Chapter Sixteen
Spike roamed the streets of Sunnydale, trying to clear his head. It was two o'clock in the morning, and even if he hadn't been a vampire, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. What was wrong with Buffy? Why couldn't she just kill him? Why was she holding back? She had killed scores of vampires in her time, so why couldn't she kill him? What was stopping her from taking that final step?
And now she suspected he had a soul. "Damn it!" he exclaimed, as he stopped in front of a nearby palm tree and punched the trunk solidly with his fist. If he didn't assuage her of that little suspicion, she would never be able to do him in, never be able to move on with her life. All he had wanted was to come back to Sunnydale, find Buffy, let her beat him senseless, and then offer himself up to be staked. What was so bleedin' difficult about that? It should have been easy. A given. But it wasn't. Buffy wouldn't give in to him - okay, so really, what was new about that? - but why did she have to be so difficult?
Bravely driven by his own death wish, Spike made his way to Buffy's house. Maybe he couldn't get inside, but he was sure there was someway he could piss off the Slayer and her friends enough, to get someone to kill him. So, it wouldn't necessarily be Buffy. Maybe one of the Scoobies needed to commit a selfless act for their friend. Either way, it would end his torment. And maybe, just maybe, he could provoke Buffy into doing the job herself.
The house was quiet. All the lights were out, and he assumed everyone was asleep. Spike climbed up the back steps. He knew he wouldn't be welcome, there was little chance that Buffy hadn't had Red do a deinvite spell, but he figured he'd give it a shot anyway. Grabbing the knob firmly in his left hand, he turned it and pushed the door open. Apparently, Buffy still wasn't locking her doors.
Spike inhaled deeply and took a tentative step forward, expecting to be stopped by the invisible barrier. But there was none. Before he knew what had happened, his feet had carried him over the threshold, and he was standing in Buffy's kitchen.
"Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath. She hadn't done a deinvite spell. Good God, what was wrong with the girl?!
Spike looked around, trying to get his bearings. It had been a long time since he had been in Buffy's house. He had honestly thought he'd never see the place again.
Quietly, he crept out into the entryway and looked up the stairs. Well, if anything was going to get him killed, it would be showing up in Buffy's bedroom at a quarter-past-two in the morning.
With predatory stealth, he mounted the stairs. No need to wake Nibblet if he didn't have to. Spike stopped in the upstairs hallway. All of the doors were closed, including Buffy's.
He made his way down the hall and stopped in front of her door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he steeled his nerves and gently pushed it open.
The room was dark, the curtains were drawn so that not even a single beam of moonlight penetrated the blackness. Spike stepped cautiously inside. He didn't want to disturb her until he was ready. He listened for her breathing, but didn't hear anything. He took a step closer to the bed and looked down. But there was no Buffy.
He raised his eyes and looked around. Something was different. The furniture was different. Buffy's things were gone. What the hell was going on?
Spike stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Where was Buffy? He took a moment to calm his nerves. She had to be somewhere.
Spike concentrated and tried to follow her scent. The entire house smelled of Buffy, but the strongest scent came from across the hall.
Spike crossed to the other door, to the room that had been Joyce's, and then Red and Tara's. Listening closely, he heard the sound of faint breathing coming from inside. Spike turned the knob and entered the room.
The window was open and a soft stream of moonlight cascaded across the bed, giving him an enchanted view of Buffy, deeply enraptured in sleep. She was magnificent. As beautiful as he had ever seen her. Spike nearly cried from the pain of wanting to touch her. He knew he couldn't, but his heart still sang for her.
He approached the bed and stood over her. He didn't quite understand why she was here, in the new room. All he could think was that Willow and Tara had finally gotten their own place. How lonely Buffy must be without them.
Buffy stirred slightly, a tiny sigh escaping her lips. Spike's eyes were instantly drawn to those lips. How much he longed to kiss her, to hold her, to tell her that he was sorry and that everything would be all right. He knew he couldn't, but it was a lovely dream.
Buffy turned toward him slightly, the strap of her tank top slipping from her shoulder and exposing a luscious expanse of flesh. Spike inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of her freshly exposed skin.
Buffy opened her eyes at the sound. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Spike's eyes shot up in surprise. He looked at Buffy, who was already wrapping the bedsheet protectively against her chest. "I . . . I . . ."
"You what Spike?"
"I . . ." He didn't know what to say. He hadn't exactly gotten that far with his plan.
"You've got two seconds to explain yourself before I get out of this bed and kick you out on your ass. Talk. Now."
