Chapter 7
Don't Be Cruel
May 2019
"And then he left," Buffy shouted as she paced from one end of the living room to the other. "God, he is so like a six year-old; get mad, yell and then stomp out the house. Who the hell does he think he is?"
"Your husband?" Willow offered from her position on the couch. Buffy growled and stared through the redhead. "Okay, not a great time for humor, huh?"
"Ya think?" Buffy spat, and walked over to the couch. Sighing heavily, she plopped down next to her best friend. "What am I gonna do with him, Wills? He just won't listen to me."
"I bet he'd say the same thing," Willow mumbled.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, nothing, just that you need to talk to him."
"Already tried, failed miserably."
Willow frowned. "Did you actually talk to him or did you do the yelling and the pouting and the threatening?" Buffy turned away. "Uh huh, I see."
"Well," the slayer whined, "it's not like he understands diplomacy."
"And it's not like you really try it," Willow replied.
Buffy opened her mouth to object then shut it. "You're right, Wills, I really don't. It's just that he makes me so mad sometimes…"
"I bet the feeling's mutual."
Buffy ignored Willow's jab. "I mean, we really don't argue like this much anymore. Usually it's just bickering about this and that, we get in a mood and the other apologizes, and voila, several hours of make-up sex."
"So did not want to hear that."
Buffy snorted and folded one leg under her. "Like you and Ken don't do tha' wild thang when you're in a tiff."
Willow blushed and Buffy chuckled. Even after all this time, the red head was the easiest person in the world to make blush. "This is so not about me, Buffy Anne Summers."
"Whoa, Wills, my full name? What next, you gonna ground me?"
"I have a right mind to do that," she said, and waggled a finger in front of Buffy's nose, "if you don't start listening a bit more."
"I know," a sobered Buffy said, "but it's just that these past seven years, really not used to the knock down-drag out screaming and shouting matches with him. Ever since we've been married, things have been even smoother than before…" Buffy trailed off and thought back to that night in the Bronze when he proposed. "You know, I think Spike was right that night in the Bronze; that I wanted to be married so bad but didn't know it."
"Do you think any of you guys' tiffs before that had anything to do with some resentment on your part? That Spike didn't think enough to propose?"
"Well, Buffy would say no, but psychoanalytical Buffy…"
"But it's not like you guys fought too much even then."
"But there were more of these types, though; the ones that after he walks away, or I do, had my heart in pieces. And now…" Buffy sighed.
"And now, the whole slayage thing."
"I've been doing this twenty years, Wills, can't he understand that?"
Willow took her friend's hand. "He does, Buffy, I know he does. But can't you see his point, too?"
"It was nothing, really," the slayer replied, and lowered her eyes.
"Buffy, you could've been killed," Willow said, a little more harshly than she intended.
"That's a possibility every night."
"Which is exactly his point."
"He just can't expect me to--to give it up like that."
"Can't he?" Buffy frowned and Willow brushed a strand of hair out of Buffy's face. "Buffy, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're not needed anymore."
"Thanks, Will," she replied, unable to conceal the hurt that bubbled inside.
"Buffy, I didn't mean it like that."
"Whatever," the slayer said, and stood. She walked through the living room and kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the floor. With a disgusted snort, she wrenched the back door open and stepped outside, not bothering to close it.
The slayer stared out into the night, taking in the starry sky, one she had become intimately familiar with in the past twenty years. Though light was her saving grace, she could never avoid the call of the darkness; the rich silence that permeated the air--the silence of the sleeping and dead. It was difficult for her to recall a time without it, and it had been as much a part of her as was the simple mechanics of breathing. And just as death would visit her if air was taken away, Buffy was sure that to give up this, to give up the night, would kill her slowly.
When Willow's hands touched her shoulders, Buffy shook off the desire to flinch. The Wicca massaged her muscles and in seconds Buffy's anger had abated, leaving in its wake the mind-numbing fear that influenced her entire being.
"I'm scared, Wills, I'm so scared."
"Of what?"
"That if I…if I give up slaying, that I will be nobody."
