Just a content warning, before we begin. If you or someone you care about has ever experienced a suicide or an attempt, you may find this chapter disturbing to read.
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Dancing in the Dark
"Hi Spike," said the low voice behind him, barely audible over the throb of the sound system. He carefully adjusted his working smile, and turned to see who had addressed him. The smile slipped away, unnoticed.
Brown hair tumbled in careless curls past her shoulders. Dark eyes ringed with smoky shadow appraised him thoughtfully, while deep red lips curved with silent promise. It took him several stunned moments to recognize her as one of Desperados' regulars. He'd never seen her wearing much makeup before, or such dark lipstick, and wondered what had made her choose to so dramatically change her appearance.
"Do you want to... would you like to dance? With me?" she added, as though he might not be clear on that part.
What was her name again? Something exotic... Zuzana, Xena... Ah! "Zaria, pet - I can't. Supposed to be working, right? Jake would skin me."
"Jake won't care," she insisted, but as though she'd had only enough nerve to go so far, her composure vanished. She glanced back anxiously at two other women across the dance floor; girlfriends who had no doubt encouraged her to this uncharacteristic display of boldness. They made encouraging faces at her fleeting look, and waved their hands in shooing motions to drive her back to him.
The two of them stood with their heads together, whispering - one face coffee-with-milk, the other pale as cream, both looking as though they too had just stepped from the salon. He came to the conclusion that he was to be the test subject of her rather spectacular makeover.
With some regret, he repeated his refusal. "Some time when I'm not working, pet, all right? My word on it."
Zaria's face fell. "Sure. I understand. Some other time." Pressing her lips together to stop them trembling, she turned and walked away to rejoin her friends.
Spike took the stairs to the main level in two large steps. Back in the bar proper he found Jake, an incongruous apron barely containing his ample girth, clearing and wiping tables. His confusion must have shown in his face.
"We've got two more who didn't make it in tonight," he explained. "I'm just trying to keep up with the flow."
Spike nodded his understanding, and just stood watching as Jake quickly and professionally moved through a series of tables. "Jake?" he asked finally, his hands thrust into his pockets to maintain a composure he didn't feel. "Mind if I ask you a question?"
"Trouble?" he enquired mildly, not looking up from his work.
"No. It's just that..." Spike glanced back over his shoulder again toward the dance floor where the women had closed ranks around their disappointed friend. "There's this bird's got it into her head that she'd like to dance with me. I turned her down, of course. I don't think she's the type to make a scene, but I'll--" Jake's laugh cut him off.
"Dance with the girl if you want, Spike," he said, dropping the last dishes and waste into a plastic bin. "She thinks you're interesting. Which means she thinks Desperados is interesting. And that means she'll keep coming back. Consider it... good public relations. I bus tables when necessary, so you can dance with the girls."
Spike looked at him, nonplussed. Jake just laughed again.
"I'm not blind to the effect you have on some of the ladies, Spike. So take her and her friends around the dance floor a few times. Make 'em consider it part of the experience. I know I can trust you take care of them, without going too far." He picked up the bin, tucked it under his arm and gave the table in front of him a final wipe. "Besides, I also know you've got something going with that nicely-packed little brunette that keeps meeting you on the street after work."
He hadn't known that Jake - or anyone - had noticed, but was hardly surprised. Jake was one of the most discerning men he had met in any of the lifetimes he had lived. So if he thought the two of them might have something - maybe we could, at that. Maybe it's finally time for me to stop chasing rainbows. I'll always love Buffy, always hold her in the very centre of my heart like a jewel - but maybe I'd serve her better if I don't try to see her any more. He snorted mirthlessly. Never thought I'd ever see Angel's side in anything.
Spike returned to the railing that overlooked the dance floor and folded his arms to lean against it, watching the dancers turn about the floor to the throbbing strains of yet another song of love and loss. It isn't what Mother had in mind when I read Classics at Oxford, but I have a half-decent job that keeps body and soul together while I do the work I have to do. It's time to let go of the past.
He straightened, took a deep breath, and headed back onto the dance floor. From murderer to gigolo. I guess that's progress, of a sort.
He had no excuse any more. And before he'd been a killer, he'd been a gentleman, proud of his ability to treat the ladies properly. And he'd always loved to dance... in so many ways.
He picked up bits of their conversation as he approached.
"...wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers."
"ReneƩ, sugar, you wouldn't kick him out if he'd brought a four-course dinner."
