What is Choice?
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).
Chapter title comes from the song "Amazing" by Josh Kelly.
Chapter Eight: Just Listen to the Reasons and the Hints That I've Been Giving
Ever since the phone call, Buffy had retreated into herself. She went to work. She finished her classes for the semester. She spent time with Dawn and her friends. But she was pretending, and her sister and her friends knew she was pretending. So far, none of them had called her on it, although she knew that Dawn was preparing to make some overtures towards talking.
But she couldn't do it. She had been so proud of how far she had come with him. She thought she had finally put the specter of Angel behind her. The scars he had left on her, while still there, had started to heal. But Will had made Angel look like an amateur.
And if it wasn't enough to have to deal with Will utterly crushing her heart, there was Spike. Who was Will, in one of those "Ben-is-Glory" ways.
Buffy sat in her living room, trying to pay bills. She always used to do these kinds of chores at the kitchen table, but since that night two weeks ago, she'd been unable to spend much time in that room, much less sit at the table. She sipped her mug of tea, and tried to concentrate. Yet her mind continued to spiral back to the mess that was her life.
She tossed her pen on the table, and screamed in frustration. Of course, she had forgotten Dawn was home, who came running out of her room at Buffy's screech.
"Buffy! What's wrong?"
Buffy sighed. "Sorry, Dawn. Just had to let that out. Ignore me."
Dawn looked at Buffy, her head tilted to one side. "Are you sure you want me to do that?"
"Dawn, the last thing I need right now is pop psychology," Buffy said grumpily.
"No, what you need is to stop hiding and start talking. To Will for sure, but if not him, to me, or Willow or Xander. Buffy, you had started to come back. But now, you're worse than you ever were before."
Buffy gazed at her sister, who seemed so much smarter than she was. So much more intuitive, more observant.
"You remind me of Spike," Buffy said, not thinking.
Dawn's face grew puzzled. "Spike? Who's Spike?"
Buffy felt her heart shrivel up even more. Obviously that one point she was wondering about-whether memories of Spike had been returned to everyone else-was settled. Looked like she was the only person in the world who knew that they all owed their existence to Spike.
She felt some tears well up in her eyes, but ignored them. "Oh, no one. Just having random thoughts."
Dawn nodded, but kept her gaze fixed on Buffy's face, her eyes begging Buffy to open up.
Buffy dropped her eyes, unable to look at her sister. "Dawn, I know that you're worried about me. And I think I'm finally getting to a place where I can talk about things. And you'll be the first one I talk to. But I can't do it yet." She looked up at Dawn, her face hopeful. "Please, give me more time."
Dawn looked at her for a moment, then nodded. She gave Buffy a quick hug, and headed back to her room.
Buffy watched her leave, and then leaned back against the couch. She looked up at the ceiling, and let the tears fall. But she didn't know who she was crying for. Will, or Spike.
**
It was confusing, not even knowing what name to call yourself in your thoughts, much less getting used to answering to one name when you were thinking of yourself by another name.
He went back and forth on whether he should accept his fate, and go by Will, or if he needed to remember who he really was, and thus be known as Spike. Whenever he thought he had made a choice, something happened to change his mind. He turned around when someone called him "Will," or overheard people talking about Spike, and wondered if they were talking about him, only to find out that the conversation was about Spike Lee.
He knew, though, that the reason he pondered this so much was because it kept his mind off her. The girl with one name, and who stimulated one response in him. Buffy, beloved Buffy.
It had been fourteen days since he had talked to her. Since he had broken her heart, and his. Since he found out the truth. Since he had awoken from the Matrix-like dream and found himself alone in the real world . . .
"Bloody hell," he said, rolling his eyes. "Next thing I know, you'll be wanting to go help the hopeless and get hair gel tips from Angel."
At times, it was like an odd case of multiple personality; even though their personalities meshed for the most part, their thoughts could be diametrically opposed on some issues, and Spike was never shy of making his feelings known. Will chose to pick his battles more carefully, the result being that he tended to win his more often.
All the memories of Spike's life had returned to Will in that moment, standing on the sidewalk in front of the pawn shop. The first thing he had done was wait for the shop to open, and then went inside and bought the duster. He didn't know if it was Spike or Will who wanted the coat more. And while it wasn't the most practical garment to own in Southern California, it was important to both of them. For Spike, the coat represented the way he had been able, back in Sunnydale, to leash his demon. For Will, it reminded him that nothing was necessarily as it appeared.
His friends and work colleagues were beginning to wonder what was going on with him. He had bleached his hair when he returned to San Diego. He didn't slick it back, but kept it in loose curls. He didn't worry about the British expressions that slipped into his speech now; before, he had worked hard to keep his accent but not necessarily the words. Will found he liked the jolt of surprise from his coworkers when he was yelling "Bollocks!" at his computer when it froze up in the middle of a writing a press release.
Will knew now that while he'd never really wanted to be human when he was Spike, he was happy with his life. But Will was also beginning to perceive things differently. He had gained over one hundred and twenty years of experience and memories, and that's bound to change your attitudes on politics and society. And it made him think and appreciate different things when he saw them through that prism.
So, in short, he was gradually figuring out what was Will, what was Spike, and seeing that there really wasn't many differences between the two of them. Other than the name confusion, he thought that eventually, things would be smoothed over.
Will sighed. If he was choosing to accept Spike, and treating it as part of him, that meant he had to focus on the Buffy issue. And he wasn't sure if he'd be able to figure that out at all.
He went out on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine. So many things in his life now made sense, now that he knew about Spike. His love for sunshine and the outdoors, for one. Will smiled, nostalgically, thinking of the day with the Gem of Amara. Didn't have it long enough to freckle, but at least now he knew that he didn't freckle, didn't really tan.
Of course, the reason he didn't hang onto the Gem was Buffy. Buffy, who centered in so much more of his life now. Will had thought she had played a large part in his life before, but once he realized the history that they had shared, he realized the truth.
Without Buffy, he was nothing. He wouldn't be here, if not for Buffy. He had suffered and despaired, true, but without that pain, he wouldn't be human now, wouldn't have known the bliss of loving and being loved by Buffy, even if that bliss had been short-lived.
Will leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the ocean. The way he saw it, the first question he needed to ask was whether Buffy was worth the pain and heartache involved in trying to win her back.
Part of him wanted to point out that she hadn't trusted him, when she first read the book, to tell him what she was going through. Hell, she hadn't trusted him to tell him what her life had been like before she moved to LA.
But even more troubling then the question of trust was the dark doubt that haunted his mind. Buffy had said she loved Spike, right before he closed the Hellmouth. And she said she loved Will. But did she really love him, at all? Either version? Had she twice deluded herself, and him, into thinking that she cared for him, loved him? Could this all be some cosmic joke played on him? Something to torture him, give him a hell on Earth since he had managed to cheat his way out of the literal hell?
