Another question to answer... WIP means Work in Progress,
which is exactly what this is. I did promise 10 chapters by Friday and I plan to keep my
deadline (aren't I ambitious?) even though the story will run longer. AU means Alternate
Universe, which is something that is outside of the boundaries of what the show itself
was. In other words, everything you've been reading never happened... it's part of an
alternate reality. I hope this helped clarify things!
POV's in this chapter are... Buffy and Willow. Next chapter will have two more POV's.
Next chapter will either come late tonight or early tomorrow.
Reviews are more than welcome!
Chapter 6
Homecoming
* * * * *
It had been really, really great to see all of my friends again. Dawn had brought her best friend from school and her new boyfriend. It was a shame I had come to like him. He seemed to treat her really well and really seemed into her, which I was relieved by. The last guy who'd been into me like that was, well, dead.
I really was home, I thought. I could hear Xander and Anya in the living room, shouting at Dawn in the kitchen to bring more chips. It really wasn't anything like the party I'd had the first time I came home after leaving Sunnydale, after I'd killed Angel. That had been an emotional event. It was kind of like tonight, only not as many people. They seemed to be celebrating Giles' birthday, and I hadn't even come up with a good excuse for a gift yet.
I stared longingly into the night, desperate to go down the steps and back into the world. A good kill or two might take my mind off of things, but I decided against it. This was, after all, my homecoming party.
I turned to go back inside, when a cigarette butt landed at my feet. "Hello, Spike."
He stalked up behind me, the signature trace of a smirk on his face. I turned to look at him and he froze, his eyes searching my face for any clue, any meaning, but he found none and looked away. "Nice night."
"The best," I replied, opening the front door as we both walked inside. "Can't wait till the next one?"
"Itching to get a good kill in?" he asked lightly, leading the way to the kitchen, where he paused before searching the fridge and pulling out a bottle. "Cheers."
I nodded, watching as he drank the beer, not quite wanting to talk to him, yet wanting to know how he felt. It was all terribly confusing. I felt like I should make the first move, but considering nine months had passed since he'd told me how he felt, I waited for him to say something.
He finally noticed me staring at him as he set the empty bottle aside. "Why are you all serious for? All work and no play makes a very dull slayer."
I smirked and tilted my head, judging his reaction. I had read his eyes perfectly. Still stone cold, but the emotion inside had disappeared. As he turned to walk back into the living room, I blurted out, "I don't love you."
He froze. He slowly turned to face me. "What did you say?"
"I don't love you," I said, walking up to face him. "I never loved you. All I can ask is that you try and stop loving me, because I-"
Spike put his hand on my face, cooling my thoughts. I pulled away from him, trying not to flush, but my breathing had gone shallow. "Spike."
"I don't love you, not like I used to anyway," he replied softly. "All I ask to keep is your respect as a fighter. I need it for redemption, you know?"
I finally forced myself to nod, even though I felt like my stomach was churning over and over. "I don't want to talk to you like we had a past," I said at last. He narrowed his eyes in consideration. "I just assume you wouldn't talk to me at all."
"If you want me to stay cool with you, that's fine with me, Slayer," he continued, his voice edgy, "but you've been out of the loop for the past few months. You don't know what we've been through together."
"I'll get the story someplace else," I replied. "Don't treat me like we're friends."
"I don't want to be your friend," he growled as we went into the living room. "I want to work with you, be one of the group."
"These are my friends," I snapped, gesturing to them. "I'm the leader here. I do what I know is best for the group and if you want to be part of the group, you'll have to learn how to follow."
"Oh, I know I can follow," he said with a chuckle, hovering over the vegetable platter on the giant flamingo serving dish, "but the question is, can you lead again?"
"I'm most certain she can," a different voice piped in. Giles walked into the living room, wearing a sweater and slacks, looking years off his real date. "You weren't here the first time she died."
"No," Spike replied, "but I felt it. No, I'll stay out of your way, Slayer. I'll be out of your life. But your work is my work now, so either you accept it, or else you'll pay for me to get this chip out of my head, and then we'll dance. What's it going to be?"
I stood there, fuming. Dawn and her friends had just come downstairs. The music ended abruptly. Finally, I glanced into his eyes, into his body, with the soul he didn't have. "Stay," I whispered. "I dare you to stay."
His eyes widened, completely unexpecting my harsh words. He shrugged and swallowed his slice of green pepper and finally turned and stalked out, not even saying a word to anyone else, except to pause by Giles, wish him a happy birthday, and then disappeared into the night.
