Title: "Buffy Anne Summers: Therapist for the Theologically Insane"
Feedback: Criticism, praise, and suggestions will be happily taken at gjohnson@willamette.edu
Spoilers: Runs the gamut from "Dead Things" to "Selfless"; also, allusions to "Fool for Love" and "Doomed"
Summary: Buffy is worn out, and Willow takes over the role of vampire therapist, much to her surprise.
Disclaimer: Spike, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, etc., are not mine and never will be. They belong to Joss Whedon and M.E.
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Willow set her bag down on the couch and stretched, yawning, "Buffy? Dawn?" She climbed the stairs, thinking vaguely of taking a nap before dinner, when she saw that Buffy's door was wide open. She wandered to it and peered inside.
Buffy sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, her clasped hands sitting in her lap. Behind her, a fully dressed Spike lay on his side on top of the covers, facing the opposite wall. They were silent.
"Buffy?" Willow asked tentatively.
Slowly Buffy raised her head. She blinked. "Huh? Oh. Will. Hey. How were classes today?"
Willow glanced at the rigid, unmoving Spike, then nodded to the door. "You, um, wanna talk?"
Buffy stood quickly, striding to the door. "Yes," she said firmly. She slipped through the door and into the hallway, leaving Willow to close the door on the quiescent Spike. Willow turned to look at her friend.
Buffy was pacing back and forth, hands behind her back. She looked deeply disturbed. "Buffy? Are you okay?" Willow asked, worried.
"No. No, I'm not." Buffy looked surprised at herself. She shook her head, stopped pacing. "God, Willow, what am I supposed to do with him?" She flung an arm out, gesturing towards the closed door. "I -- I don't know if I'll ever be able to *fix* him. I don't even know what a fixed Spike would look like! And something happened today --"
Willow gasped. "He didn't try to -- you know, again --"
"*No!*" Buffy said. "But -- he burned himself, tried to open the window --"
Willow stifled a giggle. "What, he forgot about the sun?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's what I said. Anyway, I took him up to the bathroom, you know, that's where all the first aid stuff is. . . . I wasn't thinking. . . ." She looked at the floor. "And, well, we both kind of . . . freaked out."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't fun." She was quiet, reflective. "It was scary as hell, actually. He tried to beat the crap out of himself, for one thing. And there was all that weeping and gnashing of teeth." She smiled weakly. "It took him more than an hour to quiet down."
Willow stared. "Are you serious?"
"Wish I wasn't." She sighed. "I'm tired, Willow. I don't know what to do anymore. I want to help him, because -- because you were right, he *knows* what he's done, and he's sorry -- but I don't know *how* to help him. I just don't." Tears filled her eyes.
Willow felt a rush of guilt. She was the one who had convinced Buffy to help Spike anyway, and yet she hadn't helped Buffy at all. Quickly she stammered, "Well, you know, I can help you out. Talk to him. See what's going on. Maybe it'd be better for him right now to . . . to not see you."
Buffy raised her head. "I think you're right, Will." She frowned. "I'm gonna go clean up the kitchen. Dawn should be home pretty soon and I think we'll have an early dinner tonight. . . ." She walked slowly to the stairs and began to walk down, shaking her head. "Just . . . see what you can do, okay?"
Willow watched her go, swallowing. She wasn't exactly sure what she would talk to Spike about, but . . . she would try. She opened the bedroom door and flicked on the light.
Spike rolled over to face her, blinking. "Ah. Willow. Hello," he said dully. He sat up, favoring his left hand, which she could see was bandaged. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking the position Buffy had been sitting in moments before. "You sure you're in the right room?"
"Yeah," Willow said nervously. "I wanted to talk to you." She walked forward, sat on the bed, leaving them a few feet between each other. "How are you?"
"It's better here," he said slowly. "Easier to think, to talk. She's doing her best."
"Yeah?" Willow ventured. "That's good -- "
"Except she shouldn't be," Spike said, staring at the floor. "I -- she shouldn't be bothering herself with this. With me. I need to go."
"Spike, she *wants* to help you," Willow said, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He stared at her, seemingly confused. "We -- we don't want you to go."
He snorted. "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna believe that."
"No, it's true," she insisted. "I mean, why would she be helping you if she wanted you out of here?"
He shrugged. "She's always been a bit off her nut, that one." He chuckled dryly.
"Well, I -- I don't want you to go," she said hesitantly. She had never particularly liked Spike, true, but she had never been one for hating him, either. "I know you've changed. That you deserve a second chance."
His gaze pierced her. "Oh really. When did you get all forgiving and un-vengeful? I'd've thought you'd be all for flaying me, or something equally delightful," he said sharply, his face souring.
