TITLE: Awakenings
DISCLAIMER: Surprisingly enough, I don't own any of this. ME and Joss do. But I can pretend.
THE STORY: I admit it, I'm one of those who believe that Buffy would have helped Spike off the cross. So I came up with my own little scenario. And here it is!
FEEDBACK: Please. In fact, I'd love some serious reviews on what you think works and what doesn't in my writing.
AWAKENINGS
"Your soul ..."
Buffy's world tilted on its axis as she breathed the words. Was it true? Was it even possible? Spike had gone - and got his soul?
He was half-invisible in the dim light of the chapel, moving somewhere behind her. She turned to look at him. Look, and see the truth. He breathed a chuckle, said wryly: "A bit worse for lack of use."
She shook her head, still taking it in. Did she really want to know? As though in a dream, she said: "You got your soul back." Raised her eyes to meet his. "How?"
Spike looked at her strangely. "It's what you wanted, right?" He looked up at the ceiling, to the sky. "It's what you wanted, right?" Who was he asking?
He moved away, still talking, still muttering, more to himself it seemed than to her. Buffy let the words wash over her.
"His soul, his soul," her mind chanted, and she tried desperately to focus on what those words meant. He'd done it deliberately? Is that what he was saying? Put himself through ... whatever Angel had always been so reluctant to tell her. Once, Buffy had tried to imagine what it must be like to suddenly be aware of the horror of all those actions, all those deaths, all that pain. She hadn't really been able to do it.
Again, the words came of their own volition. "Why? Why would you do that?
"Buffy, shame on you. Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev.." He checked himself, then turned away from her. He sounded close to tears. "To be a kind of man." He walked slowly forward, within touching distance of a large wooden cross. His voice took on a strange quality, as though he was reciting something he had learnt. "And she shall look on him with forgiveness and everybody will forgive, and love… and he will be loved. So everything's okay, right?"
He sounded so much like a lost little boy that Buffy felt a single tear overflow, trickle, tickle down her cheek. Unable to move, unable to make a sound, she watched as Spike draped himself over the cross, like a child leans against its mother, and rested his head against it. Smoke rose in a soft mist around him. He spoke again, softly, gently.
"Can we rest now? Buffy. Can we rest?"
*****
Buffy roused herself. How much time had passed? She focused on Spike, still on the cross. What was he doing? She moved forward, but slowed as she got within touching distance. He was humming softly, tunelessly, oblivious to his blistering skin.
"Spike?" Buffy whispered softly, afraid of startling him. He didn't respond, and she hesitantly reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. "Spike? Come on. Let's get you out of here ..."
She found that she was talking to him like he was a child, and he responded in the same way. Gently, she pulled him away from the cross, and draped his arm over her shoulders so she could support him as they moved away from the cross and down the aisle of the church, like some kind of macabre wedding party. She snagged his blue shirt, his disguise, as they walked past it, Spike docilely following her lead.
It took them a long time to walk back to Revello Drive, walking slowly through the dark streets, tugging Spike along when he seemed to forget what they were doing, stopping instead to look at the stars, or watch the branches of a tree moving in the gentle breeze. He spoke softly, under his breath, mumbling to himself, the whole way home. At first Buffy tried to listen, to respond, but he didn't seem to require it, was talking more to himself, and after a while Buffy let him ramble and lost herself in her own thoughts.
Spike had a soul.
A soul.
Why had he ...?
How had he ...?
It seemed impossible. Angel's soul was a curse - the worst punishment that the gypsies had been able to think of . And yet Spike - Spike of all people - had sought his out. Knowing exactly what it meant. And he had done it ... for her? Is that what he had been trying to say? Because - he loved her? Because - he regretted what he had done to her? Because - he wanted to show her that he too could be someone that she could love?
"I can't think about this now," Buffy whispered out loud. She started slightly at the sound of her own voice. The two of them must look like escapees from an asylum, holding conversations with themselves. And Spike with those vicious burns on his body ...
