CRADLE

Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.

A/N: And lo, there was the Buffy/Spike conversation… This is one of those things that I just let write itself. Sometimes it's just easier that way. The characters did their own dialogue, and I filled in their thought patterns, which accounts for why this is so random and, basically, odd. However, it IS angst, which is just how I like things to be done ;)

The fic is far from over. I've barely even started yet… Reviews make me a happy author, so keep 'em coming :D

Cradle

Chapter Eleven

Spike's ears were apparently not deceiving him, as the reply came, again from behind him. "The one and only."

He turned, having regained control of his motor functions, and they stared at each other from across the room. Clem looked from one to the other, a goofy smile on his face, then realised he probably wasn't wanted. "I'll… um… I'll let you… uh… talk." He made himself very quickly scarce.

They stood a reasonable distance apart and continued to stare across the void. Spike had a Hell of a lot of things he wanted to say, and he knew that simply blurting in with an "I'm sorry" wasn't going to cut it. Instead, he stayed on common, safe ground. "So… Dawn's fine?"

Buffy swallowed her nerves, still recovering from having him practically land on her a few hours earlier. "Y-yeah. Just a little shaken up at seeing you back."

"Right."

The Slayer took a step forwards. "Okay. You wanted to talk, so let's talk. You can start with where you've been, why you left, and how the heck you ended up in my bedroom."

"That's my starter for three, is it?" he asked, rhetorically. "Afraid not, love. See, I've got this sorted in my head. Or thought I had. Plan was, I got sent back to Sunnydale, sought you out, apologised, then spent the next few weeks living with you hating me, until I managed to make you realise you loved me." He removed his duster, throwing it over the back of the armchair. "But that all went a bit wrong, didn't it?"

"I think I prefer my way," she said, her voice emotionless. Spike could tell it was forced, however.

"Fine," he muttered. "We'll do this your way. You, uh, might wanna sit down for this." He gestured in the vague direction of his sparse furniture. Buffy chose the couch, sitting down and on her hands so she wouldn't be forced to fidget. Spike remained standing and leaned on a wall, wincing as one of his wounds complained at the contact.

"I'm sitting," she pointed out when he still hadn't started explaining. "So let's get this over with."

Spike gazed at her, attempting to figure out what sort of a mood she was in. Could he get away with jokes? Was she expecting him to pour his heart out to her? Her expression was completely blank, however, so he decided to just get it over with. "First question," he clarified, "was where I've been." Buffy nodded. Matter-of-factly, as if he did such a thing every day of his unlife, he said, "Africa."

"Africa?"

"That's what I said."

"Doubtless the 'why you left' part will cover that…"

"Yeah." He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and prepared himself for the worst. "I left after… that night." Neither of them particularly wanted to remember that, so he hastily carried on. "I just couldn't stand it any more. Do you realise, Slayer, that was only the second time I've felt guilty in over a century? The first time was after you died… your buddies'll all tell you that much." He was digressing a little far from his point, so he stopped, and regrouped his thoughts before continuing. "Anyway. I thought it was all to do with that bloody chip. The guilt… being in love with you… all of it. So I went to Africa to see this shaman bloke and asked him to make me what I was, so I could give you what you deserved."

She looked incredulous, having read between the lines and come to the logical conclusion. "You went to get the chip out?"

"Short of ripping out my undead heart, Buffy, what else could I do?" His tone was bitter as he said this, and she winced, only slightly. It was still enough that he noticed, however, and he carried on, owing her an explanation. "So, he put me through a load of trials; all sorts of things. Fighting big buggers with torches, beetle swarms - you name it, I probably went through it." Realisation dawned, as the scars she'd seen suddenly made sense.

"God…" She shuddered at the thought, then shook it off. "Well, you're still here, so I'll assume you passed them all."

"You'd be assuming correctly. I did pass, just; damn near killed me, though." This would, ordinarily, be the part where he told her about the soul. Except it didn't feel like the right time, not yet, so he skirted around it. "The shaman kept his end of the deal and granted my request, then, to cut a long story short, made me wait three weeks in the blistering African heat before he sent me back here. I wasn't anticipating to fall straight through your bloody bedroom ceiling, though, believe me. Oh, and incidentally, your floor is really hard."

"I apologise," she said, sarcastically. "I'll install nice, fluffy pillows, should you feel to drop in unannounced again…"

He ignored the comment. "Well, that's the long and short of it, love. But we're not done talking, yet."

"You're damn right we're not," she said, getting up from the couch and pacing. "You left without a word. Not that I cared, not after what you did. But Dawn, Spike… you didn't even say goodbye to her. She knows, by the way. About what happened. Xander told her."