She drew back, stung, blinking away tears. She took a deep breath, looking away.
His voice was suddenly soft. "I'm sorry. I -- God. You see? Can't keep my mouth shut." She looked back at him, and was surprised to see that he looked genuinely contrite.
"Well -- maybe we can work on that --"
Ignoring her comment, he said quietly, "She said she forgave me. And I told her all right." He hung his head. "I lied. It's not all right. Never will be. I don't deserve it, you know."
"But Spike," Willow said carefully, "they gave *me* a second chance."
He glanced at her, a calculating look on his face. "Oh, no, no, you see, you were always good. Always with them. You get automatic amnesty. Wouldn't have mattered if you'd killed one, two, a thousand -- they'd've found a way to take you back. You're one of them." His voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes. "Me, I -- you hated me. You all did. I tried to kill you, you tried to kill me, it was a good system." He laughed mirthlessly. "But then I got that sodding chip, and the system broke down. We helped each other out -- well, reluctantly I admit, but we did. I -- I remember, even, that you wouldn't let me stake myself, once."
"I remember," Willow said gently.
"Everything got screwed up. I didn't want to kill you anymore. And her -- well, love's a funny thing, that's all I've got to say about that. But I was never a Scooby." He gave her a thin, tight-lipped smile. "Never one of you. And I never will be."
"Spike. . . . Look. You went and got your *soul*! That's worth something. It is." She smiled at him reassuringly.
"It was very stupid," Spike said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. "I thought it would make her love me. Thought it would make me a -- a man. Not an it. Not something evil." Seeing her face, he quickly added, "But not something good, even. Wasn't *that* stupid. But I thought I would be a man again. And I thought it would be enough." He laughed, the sound short and harsh. "God, I was stupid."
Willow folded her hands in her lap, unsure of how to respond. What did a person say to that?
Before she could formulate a response he continued, his voice breaking. "I should've known. Should've known she'd never have me. Should've known I'd done too much to ever be with her. Should've known everything." He shivered, suddenly, and she again reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
"We're going to help you, Spike," she said firmly, though in the back of her mind she wondered exactly how they would do that.
"You always were the one to give me the benefit of the doubt," he said dryly. "Even after all those times I tried to kill you. I'm sorry about that, now, you know," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Oh! Um, well, yeah. It's okay," Willow said, shrugging. "I barely even remember." She smiled.
He pulled away from her hand to lie down on his back, his legs still hanging over the side of the bed. He flung his arms out and lay there, from the waist up looking like Jesus on the cross. He gazed at the ceiling, his eyes dark. "She's trying very hard. I ought to thank her; that would be the proper thing. But it's all useless. I don't expect we'll be worrying much about Spike and his soul in a few months. No, I think we'll all have other things to worry about then . . . well, just the one, really. The big one." He closed his eyes.
A chill ran through her as she recalled her experience back in England, when she had felt the darkness below the earth. She swallowed and stood up. The conversation was over. Without a word she strode to the door, walked into the hall, and closed the door behind her without a second glance.
*****
"And that was all?" Buffy asked, toweling her hands dry. She leaned against the kitchen counter, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
Willow nodded. "Yep. Said we wouldn't need to worry about him anymore with what's . . . coming. And . . . yeah. That was it."
Buffy set the towel down, frowning. "Well, at least he wasn't babbling, right? That's something."
"That's true," Willow said slowly. "But it was really depressing, all the same. Him going off on how you shouldn't be helping him and everything. If I didn't think he'd changed before, I'd know it now."
Buffy sighed, looked up at the clock. "It's getting late. Dawn ought to be home. School's been out two hours," she said, sounding a little worried. "Maybe she talked to her math teacher about that test she had Monday, she thought she flunked it. . . ."
"That's probably it," Willow agreed. But Buffy was still frowning.
There was the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Buffy and Willow turned around to see Spike walk into the kitchen, his hands behind his back. "Been thinking," he said, glancing at Willow.
"Yeah, that's what Will was saying," Buffy replied. "Good to see you've calmed down."
"Yes. Well. About that." He looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I -- frightened you."
Buffy shrugged. "You did. It's okay, though."
"No. It's not. You helping me -- it's very noble, Slayer, but not the brightest thing you've ever done. And believe me, you've done some stupid things over the years."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Spike. I'm not feeling the love here." She crossed her arms.
"I meant -- well, never mind what I meant," he muttered, seeming mildly annoyed. "But my point, Buffy, was that this is silly. Really and truly silly. And I won't have you doing it." He leaned back against the wall.