Well, first things first. She was going to get him home, make up a bed for him in the basement. Dress his burns - who knows if vampires can get infections, but better safe that sorry. No blood in the house, she'd have to get some in the morning. He could survive until then. Luckily she wasn't expected at the school tomorrow. Then, after that, she could ...
Buffy had no idea what she would do after that. She had no idea what she was doing now. But it seemed like the right thing.
*****
The house was dark when Buffy and Spike made their way up to the back door, weaving like a pair of drunken lovers. Buffy uttered a silent thankyou to whoever was listening that Dawn must have gone to bed. After her sister's little speech earlier in the evening, it would be much easier if Dawn didn't know about Spike just yet. She would demand an explanation and Buffy didn't have one to give.
"You're letting the vampire who tried to rape you sleep in the house?" she would say.
"Well, yes. He's gone kind of insane. I didn't want to leave him hanging on the cross, you see."
"You're letting the insane vampire who's into self-mutilation and who tried to rape you sleep in the house??"
Easier not to have to explain anything just yet. Tomorrow would make a much better explaining day.
Silently, she unlocked the back door and helped Spike across the kitchen and down the basement stairs.
"Sit here," she whispered, pushing him down to sit on the stairs.
He looked up at her with confused eyes. "Buffy? What ... where are we?" He reached out for her blindly, then snatched his hand back as though she had bitten it. "Bad. Bad." He tucked his chin in, eyes dropping to the floor.
"It's ok. We're home now," she soothed. "I'm going to make up a bed for you. So you can rest. Are you tired, Spike?"
"Very tired," he breathed. His eyes met hers again. He sounded clearer, saner, for a few minutes. "Thank you, Buffy."
She gave an awkward nod, and moved away to pull out the cot and quickly make it up with some sheets and an old blanket. There was no pillow, he would have to go without. She turned back, coaxed him to his feet. Like a child, he allowed her to lead him to the bed, stretched out on it on his back, trusting eyes not leaving her. Uncomfortable, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off, setting them tidily under the bed. Then she bent to inspect his burns.
They were deep, red raw grooves in his forearms, chest, and the side of his face. She traced a gentle finger around the one on his left arm, and he lay still, unflinching, his head turned slightly towards her - to favour the uninjured side? So he could watch her?
"I'll be back in a minute," she whispered, and sped lightening quick, quiet, up the stairs to fetch the first aid kit.
He hadn't moved when she got back to the basement, and without meeting his eyes she smoothed a medicated bandage over the wound on his left arm, binding it up securely, then doing the same to his right arm. The one on his chest was harder to bind, but finally she found a way to fix the medicated bandage to his skin, hopefully firmly enough to last through the night. Finally, she turned to the one on his face.
It curved along his cheekbone from chin to forehead, and she had to brush his hair away before she could tend to the wound. His eyes were closed now, and she wondered absently if he was asleep.
She finished with the bandages and packed up the first aid kit, moving up the stairs and turning off the light. She paused and turned back. He lay motionless on the bed, arms stretched out at his sides, the bandages showing starkly white even against his skin and the sheets. His eyes were open now, looking at her, but he didn't say anything, and after a few minutes she turned away and closed the basement door quietly.
*****
Buffy was almost glad that both she and Dawn overslept in the morning. It didn't give Dawn the chance to ask too many questions about the previous night, nor Xander when he arrived to pick Dawn up. Once they were gone, she checked on Spike, who seemed to be fast asleep, then ducked out to pick up some blood from the butcher's. She dithered for a few moments wondering whether to wait for Spike to wake up on his own, or to take some blood down to him straight away to help him heal, then, fed up with herself, she warmed up some blood and marched down the basement stairs.
He stirred before she reached the bottom, blue eyes opening and fastening on her. He frowned, looking confused, hair rumpled, eyes still half-asleep, a little crease on his face where it had been pushed into the mattress.
"Buffy? What's going on?" His voice was sleep-roughened, and he rubbed a hand over his face before noticing the bandages. "What ..."
She could almost watch memory come flooding back as he dropped his head back onto the bed, turning his face away from her.
She stepped forward, holding out the mug in front of her body, as though she was hiding behind it.
"I brought you something to eat," she said.