"Talk. Right. Okay." He searched for something to say. "Why am I here?"
"Yes, that is the question," she said, clearly annoyed.
"Patrolling. I was out patrolling, and I heard a noise, and I thought I'd come in and investigate."
Buffy gave him a hard look.
"All right fine. I was hoping that I'd show up here in the middle of the night, break into your house and it would piss you off so much that you'd just say the hell with it and dust me. Are you happy now?"
"Not so much." Buffy climbed out of bed, still clutching the sheet for protection. She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her, dropping the sheet once she was completely covered. She turned back to look at him. "Seriously Spike, why are you here?"
"I just told you. Damn, difficult girl," he grumbled under his breath.
Buffy folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, waiting for an answer.
"Oh bleedin' hell! I'm evil, remember? It's what I do. I break into places, steal stuff, stalk little girls. It's my calling."
"Well, you're not very good at it."
"Never said I was pet."
They stood there in silence, in the half-darkness, for a long moment. Finally Spike said, "So, I guess the birds have taken flight, huh? Got themselves their own place."
"What?" Buffy looked up at him, a confused look creasing her face.
"Red and the little witch. They're not here anymore."
Buffy stared at him, as if in disbelief. She shook her head. "You don't know," she said, more to herself than to him.
"Know what?"
"Tara . . ." Buffy stopped.
Spike could see that she was visibly shaken. Whatever it was, it must be bad. Instinctively, he took a step closer to her. He wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't. "It's all right luv." He tried to reassure her. "Whatever it is, it's all right."
Buffy looked up at him, her gaze once again strong and resolute. "Tara's dead. Warren killed her."
Spike just stared at Buffy, his mouth open, not knowing what to say. The witch was dead? Where the hell was Willow? "And Red?" he finally asked, once he had regained the ability to speak.
"She killed Warren."
"What?"
Buffy moved toward the bed, obviously trying to release some nervous energy. "She got involved in some bad magic. Well, you know she was going to see Rack. It got out of hand and she couldn't control it. She murdered Warren in her grief. Ripped the skin from his body and let him die."
Spike stared at her, horrified. It went beyond reason. What the hell had happened when he was gone? He wasn't sure what to say. "Are you . . . okay?"
She looked up at him, the beginnings of tears behind her eyes. She swiped them away nervously with the back of her hand. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine. It's been a couple of months now. Willow's doing better. She's in England, with Giles. He's trying to rehabilitate her."
"Gonna take a lot more than Watcher Boy to get her past that."
"I know."
"So, it's just you and Dawn then, is it?"
Buffy eyed him suspiciously, as if wondering about his motives for asking. "Me and Dawn and Xander, yeah. Anya doesn't come around much these days. You know, humans. Not really her crowd anymore."
"Well, can't say I blame her."
"Right, so now humans aren't good enough company for you?" she asked, slightly offended.
"As if you care."
"I don't. But, neither do I like being insulted in my own home."
"Right, that's all."
"It is," she insisted resolutely.
"Whatever you say pet."
Buffy took a sidelong glance at Spike. What was he up to? He had some nerve showing up in her bedroom in the middle of the night. She had half a mind to stake him, but she knew that would just be giving him what he wanted. And she certainly couldn't give into Spike. Giving into Spike was wrong. Yes, very, very wrong. Only sick, deranged, back-from-the-dead Buffy ever gave into Spike. She liked to think she was long past that stage, even if her dreams were telling her otherwise.
Buffy had been more than a little disturbed to learn that Spike seemed to be sharing her nightmares. Or at the very least, having a series of his own. It didn't surprise her that there was a connection, she just didn't know what it all meant.
She had tried to give what Giles had said every consideration, but in spite of his fear, Buffy was having trouble believing that Spike had cast a spell on her. It wasn't that she thought Spike incapable of any number of nefarious schemes to win her back, but he had changed. There was something different in him now. Something Buffy couldn't believe was capable of doing her harm. Whatever hex had been placed on her head, did not change the fact that Spike might very well have a soul. Nothing terrible had happened, in the past months, other than the dreams. Perhaps that was all the spell covered. She'd have nightmares until she was driven to insanity and killed Spike in a burst of crazed insomnia.