But she had lied to him. Hadn't told him about her life before he met her. Did that mean that anything that had happened between them was real? Had she really loved him?
Will sighed. If he knew that she loved him, really believed it, he'd be so much more willing to go after her, make things work between them. Before, he wouldn't have cared if she loved him back. Spike was happy to love Buffy, and give her anything she needed. But now, as Will, he needed more. He didn't know if he trusted her. He didn't know if she loved him. He might have been a fool for love before, but that didn't mean he had to stay that way.
**
Buffy tapped her hands against the steering wheel, trying not to give into her urge to slay some of the cars ahead of her. Stuck in traffic on the freeway, there wasn't much to distract her from her thoughts. She scooched down in her seat, and pondered the eternal questions.
Why do you park on a driveway but drive on a parkway? Why is the sky blue? How could Will's eyes be the same blue as Spike's?
She still didn't completely understand why the Fates had made the choice they had. Why they returned Spike to Earth in a body so similiar to his old one, with a personality that reminded her so much of Spike. Then, when they had restored her memories, why hadn't they restored everyone else's? Would have made things a lot easier to explain, if Will knew. It was like the Fates wanted this all to happen. Wanted them to meet, fall in love, but then be destroyed by the knowledge of who he once was. And what she had done to him.
Buffy closed her eyes. She wished that she couldn't believe what she had done to him, but she couldn't make that wish. Because she knew how easy it would be for her to abuse someone that she didn't see as human, as real. Spike, as a vampire, had just been a demon to her. Old Buffy wasn't able to see past the label, even when her heart and her eyes had given her proof otherwise. Resurrection trauma aside, she had acted with as much feeling as she thought Spike had. In other words, none.
She wasn't sure if that was still the case with her. If nothing else, the erasure of Spike from her memories had helped to blur the year following her return to life. She couldn't remember much of her depression, or how she had pulled herself out of it. If she hadn't gone through the emotional pain of her relationship with Spike, would she have been so closed off during the battle with the First, to her detriment? There was no way of knowing now, but with the knowledge she had, Buffy knew that she couldn't exist within such narrow boundaries of human equaled good and demon equaled bad.
The traffic eased up a bit, and she inched forward.
So, she had established that she had messed up, big time, with Will. It appeared that she had also messed up with Spike. The Fates had talked about a choice, living with the truth or living with the lie. Buffy guessed it meant she had to choose whether Will/Spike was worth all the turmoil that affected their relationship. She had to admit that whether he answered to Will or Spike, she loved the soul and spirit that existed within his body, and she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. If she couldn't accept that, she needed to move on. Tell herself that it was over, and try and put her life back together.
Buffy gazed at the brake lights of the car ahead of her, and it was like staring at a chain of stop signs, telling her to stop, think, wait, stall, put off any decision. 'Protect yourself,' the voice in the back of her head whispered. 'It's too late for you and him.'
The red seemed to hypnotize her, and she found her thoughts drifting away from Spike, from Will, from the confusion that affected her every move. The color made things seem so much easier. She loved him. She wanted to fix things. All she had to do was make the first move. Call him, beg him to listen to her. Forget about her pride and sacrifice anything she could to make him hear her. It would all be worth it if she could get him back.
A car horn interrupted her trance. Buffy realized the traffic had started moving, and she hit the gas. As she drove down the freeway, she started making plans. She tried to imagine phoning him, speculated on the different reactions he might have. She focused all her energy on him, using every nugget of knowledge she had about Spike and Will.
Maybe if she thought and prepared enough, she might be able to ignore the cold fear surrounding her heart. A fear that told her she was too late.
**
Will entered his house, happy to be home. Ever since he had sold his book, he had wondered why he kept his job. Now more than ever, he knew that he didn't want to stay at the college, writing puff pieces on the newest dean and describing the donations that the fat-cat trustees kept making. Yet his breakup with Buffy had also put the book in limbo, and until he knew what he was going to do with the manuscript, he couldn't possibly quit his job.
He ate a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of beer before heading into his study. He turned on his computer and opened up the file that contained the text of his book. He had resolved that tonight, he'd look over his novel and decide what to do with it. He could either substantially edit the book, and in effect, turn it into something new that might not please his publisher. He could scrap the whole thing entirely, and withdraw it from his publisher. While he could legally do that, Will didn't know if his career would be able to withstand something that would appear so fickle. Or, he could let the book stand, and let it be published.
Will gazed at the monitor, and was transfixed by the blinking cursor. He didn't know if he could edit the book. Didn't think he could change the book without destroying it. And if the book was the only thing that remained from his relationship with Buffy, he didn't think that withholding it from publication was the right choice. Maybe he should let the book go ahead, and serve as a memorial to a time when he thought he had it all, only to lose the most important thing.
Because he could have had it all with Buffy. There had been none of the things that had doomed the relationship between Buffy and Spike. No belittlement of who he was, no anger over Buffy's choice of him. Hell, he'd even been able to get along with Xander, something he would never have thought possible in the old days.
But he couldn't tell Buffy what he had discovered. And if he couldn't tell her, he couldn't be with her. He wouldn't lie to her, or anyone, the way she lied to him.
He shook his head. "What a poofter you are," he muttered. Why the hell should it matter? If anything, he could give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, that would require going through the agony of making up, only to dump her. And he didn't think he could be that cruel to her. He knew what Buffy had been through, knew her fears. Didn't mean he wasn't still angry with her. Just meant that the anger was tempered a bit with the desire to have things be finished. This limbo they had been in for the last month was stupid. He should just pick up the phone and call her. Pick up the phone . . .
He jumped in his chair when his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the cordless and said, "Hello?"
"Hi. It's Buffy. Please don't hang up."
If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have collapsed into a chair. She was calling him? Bloody hell.
He sat in silence, not sure of what to say, before Buffy said, "Well, at least you haven't hung up."
Will sucked in a huge breath. "Hello." Saying something seemed to loosen his tongue and made his brain start working. "I can't say that I was expecting your call," he said, his voice cautious.
"No, I know this must be a surprise. But I had to risk it, even if you just hung up on me. I just felt . . . I decided that I didn't want to live in doubt any more."
"Doubt of what?" he asked, curious.
"Lots of things," she said, sounding hesitant. "About what I felt, and what I had said to you." She paused, and said in a rush, "I couldn't let you doubt me."
Will frowned, and wondered how honest he wanted to be with her. Wondered if she could handle the whole truth. Before he could even contemplate the matter fully, though, his mouth decided to start talking. "It's easy to doubt, when you feel like you're not trusted."