His head whipped round to look at her. "Don't you want me to go?"
"It's - it's light outside. You can stay for a bit. Drink. Heal." She held out the mug again, and he sat up slowly and took it from her. He hesitated before raising it to his lips, and Buffy took the hint and left him with his privacy.
****
The next time she went down with blood, he was awake, but not lucid, pacing the room , talking to himself again. He barely acknowledged her, seemed to be addressing the wall, arguing about who belonged there, and she left the mug on the stairs for him. When she went back down a few hours later, he was fast asleep again, and the mug had been drained. She didn't try to wake him, just left the mug again. It would be dark in a couple of hours, and Dawn would be home, and she was going to have to decide what to do. What to tell Dawn, and Xander.
She expected questions to be the first thing from her sister when Dawn walked in the door later in the afternoon. Instead, her sister attacked.
"Buffy! Why haven't you done the streamers? And ... where's the sign? What's going on?"
"The what? And the what?" Buffy looked at Dawn stupidly, for one wild second imagining that Dawn wanted streamers and signs for Spike. Then she remembered. "Oh! Willow!"
Dawn regarded her warily. "Buffy, have you been doing drugs? You'd forgotten that Willow and Giles were arriving tonight?"
"No! Well, in the sense that means yes. I've ... had other things on my mind," Buffy tried to explain.
"I guess you mean whatever happened with Spike last night." Dawn gave Buffy a meaningful glance. "Xander told me in the car this morning that you went after him. Well, you'll have to fill me in later. We've got welcome-y things to do."
They flew around the house, decorating with streamers and balloons, creating a big sign to say "Welcome Home Willow!" and making platters of sandwiches and salads. Just as they finished, Xander arrived.
"Ladies," he greeted them in his best suave tones. "What's left to be done?"
"You're just in time," Buffy told him drily. "We've just done it all."
Xander rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Why don't I just inspect the food supplies..."
Buffy grabbed his arm. "No sampling the dinner, Xander." She steered him over to the sofa and pushed him down. "Sit. Watch TV. Stay."
She just had time to shower and change before the sound of a taxi drawing up outside brought her downstairs. Anya had arrived while she had been upstairs, and the four of them crowded onto the front porch to greet Giles and Willow.
It wasn't as awkward as Buffy expected it to be. Willow was so obviously uncomfortable, ashamed and eager to please, that everyone's efforts were devoted to making her feel welcome, leaving no room for discomfort on their side. Giles also helped the return go smoothly, and Buffy silently thanked her lucky stars that she had been able to convince him to return with Willow, albeit temporarily.
Soon, they were all ensconced in the living room, munching on sandwiches and tentatively catching up on all that had been happening in Sunnydale over the summer. Willow sat quietly on the sofa between Giles and Xander, not contributing much to the conversation, but the expression on her face showing her pleasure in being home, and being accepted.
Buffy had completely forgotten about the vampire sleeping in her basement, until a comment from Giles brought everything flooding back.
"And you've still never heard from Spike?" he was asking Dawn, who was picking lettuce out of her sandwich.
"Well, funny you should ask," Dawn responded, shooting a glance at Buffy. "He seems to have returned."
"What?" Giles exclaimed. He turned to Buffy, and she squirmed uncomfortably. "When?"
"I'm not sure, exactly," she hedged. "I saw him last week, on Dawn's first day at school. He seems to be living in the basement of the new high school."
"The school?" Giles echoed. "What on earth is he doing there?"
Buffy eyed him, debating with herself whether now was the best time to tell everyone the truth. Oh, whatever, she thought. They'd have to know sooner or later. She got up and began to pace as she haltingly told the story of first seeing Spike in the basement, how he had turned up unexpectedly in the house last night, how he had reacted when he had stabbed Ronnie, and how she had followed him to the church.
"He was rambling, jumping from one topic to another - or so I thought," she explained. "And then he mentioned Angel, and it all began to make sense ... I finally understood what was going on..." She paused and looked at Giles. She could see that the truth was dawning on him, although the others still looked baffled.
