Chapter 13

"Spike, we're going back to Sunnydale tonight," Buffy announced. She simply couldn't stay away from her obligations in Sunnydale another day. People depended on her, she had a job, and Dawn was visiting but she wouldn't be staying for long. Xander had called and sounded bewildered and frustrated and practically begged her to come home and help him.

He sighed, "I don't have a choice in the matter?"

"No."

"Oh."

Buffy walked around the room, straightening up. There was garbage and dirty mugs everywhere. Nobody had been very concerned with keeping the place straightened the past few days. Her number one concern was Spike and Angel had his own life to lead.

"So," she said, trying to start a conversation, "should I call you William."

"No. Why would you do that?"

"Well, I just thought since you have a soul.."

"I'm still Spike," he said harshly, "still a vampire."

"I know," she said quietly, "I was just trying to.."

"To what?"

"Talk to you! For Christ's sake, Spike! You used to talk constantly, I couldn't shut you up. Your favorite subject was yourself, and now I can't get you to string more than five words together."

"Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone. Bitch." He said, counting each word off his hand. "There's six."

Buffy didn't take his words personally. Once she had taken everything he said to heart, even if she tried to act like the words didn't affect her much. But she had heard worse, said worse, in the past ten years then he could ever dish out.

"Anyway, if we leave tonight you'll be able to see Dawn. She really is looking forward to seeing you again."

A slight smile touched his face and then disappeared. But Buffy saw it, and her heart soared. He still cared about them.

"Can I have a piece of paper?" Spike asked. "And a pen."

"Sure," she responded brightly, "I'll be right back."

When she returned, she handed the requested items to him with a smile. "So, do you still write..

*** ".poems?" She asked incredulously. "You were a poet?"

Spike mentally slapped himself for sharing that piece of information with her. Any second now she would start laughing at him, and he didn't know if he could take that. He missed her so much the past few weeks, and sitting across from her over a plate of hot-wings, he felt oddly vulnerable. She wanted to know about him, so he would be honest with her completely, for once, and tell her what she wanted to know.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Can I read something?"

Spike narrowed his eyes and looked at her closely, trying to find mockery or insincerity on her face. But she looked like she was honestly curious about what he wrote. "Maybe. Anyway, William was a right git, and he thought he could read his poetry to the woman he loved and she would fall into his arms, declaring her undying love."

"And that's not what happened?" Buffy asked.

Spike snorted, "Of course not. The chit wasn't impressed with him at all." It was easier for Spike to talk as though William was a man, long dead, who didn't relive this pain. Buffy thought that the person died, that the demon who inhabited the body was completely separate. She assumed that William was not the man who sat before her, full of his own insecurity, and Spike chose to believe that as well. It was easier that way to push away the lingering pain, easier to be a swaggering, evil Big Bad who didn't have feelings. It was easier to simply distance himself from the events of that fateful night, and to let Buffy think the rejection and humiliation no longer stung him to his very core.

Easier all around.

"She told him that he was.." But Spike couldn't even the force the actual quote out of his mouth. "Not good enough. He left the party, angry and humiliated. Ran right out of her warm arms into the cold waiting arms of his fate." So much for the poet being dead, Spike thought wryly.

Spike left out all the things Drusilla said. Buffy wouldn't understand the comment about the burning baby fishes anyway. After spending a century with her, Spike had his suspicions about what she had been babbling about, but it wasn't anything he wanted to get into with the Slayer.

"So, you traded up the food chain. Then what?"

"No, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own."

Buffy looked less than impressed and Spike sighed. He loved her, but sometimes she could be rather dense. "Angelus and Darla hated me. Made too much noise, I did. Angelus wasn't happy to just kill and feed, he had to stalk, torture, and torment. Called killing an art." Spike paused and studied her for a minute, "Death's your art too, isn't Slayer? You make it with your hands every day."

Buffy glared at him but didn't interrupt. "It was twenty years later that we went to China and I met my first..

*** ".Slayer!"

Buffy rolled her eyes, "Don't be such a big baby."

"Don't try to read stuff over my shoulder," he snapped. "It's none of your business."

"I just wanted to see what you were so intent on."

"If I wanted you to know, I would have told you myself."

"I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like I read your diary," she said sweetly.

Spike glared at her, "I apologized for that. And if you really must know, I'm writing to Angel."

"What about?"

"Goddamnit Slayer, go bother somebody else for awhile, ok?"

She frowned at his tone, "Look I'm sorry. I'll be back in a little while, sunset is in about two hours."