"You thought I didn't trust you?"
"Well, look at it from my perspective, Buffy. You read my book and tell me that I've somehow managed to tap into the real story of your life. Now, first, you're telling me this just after . . ." His voice trailed off, and he tried to not relive that joyful moment. Of course, he failed.
He quickly rushed ahead, tripping a bit over his words. "You tell me this after we've just confessed how we really feel. So I start wondering if you really meant what you said. And you've also got the issue that if I believe you, and accept that you had this life fighting demons and whatnot that you haven't told me about. You lied to me, by omission. It was like getting a right hook to the jaw, followed by a kick in the gut."
Buffy's reply was slow in coming. "I can certainly understand how you feel . . . Will." She said his name with some hesitation, and he wondered why. "But how could I know how you'd react? I've been so lucky to find friends who knew about my life, and were willing to fight with me and help me. But for every person who could see the truth and accept it, there were ten, twenty, fifty who couldn't. Couldn't accept the idea that demons really exist. Couldn't accept the idea that a short blonde girl was the only thing standing between them and hell on earth. Hell, I'm just the type who'd normally die in the first ten minutes of the movie, if life were a horror movie."
Will sighed. "So why keep things secret now? I mean, you're not still out there, are you?" He had never noticed any signs that she was patrolling, never saw any fresh scars or wounds on her body.
"No, I'm . . . retired. Basically, there are plenty of Slayers--that's what I was, a Slayer. When I started, the story started with 'one girl to fight the forces of darkness'. But I kept changing things, so then there was two; me and another girl. Then, there was me and a bunch of girls who could become Slayers. And then, all of the potentials became Slayers. So there wasn't much call for the oldest Slayer on record to keep Slaying." Buffy's voice sounded a bit shaky, like she wasn't sure of telling him all this. "From what I read, you got most of it just right in the book."
"Ah, the book," Will said, feeling a bit shaky himself. Hearing her talk about her life before, even with his knowledge of the facts, was still a shock. If he hadn't lived it once, he wouldn't believe it, still. "I was just sitting here wondering what the hell I'm going to do about it."
"What do you want to do?" Buffy asked.
He felt his anger dim a bit at her concern. "It's tough to say. I don't think I could change things and not wreck it. And I don't know if I can withdraw it from publication without being dropped by my publisher and my agent." He paused, and decided to make the offer to her. "If you say the word, I'll yank it. You and I will be the only ones to know about it. Regardless of how things are between us, I don't want to expose your secret, even if it's a distorted version of your past."
He heard Buffy inhale sharply, obviously surprised. He wondered what her response would be. Because in his heart of hearts, he wanted to publish the book. He knew it was the best thing he had ever written, and his heart let out a small cry at the idea of no one ever seeing it.
"Publish it."
"What? Say that again? I thought you said I could publish it," Will said, surprised.
"I want you to publish it. It's good, Will. Even the little I was able to read . . . I could see how good a writer you are. I can't let you hide your talent from the world. I want you to go ahead," Buffy said, her voice sounding calm and forceful. Then, though, she paused, and sounded more hesitant when she said, "That is, if you want to publish it."
"Buffy . . ." he said, still a bit shocked that she was willing to let the book be published. The Buffy he remembered had wanted a normal life, and had refused to see how special she was, how appropriate her unique life was to her personality. And the thought, that even though she now had that normal life, she was willing to be reminded of her past, interfering with her perfect new life . . .
He didn't know what to say, so he just said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, her voice sounding weak, almost like she was crying.
"Please don't cry," Will said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "I can tell this is hard for you. But I'm so grateful to you. I almost can't believe it."
Buffy sniffed. "I mean it, Will. Please believe me--I don't want you to keep not believing me."
Will frowned. "Huh? What?"
He heard a gasp, and then Buffy quickly said, "I have to go. It was good talking to you, Will."
"Wait, Buffy!" he said, but all he got in response was the dial tone. Will hung up the phone, and looked back at his computer, his mind still a bit dazed.
What had she meant, she didn't want him to keep not believing her? Was she referring to those last moments in the Hellmouth? So did that mean she loved him? Spike, Will, whatever his name was? He shook his head, and tried to focus on his work. He had to contact his agent and let her know to go ahead with publication. He had a lot of work to do. And he couldn't think of Buffy, or how maybe she did love him. Because if he thought about it too much, he'd twist himself around to thinking that maybe he could tell her that he knew about Spike, and find out if she really did love him . . .
'Not a fool for love, huh?' his mind sarcastically pointed out to him, as he tried to lose himself in his work.
**
That night, Will tossed and turned in bed. After finishing some revisions on the book and talking to his agent, he had decided to turn in early and get some sleep. Of course, his brain apparently decided that it needed to dwell excessively on Buffy. He found that his anger over her lie had diminished. Even if it was a month too late, she had called him, and wanted to tell him the truth only to reassure him. Obviously, she was finally starting to grow up.
After staring at the ceiling for an hour, he gave up on sleep. Will got up, pulled on a pair of jeans, and went out on his deck. He lit a cigarette and stared out at the ocean, the water pale as silver in the moonlight. He listened to the waves crashing into the shore, and not for the first time, felt small and insignificant in the face of such power.
"You're not that ordinary, boyo."
Will's head whipped around, and he saw the man standing in the shadows against the wall of his house. The man's mouth quirked up, and he stepped into the light shed by the full moon. A bit shorter than Will, the man was dressed in nothing special, although the atrocious shirt and the hat perched on his forehead might make you look at twice at him. But then you'd spot the bright blue eyes, sparking with mischief, and you'd revise your opinion from "harmless" to "troublemaker."
The man strolled over and stood next to Will, leaning forward and resting his arms on the railing. Will frowned, the man seeming familiar to him. "Do I know you?"
"Oh, aye. Under some different circumstances, partly because you were answering to a different name then. And partly because I was alive then."
Will looked the man over. "You're not a vampire."
The man chuckled. "Not at all. Hard to be a vampire if you're half-demon." The man's face shifted, showing red eyes and blue spikes, before shaking his head and resuming his normal appearance. "My name's Doyle. Now, I'm a messenger for the Powers that Be."
Suddenly, Will remembered. "The Mick-you worked with Angel."
"Right in one. I had an unfortunate run-in with a giant Christmas ornament of death, and so, here I am now. The Powers use my image for interacting with those that require guidance. Or those that require some needling," Doyle said, a smile flashing over his face.
"So which am I?" Will asked.
"Little of both, methinks. I've been sent to give you the kick in the ass you need."
Will rolled his eyes. "The world being what it is, I know this is about Buffy. Because everything is about Buffy."