"Buffy…"
The blonde stepped away and faced her friend, tears of uncertainty clouding Buffy's vision. "No, Willow, I'm not crazy. I've been the slayer for twenty years, protecting the streets, protecting the world. It's been that way the entire time you and Xander and Giles have known me." She lowered her eyes and whispered, "it's the only me that Spike knows." Risking a glance at her friend, Buffy was surprised at the pitiless compassion that was reflected in the red head's green eyes, immediately followed by one wicked looking resolve face.
"Buffy," Willow said and cupped the former's cheek. "I love you. I love you with everything I am. You have done so much for all of us, and I'd follow you anywhere. But, gotta tell ya, you're a doofus."
Buffy blinked several times. "Did you just call me a doofus?"
Willow shook her head. "Buffy, being a slayer doesn't make you popular or likable. It doesn't make you kind, or sympathetic or lovable. In fact, being a slayer is the antithesis of all that. Buffy, you work death every night with your hands, yet those are the same hands that nurture your relationship with Spike and our twenty years as friends.
"You are witty, loyal, caring, forgiving, brave and strong in every sense of the word. Those are the reasons why we love you, why Spike loves you. Not because you can throw a Fyarl demon twenty feet or lay the smack down on a skank ho of a hell god. What you are and who you are; they're two different things. And as much as we respect and are endeared--and grateful, let me tell ya--to that part of you that is the slayer, we love and adore, and would die for you; Buffy."
Overcome with emotion, the slayer could only pull her friend into a warm embrace. They stood on the porch in silence, taking comfort in the arms of one another for several minutes before Buffy finally pushed Willow away.
"But Spike…he likes it that I'm strong. That I can…"
"What? Kick his skinny, yet delicious undead ass up and down the block?"
"Hey, that's my husband you're mentally ogling."
"Buffy, sweetie, Spike's just like us."
"Wow," Buffy replied, "never thought I'd hear any of you guys admit that."
"You know what I mean, miss smarty-pants. He loves you like we do. Sure, he's got a thing for that slayer mojo that you have, but it's the Buffy part of you that dropped him on his head and made him fall in love with you."
"Yeah, I know. But what about…"
"What about what, Buffy? There are dozens of slayers out there now, you know that. Ever since that little releasing of the essence thingamabob the New Council did a few years ago. You're not the only one, anymore, Buffy."
"But it's my fight."
"It's their fight, now. Kennedy knows that, that's why she gave it up last year. It's just not worth it."
"But how can I just turn my back and let someone else die in my place."
"Buffy, you know that each slayer now has the choice of what they want. The ones on active duty know the risks and accept it. They weren't just arbitrarily thrown into the fire. Besides, you have a new fight now."
"What's that?"
Willow brushed her knuckles across Buffy's cheek and offered the slayer a warm smile. "To make sure that your mate and husband is happy and not worrying about you every second."
"It's not like I'm an invalid," Buffy said, pouting.
"And you're not exactly in those golden years of slaying, either. Buffy, you're thirty-eight, and, yeah, you may look like you're twenty-five, and hell, you probably would kick the tar outta every other slayer out there but honey, regardless of age reprieve, you're still thirty-eight. Slayer or no, reflexes do slow. And to trump out there every night like you've been doing…" Willow lowered her eyes and shook her head. When the Wicca raised her head, Buffy was stunned at the fire in Willow's eyes.
"Buffy, you have a duty, not as a slayer but as wife and friend. You can't understand how hard it was…that summer. The only thing that worse for me was when Tara…Buffy, you didn't see what we went through. Me, Tara, Giles, Anya, Xander, Dawn...Spike. It was so hard, Buffy. Especially for Spike."
Buffy nodded, not trusting her voice. Several years ago, Spike had finally come clean about what it had felt like to lose her and despite second-hand sources recounting his difficulty in dealing, nothing had prepared Buffy for the heartbreaking tale from Spike's own point of view. After his tears had run out that night, she had been the one to cry and fall into his arms to be consoled.
"If it wasn't for Dawnie, I don't think he would have made it. But he did. And as much support as Spike has in us, Buffy, he wouldn't survive you dying like that again."
"But I'm gonna die, Wills. He knows that."
"Yeah, but it's one thing for you to live your life out with him and go naturally. That'll be hard enough for him, but to have you ripped from him slaying? Again? Buffy, you know and I know that he'd blame himself and would never recover."
