Spike stood in the hallway, resting the soaked paper bag against the
doorframe as he dug in his pocket for Buffy's keys. "Bloody hell," he
swore, sticking the tarnished gold key in the lock. Pushing open the door,
Spike called into the quiet apartment, not wanting to startle Buffy with
his unannounced entry. "Buffy? You in here?" He had to bit his tongue, it
was so tempting to drop a familiar pet name into the conversation. Shaking
his head, Spike walked into the living room, that was all in the past. He
stopped in front of the couch, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth.
Buffy was curled up in the corner of the sofa, her denim clad legs tucked
beneath her body, a contented smile on her face. "Typical," he grumbled,
his good mood having vanished somewhere between the parking garage and the
elevator. Spike shook his head, moving into the kitchen to drop the bag of
food and drape his dripping wet duster over a chair.
Balling his hands into tight fists, Spike stood over Buffy's sleeping form, not sure whether it would be better to wake her up or if he should just let her sleep. His left hand gripped her shoulder, abruptly jolting Buffy from her comfortable dream realm of complacency and back to the bitter tension of real life. Sleepy green eyes stared up at Spike in confusion, "what's wrong," she murmured. The last thing Buffy remembered was falling asleep in Spike's arms, now he was standing in front of her and she was sleeping on the sofa. "Nothing," was his curt reply. Spike turned back towards the kitchen, "brought some food," he practically growled. All of the turbulent emotions had hidden themselves beneath his familiar mask of indifference and sarcasm, he didn't know any other way to deal with Buffy and her wide emerald eyes weren't helping his already over-wrought nerves.
Buffy shook her head, her mouth opening and closing quickly. "Food," she murmured, trying to make sense of everything. Then it hit her, an overwhelming realization that squeezed her heart in a painful vice. "It was all a dream," she whispered, tears burning the back of her eyes. Wiping the moisture away carelessly with the back of her hand, Buffy walked into the kitchen. Her circular table was covered with half a dozen containers and Buffy's stomach growled with anticipation. "This looks great," she chirped, sliding into a chair beside Spike. The blonde vampire didn't answer, he just pushed a few white cartons in her general direction and continued to pick halfheartedly at the fried rice.
They ate in silence for what felt like an eternity; the tension was so thick that Buffy could scarcely breathe, her dream weighed heavily on her mind and she wished that life could be that easy. There was nothing left to say, no more stories to hide behind, she had to face the truth. Buffy had tortured herself with questions and doubts for months, this was her opportunity to silence her demons and get some answers. "Why did you come to New York?" The question seemed so banal in her head, simple, with no implications or accusations attached. Rolling off her tongue however, the words stung with a bitter venom, they hissed with anger and pain. Her voice wasn't high-pitched and whiny, it wasn't pleading or needing, it was fierce, filled with rage and hatred, betrayal. There was nothing simple about what she was asking Spike, she was demanding an explanation.
Spike sighed deeply, pushing away his half-eaten container of food. The tentative truce between them had been shattered in one single moment, Buffy's words were flames that threatened to envelop his entire being. She hadn't even bothered to conceal the bitterness in her voice, hadn't tried to pretend that Spike's presence wasn't tearing her apart. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, tired of running and of lying. "For peace," he said and his voice wasn't rough, it was confessional, barely above a whisper. "I needed peace," he repeated, louder this time, trying to get out the right words before she cut him off.
Instead of the fierce verbal assault Spike had been bracing himself for, Buffy just nodded. She waited for him to continue, she needed to hear his words, to understand why he was suddenly back in her life. "I tried to move on," he said, not really talking to her anymore, just voicing his thoughts out loud. "For three years I did everything I could to make a fresh start. But it wasn't enough." He looked at Buffy, his blue eyes piercing through her in a way that left her feeling vulnerable and completely exposed. "Never was enough. Kept thinking about you.about everything.bloody internal demons. I knew it wasn't right, the way we.ended.but I didn't know.I couldn't.there was just never enough time.it was never the right time." Spike paused, looking off into the distance, not seeing Buffy's refrigerator, lost in his own memories. "Does that make any sense," he asked, his voice defeated as if he truly didn't care about whether it made sense or not.
Buffy nodded her head vigorously, her head felt like it was spinning and the tightness in her chest was spreading throughout her body. She knew what was coming but she kept wishing that she wasn't really understanding Spike, that she was reading into his words. "I need peace," Spike said, reaffirming the mantra that had carried him half-way around the world. He looked back at Buffy, wondering if she knew the hold she had on his heart. Spike's mouth twisted in self-loathing, she would never know, he would never tell her; she had a good life without him, the last thing she needed was an overly emotional confession of love.