Pale-skinned ReneƩ flicked her sun-streaked blonde hair back from her face with a practiced move. "Hell, Jade, he could spread me like the tablecloth--" A sharp elbow from Jade silenced her as Spike drew near.
"It looks as though I'm able to redeem my word much sooner than I'd thought, pet," he said to Zaria, as all eyes locked onto him. "Still care for that dance?"
They fell into a frantic commotion of whispering as soon as Spike led Zaria away by the hand to the dance floor.
She leaned into his embrace, her generous curves moulding to him in a manner most pleasant. Without even trying hard, he could convince himself that it could be part of his redemption to make pretty girls happy by dancing with them.
The teeming multitude on the dance floor ebbed and flowed about them; dancers coming and going but the numbers never seeming to change as the DJ overran the end of one song with the beginning of another, the words of his patter barely intelligible. "Here's a classic from Garth."
We call them cool
Those hearts that have no scars to show
The ones that never do let go
And risk the tables being turned
Zaria followed his lead smoothly about the floor, though clearly surprised by his skill. No reason she should be; the two-step was nothing more than a foxtrot done up in denim - but judging by the thrashing throng about them, even this revelation had escaped most of them. He could have done it in his sleep, and was quite convinced he'd soon be handed around to her clutch of curious girlfriends. Maybe I should take up giving dancing lessons. M'sieu William, Professeur deDanse. Right. There's only one dance that really matters any more.
We call them fools
Who have to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and the shame
That always comes with getting burned
**********
He can't be younger than me, not and be working here, she thought as she held her ID for the bouncer at the door. So why does he look like such an innocent? He smiled brightly and stepped back to let her pass. It was the smile, finally, that triggered the memory. He looks like Riley. Like Riley before he knew that his boss was going to go all Frankenstein on him; when he still believed in what the Initiative was doing. She shivered suddenly.
"Are you okay, miss?" he asked, concern written clearly on his face.
"Fine. I'm fine," she insisted. "But maybe you can help me. I'm looking for a guy I think might work here. He's probably going by 'Spike' these days--"
"Spike? Sure, he's on tonight. We take turns working the door and the floor, so he'll be patrolling around in there somewhere." He jerked his thumb back to roughly indicate the bar's dark interior.
Buffy thanked him, and passed through the entrance way. For all that it was a weeknight, the bar was packed. She pushed her way none too gently through the crowds, craning her neck looking for a familiar platinum head. The din of music and conversation throbbed, until her very bones seemed to pound with it.
But you've got to be tough when consumed by desire
'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire
We call them strong
Those who can face this world alone
Who seem to get by on their own
Those who will never take the fall
The throng of people surrounding the railing above the sunken dance floor parted before her insistent elbows, and she leaned out to survey the floor. When she saw him, she wondered how she ever could have thought it would be difficult to find him. Among the Californian crowd ranging from the sun-bronzed skin of the beach crowd to the well-tanned leather of assorted outdoor labourers, his pale skin and white-blond hair stood out like a beacon lit from within.
He moved easily about the floor and she fancied that she saw something of the man he must have been, once. Something Spike-the-vampire never would have shown her. Or that I never would have let him. There was a touch of elegance to him, a quiet grace she'd rarely seen in anyone, and never before in him. Oh, he'd been elegant enough when fighting or fucking, but like an animal was, not like a man. This was something new.
I'm too late; he's found someone else. And why shouldn't he? It isn't as though I gave him any encouragement. He deserves to be happy, as much of any of us do. I hope she treats him well.
She'd almost made up her mind to leave right then, to let him rebuild his life on his own terms. But she needed him too much, needed him to help Willow find a reason to live - because somehow he had done so, despite carrying the guilt for a century of bloodshed. And if she were to be honest with herself - because she wasn't ready for him to be gone from her life.
She wavered, torn between conflicting emotions, until he chanced to look up and see her watching him.
We call them weak
Who are unable to resist
The slightest chance love might exist
And for that forsake it all
They're so hell-bent on giving, walking a wire
Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire
**********
If he wasn't careful, he'd come perilously close to a moment's contentment - and who knew what the price would be for that. His gut churned with fresh guilt; he was supposed to be paying for his crimes, not frolicking about the dance floor, pretending to be something he'd never been even in life. And worse, in all this time he hadn't once thought of--
Buffy. She stood at the rail like an apparition, her eyes huge and dark in the dimness, running him through with her gaze. He froze. In the weeks since he'd seen her last, it seemed to him that she'd lost another ten pounds and uncounted hours of sleep.