I let out a long breath. The music kicked back in. As I reached for the chip bowl, I felt a cold hand take my elbow. It was Giles, and he looked like he had plenty to say.
I followed him into the kitchen and sighed, sitting down when he gestured for me to take a stool. "This wasn't your choice, Buffy," he said, his voice slightly cool. "Spike has been our leader for the past few months when you've been sleeping. Sure, Willow and Tara know the magicks. They know how to make the monsters dance, or sing, or turn into purple bubbles, the point is, we need another fighter for our side."
"Who are you to tell me what I need?" I asked in a low voice. "Why are you telling me this? You want me to a love a demon?"
"He isn't a demon, not anymore," Giles snapped. "All he asks is that you accept him as a fighter."
"I've accepted him as a fighter," I repeated, trying to add a bored note to my voice. "He can fight beside me."
"Damnit, Buffy," he cried, slapping his hand on the counter, making me jump. "You don't understand it, do you?"
"Understand what?" I asked, finding myself getting more and more impatient. "Understand that Spikey's become this good guy? You're right, I don't understand. The only thing he's ever wanted, the only thing he's ever thought worth fighting for has been me."
Giles looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. "No!" he yelled out. "The only thing he's been fighting for is to free himself from that demon!"
"Don't you think you're playing the Prophet hard?" I asked, deliberately keeping my voice light.
He glared up at me. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean is," I cried out, jumping down from the stool and crossing my arms, "you're saying that you wish Spike was in charge, even though I'm technically your slayer and I almost died to save the world. You trust him more than you trust me?"
"Never!" he cried out. "Buffy, I could never trust Spike. Ever. All I know is that he made a promise to you he'd look after Dawn, that he'd never hurt her. But I'm more concerned about you."
"You think I'm just going to hop into his crypt for a quickie every time I get an itch?" I glammered back. I could feel the heat in his gaze intensify.
"I'm just saying," he said, his voice very quiet, "that you should try and reserve your judgment. Let Spike do the fighting. You have enough to be taking care of."
"I'm the fighter here, no matter how well they did," I retorted hotly.
"They were doing the best they could," he replied in that same calm voice. "They needed you. They still do. They need a leader who is strong, able, and isn't against vampires on her side."
"Like Angel?" I asked, enunciating each syllable carefully. "You're saying I should trust Spike just because he didn't torture and mutilate you? And because he hasn't returned from hell yet?"
He closed his eyes. "Buffy, I-"
"No, you listen to me," I fumed. "Spike is working for me now. He's not my lover, he's not even my love interest, he's just a fighter, going for redemption. I need you to trust me and my judgment now, because I'm back. I'm awake. And I'm home."
"Are you?" he asked carefully.
I glared at him for another moment before I ran past him, thundered up my steps to my bedroom and closed the door quietly. I turned to glance at my bedroom.
I'd been up here only once since I'd gotten home. Just a few hours ago, I'd changed clothes after taking a shower. Taking a deep breath to calm my sputtering heart, I sat on the end of the bed, trying not to cry. The faint smell of cigarette smoke distracted me and I rose.
"Need some consolation?"
"Get out."
"Why, pet? You look upset. Let me help you."
"How?" I asked, a silly laugh emanating from my chest. I turned to face him, my chest heaving and face a stunning shade of scarlett. He stared at me a moment and then took another draw on his fag.
"Invite me in."
"Invite you into my bedroom?" I gasped, moving toward the window. "Are you insane?"
"Oh, that's right, I'm already invited in," he said, easily sliding one leg over the windowsill.
"Oh, no, you are not coming in here," I moaned, moving closer to him.
"Why not? I thought I'd bring you some good comfort," he replied, removing a large bottle of tequila from under his duster.
I took the bottle and threw it back onto my bed and then placed my hands on his chest. With a small cry, I managed to push him backwards out my window.
At that exact moment, Dawn was going to walk Janice home across the street and then say goodnight to her boyfriend. As they kissed under the stars, Spike fell from my window with a loud thud, followed by mumbled curses. Dawn gasped as he leapt from the bushes, and ran into the night.
Satisfied about my good deed, I closed my window and lowered the blinds, before sitting back on my bed, and reaching for the bottle.
"Welcome home, me," I said softly as I unscrewed the cap and began to drink.