"And you think I can give you that," Buffy asked, her mouth curling sardonically. She had been a fool to think that Spike had come back for her, that he still loved her. It was all dreams, illusions. There was no happy ending, no prince charming, no fairy-tale future, there were just broken hearts and tattered promises. "Yeah," Spike replied, breaking through her musings. Buffy took a deep breath, painting on the eerily calm mask of indifference that had carried her through the last few years, the emotionally stoic face she had hidden behind for months. Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she stared at Spike, "what do you want from me?"
Spike gritted his teeth angrily, willing himself not to lose his nerve. "I want to make things right between us," he began, "end things properly.a real goodbye." The whispered words hit Buffy hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. But she couldn't let him get the best of her, she had come too far for that to happen. "A real goodbye, huh?" She shuddered, her voice sounded forced, too high-pitched to be realistic. Changing her approach, she let some of the rage coursing through her veins to infuse her voice. "And this is what you waited three years for, you arrogant shit?"
She pushed her chair away from the table, almost upsetting the chair in her anger. Her eyes glittered with rage, "I don't need this shit Spike! I don't need you here and I sure as hell don't need a long, drawn out goodbye..as far as I'm concerned we said our goodbyes a long time ago." Drawing in a deep breath, Buffy plunged along recklessly, her calloused words falling unbidden from her lips, "it's over Spike..it's been over for a long time." She turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared blankly at the wall. There was nothing she wanted more then to walk over and bury her head against his chest, to feel his soft kisses on her face. But the hurt was too strong; the pain was too acute for Buffy to give in to Spike.
When she turned around, Spike's body was inches from hers, the fury and passion crackling through the air between them. He lowered his face until his mouth was poised above hers, his yellow eyes furious. "I know it's over," he said, his voice a low predatory growl, "I'm not some bloody lap dog anymore..so your little game of kick-the-Spike won't work." Buffy paled at his words but she couldn't bring herself to argue with him. "I need closure," Spike hissed, "so I can move on."
Buffy's head snapped up, she pushed past Spike so they were standing a few feet apart. "So you can move on to someone else? Is that it," she spat. Tired blue eyes looked up at her, Spike looked defeated, all his anger gone. "Don't do this. Please Buffy, I didn't come here to fight with you." She pursed her lips angrily, "fine. Then tell me what you wanted and then get the hell out of my apartment." Shaking his head, Spike looked at her, genuine sadness in his eyes. The past few hours had been a complete waste of time, they were no closer to making amends then they had been three years ago. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," Spike said, willing his voice not to catch in his throat, "and I wanted to say goodbye."
Tears sparkled in Buffy's emerald eyes, "it's a little late for that, isn't it?" She swallowed hard, trying to maintain some measure of self-control. "Where'll you go," she asked. Spike took a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair, "back to Australia. My flight's leaving tomorrow morning." She nodded, trying to sound more confident then she felt, not ready to show Spike how deep her emotional scars ran. "Got it." Licking her suddenly dry lips, Buffy crossed the room, leaning in to graze Spike's cheek with her lips, "goodbye Spike." She scurried out of the room, feeling like she had just lost everything as the tears spilled over her cheeks.
Spike swore quietly to himself, this was not how he envisioned their reunion. While he wasn't holding out for the romantic-comedy movie ending, he didn't think it would hurt this much. Grabbing his duster, he swung the buttery soft leather over his shoulders. He pulled a faded cream envelope out of his pocket, tracing his index finger over the name written in sloping cursive. "Might as well leave it here," he murmured, placing the envelope on the coffee table before letting himself out of the apartment. "Sorry about everything luv," he said to the closed door, hating himself for walking away but not knowing what else to do.
Splashing cold water on her face, Buffy buried her face in a plush towel, trying to dry away the tears that kept spilling over her cheeks. She grimaced at the splotchy, tear-stained mess reflected in the mirror, turning out the bathroom light before walking back into the living room. For the first time in years, she didn't feel abandoned; she hadn't given Spike the chance to break her heart again. She was so tired though, her body ached with exhaustion. Sinking onto the couch, Buffy stared blankly at the empty living room.