Besides, in spite of herself, Buffy had begun to feel her own sense of remorse where Spike was concerned. Whatever had happened to him, whatever had reduced him to this shell of his former self, had been her doing. She realized that now. Buffy had done some hard thinking the past few days. And she had figured something out, something she had been desperately trying to bury in a whirlwind of self-pity and denial; she hadn't been completely blameless in the disaster that had been the end of their relationship. She had hurt Spike. She had beaten him down and abused him in ways she had never imagined herself capable of. She had turned into the monster she was always accusing him of being. She knew that now, could finally admit it to herself. She had been hurt, but that wasn't any excuse. Whatever desperate action Spike had taken in Africa, had all been her doing. She had driven him to it. Now, even if she couldn't say that she was sorry, maybe she could at least help him through whatever torment she had selfishly inflicted upon him. She had to know what had happened. She had to know what he had done.
Buffy crossed the floor and flipped on the light switch beside the door, drowning the room in a warm, yellow glow. So far, since his return, she had only seen Spike in dreary, dimly lit places. She wanted to see him again, to get a better look at him. If he did have a soul, maybe she could find her proof in the uncompromising light of a few sixty-watt bulbs.
Buffy turned around and leaned against the door. "So," she said, staring him down, "now that we're on my turf, we're going to play by my rules."
"What?" Spike seemed surprised.
Buffy smiled at him knowingly. "I want to play a little game Spike," she said, as she moved up toward him and slid her hands under the collar of his denim jacket.
"What kind of game?" He tried to pull away but she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer.
"The kind with a winner and a loser," she whispered almost seductively in his ear.
"And does losing involve getting a stake through my heart?"
"Maybe. If you're lucky."
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a probing look. "Have you been drinking?"
"Would you rather that I had been?"
"Well, it would explain a few things."
"Spike," she spoke his name ever so softly.
"Buffy, luv. You really shouldn't be doing this. Do you have any idea . . .?"
"I have every idea. And I don't care." Buffy leaned in close to him. She pressed herself against him suggestively, his body instantly reacting to the close contact in spite of his nervousness. Buffy wasn't sure what she was doing. She had just wanted to get a closer look at him, to look into his eyes and see if she could find proof of her suspicions there. But being close to him was affecting her in an unexpected way. It was just like her dreams. She knew she should be repulsed by his touch, but she wasn't. She was drawn to him. A small sob escaped her throat as she leaned in and gently kissed him.
The kiss only lasted a second, but it was enough. Buffy's heart was racing, her blood pounding in her ears. She opened her eyes and stared into his smoky orbs. This was research, pure and simple, she told herself. She was testing him. There was something different about Spike, and this might be her only way to find out.
As soon as the kiss ended, Spike tried to pull away, but she held onto him. "Bloody hell! What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?! Buffy you seriously need a good psychiatrist if you think nothing's wrong with you. Why are you doing this?"
Why was she doing this? Buffy looked into his eyes again and found her answer. She wanted him to let his guard down so that she could see him, really see him. She didn't want him hiding from her anymore. She locked her arms about his neck, holding him in place. "Tell me what you did."
"What?"
"I want to know. The truth."
"Is that what this is about? Buffy." He moved to walk away, but her hold was firm.
"I want to know. I'm not going to let you go until you tell me the truth."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Soul or no soul? Spike, I have to know."
"What bleedin' difference does it make?" He put an inch of space between them and grabbed her wrists, freeing her arms from around his neck. As soon as he was free, he let her go, dropping her arms as if she had burned him.
"It makes a lot of difference."
"Well, not to me. Look, luv, I didn't come here to ask for anything but my release from the chains of this life. I don't want forgiveness. I'm not the Magnificent Poof, you know? Soul's not my thing."
"I know what I saw."
"You don't know anything."
"Why are you denying it? Tell me, if it's not a soul, what is it? What's changed in you?"
Spike turned and stared at her uncertainly. He seemed to be contemplating his answer. "If I tell you, tell you the truth - the whole, ugly, unvarnished truth - will you promise that, when it's over, you'll give me what I want?"
Buffy knew better than to ever make a deal with a demon, but she felt in this instance, she actually had the upper hand. Let Spike ask her to kill him. She knew it wasn't what he really wanted, so she could always say no in the end.
"All right. You tell me the truth, and I'll give you what you want."
Spike sighed in frustration. He was a damn, bloody fool, and he knew it. The last time he had made a deal with someone, he had ended up cursed with this soul. Still, it was a chance. Buffy wasn't all that keen on dusting him anyway. Making a deal might be his only option.
Spike crossed the room. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed.
"Yeah. Sure." Buffy said weakly, apparently slightly stunned that he would ask.
If he was going to bare his heart and soul, at least he wanted to be comfortable doing it. He sat down on the corner of the bed and began to talk. "Okay. Here it goes. You're right. Are you happy now? You're right, I did get my soul back."