Willow glanced at the two of them. "You know what, I'm just gonna go upstairs and get started on my homework," she said, shaking her head. "But Spike, just knock it off already." She slipped past him, and Buffy glared at him.
"I suppose you're going to launch into some diatribe about how evil you are, and how you're beneath me, and don't deserve my help?" Buffy asked, now annoyed herself.
He blinked, looking a little startled. "That was the plan, yes." He looked flustered. "Uh, what I mean to say is, you ought to just let me be. I'll be all right. Don't need you to hold my hand anymore." He fell silent and she could tell he had been on the verge of saying "But I want you to."
"Spike, I think this afternoon shows that I can't just let you be. Besides, don't I get a say in this? There's no turning back here. I *have* to help you." She paused, looking down at the floor. "Believe it or not, I don't like to see you hurt."
He chuckled. "That so? Or did I imagine that night where --"
She held up a hand, swallowing, seeing again his face bruised, swollen, bloody. "I do remember. And I'm sorry. I've already told you that." She approached him, her eyes soft. She reached out a hand and gently touched his cheek. "Believe me."
Hesitantly he reached out, laid his cold and bandaged hand atop hers. "Didn't plan for this," he said, his eyes clear, trusting. His voice was hoarse. "Didn't rehearse this part."
She smiled.
Suddenly he pulled away from her, knocking her hand from his face. He looked angry with himself. "Stupid, that was." He looked up at her. "Sorry. Sorry. Look, I'm going now. I can't stay here." He strode to the front door; she ran after him, grabbed him by the forearm. "I won't stay here."
"For God's sake, Spike --"
He whirled to look at her. His face was terrifying; he hadn't vamped out, but instead he looked so cold and furious that she withdrew. Every line of his face, from the set of his jaw to the harsh furrow in his forehead, spoke of icy anger. "Let go of me, Slayer." His voice was terrible, filled with a darkness she had never heard.
Slowly, she released her grip on his arm. "Fine." She bowed her head. "Fine."
He opened the door roughly, stepping out into the twilight. He stopped at the end of the walk and looked back at her. She stood in the doorway, watching him.
"I'm not revoking your invitation," she called. "Not doing it." He frowned, turned, and stalked away.
Closing the door, she sighed loudly, and checked her watch. Dawn still wasn't home.
*****
Feedback makes the world go round! At least, my tiny one. Next chapter shall come along soon. :)
Feedback: Criticism, praise, and suggestions will be happily taken at gjohnson@willamette.edu
Spoilers: Runs the gamut from "Dead Things" to "Selfless"; also, allusions to "Fool for Love" and "Doomed"
Summary: Buffy is worn out, and Willow takes over the role of vampire therapist, much to her surprise.
Disclaimer: Spike, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, etc., are not mine and never will be. They belong to Joss Whedon and M.E.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willow set her bag down on the couch and stretched, yawning, "Buffy? Dawn?" She climbed the stairs, thinking vaguely of taking a nap before dinner, when she saw that Buffy's door was wide open. She wandered to it and peered inside.
Buffy sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, her clasped hands sitting in her lap. Behind her, a fully dressed Spike lay on his side on top of the covers, facing the opposite wall. They were silent.
"Buffy?" Willow asked tentatively.
Slowly Buffy raised her head. She blinked. "Huh? Oh. Will. Hey. How were classes today?"
Willow glanced at the rigid, unmoving Spike, then nodded to the door. "You, um, wanna talk?"
Buffy stood quickly, striding to the door. "Yes," she said firmly. She slipped through the door and into the hallway, leaving Willow to close the door on the quiescent Spike. Willow turned to look at her friend.
Buffy was pacing back and forth, hands behind her back. She looked deeply disturbed. "Buffy? Are you okay?" Willow asked, worried.
"No. No, I'm not." Buffy looked surprised at herself. She shook her head, stopped pacing. "God, Willow, what am I supposed to do with him?" She flung an arm out, gesturing towards the closed door. "I -- I don't know if I'll ever be able to *fix* him. I don't even know what a fixed Spike would look like! And something happened today --"
Willow gasped. "He didn't try to -- you know, again --"
"*No!*" Buffy said. "But -- he burned himself, tried to open the window --"
Willow stifled a giggle. "What, he forgot about the sun?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's what I said. Anyway, I took him up to the bathroom, you know, that's where all the first aid stuff is. . . . I wasn't thinking. . . ." She looked at the floor. "And, well, we both kind of . . . freaked out."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't fun." She was quiet, reflective. "It was scary as hell, actually. He tried to beat the crap out of himself, for one thing. And there was all that weeping and gnashing of teeth." She smiled weakly. "It took him more than an hour to quiet down."