"Fine."

Spike stared intently at the paper, trying to decide if he really wanted to do this. Angel seemed happy with his lot in life. He was happiest tormented and brooding. Angel was the biggest masochist Spike had ever seen. He swore that Angel actually enjoyed the pain his soul brought him. But Spike also figured it was the right thing to do. Of course, there was the chance that if he did this, Buffy would stay there and live happily ever after. Not that Spike would care either way, of course.

With a sigh, Spike started writing before he could lose his nerve. Within an hour he had constructed a simple letter with instructions for Angel on how to get his very own, permanent soul. If the Poofter had half a brain he'd be on his way to Africa by the next night.

Buffy returned, as promised, when the hour was up. "Finished?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna get something to eat before we leave?"

"Sure."

Spike stood up on legs that were still slightly unsteady and followed her downstairs. Cordelia was placing two large mugs of blood on the table that was already set with two plates of spagetti. "I thought we could all eat dinner together before it was for you two to go.."

*** ".home," Buffy announced, turning on her heel and calmly walking away.

"Slayer, Buffy, wait up," Spike called after her, helplessly. He didn't mean to piss her off or upset her, but damnit, it wasn't his fault. She asked about it, she wanted to be told how he defeated the slayers. What was he supposed to do? Lie about it? She had a death wish, all slayers did. It wasn't any reason to get angry with him over.

Spike gathered up the money she had thrown at him before stalking off, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes. How dare she talk to him like that, treat him like that, after everything he had told her? Didn't she know that he had given her the story of his greatest loss and greatest success.didn't she understand that he had completely opened himself up to her?

Apparently not. Spike saw red as he furiously stomped to his crypt. He regretted that he didn't tear her throat out when he had the chance. God, the little bitch deserved it. He tried to think of away to vent his anger, but nothing came to mind. Even staking vampires didn't have any charm. He wanted to take his anger out on the person who caused it.

With a curse he turned back towards Buffy's house. If he couldn't harm her physically, he would be damned sure to make her cry. He knew enough of her secrets to cut her right to her core, to make her weep with pain and humiliation like he had.

He marched into her backyard, practicing the words he would fling at her like knives. He was so distracted by his own thoughts that at first he didn't notice her small, huddled form on the backporch. The sound of her muffled sob brought him short though.

"What do you want now?" She asked when she noticed him. He could see tears slowly streaming down her face, her eyes were large and wet.

"What's wrong?" Spike asked, sitting beside her. His anger was gone, washed away by her obvious pain. He put his arm around her and she instinctually leaned into him.

"It's my mom?"

"What's wrong with Joyce?"

Buffy shook her head, "They don't know. She's going in tomorrow for more tests."

Spike tightened his grip, "Your mum is going to be fine. She's a tough bird."

"But what if she's not? Spike I can't live without her."

Spike placed a small kiss on her head, and inhaled her rich scent. She smelt of power. She was lethal and dangerous. But she was curled against him like a kitten now, and she needed reassurance.

"She'll be fine," he whispered. She didn't respond, just savored the way he felt. She was pissed at him still, but she needed him too. She had hurt his feelings tonight, she knew she had, and she felt bad about that. She wanted to apologize, but in her current state, she couldn't find the words.

"Shhh," he said gently, "relax, pet."

He held her and eventually the tears dried. "I'm.

*** ".scared?" Buffy asked.

"Terrified."

"I know how to drive. You can relax."

"Who was crazy enough to teach you how to drive?"

Buffy shrugged, "Xander taught me. It just got to the point that I couldn't be without a license anymore."

Spike nodded, but didn't ask her to elaborate. They passed the next two hours in silence, both deep in their own thoughts. Buffy was trying to figure out how to fill in Spike about the details of her life, and Spike was trying to figure out how to avoid the Slayer as much as possible. Maybe he could hide in his old crypt?

When they finally pulled into Buffy's familiar driveway, Spike sighed with relief. She wasn't as bad as she used to be, but she still didn't understand the concept of speed limits.

They walked up to Buffy's door, and she paused before she opened it. "There's something you should know.I should have told you these things before we left, actually."

"What is it Slayer?"

Before she could answer the door flew open and a small girl threw herself at Buffy. "You're home," she said gleefully. She hugged Buffy tightly and Buffy returned the embrace with a smile. Finally they broke apart and the little girl looked up at Spike with large hazel eyes.

"Who is this?" She asked.

"This is Spike," Buffy said. "Spike, this is Joyce."