Putting the Question
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for himself.
Putting the Question
Chapter 4
A loud banging pulled Spike from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into during the early hours of the morning. He laid in bed for a moment, before groaning and calling out, "Just a minute," to whoever was trying to use brute strength to communicate. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor as he walked to the door. He flipped the lock, and pulled the shirt over his head as he waited for the door to open.
Instead of seeing a face, he saw a fist fly towards his face. He let it make impact, and felt his head snap around. Expecting Angel, he was surprised to see that it was Fred.
"Buffy came in last night, crying like her heart was broken. She told me what you said. For God's sake, Spike, I never thought you'd be that cruel!"
Fred stalked inside and slammed the door, and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Spike stared at her, holding his cheek.
"Fred? What the hell are you talking about?"
She glared at him. "I'm talking about being maliciously hurtful towards the woman you say that you'll always love."
"Whose friend are you, mine or hers?" he said angrily, although in the back of his head he felt like the other shoe had finally dropped. They were finally going to turn on him, and this all-too-brief period of friendship and teamwork was coming to an end.
His question seemed to take the anger out of Fred, and she deflated like a balloon. "I'm yours, of course. Oh, Spike, I'm sorry. I . . . Buffy's story hit a nerve with me, and I flew off the handle. I'm so sorry--can you forgive me?"
His head snapped up from the floor, his thoughts veering away from the plans he'd been making to leave now that it was all over. "What?"
"Can you forgive me?" she asked quietly. "I was in the wrong, to take Buffy's side without hearing yours first. I feel like a lousy friend and an even worse person now."
Spike felt a bubble of relief rise up within him and pop, leaving happiness in its wake. "Oh, love, there's nothing to forgive." He dropped his gaze. "I-I did say some awful things to Buffy last night. But she just gets me so worked up and I get defensive." He brought his gaze back to her face, and saw that she was ready to protest. He held up his hand and said, "Apology accepted."
She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug. Spike took a deep sniff of her hair, enjoying the smells that made her Fred--chamomile, sugar, and a faintly chemical odor that he ascribed to the lab. With a squeeze, she let him go, and moved over to the couch.
"So, you want to tell me what happened last night?" she said, raising an eyebrow at him.
"What did Buffy tell you?" he asked cautiously.
Fred shook her head. "Uh-huh. You first."
Spike sighed, and sat down next to her. "It seemed normal at first. I mean, we were patrolling, just catching up a bit, then we ran into some demons that had cornered two girls. A bit of quipping, and we got into the fight. Good fight, too--I'll always love fighting with Buffy. She's the best, and I would know," he said, giving Fred a look. She nodded, and he continued. "The fight finished, and we're just standing there amidst the bodies. And she's just staring at me. Bloody odd it is. So I go to shake her a little, and she hugs me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. And, I hugged her back, because for all I knew, she was getting weak from demon fumes or something." He shook his head. "Unrui demons, which I suspect emit some gas that makes humans act completely irrational."
"Spike, what happened next?" Fred prodded.
"She kissed me."
Fred sat up a bit. "And?"
He shrugged. "Well, it was good. Really good," he said. "I kissed her back. But then I just . . . stopped. It didn't seem right, to kiss her. Like we were putting the cart before the horse, just like before. So I pulled away from her, and she's blathering on about how she's missed me and how 'no one says my name like you do, Spike.'" He frowned. "Of course, this is setting off all my 'danger, danger!' instincts, so I get in a huge fight with her."
"What did you say?" Fred asked, her voice soft and concerned.
"Things that I was too mad to think about not saying, and things I probably shouldn't have said, and let's just leave it at that. I told her I had spent the last year getting over her, and she wasn't happy to hear that, much less why I made myself move on." He paused, and chose his words carefully. "So she said, 'I guess telling you I loved you was the perfect way to make you get over me.'" He looked up at Fred, confused. "I don't understand. She's saying this, like she's told me before that she's loved me. But she never has. *Never*," he emphasized when he saw Fred preparing to interrupt. "She always insisted there was no way she could love me while we were sleeping together. And then, after I got my soul . . . " His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. "Well, circumstances didn't lend themselves to courtship, even if we had wanted to go that route."