Doyle grinned at him. "Nah, there's a few other people that the world gets to revolve around, on occasion. You were one of them, in fact. Your stint as Little Mr. Sunshine shook up a lot of people in my neck of the woods. Big surprise for everyone."
"Nice to know that I can always cause trouble, even when I'm saving the world," Will grumbled.
"None of that, or else I'm going to have to invoke the name of my former employer."
Will stood up straight and glared at him. "I do not brood."
"Never said you did, Will my boy," Doyle said, smiling as he looked at the ocean. "But returning to the point of my visit, and since you were so kind to bring her up, let's talk about Buffy."
Will mirrored Doyle's position. Gazing at the waves, he said, "She called me earlier, and she explained things a bit. But I don't know. I felt like she wanted to fix things. I can understand her not explaining about being a Slayer. Even without getting my memories back, I'd understand once she told me her feelings." He trailed off, not sure what to say next.
"But that leaves the bigger problem. Does she really love you?"
Will snorted. "Well, she said she loved Spike, but she waits till the absolutely last bloody minute to tell me. Shit for timing she has. So what am I supposed to think, when she says she loves me, again? How can I believe her? And you know, it's a double-edged sword, the honesty thing. How can I tell her, 'Hey, Buffy, I found out that I'm really the reincarnated soul of a vampire who killed and destroyed for a hundred years, until he fell so in love with you he got his soul back'?" Will shook his head. "Before tonight, I would have said, not telling her about what I know now would be a great revenge, if we got back together and were all happy couple. But now, I don't want to lie to her, whether we're together or not."
"It's a pickle," Doyle said in agreement.
Will laughed bitterly. "Try a fucking barrel of pickles, mate." He sighed, and gazed at his hands. "I just don't know, if I tell her the truth, if we can get past it. And . . . if I tell her, I think I'll always be haunted by the idea that I'm still not enough for her," he said, his voice dark and lonely. "I've never been enough for her. I've never been able to measure up to Angel. Even when I got a soul . . . what I did to her was too bad to overcome. And I knew that. I accepted it. But coming back, and being able to love her . . . it was like going to heaven." He sighed. "The problem is, we're not supposed to have heaven on earth. There were signs at the beginning, I think, but we ignored them. So Fate stepped in and upset the apple cart, and now there's no way we can ever be together again. I'm in hell, and I don't know how I'm supposed to live with it."
Doyle shook his head. "You were never so melodramatic as a vampire."
Will's lips tightened into something that could be said to resemble a grin. "When I was a vampire, I never was loved by Buffy. Not that I'll ever enjoy that feeling again. Things are too far gone between us."
"You think?" Doyle said, glancing over towards him. "I'd say that phone call today was a good first step."
Will shook his head. "No, that was just Buffy's sense of responsibility coming out. Wanted to make sure the two of us could move on, could be civil, so she did the phone call to make sure there'd be no hard feelings between us."
"Could it be more that you can't bear the thought of hurting her again, so you'd rather not risk trying to reconcile?"
Will didn't say anything, knowing his silence would be his answer. But he couldn't admit that once again, he had hurt Buffy. All he seemed to do was hurt her.
"She's willing to forgive you," Doyle commented. "After all, she said she still loved you."
"But how likely is it that she'd still feel that way, if she knew what I was? Not bloody likely."
"No, pretty likely, actually."
Will turned, looking at Doyle. "Huh?"
Doyle straightened, gazing solemnly at Will. "She knows. Fate upsetting the apple cart? There's actually three of them, and they appeared to Buffy and restored her memories. The night before yours came back, in fact."
Will's mouth opened and closed. "What? Why?"
Doyle shrugged. "The Fates recognized the paradox they had allowed to develop. You weren't supposed to write a book that was so in touch with Buffy's life as a Slayer. But it happened, and it was a threat to existence. So, rather than let this world stop spinning, the Fates chose to reveal the situation to the two of you."
Will stared at the man. He couldn't believe this. Couldn't understand why. Buffy knew? Everything? What the hell?
"Some advice, Will?" Seeing that Will was still caught up in his own thoughts, Doyle reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Will blinked, and focused on the other man.
Doyle let his hand rest on Will's shoulder. "I've been sent by the Powers to inform you of the truth of the situation. Buffy's memories of Spike have been restored. She's aware of all the good and the bad that you did as that individual. Yet, she's realizing that whether your name is Spike, Slayer of Slayers, or Will Smythe, writer, she loves you. Your soul, your essence. She didn't call you about the book. She called you because she needed to find out if there was any hope left. Because all she has right now is hope."
Will twitched, and Doyle dropped his hand and stepped away. Quickly, Will said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Doyle cocked his head in confusion. "Well, you make a choice," he said, matter-of-factly, before he vanished.
Will turned from the spot where Doyle had stood, and gazed back out at the ocean. He had thought he was finally getting his equilibrium back. Talking to Buffy and dealing with the book had made him think that they were finished. He hadn't wanted that to be the end for them, but if they had to be over, he knew that they had at least gotten beyond some of the bitterness of his rejection of her.
But now . . . Even though his heart screamed for him to immediately find Buffy, confess everything, and kiss her breathless, he couldn't. Something was stopping him.
He looked at the waves, and as they pounded into the shore, he realized that he had no idea of what to do. Because all he could feel was anger. Anger at the Fates, anger that once again, his life was getting jerked around, beyond his control. He had thought he had been angry at Buffy, but it was nothing compared with how furious he was now.
He pushed away from the railing, and looked up at the sky. "You hear me, you bloody Fates? You can take destiny and bugger it!" he shouted. He paused, and said, "I'm my own man. I won't let you dictate my choices anymore. I'm Will Smythe! I'm Spike! And there's no one else in existence who's stubborn enough to go against you. Because if there's anything I've learned, it's that you have to be your own man."
Will looked at the ocean, and then looked back at the stars. "Damn you all. I am not your pawn. This is my life-my reward. If you want to reward me, just leave me the hell alone."
Will waited a moment, almost expecting some vengeful god to smite him down. The anger had fizzled as quickly as it had arisen, and he found now that he was calmer than he'd been in ages. When he realized that no lightning bolt was going to strike him for his impertinence, a smile broke across his face and he went into his house, going immediately to his study. He turned on his computer, and began pounding on the keyboard. He was starting a new book. It was going to be a love story. Inspired by his history with Buffy, and the new beginning they had made.
He was finally realizing what he wanted. He wanted Buffy. And if one book had pushed her away, maybe another book could bring her back. He knew that this was logic that an eight-year-old could have seen the flaws in, but he didn't care. He just followed his heart, and let it lead him to his computer.
Because then he could ignore the fact that he didn't know how their love story was going to end.