"Thanks, Wills," Buffy said, and wiped her eyes, "not too much pressure there."
Willow smiled. "What can I say? Love putting you on the spot." Her smile disappeared and her face took on a serious expression. "Listen to him, Buffy, he deserves that much. You're married, and marriage is about compromise. Please, for his sake and yours, try to see where he's coming from."
Willow stayed for another hour and though they talked of happier things, Buffy's mind was fixated on the earlier conversation. Willow was right, Buffy was not a spry twenty-year-old anymore and despite the fantastic shape she was in, she was still a thirty-something slayer. Going out patrolling each night, regardless of Spike with her or not, was foolish. She had realized that much a few years ago but her fear had overwhelmed her common sense. That wouldn't happen again. Willow said that marriage was about compromise. She missed one other thing though, Buffy thought. Couples also told each other of what they feared and Buffy had yet to do that about her own apprehensions.
"That's gonna change," she said as she watched Willow pull of. She would confess her dread to Spike whenever he decided to return. Of course, that particular would have to wait until she did some major apologizing.
~~~
"Home, Sweet, Home," Spike whispered to the empty room. Locking the door, he silently traversed the darkness, looking for some signs of his wife. His search took him from the dining room to the kitchen and then the living room, ending at the bottom of the steps where he had started his journey.
"Guess she's sleep," he said, and stared up at the imposing flight of steps before him. His hand rested on the banister and Spike ran through every conceivable scenario he could on seeing her again. His undead heart threatened to spill from his breast and he wanted nothing more than to shower Buffy with kisses and declarations of how deep his love ran for her. Oh, he was still brassed off at her stubbornness, but that would always run second to the overwhelming desire he had to soothe her fears away.
"Here goes nothing," Spike said, and taking a deep breath, he started his sojourn up the stairs. Each step sounded like Krakatoa, exploding through the house and into his ears. Of course it would, he thought. Can't be stealthy for the undeath of me when I want. And he so wanted to just get in bed and pull his sleeping wife close to him. They still needed to have it out and all, but that could wait till the morrow.
When Spike reached the door to their room, he sighed in relief when he saw it closed. More often than not, that meant that his girl was burrowed in under the covers, pillow and Gordo held tight as the melodic sigh that escaped her lips denoted a slumbering slayer. As he turned the knob, he noticed the flickering light that flashed underneath the door. Opening the door, Spike gaped in surprise at the sight that greeted him.
The room was bathed in candlelight. Dozens of candles, all shapes and sizes, filled the room. He picked out the individual scents of jasmine, raspberry, and violets. But the most powerful aroma was that of vanilla. Vanilla and Buffy. And just like her fragrance overpowered every other smell, the sight of her sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, clad in only a white silk robe, burned the vampire from the inside out. Her long golden tresses tumbled across her shoulders like some heavenly waterfall, and her hazel eyes shone with a love that humbled Spike. Her beauty, even after all these years, was still flawless and Spike swallowed as his eyes drunk in her partially concealed form.
"Hey," she said, and he shivered at the sound of her voice.
"Hey, luv," Spike replied woodenly. Shaking the multitude of thoughts that clamored inside his head away, Spike began to undress, never taking his eyes off her. So many times he had done this, loving how his naked form always sent a chill through her that he could discern from afar. But now, as his jeans crumpled into a heap at his ankles, Spike noticed that Buffy had yet to break eye contact. Stepping out of his jeans, the vampire stalked over to the bed, watching Buffy slide under the covers as he did so. He kneeled on the bed, unsure of where to go from there.
"Lay with me," Buffy said, and patted the empty space beside her. Spike obeyed, and slid underneath the crimson satin sheets. Once he was firmly ensconced, Buffy wriggled out of her robe and tossed it to the floor. They lay there, face to face and not touching for several minutes. The look on Buffy's face told him that she had something to say and Spike was patient enough to wait her out. Of course, the last thing he expected was her tentative whispers of:
"You know I can be found, sittin' home all alone. If you can't come around, at least please telephone…
"Don't be cruel, to a heart's that true.
