Buffy's steps slowed as she approached the crypt door until finally she was poised in front of it, one hand caressing the rough stone. She stood there for what seemed like hours, though it was surely only minutes, debating whether it would be better to knock or just to enter.
The decision was taken from her when Spike pulled open the door and stood before her. A half consumed cigarette hung from his lips and a half empty bottle of whiskey from one hand. He looked her over for some time before speaking. "I expect you want to come in, then." He moved gracelessly out of the doorway to let her pass. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" he inquired sarcastically. "Haven't yet made your insult quota for the day?"
"Spike, I-" she began, struggling for the necessary words. "I wanted to... are you drunk?" she asked as he walked unsteadily back to his chair and collapsed into it.
"Not nearly enough yet to deal with you," he replied, removing the cigarette from his mouth long enough to take another protracted swallow from the bottle before setting it beside the chair. "But I'm working on it."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Buffy lashed out without thinking. She struggled to remember the reason for her visit and forced herself back to some semblance of calm. I probably deserved that, she thought. I hope he'll be willing to forgive me - though I'd understand if he weren't.
Buffy seated herself gingerly on the edge of one of the tombs. "I've been remembering some of my nightmares," she said, not willing to look at him. "I came here to... to apologize for the things I said to you when we woke up; I couldn't remember what had happened in my nightmares. I didn't know then everything you'd done for me." I didn't know then I'd fallen in love with you.
"I almost killed you; that's what I did for you," he said angrily. "In my dreams, I would have enjoyed killing you."
"But you didn't," she insisted, surprised that he wasn't gloating over the fact that she had come to him, humbling herself.
"I'm a killer, Buffy. I was for a hundred years before I met you, before the Initiative. Part of me - the demon inside - longs for that violence. Whatever's left of the man I was can't fight that forever."
"You've done a lot of good-" she began. This wasn't going at all the way she had expected. She had thought she would be defending her actions, not his.
"But I'm not a good man; I'm not really a man at all, am I?" Spike interrupted harshly, flinging the cigarette aside. "Underneath it all I'm still - what was your stunningly perceptive phrase? - a serial killer in jail. And you and I both know if I were ever let out," he tapped the side of his head meaningfully, "I couldn't ever really be trusted. And that's why you can't love me.
"Maybe I'm a vampire who only dreams he's a man," he murmured. "That's why I'm leaving. So I won't risk hurting you."
Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. Everyone leaves me. Fury boiled up inside her. "You... fucking... coward," she hissed, getting to her feet. He looked up and blinked owlishly, not comprehending. "Is that how little love means to you? That you'll pack up and run as soon as you don't think you can take the risks?"
She strode forward and clutched at the fabric of his tee shirt. Without warning, she brought her hands violently down and away, shredding the black fabric until it hung in tatters from his waist. "You go on and on about 'the things we do'," she raked her nails viciously down his skin, "the things I do that you like so well..." Buffy knelt in front of him, bringing her mouth to his chest and pulling his pale flesh hard against her teeth. A livid suck-mark purpled his skin when she lifted her head again. "You swear you're in love with me - you damn well better stick around and prove it."
Her hands dropped to his belt, ready to tear at it as well. Before she could act, he pushed her away sharply and she fell back onto the floor. His own rage lifted him to his feet. "Maybe you're not listening!" he shouted. "I found out in my own nightmares just how little control I really have. And now the chip won't stop me from really hurting you, maybe even killing you. I can't live with that possibility. I love you so much that I'd rather leave than know I could do that."
"Oh please," said Buffy caustically, "save me from another person telling me they're leaving me because they love me!" She scrambled to her feet to continue her rant. "First it was my Dad. 'Our relationship will be better if we don't live in the same household.' - well where the hell was he when Mom died? Off in Spain with his damn secretary, that's where!