Oh my poor love. You've worn yourself hard and thin on the strop of all that responsibility.
In his arms, Zaria was saying something, but he couldn't hear above the blood suddenly roaring in his ears. Oh, he was love's bitch, all right, with just the sight of her enough to make him forget himself, forget every shade that haunted him. Knowing she'd only burn him again - but unable to stop throwing himself again and again into the fire - he was up the stairs and crossing the space between them before he could bring himself to remember why he shouldn't.
There's this love that is burning
Deep in my soul
Constantly yearning to get out of control
Wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide
Standing outside the fire
**********
She watched him, amused, as he tried to decide what was worse; having her think he was here for the music, or admitting that this was, in fact, where he was working. He finally allowed his arms to fall to his sides, revealing the Desperados logo on the black shirt.
Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire.
"Slayer," he said, pitching his voice to be heard over the noise. He cast his eyes down so as to not have to meet hers - it was too hard - and waited for her to speak.
"Spike," she said, by way of reply, and then "Spike?" again when he didn't look up.
He raised his eyes slowly and took refuge in levity. "Secret's out, I guess," he said more softly, in a momentary lapse in the music. "This is how I really spend my nights."
Buffy was glad to have an outlet in humour. "Yeah, it's a nice neighbourhood you've got here."
He shrugged "Well, I'm working on it. Not really a Hell's Kitchen kind of vibe; more like Dante's Pantry." Buffy smiled blankly and he knew he'd trespassed too far outside her experience again.
"I didn't mean to take you away from--" She gestured vaguely back at the dance floor, where the woman had been absorbed by a group of friends.
"Zaria?" he asked, momentarily baffled, but then realizing what conclusions she must have drawn from his performance. "Oh. No, she's just..." How to explain? "It's nothing, really. Good customer relations, in a way." Was it just his overeager imagination, or did her face brighten a bit at this news?
She couldn't just blurt out her main reason for seeking him out, so she began with a safe, neutral comment. "Thank you for the information you left us about the clinic. I checked it out."
"Anything?" he asked.
"No - but I'll be looking again. There's been another round of thefts this past week."
"I heard. What happened to the fabulous Scooby research machine? Time was, you'd have had something minor like this wrapped up in three days."
Buffy grimaced. "We've all been a little... preoccupied lately. Xander finally managed to convince Anya to let him have another chance."
"Well did he now? Good on the boy." He grinned. "Maybe she can manage to keep him home of nights, so he won't be creeping about with stakes where he shouldn't be."
"He told me it was all your idea."
Spike ignored this comment, in favour of another of his own. "And what about Red? Her computer was like breathing to her, once."
"That's... part of why I'm here. Please, Spike."
He led her over by the bar, where Joey looked up with a smile as they approached. "Joey, this is Buffy. See that she gets whatever she wants, on my tab," he said.
She declined with a wave. "Spike, isn't there some place we can go to talk privately? It won't take long."
He looked back over his shoulder and spotted Jake, still making the rounds and clearing tables. "Hey Jake," he shouted. "I need to step out for five, okay?"
Jake waved a free arm unconcernedly, mouthed something resembling 'whatever', and carried on with his work.
Spike reached to take Buffy's arm and then thought better of it, instead just waving her ahead of him to the door where she had entered. Corey greeted them with a broad smile. "I see you found him, then."
"Eyes back in your head, Corey," Spike said, more sharply than he had intended. He led Buffy away from the door and the crowd, down to the corner of the building. "So. Tell me what's on your mind."
"They really like you here," she said instead, out of the blue. "A lot."
His enforced casual posture, hands in his pockets, was completely at odds with the turmoil he felt inside. "You say that like you're surprised, Slayer. You don't think I'm a likeable bloke?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like--"
"I know. You don't have to apologize to me; I haven't really been likeable for very long. Still takes me by surprise, sometimes." He turned his head to look back at the doorway behind them. "They're good people. Most of them have no idea what kind of a place they live in. Protecting them... seems the right thing to do."
She looked up at him and only smiled, a little sadly.
"Why are you really here, Slayer?" he asked, suddenly not at all comfortable under her attention.
"I have a name, Spike," she admonished gently.
"Buffy," he said, looking away as though unwilling to let her see him shape her name with his mouth. "Why are you here? It wasn't just to check up on me."
She was suddenly fascinated by the ground beneath her feet. "It's... it's about Willow," Buffy said reluctantly.
"What's wrong with little miss witch, then? Last I heard, everyone was all set to welcome her back into the bosom of the Scooby family. All is forgiven, and all that." He could hear the resentment colouring his voice, but Buffy seemed too preoccupied to notice.