Willow stared. "Are you serious?"
"Wish I wasn't." She sighed. "I'm tired, Willow. I don't know what to do anymore. I want to help him, because -- because you were right, he *knows* what he's done, and he's sorry -- but I don't know *how* to help him. I just don't." Tears filled her eyes.
Willow felt a rush of guilt. She was the one who had convinced Buffy to help Spike anyway, and yet she hadn't helped Buffy at all. Quickly she stammered, "Well, you know, I can help you out. Talk to him. See what's going on. Maybe it'd be better for him right now to . . . to not see you."
Buffy raised her head. "I think you're right, Will." She frowned. "I'm gonna go clean up the kitchen. Dawn should be home pretty soon and I think we'll have an early dinner tonight. . . ." She walked slowly to the stairs and began to walk down, shaking her head. "Just . . . see what you can do, okay?"
Willow watched her go, swallowing. She wasn't exactly sure what she would talk to Spike about, but . . . she would try. She opened the bedroom door and flicked on the light.
Spike rolled over to face her, blinking. "Ah. Willow. Hello," he said dully. He sat up, favoring his left hand, which she could see was bandaged. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking the position Buffy had been sitting in moments before. "You sure you're in the right room?"
"Yeah," Willow said nervously. "I wanted to talk to you." She walked forward, sat on the bed, leaving them a few feet between each other. "How are you?"
"It's better here," he said slowly. "Easier to think, to talk. She's doing her best."
"Yeah?" Willow ventured. "That's good -- "
"Except she shouldn't be," Spike said, staring at the floor. "I -- she shouldn't be bothering herself with this. With me. I need to go."
"Spike, she *wants* to help you," Willow said, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He stared at her, seemingly confused. "We -- we don't want you to go."
He snorted. "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna believe that."
"No, it's true," she insisted. "I mean, why would she be helping you if she wanted you out of here?"
He shrugged. "She's always been a bit off her nut, that one." He chuckled dryly.
"Well, I -- I don't want you to go," she said hesitantly. She had never particularly liked Spike, true, but she had never been one for hating him, either. "I know you've changed. That you deserve a second chance."
His gaze pierced her. "Oh really. When did you get all forgiving and un-vengeful? I'd've thought you'd be all for flaying me, or something equally delightful," he said sharply, his face souring.
She drew back, stung, blinking away tears. She took a deep breath, looking away.
His voice was suddenly soft. "I'm sorry. I -- God. You see? Can't keep my mouth shut." She looked back at him, and was surprised to see that he looked genuinely contrite.
"Well -- maybe we can work on that --"
Ignoring her comment, he said quietly, "She said she forgave me. And I told her all right." He hung his head. "I lied. It's not all right. Never will be. I don't deserve it, you know."
"But Spike," Willow said carefully, "they gave *me* a second chance."
He glanced at her, a calculating look on his face. "Oh, no, no, you see, you were always good. Always with them. You get automatic amnesty. Wouldn't have mattered if you'd killed one, two, a thousand -- they'd've found a way to take you back. You're one of them." His voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes. "Me, I -- you hated me. You all did. I tried to kill you, you tried to kill me, it was a good system." He laughed mirthlessly. "But then I got that sodding chip, and the system broke down. We helped each other out -- well, reluctantly I admit, but we did. I -- I remember, even, that you wouldn't let me stake myself, once."
"I remember," Willow said gently.
"Everything got screwed up. I didn't want to kill you anymore. And her -- well, love's a funny thing, that's all I've got to say about that. But I was never a Scooby." He gave her a thin, tight-lipped smile. "Never one of you. And I never will be."
"Spike. . . . Look. You went and got your *soul*! That's worth something. It is." She smiled at him reassuringly.
"It was very stupid," Spike said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. "I thought it would make her love me. Thought it would make me a -- a man. Not an it. Not something evil." Seeing her face, he quickly added, "But not something good, even. Wasn't *that* stupid. But I thought I would be a man again. And I thought it would be enough." He laughed, the sound short and harsh. "God, I was stupid."
Willow folded her hands in her lap, unsure of how to respond. What did a person say to that?
Before she could formulate a response he continued, his voice breaking. "I should've known. Should've known she'd never have me. Should've known I'd done too much to ever be with her. Should've known everything." He shivered, suddenly, and she again reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
"We're going to help you, Spike," she said firmly, though in the back of her mind she wondered exactly how they would do that.
"You always were the one to give me the benefit of the doubt," he said dryly. "Even after all those times I tried to kill you. I'm sorry about that, now, you know," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Oh! Um, well, yeah. It's okay," Willow said, shrugging. "I barely even remember." She smiled.