End, Chapter Eight
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).
Chapter title comes from the song "Amazing" by Josh Kelly.
Chapter Eight: Just Listen to the Reasons and the Hints That I've Been Giving
Ever since the phone call, Buffy had retreated into herself. She went to work. She finished her classes for the semester. She spent time with Dawn and her friends. But she was pretending, and her sister and her friends knew she was pretending. So far, none of them had called her on it, although she knew that Dawn was preparing to make some overtures towards talking.
But she couldn't do it. She had been so proud of how far she had come with him. She thought she had finally put the specter of Angel behind her. The scars he had left on her, while still there, had started to heal. But Will had made Angel look like an amateur.
And if it wasn't enough to have to deal with Will utterly crushing her heart, there was Spike. Who was Will, in one of those "Ben-is-Glory" ways.
Buffy sat in her living room, trying to pay bills. She always used to do these kinds of chores at the kitchen table, but since that night two weeks ago, she'd been unable to spend much time in that room, much less sit at the table. She sipped her mug of tea, and tried to concentrate. Yet her mind continued to spiral back to the mess that was her life.
She tossed her pen on the table, and screamed in frustration. Of course, she had forgotten Dawn was home, who came running out of her room at Buffy's screech.
"Buffy! What's wrong?"
Buffy sighed. "Sorry, Dawn. Just had to let that out. Ignore me."
Dawn looked at Buffy, her head tilted to one side. "Are you sure you want me to do that?"
"Dawn, the last thing I need right now is pop psychology," Buffy said grumpily.
"No, what you need is to stop hiding and start talking. To Will for sure, but if not him, to me, or Willow or Xander. Buffy, you had started to come back. But now, you're worse than you ever were before."
Buffy gazed at her sister, who seemed so much smarter than she was. So much more intuitive, more observant.
"You remind me of Spike," Buffy said, not thinking.
Dawn's face grew puzzled. "Spike? Who's Spike?"
Buffy felt her heart shrivel up even more. Obviously that one point she was wondering about-whether memories of Spike had been returned to everyone else-was settled. Looked like she was the only person in the world who knew that they all owed their existence to Spike.
She felt some tears well up in her eyes, but ignored them. "Oh, no one. Just having random thoughts."
Dawn nodded, but kept her gaze fixed on Buffy's face, her eyes begging Buffy to open up.
Buffy dropped her eyes, unable to look at her sister. "Dawn, I know that you're worried about me. And I think I'm finally getting to a place where I can talk about things. And you'll be the first one I talk to. But I can't do it yet." She looked up at Dawn, her face hopeful. "Please, give me more time."
Dawn looked at her for a moment, then nodded. She gave Buffy a quick hug, and headed back to her room.
Buffy watched her leave, and then leaned back against the couch. She looked up at the ceiling, and let the tears fall. But she didn't know who she was crying for. Will, or Spike.
**
It was confusing, not even knowing what name to call yourself in your thoughts, much less getting used to answering to one name when you were thinking of yourself by another name.
He went back and forth on whether he should accept his fate, and go by Will, or if he needed to remember who he really was, and thus be known as Spike. Whenever he thought he had made a choice, something happened to change his mind. He turned around when someone called him "Will," or overheard people talking about Spike, and wondered if they were talking about him, only to find out that the conversation was about Spike Lee.
He knew, though, that the reason he pondered this so much was because it kept his mind off her. The girl with one name, and who stimulated one response in him. Buffy, beloved Buffy.
It had been fourteen days since he had talked to her. Since he had broken her heart, and his. Since he found out the truth. Since he had awoken from the Matrix-like dream and found himself alone in the real world . . .
"Bloody hell," he said, rolling his eyes. "Next thing I know, you'll be wanting to go help the hopeless and get hair gel tips from Angel."
At times, it was like an odd case of multiple personality; even though their personalities meshed for the most part, their thoughts could be diametrically opposed on some issues, and Spike was never shy of making his feelings known. Will chose to pick his battles more carefully, the result being that he tended to win his more often.
All the memories of Spike's life had returned to Will in that moment, standing on the sidewalk in front of the pawn shop. The first thing he had done was wait for the shop to open, and then went inside and bought the duster. He didn't know if it was Spike or Will who wanted the coat more. And while it wasn't the most practical garment to own in Southern California, it was important to both of them. For Spike, the coat represented the way he had been able, back in Sunnydale, to leash his demon. For Will, it reminded him that nothing was necessarily as it appeared.
His friends and work colleagues were beginning to wonder what was going on with him. He had bleached his hair when he returned to San Diego. He didn't slick it back, but kept it in loose curls. He didn't worry about the British expressions that slipped into his speech now; before, he had worked hard to keep his accent but not necessarily the words. Will found he liked the jolt of surprise from his coworkers when he was yelling "Bollocks!" at his computer when it froze up in the middle of a writing a press release.
Will knew now that while he'd never really wanted to be human when he was Spike, he was happy with his life. But Will was also beginning to perceive things differently. He had gained over one hundred and twenty years of experience and memories, and that's bound to change your attitudes on politics and society. And it made him think and appreciate different things when he saw them through that prism.
So, in short, he was gradually figuring out what was Will, what was Spike, and seeing that there really wasn't many differences between the two of them. Other than the name confusion, he thought that eventually, things would be smoothed over.
Will sighed. If he was choosing to accept Spike, and treating it as part of him, that meant he had to focus on the Buffy issue. And he wasn't sure if he'd be able to figure that out at all.
He went out on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine. So many things in his life now made sense, now that he knew about Spike. His love for sunshine and the outdoors, for one. Will smiled, nostalgically, thinking of the day with the Gem of Amara. Didn't have it long enough to freckle, but at least now he knew that he didn't freckle, didn't really tan.
Of course, the reason he didn't hang onto the Gem was Buffy. Buffy, who centered in so much more of his life now. Will had thought she had played a large part in his life before, but once he realized the history that they had shared, he realized the truth.
Without Buffy, he was nothing. He wouldn't be here, if not for Buffy. He had suffered and despaired, true, but without that pain, he wouldn't be human now, wouldn't have known the bliss of loving and being loved by Buffy, even if that bliss had been short-lived.
Will leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the ocean. The way he saw it, the first question he needed to ask was whether Buffy was worth the pain and heartache involved in trying to win her back.
Part of him wanted to point out that she hadn't trusted him, when she first read the book, to tell him what she was going through. Hell, she hadn't trusted him to tell him what her life had been like before she moved to LA.
But even more troubling then the question of trust was the dark doubt that haunted his mind. Buffy had said she loved Spike, right before he closed the Hellmouth. And she said she loved Will. But did she really love him, at all? Either version? Had she twice deluded herself, and him, into thinking that she cared for him, loved him? Could this all be some cosmic joke played on him? Something to torture him, give him a hell on Earth since he had managed to cheat his way out of the literal hell?