"She tried to kill herself. Giles said - he said that she took a knife from the kitchen and just started hacking at her arms, over and over and--" Buffy mimed the actions unconsciously as she spoke, raking her nails down her own forearms hard enough to leave welts. "He said that if he hadn't been right there, and if they hadn't been so close to the hospital..." She drew a shuddering breath, and burst into sudden, shocking sobs.
"God, Buffy... I'm so sorry." He gathered her close against him and held her as she wept raggedly, cursing himself for being an insensitive ass. "Of course I'll help you. You know I will. Anything I can do..." Any reply she might have made was lost as she mashed her tear-ravaged face into his shirt.
He'd been around long enough to recognize a death wish. After all, he had his own personal one keeping him company of late, didn't he? The ones who only wanted attention, they slashed across their wrists - bloody and showy, but not actually life threatening unless no one found them in time. Those who truly wanted to die... they gashed the blades down the insides of their arms, and then a sick, slick little twist of the knife was all it took to sever the arteries almost beyond repair. That Willow had chosen, or had known... didn't give him much hope.
Buffy quieted somewhat after a while, and pulled back from him. "I'm sorry," she hiccupped, as she began to wipe with her fingers at the ruins of her makeup. "I didn't mean to lose it like that. But I'm so scared for her, and I've had to keep it all inside and not frighten Dawn, and--" She started shaking again.
"Hush, love. Hush," he said, patting gently and awkwardly at her face as though she were a frightened child to be soothed. "You don't ever owe me an apology for what you feel."
"I just thought... because you've found some way to live with the things you've done... you might be able to help her." She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose resoundingly.
I don't think you want to hear that I'm still alive because I'm too much of a coward to die. "I don't know if anything I can say will do any good - but I'll try. I give you my word that I'll try." Buffy looked around aimlessly for a place to drop her tissue, until Spike simply took it from her and thrust it into a front pocket of his jeans.
"Giles is bringing her home to us tomorrow morning, when they release her. She's got an appointment scheduled with a psychologist in a few days - they said something about being chronically understaffed, so they couldn't keep her unless she was a danger to others as well. Maybe... maybe you should give her a day, and then come over." Another tissue followed the first. Spike took this one from her gently, and touched it to his tongue.
"Whatever you think is best," he said, using the now damp tissue to blot away the streaks of makeup on her cheeks.
"And maybe sometime after this mess is all over, you'd... come to dinner again. No trick invitations this time, and I promise not to be so... nervous about it all."
He froze, contemplating the metaphorical knife poised to tear at his vitals again. "I don't think... that would be a good idea."
"What? Why?" Her voice broke on the second word. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted--"
"I wanted to win back my soul because I thought in that way I could be the man you deserve. Having done it, I know that I can't ever be the one you really want. I'm not the right man."
An unstoppable geyser of words threatened to pour out of him, searing his soul. Could he bring himself to choose this pain now to avoid almost certain pain later? He took both her hands, pressing them insistently between his own as if hoping that just this once, she'd listen and take what he offered her. He selected every word now with utmost care.
"I'll tell Angel... the demon's name and the price I paid. He can be human again for you. You can be together." He reached up and cupped her flushed cheek tenderly with one hand. "I think you know that's what you truly deserve."
Her eyes brimmed over with fresh tears, and she couldn't speak.
He was within a breath of taking it all back, of crying no! He can't have you - you're mine, mine mine mine! when a piercing voice called his name from the street. Buffy hurriedly composed herself and tugged up the collar of her shirt to wipe her face.
"Hey Spike," Allie said as she came up beside them. "Who's your friend?" She eyed Buffy speculatively and quickly came to her own conclusion, taking his arm possessively. "Are we still on for tonight, sweet?" she asked coquettishly, but her gaze was locked on Buffy.
Buffy raised a quizzical eyebrow. Spike sighed. This isn't the way I would have had you meet. "Buffy, this is Allie, who... works near here. We've been... dating. Allie, Buffy." Miss Phillips, may I present Miss Summers?
"So this is the famous Slayer," Allie said, straightening to make her marginally greater height perfectly clear. "Should I be impressed?"
Buffy looked startled at having her identity so casually discussed practically in the middle of the street.
"I told her what I was," Spike said, looking at Buffy. "Which rather entails finding out about you. No more secrets in my life."