"Wanker… How did he find out?"

"He found me in the bathroom- Look, it doesn't matter. It's old news, and I do not want to discuss it."

"Giles knows, too, doesn't he? It's not like him to make death threats without good reason."

"He does… because I told him everything about a week ago."

"So the happy band of Scoobies is back together again, huh?" She nodded. "Hey, wait a minute… Giles is back… When?" Then something else dawned on him. "And where's Tara?"

Buffy's head dropped. She'd forgotten that Spike had missed the entire apocalypse situation. "A lot of stuff happened while you were gone. Right after you were gone, actually… We managed to separate the three geeks, got Jonathan and that other one thrown in jail. Warren got away… for about a day. Then, he came back, with a gun, and tried to kill me." Spike, concern etched into his features, made to move towards her, but she gestured for him to back off. "I'm fine… But Tara… she… she got the second bullet that was meant for me… she died. In Willow's arms."

"Oh my God…" Spike shook his head in disbelief. "Poor girl. I liked her. She was one of the good ones…"

"Yeah, she was." Buffy sniffed. "Afterwards, Willow just went crazy and absorbed all this Dark Magic. She pulled the bullet out of me – saved my life, in fact – then went after Warren on this insane rampage. We ended up having to protect Jonathan and his buddy from her. Willow tried to hurt us all; she nearly turned Dawn back into energy, ended up fighting me… and that's when Giles appeared with a load of borrowed magic, to battle her. His plan went horribly wrong and she decided to try and end the world. Dawn and I were stuck underground fighting off earth-monsters, Anya was trying to keep Giles alive after Willow practically ripped him apart along with the Magic Box, and Xander… well… saved everyone."

"The Whelp?" She nodded. "How?"

She shrugged. "What I heard, he just… told her he loved her."

Spike snorted somewhat derisively. "If only it was that simple all the time." He looked at her. "So even if I hadn't succeeded in the trials, it really wouldn't have mattered much, would it? I'd've ended up dead either way."

Buffy rounded on him, all of her previous frustration finally coming to a head. "You think you had it so bad, don't you, just because you had to undergo some stupid trials! We needed you, Spike, down in that crypt with the nasties. I needed you to protect Dawn, and you weren't there…"

Equally frustrated, Spike started yelling back at her. "I did it all for you, Slayer! I left because of what I'd done, to you. I wanted the chip out so I could get revenge, on you, or so I thought. The bloody shaman showed me what I really wanted, and it wasn't vengeance. So before you start worrying about me going off and killing all your little friends, don't – the sodding chip's still in my head, and I have a sparkly new soul to go with it…"

They both stopped dead still as his sentence trailed off, Spike in shock at his letting it slip, and Buffy figuring out how to react. She chose anger. "Oh… I get it… You think that you can just go off and get a soul and I'll fall into your arms. Doesn't work like that, Spike…"

"Maybe not. After all, I'm not your precious Angel, am I? I never will be, and I'm not trying to be." His tone softened again, and he retreated to his armchair, sinking into it heavily. "The last thing I wanted was to turn into the annoying broody type, but I'm beginning to see the advantages…"

Buffy refused to be taken in by what she assumed to be an act to gain sympathy. Her anger had dissipated, though, but it meant she resorted to cruel jibes instead. "Well. I guess that'll teach you not to eat people, won't it. Or try to rape them." She'd forgiven him, and told herself, her sister, and Giles the same thing… but she was definitely not ready to admit that to Spike. He looked up at her, his expression suddenly different, more pleading.

"Buffy… please…"

"Please what?"

"Listen to me… I've relived that night so many times I've lost count; you have absolutely no idea how much it hurts. And I know that no amount of apologies in the world would be enough."

"You're right," she agreed. "And what makes you think I'd accept any apology you make?" Spike could do nothing but stare at her. He was sure they'd be able to talk it through like grown ups, but apparently, all Buffy wanted to do was make him feel worse. "I could never accept it, Spike…" she continued, "not when there's so much I have to apologise for, too."

That one threw him for a loop and it took him several seconds to react. "Like what?" She didn't answer; she hadn't been anticipating this part of the conversation, and both of their mouths had run away with them. In truth, she wasn't ready to deal with even thinking about the implications of Spike's having a soul, and was attempting to avoid the issue completely. She moved back to the couch she'd recently vacated and sat down heavily. When she still hadn't answered, Spike got up from the chair and moved to stand closer so he could see her better. "Buffy?" he pushed.

"I used you…" she murmured.

"We've been over this one, love," Spike said, quietly.