But she had lied to him. Hadn't told him about her life before he met her. Did that mean that anything that had happened between them was real? Had she really loved him?
Will sighed. If he knew that she loved him, really believed it, he'd be so much more willing to go after her, make things work between them. Before, he wouldn't have cared if she loved him back. Spike was happy to love Buffy, and give her anything she needed. But now, as Will, he needed more. He didn't know if he trusted her. He didn't know if she loved him. He might have been a fool for love before, but that didn't mean he had to stay that way.
**
Buffy tapped her hands against the steering wheel, trying not to give into her urge to slay some of the cars ahead of her. Stuck in traffic on the freeway, there wasn't much to distract her from her thoughts. She scooched down in her seat, and pondered the eternal questions.
Why do you park on a driveway but drive on a parkway? Why is the sky blue? How could Will's eyes be the same blue as Spike's?
She still didn't completely understand why the Fates had made the choice they had. Why they returned Spike to Earth in a body so similiar to his old one, with a personality that reminded her so much of Spike. Then, when they had restored her memories, why hadn't they restored everyone else's? Would have made things a lot easier to explain, if Will knew. It was like the Fates wanted this all to happen. Wanted them to meet, fall in love, but then be destroyed by the knowledge of who he once was. And what she had done to him.
Buffy closed her eyes. She wished that she couldn't believe what she had done to him, but she couldn't make that wish. Because she knew how easy it would be for her to abuse someone that she didn't see as human, as real. Spike, as a vampire, had just been a demon to her. Old Buffy wasn't able to see past the label, even when her heart and her eyes had given her proof otherwise. Resurrection trauma aside, she had acted with as much feeling as she thought Spike had. In other words, none.
She wasn't sure if that was still the case with her. If nothing else, the erasure of Spike from her memories had helped to blur the year following her return to life. She couldn't remember much of her depression, or how she had pulled herself out of it. If she hadn't gone through the emotional pain of her relationship with Spike, would she have been so closed off during the battle with the First, to her detriment? There was no way of knowing now, but with the knowledge she had, Buffy knew that she couldn't exist within such narrow boundaries of human equaled good and demon equaled bad.
The traffic eased up a bit, and she inched forward.
So, she had established that she had messed up, big time, with Will. It appeared that she had also messed up with Spike. The Fates had talked about a choice, living with the truth or living with the lie. Buffy guessed it meant she had to choose whether Will/Spike was worth all the turmoil that affected their relationship. She had to admit that whether he answered to Will or Spike, she loved the soul and spirit that existed within his body, and she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. If she couldn't accept that, she needed to move on. Tell herself that it was over, and try and put her life back together.
Buffy gazed at the brake lights of the car ahead of her, and it was like staring at a chain of stop signs, telling her to stop, think, wait, stall, put off any decision. 'Protect yourself,' the voice in the back of her head whispered. 'It's too late for you and him.'
The red seemed to hypnotize her, and she found her thoughts drifting away from Spike, from Will, from the confusion that affected her every move. The color made things seem so much easier. She loved him. She wanted to fix things. All she had to do was make the first move. Call him, beg him to listen to her. Forget about her pride and sacrifice anything she could to make him hear her. It would all be worth it if she could get him back.
A car horn interrupted her trance. Buffy realized the traffic had started moving, and she hit the gas. As she drove down the freeway, she started making plans. She tried to imagine phoning him, speculated on the different reactions he might have. She focused all her energy on him, using every nugget of knowledge she had about Spike and Will.
Maybe if she thought and prepared enough, she might be able to ignore the cold fear surrounding her heart. A fear that told her she was too late.
**
Will entered his house, happy to be home. Ever since he had sold his book, he had wondered why he kept his job. Now more than ever, he knew that he didn't want to stay at the college, writing puff pieces on the newest dean and describing the donations that the fat-cat trustees kept making. Yet his breakup with Buffy had also put the book in limbo, and until he knew what he was going to do with the manuscript, he couldn't possibly quit his job.
He ate a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of beer before heading into his study. He turned on his computer and opened up the file that contained the text of his book. He had resolved that tonight, he'd look over his novel and decide what to do with it. He could either substantially edit the book, and in effect, turn it into something new that might not please his publisher. He could scrap the whole thing entirely, and withdraw it from his publisher. While he could legally do that, Will didn't know if his career would be able to withstand something that would appear so fickle. Or, he could let the book stand, and let it be published.
Will gazed at the monitor, and was transfixed by the blinking cursor. He didn't know if he could edit the book. Didn't think he could change the book without destroying it. And if the book was the only thing that remained from his relationship with Buffy, he didn't think that withholding it from publication was the right choice. Maybe he should let the book go ahead, and serve as a memorial to a time when he thought he had it all, only to lose the most important thing.
Because he could have had it all with Buffy. There had been none of the things that had doomed the relationship between Buffy and Spike. No belittlement of who he was, no anger over Buffy's choice of him. Hell, he'd even been able to get along with Xander, something he would never have thought possible in the old days.
But he couldn't tell Buffy what he had discovered. And if he couldn't tell her, he couldn't be with her. He wouldn't lie to her, or anyone, the way she lied to him.
He shook his head. "What a poofter you are," he muttered. Why the hell should it matter? If anything, he could give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, that would require going through the agony of making up, only to dump her. And he didn't think he could be that cruel to her. He knew what Buffy had been through, knew her fears. Didn't mean he wasn't still angry with her. Just meant that the anger was tempered a bit with the desire to have things be finished. This limbo they had been in for the last month was stupid. He should just pick up the phone and call her. Pick up the phone . . .
He jumped in his chair when his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the cordless and said, "Hello?"
"Hi. It's Buffy. Please don't hang up."
If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have collapsed into a chair. She was calling him? Bloody hell.
He sat in silence, not sure of what to say, before Buffy said, "Well, at least you haven't hung up."
Will sucked in a huge breath. "Hello." Saying something seemed to loosen his tongue and made his brain start working. "I can't say that I was expecting your call," he said, his voice cautious.
"No, I know this must be a surprise. But I had to risk it, even if you just hung up on me. I just felt . . . I decided that I didn't want to live in doubt any more."
"Doubt of what?" he asked, curious.
"Lots of things," she said, sounding hesitant. "About what I felt, and what I had said to you." She paused, and said in a rush, "I couldn't let you doubt me."
Will frowned, and wondered how honest he wanted to be with her. Wondered if she could handle the whole truth. Before he could even contemplate the matter fully, though, his mouth decided to start talking. "It's easy to doubt, when you feel like you're not trusted."