"How do you feel?" Fred asked.
"Confused," Spike said. "I feel like I don't know which way is up, and it's all her fault. She had to come back and screw me over one more time, for old times' sake I guess." He leaned back against the couch, and closed his eyes.
He could feel Fred leaning back as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He threw his arm around her shoulder, grateful for the contact. Fred was the only one who seemed to get how tactile he was, and give him opportunities to touch her. It was nice to hug her without worrying about whether she'd flinch away, like Buffy had when he'd first returned.
He softly groaned, and made himself think of the present problem. "So, Dixie, wanna tell me what the Slayer said when she was crying on your shoulder?"
Fred seemed to hesitate a bit, and then asked, "Spike, what do you remember of your last moments? You know, before . . . "
"I died?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She nodded solemnly. He sighed, and remembered those last moments in the Hellmouth.
"Well, the amulet was doing its thing, and the whole place was starting to come down. Buffy came over to me and told me I had to leave, that it wasn't safe. I told her no: that I was going to stay and do the clean-up. She was . . . I don't know, worried, I guess? She didn't argue too much with me about leaving; I think she knew that this was what I had to do. But before she left . . . " He stopped, and relived the moment when he had felt closest to Buffy in all the years he had known her. "She reached over, and put her palm against mine, and our fingers were intertwined. It was beautiful," he said. Understatement, that. It had been a revelation greater than sex.
Fred broke the reverie he'd fallen into. "And then what happened?"
He shrugged. "She left and I went up like a Roman candle." He looked at Fred curiously. "You know all this, Fred. Why are you asking about this?"
She fiddled a bit with the lapel of her lab coat, and said, "I think you need to talk to Buffy."
He resisted the urge to groan. "Oh, no. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid her."
"Even when you have to patrol tonight?"
"We've had plenty of times when we've patrolled out of necessity rather than desire."
"Still, do you think it's a sign of progress when you want to avoid her? I would think that you were scared of her--of what she has to say for herself." Fred inched away from him a bit, and took a deep breath. "Perhaps you're scared that she might convince you to change your mind?"
He scowled at her. "You don't have to be all smart and logical about it, not to mention making me feel like a right pansy."
She patted his knee and said with a grin, "It's what I'm paid to do. Except for the pansy-making, of course." Her grin faded a bit. "Spike, I really think you need to talk to Buffy and get her side of the story." When he started to protest, she held up her hand. "What if you have dinner with her, but Gunn goes with you on patrol? Buffy's staying with me tonight--I already invited her--so that way, you can talk, and don't have to worry about then having to work with her if things get awkward."
He looked at her from underneath his brows. "Are you up to something?"
Fred snorted. "Please, you don't know me that well if you think I could pull off something sneaky."
"You've always got to watch the quiet ones," he said, running his hand over her hair. "All right, all right. I'll do it, but only because you're supporting Buffy on this one. If I had my way, I'd crawl into a Jack Daniels bottle and not come out till she left."
Fred got up, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Exactly the reason for the plan, silly," she said before turning and leaving.
Spike shook his head, and then pulled himself from the couch. He had a feeling that this dinner tonight wasn't going to be pretty, but Fred was right. Even though he didn't care for Buffy anymore romantically, he owed her the chance to talk about things and clear the air. Besides, he knew that ending things on a fight just meant that they'd have to deal with the issues later on. Better to deal with things now.
With pessimistically hopeful thoughts, he showered and got dressed, and then got to work before he had to deal with Buffy.
***
At 5:30, a knock sounded on his door. Spike tossed the manuscript he'd been working on to the side, and got up from the couch. He found Buffy on the other side of the door, looking nervous, sad, and beautiful. She twisted her fingers together, seemingly unable to look at him. "Um, hi."
He could feel his gaze roaming around, pretending to look at her while trying hard not to. "Why don't you come in for a minute--I'd like to change." He gestured over towards the mini-bar. "Help yourself to water, a drink--I'll be right back."