"Buffy ... you're not saying ... you can't possibly mean ..." Giles stammered to a stop, his gaze moving over her shoulder. The others all followed suit, and Buffy finally turned as well.
Spike stood in the doorway to the kitchen, clad only in his jeans, hair in wild disarray.
"What can't she mean, Ripper?" he said, his mocking tone achingly familiar from Spike of old. His eyes flicked to Buffy, and she saw cold painful sanity. "What do you think old Spikey has done, eh?" He swayed slightly on his feet, and Buffy had to clench her fists to keep from reaching out to him.
Giles stood, and everyone else also got to their feet, silent, gazes flicking between Spike, Giles and Buffy.
"Why don't you tell us, Spike," Giles invited, his tone steel wrapped in velvet.
Spike locked his eyes on Buffy and was silent for a long moment, until she almost wondered if he was going to answer. Finally he stirred, as though waking from a deep sleep.
"What has Spike done?" he asked in a dream-like voice. "Poor Spike. He was neutered a long time ago." He twined a curl at his forehead around one long pale finger and tugged on it. "But it didn't change anything. Still no good. Still a monster. Still an evil soulless thing. Wasn't he? Just a thing. So now what? How do you make that go away? Become what she wants ..." His voice trailed away.
"Like ... like Angel?" Dawn whispered, and Buffy could almost feel the comprehension creep over everyone in the room.
A harsh chuckle came from Spike, and when he spoke again it was in his normal voice. "Like Angel, pet. He had it all, and he threw it away. But he had the one thing that counted. So I went to get one too. Get my soul." He moved slowly towards Buffy, his eyes never leaving hers, in his familiar graceful prowl. It seemed as though everyone else in the room disappeared, just the two of them facing each other. "But I didn't know it would hurt so much, Buffy. It doesn't stop hurting. Burning." He placed a hand over his heart. "You have to make it stop. I can't take it any longer." He came to a stop in front of her, and to her disbelief she saw that his eyes were full of tears. "Help me Buffy. Make it go away."
He reached into the weapon's chest beside her and out of the corner of her eye she saw he was now holding a stake. He picked up her hand and wrapped her fingers around the wood, then brought it up to his chest, placing the point against his heart. "Will you help me Buffy?" His eyes looked deep into hers, his plea clear. "Make it stop. Make it all stop. I'm so tired Buffy. I want to rest now. Rest at last. At long last."
His fingers fell away from hers, so it was just her hand holding the wooden stake against his skin, just inches away from his heart and from the destruction that she had wanted to bring him for so long. She stared at the stretch of pale skin, then looked back up into his eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly closed his eyes, taking a final unnecessary breath, and stood up slightly taller, waiting for her to push in the stake, waiting for his ending.
Buffy's hand shook and in sudden disgust she opened her fingers and watched the stake fall to the ground.
"No, Spike," she whispered. "I can't do it. This isn't the way it should be."
His eyelids flickered open. "Please. You have to help me."
"I will help you," she told him. "But not like this. I'm sorry, Spike, but you can't take the easy option."
Suddenly, the tears that she had seen in his eyes overflowed, and he fell to his knees in one graceful motion, bowing his head before her. Sobbing at her feet.
For a moment, Buffy could only watch him, them she too fell to her knees, hands curving around his cheeks to lift his face so he had to look at her.
"You've done this thing, Spike," she whispered. "This amazing thing that no vampire has ever done before. You've changed so much in the past years, and I never noticed, never gave you any credit for it. None of us did. But now you've shown how wrong we were. Getting the soul doesn't cancel out everything you've done in the past. But it does mean that you were serious about wanting to help us in the past few years, even though we never really believed you or trusted you. You've done all this on your own, but you won't have to keep going on your own. I promise you, we'll help you get through this, Spike. I know it's hard, and it's painful. But it will get easier, and better. I promise."
On the last word, her voice cracked, and she was unable to hold back her own tears any longer. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Spike's shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his head and holding it against the crook of her neck as though he were a child. She felt the cold salt of his tears against her skin, until at last he was still, silent in her embrace. She felt him relax against her and knew, at last, he was beginning to find some peace.