"You thought I didn't trust you?"
"Well, look at it from my perspective, Buffy. You read my book and tell me that I've somehow managed to tap into the real story of your life. Now, first, you're telling me this just after . . ." His voice trailed off, and he tried to not relive that joyful moment. Of course, he failed.
He quickly rushed ahead, tripping a bit over his words. "You tell me this after we've just confessed how we really feel. So I start wondering if you really meant what you said. And you've also got the issue that if I believe you, and accept that you had this life fighting demons and whatnot that you haven't told me about. You lied to me, by omission. It was like getting a right hook to the jaw, followed by a kick in the gut."
Buffy's reply was slow in coming. "I can certainly understand how you feel . . . Will." She said his name with some hesitation, and he wondered why. "But how could I know how you'd react? I've been so lucky to find friends who knew about my life, and were willing to fight with me and help me. But for every person who could see the truth and accept it, there were ten, twenty, fifty who couldn't. Couldn't accept the idea that demons really exist. Couldn't accept the idea that a short blonde girl was the only thing standing between them and hell on earth. Hell, I'm just the type who'd normally die in the first ten minutes of the movie, if life were a horror movie."
Will sighed. "So why keep things secret now? I mean, you're not still out there, are you?" He had never noticed any signs that she was patrolling, never saw any fresh scars or wounds on her body.
"No, I'm . . . retired. Basically, there are plenty of Slayers--that's what I was, a Slayer. When I started, the story started with 'one girl to fight the forces of darkness'. But I kept changing things, so then there was two; me and another girl. Then, there was me and a bunch of girls who could become Slayers. And then, all of the potentials became Slayers. So there wasn't much call for the oldest Slayer on record to keep Slaying." Buffy's voice sounded a bit shaky, like she wasn't sure of telling him all this. "From what I read, you got most of it just right in the book."
"Ah, the book," Will said, feeling a bit shaky himself. Hearing her talk about her life before, even with his knowledge of the facts, was still a shock. If he hadn't lived it once, he wouldn't believe it, still. "I was just sitting here wondering what the hell I'm going to do about it."
"What do you want to do?" Buffy asked.
He felt his anger dim a bit at her concern. "It's tough to say. I don't think I could change things and not wreck it. And I don't know if I can withdraw it from publication without being dropped by my publisher and my agent." He paused, and decided to make the offer to her. "If you say the word, I'll yank it. You and I will be the only ones to know about it. Regardless of how things are between us, I don't want to expose your secret, even if it's a distorted version of your past."
He heard Buffy inhale sharply, obviously surprised. He wondered what her response would be. Because in his heart of hearts, he wanted to publish the book. He knew it was the best thing he had ever written, and his heart let out a small cry at the idea of no one ever seeing it.
"Publish it."
"What? Say that again? I thought you said I could publish it," Will said, surprised.
"I want you to publish it. It's good, Will. Even the little I was able to read . . . I could see how good a writer you are. I can't let you hide your talent from the world. I want you to go ahead," Buffy said, her voice sounding calm and forceful. Then, though, she paused, and sounded more hesitant when she said, "That is, if you want to publish it."
"Buffy . . ." he said, still a bit shocked that she was willing to let the book be published. The Buffy he remembered had wanted a normal life, and had refused to see how special she was, how appropriate her unique life was to her personality. And the thought, that even though she now had that normal life, she was willing to be reminded of her past, interfering with her perfect new life . . .
He didn't know what to say, so he just said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, her voice sounding weak, almost like she was crying.
"Please don't cry," Will said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "I can tell this is hard for you. But I'm so grateful to you. I almost can't believe it."
Buffy sniffed. "I mean it, Will. Please believe me--I don't want you to keep not believing me."
Will frowned. "Huh? What?"
He heard a gasp, and then Buffy quickly said, "I have to go. It was good talking to you, Will."
"Wait, Buffy!" he said, but all he got in response was the dial tone. Will hung up the phone, and looked back at his computer, his mind still a bit dazed.
What had she meant, she didn't want him to keep not believing her? Was she referring to those last moments in the Hellmouth? So did that mean she loved him? Spike, Will, whatever his name was? He shook his head, and tried to focus on his work. He had to contact his agent and let her know to go ahead with publication. He had a lot of work to do. And he couldn't think of Buffy, or how maybe she did love him. Because if he thought about it too much, he'd twist himself around to thinking that maybe he could tell her that he knew about Spike, and find out if she really did love him . . .
'Not a fool for love, huh?' his mind sarcastically pointed out to him, as he tried to lose himself in his work.
**
That night, Will tossed and turned in bed. After finishing some revisions on the book and talking to his agent, he had decided to turn in early and get some sleep. Of course, his brain apparently decided that it needed to dwell excessively on Buffy. He found that his anger over her lie had diminished. Even if it was a month too late, she had called him, and wanted to tell him the truth only to reassure him. Obviously, she was finally starting to grow up.
After staring at the ceiling for an hour, he gave up on sleep. Will got up, pulled on a pair of jeans, and went out on his deck. He lit a cigarette and stared out at the ocean, the water pale as silver in the moonlight. He listened to the waves crashing into the shore, and not for the first time, felt small and insignificant in the face of such power.
"You're not that ordinary, boyo."
Will's head whipped around, and he saw the man standing in the shadows against the wall of his house. The man's mouth quirked up, and he stepped into the light shed by the full moon. A bit shorter than Will, the man was dressed in nothing special, although the atrocious shirt and the hat perched on his forehead might make you look at twice at him. But then you'd spot the bright blue eyes, sparking with mischief, and you'd revise your opinion from "harmless" to "troublemaker."
The man strolled over and stood next to Will, leaning forward and resting his arms on the railing. Will frowned, the man seeming familiar to him. "Do I know you?"
"Oh, aye. Under some different circumstances, partly because you were answering to a different name then. And partly because I was alive then."
Will looked the man over. "You're not a vampire."
The man chuckled. "Not at all. Hard to be a vampire if you're half-demon." The man's face shifted, showing red eyes and blue spikes, before shaking his head and resuming his normal appearance. "My name's Doyle. Now, I'm a messenger for the Powers that Be."
Suddenly, Will remembered. "The Mick-you worked with Angel."
"Right in one. I had an unfortunate run-in with a giant Christmas ornament of death, and so, here I am now. The Powers use my image for interacting with those that require guidance. Or those that require some needling," Doyle said, a smile flashing over his face.
"So which am I?" Will asked.
"Little of both, methinks. I've been sent to give you the kick in the ass you need."
Will rolled his eyes. "The world being what it is, I know this is about Buffy. Because everything is about Buffy."