"Yeah, because you know what happens when you keep secrets," Allie laughed. "You end up like Spike's great-aunt Perpetua." She looked up under coy eyelids at Buffy, who just stood there, puzzled. "Gee, I guess he never told you about great-aunt Perpetua."
"I'm beginning to realize there are a lot of things that Spike's never told me," Buffy said sadly, turning to go. "I'll expect you in two days, then."
"Buffy, I--" I'm sorry. But I know now that I was a fool to believe I could ever be the one for you. "I'll be there."
With a small wave to Corey - who had been watching all this interplay with great interest - Buffy set out for home on the neglected streets, her heart beaten hollow with sorrow.
Allie wasted no time watching her go but turned back to Spike, leaned heavily into him and murmured, "So what was that all about?"
"She's got a friend going through some hard times," he replied, gently disengaging from her. "She just thought I might be able to help."
"I always knew you were a generous guy," she laughed, and stepped back. "See you in a few hours?"
He nodded, and watched as she, too, walked away from him.
"Wish I had what you do with women, Spike," Corey observed wistfully as Spike headed back inside past him.
"No you don't, Corey. No you don't"
**********
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now,
Oh, you're a hard one, I know that you got your reasons,
These things that are pleasin' you can hurt you somehow.
The last song of the night was always the same - Desperado was Jake's signature tune for his bar - and it was the signal for Spike and the others to begin rounding up the last of the hard-core drinkers and see them out into the night.
Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy, she'll beat you if she's able.
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.
Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table,
But you only want the ones you can't get.
Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger,
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home,
And freedom, oh freedom, well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone.
He had seen Zaria and her friends leave some time earlier; he had been both saddened and relieved when they had gone without any further attempts to get him out on the dance floor.
Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine,
It's hard to tell the nighttime from the day.
You're losin' all your highs and lows,
Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away?
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you.
You better let somebody love you,
Let somebody love you.
You better let somebody love you,
before it's too late.
Unlike the kitchen and wait staff, the bouncers only had to stay as long as it took to clear the building. After switching back into his own shirt, Spike slipped his pay envelope into his jacket pocket and headed for the street, where Allie would be waiting.
**********
Allie collapsed gracefully from straddling his hips to lie at his side. "Mmm... that was even more fun than usual," she said between heavy breaths. "You should have told me you wanted to play it rough tonight." She trailed the fingers of one hand down the score marks she had left on the hard planes of his stomach. "So that was the Slayer. You should run into old girlfriends more often."
"She wasn't my girlfriend," he scowled, catching and holding her hand.
"Well, whatever she was when you were sleeping with her, then. I can see why you need something different now - she sure seemed like a frigid, jealous bitch, if you ask me."
Spike threw her off him and sat up, letting his legs fall over the edge of the bed. "I didn't ask you."
Allie was at his side in a moment, her tone now light and conciliatory. "Spike, sweet, I didn't meant it like that. I just think it's completely unreasonable that she shows up and expects to order you around as though you don't have a life of your own." Taking him by the chin, she turned his head towards her. "You really are still in love with her, aren't you?"
He didn't reply, but that was answer enough.
"What the hell did she ever do to deserve that kind of loyalty from you?" she demanded.
"Allie," Spike said wearily. "Shut up. Or I'll have to give you something better to do with your mouth than talk." His hand slipped up over her mouth and he pressed her back to the bed. When she bit at his fingers he pulled his hand away quickly, but then she just laughed and hauled him down onto her, pressing his face into her throat.
"Don't." He scowled as he pulled back from her. "I told you. It was a mistake."
"I'm just playing, sweet."
"Well, I don't feel much in the mood to play any more tonight." She'd been after him again tonight to tell her what it had been like - the killing, the bloodlust and the hyped senses. She never saw anything but the dark beauty of his former power, and nothing of the price.
"I know you want to, Spike. Bite me again."
**********
There was something about Allie that was profoundly broken, he reflected, as he looked at the woman face down in the pillow next to him. Something beyond his small ability to repair. That she would even let down her guard enough to lie sleeping in his presence was a profound expression of trust, knowing her past.
Am I wrong, to think she needs me even a little? He sat naked at the edge of the bed and fumbled cigarettes and lighter out of his jacket pocket where he had tossed it carelessly to the floor some hours before. The cigarette lit in a hiss of flame and a crackle of burning tobacco, and Spike exhaled a silent stream of smoke into the darkness.
----------------
Okay, before anyone accuses me of being a closet Bangel shipper all this time... you just have to trust that I really know what I'm doing. It's a long and painful road - but we're almost there.