THE END
Thank you for reading!
DISCLAIMER: Surprisingly enough, I don't own any of this. ME and Joss do. But I can pretend.
THE STORY: I admit it, I'm one of those who believe that Buffy would have helped Spike off the cross. So I came up with my own little scenario. And here it is!
FEEDBACK: Please. In fact, I'd love some serious reviews on what you think works and what doesn't in my writing.
AWAKENINGS
"Your soul ..."
Buffy's world tilted on its axis as she breathed the words. Was it true? Was it even possible? Spike had gone - and got his soul?
He was half-invisible in the dim light of the chapel, moving somewhere behind her. She turned to look at him. Look, and see the truth. He breathed a chuckle, said wryly: "A bit worse for lack of use."
She shook her head, still taking it in. Did she really want to know? As though in a dream, she said: "You got your soul back." Raised her eyes to meet his. "How?"
Spike looked at her strangely. "It's what you wanted, right?" He looked up at the ceiling, to the sky. "It's what you wanted, right?" Who was he asking?
He moved away, still talking, still muttering, more to himself it seemed than to her. Buffy let the words wash over her.
"His soul, his soul," her mind chanted, and she tried desperately to focus on what those words meant. He'd done it deliberately? Is that what he was saying? Put himself through ... whatever Angel had always been so reluctant to tell her. Once, Buffy had tried to imagine what it must be like to suddenly be aware of the horror of all those actions, all those deaths, all that pain. She hadn't really been able to do it.
Again, the words came of their own volition. "Why? Why would you do that?
"Buffy, shame on you. Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev.." He checked himself, then turned away from her. He sounded close to tears. "To be a kind of man." He walked slowly forward, within touching distance of a large wooden cross. His voice took on a strange quality, as though he was reciting something he had learnt. "And she shall look on him with forgiveness and everybody will forgive, and love… and he will be loved. So everything's okay, right?"
He sounded so much like a lost little boy that Buffy felt a single tear overflow, trickle, tickle down her cheek. Unable to move, unable to make a sound, she watched as Spike draped himself over the cross, like a child leans against its mother, and rested his head against it. Smoke rose in a soft mist around him. He spoke again, softly, gently.
"Can we rest now? Buffy. Can we rest?"
*****
Buffy roused herself. How much time had passed? She focused on Spike, still on the cross. What was he doing? She moved forward, but slowed as she got within touching distance. He was humming softly, tunelessly, oblivious to his blistering skin.
"Spike?" Buffy whispered softly, afraid of startling him. He didn't respond, and she hesitantly reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. "Spike? Come on. Let's get you out of here ..."
She found that she was talking to him like he was a child, and he responded in the same way. Gently, she pulled him away from the cross, and draped his arm over her shoulders so she could support him as they moved away from the cross and down the aisle of the church, like some kind of macabre wedding party. She snagged his blue shirt, his disguise, as they walked past it, Spike docilely following her lead.
It took them a long time to walk back to Revello Drive, walking slowly through the dark streets, tugging Spike along when he seemed to forget what they were doing, stopping instead to look at the stars, or watch the branches of a tree moving in the gentle breeze. He spoke softly, under his breath, mumbling to himself, the whole way home. At first Buffy tried to listen, to respond, but he didn't seem to require it, was talking more to himself, and after a while Buffy let him ramble and lost herself in her own thoughts.
Spike had a soul.
A soul.
Why had he ...?
How had he ...?
It seemed impossible. Angel's soul was a curse - the worst punishment that the gypsies had been able to think of . And yet Spike - Spike of all people - had sought his out. Knowing exactly what it meant. And he had done it ... for her? Is that what he had been trying to say? Because - he loved her? Because - he regretted what he had done to her? Because - he wanted to show her that he too could be someone that she could love?
"I can't think about this now," Buffy whispered out loud. She started slightly at the sound of her own voice. The two of them must look like escapees from an asylum, holding conversations with themselves. And Spike with those vicious burns on his body ...