Doyle grinned at him. "Nah, there's a few other people that the world gets to revolve around, on occasion. You were one of them, in fact. Your stint as Little Mr. Sunshine shook up a lot of people in my neck of the woods. Big surprise for everyone."
"Nice to know that I can always cause trouble, even when I'm saving the world," Will grumbled.
"None of that, or else I'm going to have to invoke the name of my former employer."
Will stood up straight and glared at him. "I do not brood."
"Never said you did, Will my boy," Doyle said, smiling as he looked at the ocean. "But returning to the point of my visit, and since you were so kind to bring her up, let's talk about Buffy."
Will mirrored Doyle's position. Gazing at the waves, he said, "She called me earlier, and she explained things a bit. But I don't know. I felt like she wanted to fix things. I can understand her not explaining about being a Slayer. Even without getting my memories back, I'd understand once she told me her feelings." He trailed off, not sure what to say next.
"But that leaves the bigger problem. Does she really love you?"
Will snorted. "Well, she said she loved Spike, but she waits till the absolutely last bloody minute to tell me. Shit for timing she has. So what am I supposed to think, when she says she loves me, again? How can I believe her? And you know, it's a double-edged sword, the honesty thing. How can I tell her, 'Hey, Buffy, I found out that I'm really the reincarnated soul of a vampire who killed and destroyed for a hundred years, until he fell so in love with you he got his soul back'?" Will shook his head. "Before tonight, I would have said, not telling her about what I know now would be a great revenge, if we got back together and were all happy couple. But now, I don't want to lie to her, whether we're together or not."
"It's a pickle," Doyle said in agreement.
Will laughed bitterly. "Try a fucking barrel of pickles, mate." He sighed, and gazed at his hands. "I just don't know, if I tell her the truth, if we can get past it. And . . . if I tell her, I think I'll always be haunted by the idea that I'm still not enough for her," he said, his voice dark and lonely. "I've never been enough for her. I've never been able to measure up to Angel. Even when I got a soul . . . what I did to her was too bad to overcome. And I knew that. I accepted it. But coming back, and being able to love her . . . it was like going to heaven." He sighed. "The problem is, we're not supposed to have heaven on earth. There were signs at the beginning, I think, but we ignored them. So Fate stepped in and upset the apple cart, and now there's no way we can ever be together again. I'm in hell, and I don't know how I'm supposed to live with it."
Doyle shook his head. "You were never so melodramatic as a vampire."
Will's lips tightened into something that could be said to resemble a grin. "When I was a vampire, I never was loved by Buffy. Not that I'll ever enjoy that feeling again. Things are too far gone between us."
"You think?" Doyle said, glancing over towards him. "I'd say that phone call today was a good first step."
Will shook his head. "No, that was just Buffy's sense of responsibility coming out. Wanted to make sure the two of us could move on, could be civil, so she did the phone call to make sure there'd be no hard feelings between us."
"Could it be more that you can't bear the thought of hurting her again, so you'd rather not risk trying to reconcile?"
Will didn't say anything, knowing his silence would be his answer. But he couldn't admit that once again, he had hurt Buffy. All he seemed to do was hurt her.
"She's willing to forgive you," Doyle commented. "After all, she said she still loved you."
"But how likely is it that she'd still feel that way, if she knew what I was? Not bloody likely."
"No, pretty likely, actually."
Will turned, looking at Doyle. "Huh?"
Doyle straightened, gazing solemnly at Will. "She knows. Fate upsetting the apple cart? There's actually three of them, and they appeared to Buffy and restored her memories. The night before yours came back, in fact."
Will's mouth opened and closed. "What? Why?"
Doyle shrugged. "The Fates recognized the paradox they had allowed to develop. You weren't supposed to write a book that was so in touch with Buffy's life as a Slayer. But it happened, and it was a threat to existence. So, rather than let this world stop spinning, the Fates chose to reveal the situation to the two of you."
Will stared at the man. He couldn't believe this. Couldn't understand why. Buffy knew? Everything? What the hell?
"Some advice, Will?" Seeing that Will was still caught up in his own thoughts, Doyle reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Will blinked, and focused on the other man.
Doyle let his hand rest on Will's shoulder. "I've been sent by the Powers to inform you of the truth of the situation. Buffy's memories of Spike have been restored. She's aware of all the good and the bad that you did as that individual. Yet, she's realizing that whether your name is Spike, Slayer of Slayers, or Will Smythe, writer, she loves you. Your soul, your essence. She didn't call you about the book. She called you because she needed to find out if there was any hope left. Because all she has right now is hope."
Will twitched, and Doyle dropped his hand and stepped away. Quickly, Will said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Doyle cocked his head in confusion. "Well, you make a choice," he said, matter-of-factly, before he vanished.
Will turned from the spot where Doyle had stood, and gazed back out at the ocean. He had thought he was finally getting his equilibrium back. Talking to Buffy and dealing with the book had made him think that they were finished. He hadn't wanted that to be the end for them, but if they had to be over, he knew that they had at least gotten beyond some of the bitterness of his rejection of her.
But now . . . Even though his heart screamed for him to immediately find Buffy, confess everything, and kiss her breathless, he couldn't. Something was stopping him.
He looked at the waves, and as they pounded into the shore, he realized that he had no idea of what to do. Because all he could feel was anger. Anger at the Fates, anger that once again, his life was getting jerked around, beyond his control. He had thought he had been angry at Buffy, but it was nothing compared with how furious he was now.
He pushed away from the railing, and looked up at the sky. "You hear me, you bloody Fates? You can take destiny and bugger it!" he shouted. He paused, and said, "I'm my own man. I won't let you dictate my choices anymore. I'm Will Smythe! I'm Spike! And there's no one else in existence who's stubborn enough to go against you. Because if there's anything I've learned, it's that you have to be your own man."
Will looked at the ocean, and then looked back at the stars. "Damn you all. I am not your pawn. This is my life-my reward. If you want to reward me, just leave me the hell alone."
Will waited a moment, almost expecting some vengeful god to smite him down. The anger had fizzled as quickly as it had arisen, and he found now that he was calmer than he'd been in ages. When he realized that no lightning bolt was going to strike him for his impertinence, a smile broke across his face and he went into his house, going immediately to his study. He turned on his computer, and began pounding on the keyboard. He was starting a new book. It was going to be a love story. Inspired by his history with Buffy, and the new beginning they had made.
He was finally realizing what he wanted. He wanted Buffy. And if one book had pushed her away, maybe another book could bring her back. He knew that this was logic that an eight-year-old could have seen the flaws in, but he didn't care. He just followed his heart, and let it lead him to his computer.
Because then he could ignore the fact that he didn't know how their love story was going to end.
End, Chapter Eight