Her gaze fell on a water-stained envelope that at one time was probably cream but had faded to a dingy white. She picked it up, her trembling hands grazing over her name, written in Spike's distinctive Victorian scrawl. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out two thin sheets of paper. "Buffy," the first page began, "if you're reading this, then I'm a cowardly bastard. But I suppose you already knew that. Why else would I just leave? Anyway, I know you're probably ready to burn this letter, but please just read the whole thing first. I always was a God awful poet, but I didn't know any other way to explain this to you." There was space, a few blank lines that followed his grim words, room for something else to say that Spike couldn't put onto the paper. It was signed simply, "all my love, Spike."
Tears stung her eyes and began to fall steadily again as Buffy removed the heavily creased sheet of paper. She read the title, "Do you remember," her lips moving slowly as the words rolled over her tongue.
"It's been over a hundred starry nights and even more golden sunrises. Seasons slipped by, snowflakes and autumn leaves go unnoticed. After so long, it all seems so normal, so natural, so right. We've laughed and cried, but not together. Because we haven't spoken in years.
I don't even remember you that much anymore. Just smoky wisps of memories, fragmented pieces of the past. A faded picture, a dusty bottle of perfume, a tarnished ring, a threadbare sweater. Reminders of who we used to be, a testament to a different place and time.
I don't even think about you that much anymore. Until that song plays on the radio, or that car speeds past me on the highway. My heart flutters and your face flashes before me. But that doesn't mean I remember.
I don't even remember about us anymore. I don't think about you every day, every time I pass your picture. I don't wonder where you are, every time I slip on my duster. I don't bring up memories of our dates, every time I walk out the door. I don't laugh about your terrible driving, every time I get into my car. I don't smile at your silly sense of humor every time I go out to dinner I don't resist the urge to call you, every time I see a blonde woman with green eyes. I don't remember what it was like to be close to you, every time I see couples together. I don't remember your arms around me, every time I dance to the pulsating music in a club. I don't replay our more interesting conversations, every time my mind drifts away.
I don't remember anymore. There's nothing to remember because that's the past. We're different people now, I tell myself But those words doesn't stop the inevitable blush that colors my cheeks Every time I try to catch your eye across a crowded room, even though you aren't there. The logic doesn't diminish the smile that threatens to break my face Whenever I hear your name mentioned in conversation. And every time I turn away because I don't remember what it was like to be beside you. I can't bear to think of you with someone new but I don't remember how we used to be.
I don't remember how much I miss you. I don't remember how sorry I am. I don't remember how much I love you. I don't remember how perfect we were together. I don't remember. Do you?"
Buffy stared blankly at the last two words of the poem, no longer feeling like she had made the right decision. "My God," she whispered, "what did I do?"
Balling his hands into tight fists, Spike stood over Buffy's sleeping form, not sure whether it would be better to wake her up or if he should just let her sleep. His left hand gripped her shoulder, abruptly jolting Buffy from her comfortable dream realm of complacency and back to the bitter tension of real life. Sleepy green eyes stared up at Spike in confusion, "what's wrong," she murmured. The last thing Buffy remembered was falling asleep in Spike's arms, now he was standing in front of her and she was sleeping on the sofa. "Nothing," was his curt reply. Spike turned back towards the kitchen, "brought some food," he practically growled. All of the turbulent emotions had hidden themselves beneath his familiar mask of indifference and sarcasm, he didn't know any other way to deal with Buffy and her wide emerald eyes weren't helping his already over-wrought nerves.
Buffy shook her head, her mouth opening and closing quickly. "Food," she murmured, trying to make sense of everything. Then it hit her, an overwhelming realization that squeezed her heart in a painful vice. "It was all a dream," she whispered, tears burning the back of her eyes. Wiping the moisture away carelessly with the back of her hand, Buffy walked into the kitchen. Her circular table was covered with half a dozen containers and Buffy's stomach growled with anticipation. "This looks great," she chirped, sliding into a chair beside Spike. The blonde vampire didn't answer, he just pushed a few white cartons in her general direction and continued to pick halfheartedly at the fried rice.
They ate in silence for what felt like an eternity; the tension was so thick that Buffy could scarcely breathe, her dream weighed heavily on her mind and she wished that life could be that easy. There was nothing left to say, no more stories to hide behind, she had to face the truth. Buffy had tortured herself with questions and doubts for months, this was her opportunity to silence her demons and get some answers. "Why did you come to New York?" The question seemed so banal in her head, simple, with no implications or accusations attached. Rolling off her tongue however, the words stung with a bitter venom, they hissed with anger and pain. Her voice wasn't high-pitched and whiny, it wasn't pleading or needing, it was fierce, filled with rage and hatred, betrayal. There was nothing simple about what she was asking Spike, she was demanding an explanation.