"I know…" Dropping her head so she wouldn't have to face him, she said, "I'm sorry. For… for everything. Using you. Putting you down. Not believing you."

"Oh."

"Oh? Is that all you've got to say?"

"Gimme a chance, here, pet… I wasn't expecting a full-blown apology from you."

"Well, you got one."

"Yeah." There was a brief pause, as Spike decided to risk decapitation and sat on the opposite end of the couch, a safe distance from her. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. More than you know." They sat there, next to each other but not touching, both staring at the floor as he continued. "You remember I said that every night after you died, I dreamt that I saved you?" He sensed rather than saw her nod. "Well, every night in Africa after I got the soul, I dreamt that I managed to stop myself before…" He trailed off and let it linger, not really wanted to carry on.

After a few seconds, Buffy looked across at him. He was leaning forwards, head in his hands. She could tell he'd changed; gone was the cocky, sarcastic Spike she'd known only a month or so ago, and in his place was a broken, hurting shell, battling with his own memories. He was a far cry from being like Angel had been, but, then again, he hadn't been given the soul as a punishment like Angel had. Buffy doubted that Spike was seeing it that way, though; he appeared to be struggling with something even as she watched him.

Spike sensed her staring at him and looked up, straight across at her. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were red-rimmed as if he'd spent the last week crying – she supposed that was a logical side effect of receiving a soul and coping with it for the first time – and then, shocked, she saw all the pain and hurt of over a century's-worth of victims reflecting back at her as he relived them all, one by one. He was wearing the exact same expression as he had in her bathroom, right after she'd kicked him across the room, only the remorse and guilt were three times worse and far more obvious. She had to look away.

"Spike," she said, her voice trying to be reassuring. "We both know that nothing happened that night…"

"No… but it could have. Because I was too stubborn to notice that you didn't want me in your life anymore."

"I'll agree with you on the last point." She aimed for a humorous tone, but was only partly successful. "But… but you have to stop beating yourself up over it. Nothing happened. Okay, something nearly did… and it's probably partially my fault for coming to you in the first place, all that time ago… but you did nothing wrong." She hoped she sounded convincing enough that he'd believe her without his personal guilt trip taking it the wrong way.

He smiled a weak smile of gratitude. "Thanks, Slayer…" The smile disappeared again. "I'm not gonna ask for your forgiveness, though. Don't think I deserve that, somehow."

Buffy looked up again, so he could see she was serious when she replied, "You don't have to."

Well, it wasn't an 'I forgive you', but it would do. Spike smiled again, wider. Neither of them knew how to continue, and an awkward silence filled the air of the crypt as his smile fell. He'd realised what had been inevitable from the moment she arrived. "So… this is it, then… This is the part where you tell me it really is over."

Buffy said nothing. She still wasn't ready to admit just how much she'd missed him, but, despite the fact she'd forgiven him, being around him still reminded her of that night, and it still hurt her to think about it. When he appeared in her room only a few hours previously, it had taken every ounce of her will power not to throw her arms around him and never let go; she was still irritated with herself for breaking down in hysterical tears in front of him. He'd nearly kissed her – that had been like a jolt of electricity in her brain, telling her to be sensible.

Spike wasn't good for her, and she wasn't good for him, and if they carried on like they had been, they'd end up destroying each other. Now… how to tell him that…

Sadly, she finally said, "Spike, it was always over. You know that."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, it was a nice sort of 'over' while it lasted…"

They'd reached that stage of serious conversation where neither of them really knew what they were saying, but everything made perfect sense in their heads. Neither of them particularly seemed to care, either. Then, in a sudden burst of pro-activity, Buffy got to her feet. "I should go. Gotta work tomorrow."

Spike made no effort to stop her, at first, merely continued staring at his feet. Before she reached the ladder and the trapdoor, however, he suddenly got to his feet, attracting her attention again. "Buffy, wait…" She raised her eyebrows to indicate that she would comply, for the moment, and waited for him to continue. He felt like a teenager trying to ask out his crush. In fact, he felt like William the Bloody Awful Poet again. Very quietly, knowing it was pathetic, but not really caring, he asked, "Am I going to see you again?"