Well, first things first. She was going to get him home, make up a bed for him in the basement. Dress his burns - who knows if vampires can get infections, but better safe that sorry. No blood in the house, she'd have to get some in the morning. He could survive until then. Luckily she wasn't expected at the school tomorrow. Then, after that, she could ...
Buffy had no idea what she would do after that. She had no idea what she was doing now. But it seemed like the right thing.
*****
The house was dark when Buffy and Spike made their way up to the back door, weaving like a pair of drunken lovers. Buffy uttered a silent thankyou to whoever was listening that Dawn must have gone to bed. After her sister's little speech earlier in the evening, it would be much easier if Dawn didn't know about Spike just yet. She would demand an explanation and Buffy didn't have one to give.
"You're letting the vampire who tried to rape you sleep in the house?" she would say.
"Well, yes. He's gone kind of insane. I didn't want to leave him hanging on the cross, you see."
"You're letting the insane vampire who's into self-mutilation and who tried to rape you sleep in the house??"
Easier not to have to explain anything just yet. Tomorrow would make a much better explaining day.
Silently, she unlocked the back door and helped Spike across the kitchen and down the basement stairs.
"Sit here," she whispered, pushing him down to sit on the stairs.
He looked up at her with confused eyes. "Buffy? What ... where are we?" He reached out for her blindly, then snatched his hand back as though she had bitten it. "Bad. Bad." He tucked his chin in, eyes dropping to the floor.
"It's ok. We're home now," she soothed. "I'm going to make up a bed for you. So you can rest. Are you tired, Spike?"
"Very tired," he breathed. His eyes met hers again. He sounded clearer, saner, for a few minutes. "Thank you, Buffy."
She gave an awkward nod, and moved away to pull out the cot and quickly make it up with some sheets and an old blanket. There was no pillow, he would have to go without. She turned back, coaxed him to his feet. Like a child, he allowed her to lead him to the bed, stretched out on it on his back, trusting eyes not leaving her. Uncomfortable, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off, setting them tidily under the bed. Then she bent to inspect his burns.
They were deep, red raw grooves in his forearms, chest, and the side of his face. She traced a gentle finger around the one on his left arm, and he lay still, unflinching, his head turned slightly towards her - to favour the uninjured side? So he could watch her?
"I'll be back in a minute," she whispered, and sped lightening quick, quiet, up the stairs to fetch the first aid kit.
He hadn't moved when she got back to the basement, and without meeting his eyes she smoothed a medicated bandage over the wound on his left arm, binding it up securely, then doing the same to his right arm. The one on his chest was harder to bind, but finally she found a way to fix the medicated bandage to his skin, hopefully firmly enough to last through the night. Finally, she turned to the one on his face.
It curved along his cheekbone from chin to forehead, and she had to brush his hair away before she could tend to the wound. His eyes were closed now, and she wondered absently if he was asleep.
She finished with the bandages and packed up the first aid kit, moving up the stairs and turning off the light. She paused and turned back. He lay motionless on the bed, arms stretched out at his sides, the bandages showing starkly white even against his skin and the sheets. His eyes were open now, looking at her, but he didn't say anything, and after a few minutes she turned away and closed the basement door quietly.
*****
Buffy was almost glad that both she and Dawn overslept in the morning. It didn't give Dawn the chance to ask too many questions about the previous night, nor Xander when he arrived to pick Dawn up. Once they were gone, she checked on Spike, who seemed to be fast asleep, then ducked out to pick up some blood from the butcher's. She dithered for a few moments wondering whether to wait for Spike to wake up on his own, or to take some blood down to him straight away to help him heal, then, fed up with herself, she warmed up some blood and marched down the basement stairs.
He stirred before she reached the bottom, blue eyes opening and fastening on her. He frowned, looking confused, hair rumpled, eyes still half-asleep, a little crease on his face where it had been pushed into the mattress.
"Buffy? What's going on?" His voice was sleep-roughened, and he rubbed a hand over his face before noticing the bandages. "What ..."
She could almost watch memory come flooding back as he dropped his head back onto the bed, turning his face away from her.
She stepped forward, holding out the mug in front of her body, as though she was hiding behind it.
"I brought you something to eat," she said.
