Scenes From The Sex Wars
Scene 3: Complicated Simple Things

Author's Note: This picks up straight after the last scene, after Spike and Buffy have done the deed.

She lay curled on his chest, goosebumps peppering her skin and he pulled up the blankets to warm her. He pushed the now empty ice pack to the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist. Tight enough to feel her, but not tight enough to wake her and send her running out into the sunlight.

He liked to stay awake now, savour the moments she slept in his arms more out of pure exhaustion than anything else.

He knew she would wake up soon and she would leave. He was never sure how he would get through the rest of the day wondering if she'd come back. It was like everytime she left, his heart broke a little more. Not that he could tell her that. But that's how it felt. Not much he could do about it.

He did think sometimes, though, that he was doing something wrong. He loved her so much; she should be able to feel it. So it must be because he was doing something wrong. Which wasn't anything new, doing things wrong was a bit of a hobby of his.

Not much he could do about that either.

Buffy wasn't asleep. She pretended to be because it was easier than getting up, making her usual speeches about this never happening again and then lying to Dawn and Willow about why she was out all night.

Sometimes, when she lay here, listening to the silence in his chest, she remembered a heartbeat. It was a vague memory, like when you wake from a dream you can't remember, but later in the day, you catch a glimpse of what was in the dream. But even as you reach out to grab it, it's gone.

She thought it was a memory of Riley at first, but it was a different chest she remembered. One that should have been cool instead of warm, silent instead of filled with a steady drumming. She realised after a moment that it was Angel, but she put it down to wishful thinking, a memory of the gazillion times she daydreamed about him becoming human. She guessed it was a kind of torture she had devised for herself, reminding herself what she should want. It rarely worked; she had ended that daydream a long time ago. She had to, if she hadn't, she was sure she would have gone mad.

She was surprised when Spike drew the blanket up to cover her.

God, she wished this was easier. She wished that this could be simple. If she could just walk away, end it, that would be good.

Or, stranger still, part of her wished she could stop hating him and needing him at the same time. Sometimes she wished this could be an actual relationship, she wished she could be in love with him because she knew that he did love her, beneath all those dark whispers about her craving him, she knew he loved her.

She remembered what love felt like, she remembered passion, burning and awe-consuming. She remembered a quiet passion, warm, the kind that crept over her slowly.

She wished she could feel some kind of passion for Spike. If she could, this could be good. She would feel again without hating herself. They could stop fighting, stop hating, stop this stupid charade. Because neither of them wanted this. It wasn't her dream and she guessed it wasn't his.

But she didn't know how to change things. When she thought maybe she did, he would say something and any generous feeling she had toward him would shatter and be replaced with repulsion and vehement dislike. Then she wished she could kill him so it would be over.

She never thought about what would happen after that. She was scared she would imagine she would feel nothing, because that would make her the hard unfeeling person she didn't want to be before she had died. She was even more scared in case she imagined it hurt, because then it would mean something and once more she had got rid of the one person in her life she truly loved.

Not that she loved him. That was the problem, wasn't it?

She stirred on his chest and he swallowed a sigh. But she didn't leap away from him; instead she sat up slowly and stood up, hugging the blankets to her chest.

"You going?" he asked. Stupid really, as he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I should be there before Dawn wakes up."

"Well, you should get there in time," he told her, glancing to where light crept into the crypt from a dusty window. "Sun's only just come up."

She nodded, dressing silently, quickly, but not like she usually did, as though she wanted to be gone as soon as possible. He didn't comment on it, lately every time he wanted to say something it came out snide. No wonder this thing with Buffy was so warped, he couldn't even be nice when he wanted to.

"I'll…" she had walked to the door and was facing him, he twisted his head to at her.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"I'll see you tonight," she said. "I could use some help on patrol."

"Patrol," he nodded and to his surprise, it didn't come out as sarcastic as his comments had a disturbing tendency to. "I'll see you at dusk then."

"No," she shook her head, a small smile on her face. "I told Dawn I'd stay in and we'd do something. About midnight would be good. Unless something happens."

"Right," he sat up, covering his modesty with a blanket. "I'll see you then."

She nodded and turned, pulling open the heavy door.

"Buffy?"

She exhaled long and hard. She didn't want him to say something, they had just had a civil conversation, friendly even, she didn't want that ruined.

"Yeah?" she didn't turn around, merely inclined her head toward him slightly.

"I, uh… I'll meet you outside here."

"Oh, ok, right…" she slipped out and practically ran away from the crypt.

In the crypt, Spike lay down again, with a slight smile. Maybe there was hope after all.

But he doubted it. You don't mend the things they had said and done to each other with one conversation. And it hurt. It hurt that she could be with him at night, but at the first light of day, she would run away.

He hated it. But if that was all he was going to get…

Buffy had left the cemetery in record time, breathing heavily. She shouldn't have done it. She should have stuck to the old routine. By having a friendly conversation with him, she might have changed the rules, she might have made him think there was some hope.

God, this all hurt so much. She crossed the street, head bowed, hand gripping her stake.

She blamed the sun.

Everytime she thought things would be ok, up the sun came and showed up everything in all its ugly glory.

It was like that with Angel. It was fact she could walk in the sun and he couldn't that tore them apart, that's what made him realise how different they were, made him see how they could never be together.

Riley… Riley was a human, playing at being a night owl. She was the only one out of the two of them that could handle the long hours. She only realised that when the sun came up and she was still wide-awake while he yawned.

She blamed the sun.

Because it was easier than blaming herself or him. She didn't have to think about how much she liked the pain this gave her, because it made her feel something besides the ache. The pain was what pushed the memories away, enabling her to focus on something beyond the ache, the pain was what gave her the emptiness. The pain made things easy. If he hurt her, she could hate him. If it made her empty of old wounds, old pains, old memories, it made things easier for a little while.

And that was what she truly craved.

The End.