Spike sighed deeply, pushing away his half-eaten container of food. The tentative truce between them had been shattered in one single moment, Buffy's words were flames that threatened to envelop his entire being. She hadn't even bothered to conceal the bitterness in her voice, hadn't tried to pretend that Spike's presence wasn't tearing her apart. He looked up at her, his eyes dark, tired of running and of lying. "For peace," he said and his voice wasn't rough, it was confessional, barely above a whisper. "I needed peace," he repeated, louder this time, trying to get out the right words before she cut him off.
Instead of the fierce verbal assault Spike had been bracing himself for, Buffy just nodded. She waited for him to continue, she needed to hear his words, to understand why he was suddenly back in her life. "I tried to move on," he said, not really talking to her anymore, just voicing his thoughts out loud. "For three years I did everything I could to make a fresh start. But it wasn't enough." He looked at Buffy, his blue eyes piercing through her in a way that left her feeling vulnerable and completely exposed. "Never was enough. Kept thinking about you.about everything.bloody internal demons. I knew it wasn't right, the way we.ended.but I didn't know.I couldn't.there was just never enough time.it was never the right time." Spike paused, looking off into the distance, not seeing Buffy's refrigerator, lost in his own memories. "Does that make any sense," he asked, his voice defeated as if he truly didn't care about whether it made sense or not.
Buffy nodded her head vigorously, her head felt like it was spinning and the tightness in her chest was spreading throughout her body. She knew what was coming but she kept wishing that she wasn't really understanding Spike, that she was reading into his words. "I need peace," Spike said, reaffirming the mantra that had carried him half-way around the world. He looked back at Buffy, wondering if she knew the hold she had on his heart. Spike's mouth twisted in self-loathing, she would never know, he would never tell her; she had a good life without him, the last thing she needed was an overly emotional confession of love.
"And you think I can give you that," Buffy asked, her mouth curling sardonically. She had been a fool to think that Spike had come back for her, that he still loved her. It was all dreams, illusions. There was no happy ending, no prince charming, no fairy-tale future, there were just broken hearts and tattered promises. "Yeah," Spike replied, breaking through her musings. Buffy took a deep breath, painting on the eerily calm mask of indifference that had carried her through the last few years, the emotionally stoic face she had hidden behind for months. Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she stared at Spike, "what do you want from me?"
Spike gritted his teeth angrily, willing himself not to lose his nerve. "I want to make things right between us," he began, "end things properly.a real goodbye." The whispered words hit Buffy hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. But she couldn't let him get the best of her, she had come too far for that to happen. "A real goodbye, huh?" She shuddered, her voice sounded forced, too high-pitched to be realistic. Changing her approach, she let some of the rage coursing through her veins to infuse her voice. "And this is what you waited three years for, you arrogant shit?"
She pushed her chair away from the table, almost upsetting the chair in her anger. Her eyes glittered with rage, "I don't need this shit Spike! I don't need you here and I sure as hell don't need a long, drawn out goodbye..as far as I'm concerned we said our goodbyes a long time ago." Drawing in a deep breath, Buffy plunged along recklessly, her calloused words falling unbidden from her lips, "it's over Spike..it's been over for a long time." She turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared blankly at the wall. There was nothing she wanted more then to walk over and bury her head against his chest, to feel his soft kisses on her face. But the hurt was too strong; the pain was too acute for Buffy to give in to Spike.
When she turned around, Spike's body was inches from hers, the fury and passion crackling through the air between them. He lowered his face until his mouth was poised above hers, his yellow eyes furious. "I know it's over," he said, his voice a low predatory growl, "I'm not some bloody lap dog anymore..so your little game of kick-the-Spike won't work." Buffy paled at his words but she couldn't bring herself to argue with him. "I need closure," Spike hissed, "so I can move on."
Buffy's head snapped up, she pushed past Spike so they were standing a few feet apart. "So you can move on to someone else? Is that it," she spat. Tired blue eyes looked up at her, Spike looked defeated, all his anger gone. "Don't do this. Please Buffy, I didn't come here to fight with you." She pursed her lips angrily, "fine. Then tell me what you wanted and then get the hell out of my apartment." Shaking his head, Spike looked at her, genuine sadness in his eyes. The past few hours had been a complete waste of time, they were no closer to making amends then they had been three years ago. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," Spike said, willing his voice not to catch in his throat, "and I wanted to say goodbye."