His head whipped round to look at her. "Don't you want me to go?"
"It's - it's light outside. You can stay for a bit. Drink. Heal." She held out the mug again, and he sat up slowly and took it from her. He hesitated before raising it to his lips, and Buffy took the hint and left him with his privacy.
****
The next time she went down with blood, he was awake, but not lucid, pacing the room , talking to himself again. He barely acknowledged her, seemed to be addressing the wall, arguing about who belonged there, and she left the mug on the stairs for him. When she went back down a few hours later, he was fast asleep again, and the mug had been drained. She didn't try to wake him, just left the mug again. It would be dark in a couple of hours, and Dawn would be home, and she was going to have to decide what to do. What to tell Dawn, and Xander.
She expected questions to be the first thing from her sister when Dawn walked in the door later in the afternoon. Instead, her sister attacked.
"Buffy! Why haven't you done the streamers? And ... where's the sign? What's going on?"
"The what? And the what?" Buffy looked at Dawn stupidly, for one wild second imagining that Dawn wanted streamers and signs for Spike. Then she remembered. "Oh! Willow!"
Dawn regarded her warily. "Buffy, have you been doing drugs? You'd forgotten that Willow and Giles were arriving tonight?"
"No! Well, in the sense that means yes. I've ... had other things on my mind," Buffy tried to explain.
"I guess you mean whatever happened with Spike last night." Dawn gave Buffy a meaningful glance. "Xander told me in the car this morning that you went after him. Well, you'll have to fill me in later. We've got welcome-y things to do."
They flew around the house, decorating with streamers and balloons, creating a big sign to say "Welcome Home Willow!" and making platters of sandwiches and salads. Just as they finished, Xander arrived.
"Ladies," he greeted them in his best suave tones. "What's left to be done?"
"You're just in time," Buffy told him drily. "We've just done it all."
Xander rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Why don't I just inspect the food supplies..."
Buffy grabbed his arm. "No sampling the dinner, Xander." She steered him over to the sofa and pushed him down. "Sit. Watch TV. Stay."
She just had time to shower and change before the sound of a taxi drawing up outside brought her downstairs. Anya had arrived while she had been upstairs, and the four of them crowded onto the front porch to greet Giles and Willow.
It wasn't as awkward as Buffy expected it to be. Willow was so obviously uncomfortable, ashamed and eager to please, that everyone's efforts were devoted to making her feel welcome, leaving no room for discomfort on their side. Giles also helped the return go smoothly, and Buffy silently thanked her lucky stars that she had been able to convince him to return with Willow, albeit temporarily.
Soon, they were all ensconced in the living room, munching on sandwiches and tentatively catching up on all that had been happening in Sunnydale over the summer. Willow sat quietly on the sofa between Giles and Xander, not contributing much to the conversation, but the expression on her face showing her pleasure in being home, and being accepted.
Buffy had completely forgotten about the vampire sleeping in her basement, until a comment from Giles brought everything flooding back.
"And you've still never heard from Spike?" he was asking Dawn, who was picking lettuce out of her sandwich.
"Well, funny you should ask," Dawn responded, shooting a glance at Buffy. "He seems to have returned."
"What?" Giles exclaimed. He turned to Buffy, and she squirmed uncomfortably. "When?"
"I'm not sure, exactly," she hedged. "I saw him last week, on Dawn's first day at school. He seems to be living in the basement of the new high school."
"The school?" Giles echoed. "What on earth is he doing there?"
Buffy eyed him, debating with herself whether now was the best time to tell everyone the truth. Oh, whatever, she thought. They'd have to know sooner or later. She got up and began to pace as she haltingly told the story of first seeing Spike in the basement, how he had turned up unexpectedly in the house last night, how he had reacted when he had stabbed Ronnie, and how she had followed him to the church.
"He was rambling, jumping from one topic to another - or so I thought," she explained. "And then he mentioned Angel, and it all began to make sense ... I finally understood what was going on..." She paused and looked at Giles. She could see that the truth was dawning on him, although the others still looked baffled.