"Then Angel. 'I'm going so that you can have a normal life.' - who the hell was he trying to fool? My life will never be normal," she cried. "And now you're going to try and pull the same damn thing? 'Ooh, I'm afraid I'll hurt you.'" She let fly suddenly with a devastating kick to his stomach that knocked him back into the wall of the crypt. "You arrogant ass," she said scornfully, "do you think you could even get near me if I didn't want you to?" She advanced on him and released a flurry of wild punches to his face and body.
Spike was stunned twice over. First by the force of her blows, and second by the fact that he couldn't manage to block more than one in three - and it wasn't just because he was drunk. Buffy pulled him away from the wall and he crashed to the floor, smacking his head so hard that his vision dimmed for a moment. In that instant, Buffy had straddled his prone form and dropped to her knees over him to continue her attack. Been here before, he thought groggily, didn't much like it then either.
"I think I'm in love with you, you idiot! And that terrifies me! You promised me that even without the chip you wouldn't kill - but how do you know you could stop yourself?" She remembered the endless need she had felt in her own nightmare of being turned. What if you can't love me enough to stop? How many people would I kill before I could stop you?
"I'd be responsible. I'd have to stop you - kill you." And then I'd have to die. "Been there, done that - and I don't want another goddamn tee-shirt!" Fear now, rather than anger, drove her fists.
He grabbed for her arms, desperate to interrupt the rain of blows. "Then curse me too!" he yelled.
Buffy froze, and he managed to grip her wrists at last. "What did you say?" she asked, disconcerted and confused.
"I try to do the things you think are right - because I love you. I think I love you more than my own life - unlife - but that's not enough, is it? You won't dare to love me until I've got a soul," he said, taking a deep, unnecessary breath, "so use Angel's curse on me too. I'm already miserable; how could that make it any worse?" He smiled sadly and released her. "If it meant I could have you, it would be worth any price."
She dropped her hands to her thighs. "It doesn't work that way. He was cursed with a soul so he'd suffer for what he'd done, and he lost it... for being truly happy. That's why he left me," she whispered. "I... don't want to lose you the same way."
Her admission buoyed his heart. "Well at least you already know what you'd get if it happened to me," he said, but Buffy's face said she didn't see any humour in the idea. He tipped her chin up so she'd look at him again. "Then find some other way. Maybe we could even see about getting this hellish chip out of my head at last."
Buffy closed her eyes again, but didn't dare to say a word. His solemn offer tore at her heart, and tears began to spill down her cheeks.
"Are we done?" Spike asked, startling her out of her unhappiness.
"What?" She couldn't gather her thoughts together again; they had been flung so far.
"Because I don't think I can take any more apologies today," he said.
Buffy's lips puffed in a silent, cheerless laugh. She leaned forward until she rested against him, her face tucked into the curve of his shoulder. He slowly brought one hand up and curled it around the back of her neck, kneading gently until he felt her begin to relax.
"I need you," she said at last.
"You're doing it again," Spike said softly, and she lifted her head to look at him.
"Doing what?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.
"Lying to yourself. You don't need me or anyone else. I told you once a Slayer had to reach for her weapons. I was wrong. You alone, without family or friends, weapons or watcher, are the most dangerous weapon of all. It was you who saved us from the Nightmare Master - only you."
"But I... want you."
"Now that-" he said, tightening his arms around her. "That I believe."
Buffy leaned into his embrace. "You know what I'm thinking before I do. You always have. No one knows me as well as you do. That's why you scare me so," she said, barely audible. "Because I can see myself in you. And sometimes I don't like what I see."
"You're not like me, Buffy," he reassured her. "I'm only here to take what I can get, and I've got perfectly evil, selfish reasons - like not wanting to let you get away." He grinned briefly. "You - you give and you give, and it's never enough, and it never ends. And you do it anyway. You're a hero - you're the Slayer. Guess that makes me a bloody sidekick, doesn't it?" At first he laughed, then his expression grew serious again. "Be my conscience, love - my soul. The Slayer doesn't need anyone, but I have hopes that Buffy might, those times that the Slayer's not about. I'll not leave you.
"But could we maybe get off the floor?"