He pulled away from her hand to lie down on his back, his legs still hanging over the side of the bed. He flung his arms out and lay there, from the waist up looking like Jesus on the cross. He gazed at the ceiling, his eyes dark. "She's trying very hard. I ought to thank her; that would be the proper thing. But it's all useless. I don't expect we'll be worrying much about Spike and his soul in a few months. No, I think we'll all have other things to worry about then . . . well, just the one, really. The big one." He closed his eyes.
A chill ran through her as she recalled her experience back in England, when she had felt the darkness below the earth. She swallowed and stood up. The conversation was over. Without a word she strode to the door, walked into the hall, and closed the door behind her without a second glance.
*****
"And that was all?" Buffy asked, toweling her hands dry. She leaned against the kitchen counter, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
Willow nodded. "Yep. Said we wouldn't need to worry about him anymore with what's . . . coming. And . . . yeah. That was it."
Buffy set the towel down, frowning. "Well, at least he wasn't babbling, right? That's something."
"That's true," Willow said slowly. "But it was really depressing, all the same. Him going off on how you shouldn't be helping him and everything. If I didn't think he'd changed before, I'd know it now."
Buffy sighed, looked up at the clock. "It's getting late. Dawn ought to be home. School's been out two hours," she said, sounding a little worried. "Maybe she talked to her math teacher about that test she had Monday, she thought she flunked it. . . ."
"That's probably it," Willow agreed. But Buffy was still frowning.
There was the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Buffy and Willow turned around to see Spike walk into the kitchen, his hands behind his back. "Been thinking," he said, glancing at Willow.
"Yeah, that's what Will was saying," Buffy replied. "Good to see you've calmed down."
"Yes. Well. About that." He looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I -- frightened you."
Buffy shrugged. "You did. It's okay, though."
"No. It's not. You helping me -- it's very noble, Slayer, but not the brightest thing you've ever done. And believe me, you've done some stupid things over the years."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Spike. I'm not feeling the love here." She crossed her arms.
"I meant -- well, never mind what I meant," he muttered, seeming mildly annoyed. "But my point, Buffy, was that this is silly. Really and truly silly. And I won't have you doing it." He leaned back against the wall.
Willow glanced at the two of them. "You know what, I'm just gonna go upstairs and get started on my homework," she said, shaking her head. "But Spike, just knock it off already." She slipped past him, and Buffy glared at him.
"I suppose you're going to launch into some diatribe about how evil you are, and how you're beneath me, and don't deserve my help?" Buffy asked, now annoyed herself.
He blinked, looking a little startled. "That was the plan, yes." He looked flustered. "Uh, what I mean to say is, you ought to just let me be. I'll be all right. Don't need you to hold my hand anymore." He fell silent and she could tell he had been on the verge of saying "But I want you to."
"Spike, I think this afternoon shows that I can't just let you be. Besides, don't I get a say in this? There's no turning back here. I *have* to help you." She paused, looking down at the floor. "Believe it or not, I don't like to see you hurt."
He chuckled. "That so? Or did I imagine that night where --"
She held up a hand, swallowing, seeing again his face bruised, swollen, bloody. "I do remember. And I'm sorry. I've already told you that." She approached him, her eyes soft. She reached out a hand and gently touched his cheek. "Believe me."
Hesitantly he reached out, laid his cold and bandaged hand atop hers. "Didn't plan for this," he said, his eyes clear, trusting. His voice was hoarse. "Didn't rehearse this part."
She smiled.
Suddenly he pulled away from her, knocking her hand from his face. He looked angry with himself. "Stupid, that was." He looked up at her. "Sorry. Sorry. Look, I'm going now. I can't stay here." He strode to the front door; she ran after him, grabbed him by the forearm. "I won't stay here."
"For God's sake, Spike --"
He whirled to look at her. His face was terrifying; he hadn't vamped out, but instead he looked so cold and furious that she withdrew. Every line of his face, from the set of his jaw to the harsh furrow in his forehead, spoke of icy anger. "Let go of me, Slayer." His voice was terrible, filled with a darkness she had never heard.
Slowly, she released her grip on his arm. "Fine." She bowed her head. "Fine."
He opened the door roughly, stepping out into the twilight. He stopped at the end of the walk and looked back at her. She stood in the doorway, watching him.
"I'm not revoking your invitation," she called. "Not doing it." He frowned, turned, and stalked away.
Closing the door, she sighed loudly, and checked her watch. Dawn still wasn't home.
*****
Feedback makes the world go round! At least, my tiny one. Next chapter shall come along soon. :)