and-you're-the-cause, bitch" fight. This was their first lover's spat.
Buffy is not alone in the apartment for long. In a few minutes, there is a knock at the door. Tara and Willow have come to reactivate the spell. She doesn't have time to clear away the candles and the rose petals. She wants all the evidence to be there for them to see, so they'll know, so it won't be a secret anymore.
And when they see her, naked but for the robe, and alone in a room filled with candles and rose petals, with a smashed-in coffee table and a boot-made hole in the door, they do. And she is relieved.
"We're too late, aren't we?" Willow asks.
"Much too late," Buffy answers. "But come in anyway. I've got some things to tell you."