"I knew it!"
"You don't have to sound so happy."
"I'm not." Buffy pretended to sober up. "I am shocked and horrified."
"Yeah, you look like you're just about ready to faint from the shock. So, yeah, I got my soul back. Went to this demon in Africa, made a deal - not unlike this one - and got my soul back."
"Wait," Buffy seemed genuinely confused. "You sought it out?"
"Yeah, well, not really that bright after all, am I? Shoulda known there was a reason the gypsies called it a curse."
"Why?" Buffy absently drifted toward the bed and sat down beside him. "Why on earth would you . . .? Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh.'" Spike shook himself and stood up. "It doesn't really matter now. Getting the soul taught me a few things, a few things I really think I was better off not knowing."
"And the spell?" she asked meekly.
"There is no spell. I told you that before," he protested heatedly.
"But Giles . . ."
"I don't care what Giles said. There is no spell. No second part to this madness. Just me going to that demon and getting my soul back," he laughed to himself, "so I could give you what you deserve."
"What I deserve?"
"Yeah," he shook his head "don't ask. It's all over now, though. Just one thing left to do, and I can rest."
"And what is that?" Buffy looked up at him.
"It's time for you to kill me, luv. Give me what I want."
Buffy stood, turning her body to face him. Mere inches separated them. "Are you sure that's what you want?''
"Yes," he said honestly. "It is. It's right. It's the right thing to do Buffy."
"When have I ever cared about something being the right thing to do? I make my own rules. I'm the Slayer."
"It's time."
Buffy stared silently into his deep, earnest eyes. He truly wanted to die by her hand. Why?
The guilt.
Well, he wasn't the only one who was feeling guilty. She had her part in it too. She had been the one who had driven him over the edge and now here they were, both trying to deal with the consequences in their own way. Buffy didn't want to face the ugliness inside herself anymore than Spike did. But it all had to be faced. They had to face the truth together.
Buffy inhaled a much-needed breath and prepared for a fight. "This is all because of me, isn't it? Because of what happened."
"Buffy don't."
"Don't what? Talk about it? It's the reason you want me to kill you, right? It's the issue we've been so cleverly avoiding. Why don't we talk about it Spike? If you're going to die anyway, why don't we talk about it?"
"All right. If that's what you like. What do you want me to say?"
"How about that you're sorry?"
"I told you, I wasn't asking for forgiveness."
"Why? Because you don't want it, or because you don't believe you deserve it?"
"I don't."
"You're wrong. You're not the only one at fault here."
"Good God, Buffy! Listen to yourself. I'm not the only one at fault?" He pulled away from her and started to pace. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You do realize that this isn't normal, that this isn't right?" He stopped and turned toward her. "I tried to rape you Buffy! That's not something you just forgive. It's not something you just get over."
"I'm not over it, but that doesn't mean--"
"You know I would have done it, right? If you hadn't have stopped me, I would have gone through with it."
"Spike, I--"
"Buffy, listen to me," he came to stand in front of her, his hands pressed together just inches from her face. "I am a monster. Not to be trusted, and never to be forgiven. Let me go." He dropped his hands. "Do as I've asked."
Buffy let out a long, frustrated sigh. So, that was it? Spike wanted to die for what he'd done to her. Wanted her to be the one to drive the stake through his heart, because he felt guilty about hurting her. Well, she couldn't do it. Now, more than ever. He loved her, he really did. Soul or no soul, she could honestly see that now. There had been moments in the past when she had convinced herself that it was just an obsession, that his crush had simply gotten out of control. But that wasn't true. It hadn't been true then, and it wasn't now. He really did love her. He had gotten his soul back for her, cursed himself for all eternity, and now he wanted to sacrifice himself for her happiness. How pathetically misguided he was.
"All right Spike. I'll give you what you want. I'll kill you."
"Oh thank God." He let out a powerful sigh of relief. "So, how do you wanna do this?"
"Well, I'll have to think about it."
"What?"
"Well, you didn't expect me to just do it tonight, did you? I've got stuff to do in the morning. It's late," she yawned, "and I'm really tired. So," she pushed him toward the door, "nighty-night Spike."
"You're kicking me out?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"Sending you home, actually. Don't worry, I won't forget my promise."
"Yeah, but Slayer . . ."
She opened the door. "Goodnight Spike." She shoved him out into the hall and closed her door after him. Buffy listened for a moment, until she heard him make his way down the stairs. Then she turned, took off her robe, and got back into bed. She didn't know what she was going to do in the morning, but at least now she had some idea about what to do with Spike.