"Buffy ... you're not saying ... you can't possibly mean ..." Giles stammered to a stop, his gaze moving over her shoulder. The others all followed suit, and Buffy finally turned as well.
Spike stood in the doorway to the kitchen, clad only in his jeans, hair in wild disarray.
"What can't she mean, Ripper?" he said, his mocking tone achingly familiar from Spike of old. His eyes flicked to Buffy, and she saw cold painful sanity. "What do you think old Spikey has done, eh?" He swayed slightly on his feet, and Buffy had to clench her fists to keep from reaching out to him.
Giles stood, and everyone else also got to their feet, silent, gazes flicking between Spike, Giles and Buffy.
"Why don't you tell us, Spike," Giles invited, his tone steel wrapped in velvet.
Spike locked his eyes on Buffy and was silent for a long moment, until she almost wondered if he was going to answer. Finally he stirred, as though waking from a deep sleep.
"What has Spike done?" he asked in a dream-like voice. "Poor Spike. He was neutered a long time ago." He twined a curl at his forehead around one long pale finger and tugged on it. "But it didn't change anything. Still no good. Still a monster. Still an evil soulless thing. Wasn't he? Just a thing. So now what? How do you make that go away? Become what she wants ..." His voice trailed away.
"Like ... like Angel?" Dawn whispered, and Buffy could almost feel the comprehension creep over everyone in the room.
A harsh chuckle came from Spike, and when he spoke again it was in his normal voice. "Like Angel, pet. He had it all, and he threw it away. But he had the one thing that counted. So I went to get one too. Get my soul." He moved slowly towards Buffy, his eyes never leaving hers, in his familiar graceful prowl. It seemed as though everyone else in the room disappeared, just the two of them facing each other. "But I didn't know it would hurt so much, Buffy. It doesn't stop hurting. Burning." He placed a hand over his heart. "You have to make it stop. I can't take it any longer." He came to a stop in front of her, and to her disbelief she saw that his eyes were full of tears. "Help me Buffy. Make it go away."
He reached into the weapon's chest beside her and out of the corner of her eye she saw he was now holding a stake. He picked up her hand and wrapped her fingers around the wood, then brought it up to his chest, placing the point against his heart. "Will you help me Buffy?" His eyes looked deep into hers, his plea clear. "Make it stop. Make it all stop. I'm so tired Buffy. I want to rest now. Rest at last. At long last."
His fingers fell away from hers, so it was just her hand holding the wooden stake against his skin, just inches away from his heart and from the destruction that she had wanted to bring him for so long. She stared at the stretch of pale skin, then looked back up into his eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly closed his eyes, taking a final unnecessary breath, and stood up slightly taller, waiting for her to push in the stake, waiting for his ending.
Buffy's hand shook and in sudden disgust she opened her fingers and watched the stake fall to the ground.
"No, Spike," she whispered. "I can't do it. This isn't the way it should be."
His eyelids flickered open. "Please. You have to help me."
"I will help you," she told him. "But not like this. I'm sorry, Spike, but you can't take the easy option."
Suddenly, the tears that she had seen in his eyes overflowed, and he fell to his knees in one graceful motion, bowing his head before her. Sobbing at her feet.
For a moment, Buffy could only watch him, them she too fell to her knees, hands curving around his cheeks to lift his face so he had to look at her.
"You've done this thing, Spike," she whispered. "This amazing thing that no vampire has ever done before. You've changed so much in the past years, and I never noticed, never gave you any credit for it. None of us did. But now you've shown how wrong we were. Getting the soul doesn't cancel out everything you've done in the past. But it does mean that you were serious about wanting to help us in the past few years, even though we never really believed you or trusted you. You've done all this on your own, but you won't have to keep going on your own. I promise you, we'll help you get through this, Spike. I know it's hard, and it's painful. But it will get easier, and better. I promise."
On the last word, her voice cracked, and she was unable to hold back her own tears any longer. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Spike's shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his head and holding it against the crook of her neck as though he were a child. She felt the cold salt of his tears against her skin, until at last he was still, silent in her embrace. She felt him relax against her and knew, at last, he was beginning to find some peace.
THE END
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