"Baby, if I made you mad, with somethin' I might have said, Please just forget my past, the future looks bright instead…
"Don't stop thinking of me, don't make me feel this way. Come over here to love me…" She hesitated and her gaze dropped to the hollow of his throat and when she glanced back into his eyes, Spike was rocked by the insecurity that he saw.
"You know what I want you to say," she finished, and when Spike saw the first hint of tears, he bit his lip but not before declaring his love for her.
"Do you? Love me, I mean."
"Of course I do, luv," he said, and instinctively pulled her into his arms. "You're ev'rythin' to me, Buffy, you know that."
"I know you love me, but do you love me?"
Spike frowned. "Not quite sure I followed you 'round that last bend, pet."
Buffy burrowed into his embrace and graced his chest with the softest of kisses. She took a deep breath and pulled away enough to look him in the eye. "Do you love all of me? Please, Spike, just answer me."
"Of course I do, Buffy…"
"Are there parts of me you love more?"
He opened his mouth to protest vehemently when it clicked. Never in their seven years of marriage had Buffy ever questioned Spike's love or her ability to be loved--that particular crown of thorns had been set aside many years ago and for her to bring it out now…
"You think if you stop slayin' I won't love you as much anymore." It wasn't a question and her silence was answer enough. "Buffy," Spike said, and cupped her cheek. "I want you to listen and listen good; I don't wanna have to say this again:
"I love you, Buffy Anne Summers, every part of you. I love your hair; I love your stubbornness. I love your laugh. I love your body and the way you move, in clothes and out. I love how your skin shines in the light, how your smile could brightened the darkest of voids. I love that little wheeze you make right before you fall into deep sleep mode three. I love how you wriggle your bottom against me when you have a particularly naughty dream. I love how you sigh when I enter you. I love how you play with your hair when you're nervous and excited. I love how you look when you first wake up. I…" Spike stopped and kissed her on the forehead. "I could go on forever, you know. Hey, don't do that."
Spike's confession had brought forth the silent tears. When Spike folded her back into his arms, Buffy let out a strangled sob before her body heaved and she cried in earnest.
The vampire said nothing as he held his slayer close, rubbing her back and humming in her ear. Thankfully, the breakdown didn't last long and when she finally looked back up at him, Spike saw the insecurity fade, supplanted by resignation.
"I'll do it," she whispered, "I'll give up slaying."
"Why?" The question was out before he could stop it.
Buffy shrugged. "I…I know how hard it was for you before. And I will do anything to prevent you from feeling that pain again. Even if I have to give up everything I am."
"Buffy, look at me," Spike commanded, and she complied. "I don't want you to stop slayin…"
"You don't?"
"Well, yeah, actually I do, but I wasn't asking that today."
"But I thought you said…"
It was Spike's turn to shrug. "Heat o' tha' moment sort of thing. Asked for something I don't have the right to ask for."
"Bollocks," she said and flushed at the amused look he gave her. "I mean that you're my husband and mate, you have a right to ask your wife not to get herself dead by doing something as silly as slaying. We both know that."
"And we both know that I never want to strong arm you into somethin'."
"But…"
"Listen, pet, I don't like you patrollin', that much you know, but I can deal. What I can deal with is you gallavantin' around each and ev'ry night like you've been doin'."
"So, you're okay with the slaying?"
"Not okay, but it's part of you. And, before you ask, yes, when you stop patrollin' I will love you just as much. Buffy, there is no part of you that I do not love, no part of you I do not crave every second of every day. You're in my mind, body and soul, Summers. You're in my soddin' blood, I'll never get rid of you and I don't want to."
"So," she said, and smiled shyly, "are you still drowning in me?"
"Buffy, I've drowned and been resurrected by your love a thousand times a day." Her lips on his were soft velvet, a sampling of what it was to taste heaven, and he wanted more but she pulled away.
"I love you so much, Spike. So much."
"Love you, too, Buffy, ev'ry part of you."
"Show me," she said, and they were instantly lost in the feel of the other. And as he entered her, Spike told Buffy again how much he loved her, giving her a different answer for each stroke.
When she sighed and her muscles clamped down on his swelling erection, Spike couldn't help but think of how right his world was. He had Buffy in his life, in his bed, in his heart and soul and he knew that it would always be this way. Nothing in the world could break them apart.
He would see to that.
TBC in Suspicious Minds…