I rolled my eyes as I came back inside, Tara right beside me. Giles was walking into the living room, pulling on his coat, looking sour. "Leaving already?" I asked him, trying to push him back into the living room.
"I feel it best I not be here at this time," he said, pushing past me and leaving, only to stop where Dawn was standing, staring dreamy eyed at a sports car now screeching away from the house. He said something quietly to her and then left, his shiny convertible speeding quickly away.
"What did she say to him?" Tara asked me as we let Dawn back inside. She quickly climbed the stairs to her room to get her stuff to go to Janice's. I shrugged and walked back into the living room. Anya and Xander were still dancing wildly to music they could only hear in their heads. I took an empty bowl and the cheese tray and carried them back into the kitchen. Then, glancing around to make sure I would be unheard, I leaned over to Tara. "I think they were fighting about Spike."
"What?" Tara asked in surprise as she helped me put the cheese away. "Why?"
"Giles thinks that Buffy isn't ready to head back out into the open yet," I said in a soft voice, screwing the cap back on to the salsa. "He thinks that Spike should stay leader."
"That doesn't sound like Giles," Tara replied, pouring the corn chips back into their bag. "That sounds more like a possessed form of Giles."
"I don't know what to think," I said softly. "They've never fought like this before, ever. I think it goes deeper than that."
Tara was curious now as we made another trip to the living room to bring back more food. "You think he wants her to love Spike?"
"It would take the pressure off of himself," I said in a low voice as we returned to the kitchen. "If you had seen the look on his face when she woke up... he loves her."
"Yeah," Tara replied, sticking the vegetables into small, plastic bags. "Of course he loves her. He always has."
"Not like this," I said slowly. "It's more than a father's love or a watcher's love... it's deeper now. It became deeper when she fell from the tower, when he began to understand what she did and why she did it. She wore her heart. And now he's wearing his."
Tara turned to me in confusion, about to say something when Dawn breezed through the kitchen. "I'll be back in time for dinner tomorrow, we have a lot of studying to do. I'll call you before I go to work," she said, stopping by to hug me, and grab the bag of carrot sticks before she left to head across the street.
"Do you think she'll ever know what Buffy did for her?" Tara asked in a quiet voice.
"I think she's beginning to understand," I sighed, wiping off the counter. "Why don't you call Giles and see how he's holding up? He should be home by now, at the speeds he was driving. I'm going to go upstairs and check on Buffy."
Tara nodded and we went our separate ways. I could hear the sounds of the buttons on the telephone as Tara rang Giles up, and then could hear her voice talking in soft, polite tones. I finished ascending the steps and paused right outside of Buffy's room.
I knocked. I didn't hear anything, so I pushed the door open to peek my head inside. "Buffy?"
She was laying on her bed, her back towards me, curled into the fetal position. I moved closer and saw her eyes were still open, and silent laughter had died on her lips. Clutched in her hands was a half bottle of liquor, some of it spilled on the front of her clothes and bedspread, and even more on the floor. "Buffy?"
"Will?" she asked, her voice blank. "What have I done?"
"You didn't do anything, sweetie," I said consolingly, sitting down next to her and prying the bottle from her hands. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"I told him to go away," she replied, her voice small, muffled.
"Spike was being a jerk," I said, with a nod, "it's no wonder you threw him out of your room."
"No," she said, rolling onto her back to face me. I could see her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. She'd been drinking this liquor? "Not Spike. It was never about Spike."
Tara's footsteps echoed through the house and I knew she was getting closer. Buffy turned half-heartedly toward the door. "It's about Giles."
"You can go to him tomorrow and apologize, Buffy," I said, smiling. She stared at my face a moment and then turned her head away.
"Why do I always mess these things up?"
"You've been awake three days," I replied, gently rubbing her back. "Why don't you come downstairs so we can get your room cleaned up?"
Tara stopped at the doorway, looking out of breath. Her eyes widened when she saw the bottle in my hands. I handed it over to her. "Come on now," I said, helping her up. "Easy, now. Easy."
"Will?" she asked, bringing a hand to her face to cover her eyes. "Never let me drink that stuff again."
"I promise," I said as Tara and I both helped her stand up. She really reeked of tequila.
She wavered a bit and giggled, and then glanced down. "Will?" she asked in a hesitant voice.
"Yeah?" I asked, turning my attention back to her.
"I have to throw up now," she said, her voice almost sad.
"Oh, Buffy..."