Tears sparkled in Buffy's emerald eyes, "it's a little late for that, isn't it?" She swallowed hard, trying to maintain some measure of self-control. "Where'll you go," she asked. Spike took a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair, "back to Australia. My flight's leaving tomorrow morning." She nodded, trying to sound more confident then she felt, not ready to show Spike how deep her emotional scars ran. "Got it." Licking her suddenly dry lips, Buffy crossed the room, leaning in to graze Spike's cheek with her lips, "goodbye Spike." She scurried out of the room, feeling like she had just lost everything as the tears spilled over her cheeks.
Spike swore quietly to himself, this was not how he envisioned their reunion. While he wasn't holding out for the romantic-comedy movie ending, he didn't think it would hurt this much. Grabbing his duster, he swung the buttery soft leather over his shoulders. He pulled a faded cream envelope out of his pocket, tracing his index finger over the name written in sloping cursive. "Might as well leave it here," he murmured, placing the envelope on the coffee table before letting himself out of the apartment. "Sorry about everything luv," he said to the closed door, hating himself for walking away but not knowing what else to do.
Splashing cold water on her face, Buffy buried her face in a plush towel, trying to dry away the tears that kept spilling over her cheeks. She grimaced at the splotchy, tear-stained mess reflected in the mirror, turning out the bathroom light before walking back into the living room. For the first time in years, she didn't feel abandoned; she hadn't given Spike the chance to break her heart again. She was so tired though, her body ached with exhaustion. Sinking onto the couch, Buffy stared blankly at the empty living room.
Her gaze fell on a water-stained envelope that at one time was probably cream but had faded to a dingy white. She picked it up, her trembling hands grazing over her name, written in Spike's distinctive Victorian scrawl. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out two thin sheets of paper. "Buffy," the first page began, "if you're reading this, then I'm a cowardly bastard. But I suppose you already knew that. Why else would I just leave? Anyway, I know you're probably ready to burn this letter, but please just read the whole thing first. I always was a God awful poet, but I didn't know any other way to explain this to you." There was space, a few blank lines that followed his grim words, room for something else to say that Spike couldn't put onto the paper. It was signed simply, "all my love, Spike."
Tears stung her eyes and began to fall steadily again as Buffy removed the heavily creased sheet of paper. She read the title, "Do you remember," her lips moving slowly as the words rolled over her tongue.
"It's been over a hundred starry nights and even more golden sunrises. Seasons slipped by, snowflakes and autumn leaves go unnoticed. After so long, it all seems so normal, so natural, so right. We've laughed and cried, but not together. Because we haven't spoken in years.
I don't even remember you that much anymore. Just smoky wisps of memories, fragmented pieces of the past. A faded picture, a dusty bottle of perfume, a tarnished ring, a threadbare sweater. Reminders of who we used to be, a testament to a different place and time.
I don't even think about you that much anymore. Until that song plays on the radio, or that car speeds past me on the highway. My heart flutters and your face flashes before me. But that doesn't mean I remember.
I don't even remember about us anymore. I don't think about you every day, every time I pass your picture. I don't wonder where you are, every time I slip on my duster. I don't bring up memories of our dates, every time I walk out the door. I don't laugh about your terrible driving, every time I get into my car. I don't smile at your silly sense of humor every time I go out to dinner I don't resist the urge to call you, every time I see a blonde woman with green eyes. I don't remember what it was like to be close to you, every time I see couples together. I don't remember your arms around me, every time I dance to the pulsating music in a club. I don't replay our more interesting conversations, every time my mind drifts away.
I don't remember anymore. There's nothing to remember because that's the past. We're different people now, I tell myself But those words doesn't stop the inevitable blush that colors my cheeks Every time I try to catch your eye across a crowded room, even though you aren't there. The logic doesn't diminish the smile that threatens to break my face Whenever I hear your name mentioned in conversation. And every time I turn away because I don't remember what it was like to be beside you. I can't bear to think of you with someone new but I don't remember how we used to be.
I don't remember how much I miss you. I don't remember how sorry I am. I don't remember how much I love you. I don't remember how perfect we were together. I don't remember. Do you?"
Buffy stared blankly at the last two words of the poem, no longer feeling like she had made the right decision. "My God," she whispered, "what did I do?"