The question, in its innocence, surprised her. "Uh… Maybe. Dawn'll probably want to see you so I can't say 'no' and stick to it, reasonably. But… I think we both need time. I need time…"

"Yeah. 'Course." He waved his hand to indicate she could leave. She got halfway up the ladder when he spoke again, not looking in her direction. "You're the reason I came back, y'know…" Buffy dropped down again. He'd obviously got some things he needed to say and she couldn't leave without letting him do so. "How's that for feeble-bloody-minded? I left because of you and then couldn't stand being away from you. Truth be told, I missed you every soddin' second I was there…"

He raised his head to meet her gaze, infinite sadness in his eyes. Buffy hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't start crying; she wasn't sure she could handle it if he did. "See, the thing with this soul is, it… it hurts. Every single moment, every memory, the whole package. If I'd thought I could cope with this on my own, I'd be elsewhere right now, not botherin' you or anyone else again. 'Cept I can't. Cope with it. And…" He lost the battle with his pride, and fell to his knees directly in front of her, grabbing onto her as if his life depended on it. To both their surprise, she didn't push him off. With his head on her stomach, he sputtered out, "I need you, Buffy… I can't… can't do this… alone."

Despite her better judgement, Buffy let sympathy win her emotional battle. She ran a hand softly over his hair in a vague gesture of comfort, slightly shaken by his sudden show of weakness. "Spike-" A loud sob cut her off, which he'd obviously tried to stifle and failed. She tried again. "Spike, get up. Come on…" He did the exact opposite, holding on tighter; she reached around behind her and prised his hands away, tugging on them slightly to make him move. "C'mon… you're gonna hate yourself for this in the morning…"

He shook his hands from her grasp and let them drop limply at his sides, staring at the floor. "'Bout time I had something else to hate myself for-"

"Stop it!" Her raised voice caused him to look up, tear-streaked face strangely curious. She'd adopted the same expression she used when Dawn was being stubborn, and it somehow had the desired effect of making him get to his feet, finally, although he said nothing. "Good… Now. Listen. I know it's all horrible right now; I imagine this is a lot like how it was for me when I… came back. But you're stronger than this; I know you are. You don't need me-"

"Yes, I-"

"No, you don't." He obviously wasn't going to believe her. She frowned. "Let me put it another way. I am not going to be the one who sticks Band-Aids on all your scrapes, or… or kisses it all better. You won't be alone - you can see Dawn. Or Dawn can see you. Whichever works best. But I can't make the pain go away, Spike. I've been through that once with Angel, and I'm not doing it again, you hear me?"

He nodded, numbly. "S-sorry… I never thought about that. Bloody idiot…" he chastised himself. Then, a glimmer of the old Spike, the one she knew and… knew, resurfaced. "But I'm not going to lie to you about how I feel, Buffy."

"Didn't think you would. I think I preferred it when you hated me; life was easier that way."

"Yeah, well, there's a fine line between love and hate, pet. A heartbeat." For some reason, Buffy found the profound statement incredibly moving. "I thought I could jump that line; thought it would be that easy, to just switch back, with the shaman's help. But the heart wants what it wants… and mine, as non-functional as it is, still wants you." Unbidden, memories of whatever had constituted as their past together came back. With all the honesty and sincerity he could muster, he said, "I love you. Probably always bloody will. I won't make you stay, or get back to where we left off, but… just promise me you won't… leave me. I can't handle it."

Buffy, blinking back tears of her own when she realised how serious he was, could do nothing but nod weakly. "I… I promise."

Content with that, and knowing that she meant it somehow, Spike stared at her for a few seconds as he tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came, except, "Thank you."

After a moment, they came to an unspoken agreement that the Conversation was officially finished. Buffy started to make her way back up to the upper level of the crypt as he watched her. She disappeared from view momentarily, then stuck her head through the open trapdoor again. "It's… good to have you back," she admitted quickly, then vanished again.

Spike waited until her footsteps were no longer audible before collapsing into the armchair with a half-bottle of strong vodka. He certainly hadn't expected his return to be balloons and fireworks, but he'd had no idea whatsoever that it would end up being so damn difficult. He couldn't cope with any more soul-induced guilt trips tonight, so, flipping on the television, he drowned his sorrows in the alcohol, and hoped he'd pass out before sanity kicked in and reminded him of his pathetic display earlier on…

Outside, in the cemetery, Buffy had managed to get approximately two metres from the crypt door before her knees gave way. She was now sitting on a small headstone, head in her hands, wondering how on Earth she was going to get Spike through it all. Her Slayer training didn't cover vampire psychotherapy. In the back of her mind, she wondered, only briefly, if Spike's soul had the same conditions that Angel's had…

To be continued…

Right. There we go. Angst by the barrel and a teense of fluff thrown in, too. Can you tell I like angstySpike? I think I might make him brood. It'll look everso pretty ;) Anyhoo, Chapter 12 might have a slight delay since my Muses are now taking a breather, and because I haven't a single clue exactly what to do next… so… yeah. I'll add something to "Cold Trust" or something… Keep an eye out! Reviews welcomed, thank you.