He escaped into his bedroom, where he quickly washed up in the adjoining bathroom--sans mirror, of course--before turning to his closet. He had worn jeans and another t-shirt all day, so he was happy to drop them on the floor and change into a pair of slacks. He stood in front of his closet, though, pondering his shirts. He reached for a blue button-down, but as his hand made contact with the fabric, he had a sudden memory of Buffy once saying that she wished he'd wear blue more often. He drew his hand back like he had been scorched, and then quickly grabbed a black silk shirt and threw it on. Knowing that he was taking too long, Spike shoved his feet into a pair of black Doc Martens, instead of his scuffed boots, and then headed out into the living room.
Buffy turned from where she'd been contemplating the only piece of art hung in the room, a swirling abstract work in shades of red, black, and grey. "I like this painting," she said, her voice sincere yet sounding a bit defensive, like she was expecting him to deny her feelings. But he only nodded, and explained that it had been a gift from Gunn for his birthday. She looked surprised, but didn't say anything as he grabbed his jacket and keys, and escorted her out of his office.
In the garage, he took the Viper out of habit, but then worried that Buffy would think he was choosing that car because she had liked it. Suddenly, he realized how he was already second-guessing himself, doing things because Buffy liked them or going against his preferences to spite her. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention on the road as he drove them to one of the restaurants he preferred. It was a sophisticated, elegant place, but it was also distinguished by great food and that air of laidback nonchalance that California seemed to create in everything. He hoped the surroundings would help keep this evening from going to hell in a handbasket.
He waited until they had placed their drink orders before speaking. "I want you to know that I'm here to talk because Fred said I needed to hear your side. I don't know what you have to add to what we both already know, but because she asked, I'm here."
Buffy nodded, her face a blank mask. "I see. Are you involved with her?"
Spike nearly laughed at the suggestion. "With Fred?"
Buffy blushed but spoke in a controlled voice. "You're very close to her, and she's very sweet and caring. She reminds me of Dawn and Willow, and you always liked both of them."
Spike nodded. "You're right, Dixie is a combo of some of Dawn and Will's good parts, as well as a sprinkling of her own unique qualities. She was my first friend at Wolfram and Hart because she was big-hearted enough to work and work and work to try and make me corporeal again. But we're not seeing each other--she's been dating some fellow science geek for about a year now."
Buffy's eyes had widened a bit, and her cheeks had grown even more flushed as he spoke. She sighed, and looked down at her plate, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking about things that aren't my business."
Spike sighed. "Buffy, look at me."
She looked up at him, an expression extremely familiar on her face. The old deer-in-headlights look was firmly fixed on her face.
He spoke softly and quietly, trying very hard to keep emotion out of his voice. "Despite what I said, I didn't want us to finish everything up by walking away after a fight. I've never walked away before, and I didn't want to start now. I was hoping that tonight we could . . . clear the air a bit. Try to meet in the middle."
Buffy's expression had grown more blank as he spoke, and her voice was equally emotionless. "Yes, I'd like that."
The waiter arrived and placed their drinks in front of them, and then took their orders. When he left, Spike took a quick gulp of his wine for courage, and then started things rolling. "Why don't we start from the beginning, and you tell me what you've been up to in the past year, and how you knew I was alive."
Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, I've been doing a couple of different things. A lot of traveling to meet up with the new Slayers, explain to them what's happened to them, tell them about the facilities in Devon that Giles has set up. We invite all the Slayers to come there, to get an introduction to slaying and learn more about the new Watcher's Council."
"Is there anyone other than Giles left?" Spike questioned.
Buffy nodded. "He's contacted quite a few Watchers that had gotten kicked out, as well as relying on Watchers who were in the field when the Council's headquarters were blown up."
Spike tilted his head. "Yet he never replied to any of Wes' phone calls or emails asking for information. Not that Wesley wants to go back, but he was curious about what resources were available to Giles and wanted to help out."
Buffy looked down at the table. "I don't know about that one. Honestly, I've barely spent any time in Devon. It was . . . easier, after everything that happened, to keep moving."
"Have done it myself," Spike said softly, and the words brought back the memory of watching Buffy come down the stairs in her now-vanished house, blood all over her knuckles . . .
Buffy's voice was rough as she continued speaking. "It's only been in the last month or so that I finally started slowing down a bit. I guess I figured a year was long enough to keep running and I had to start facing the rest of my life."
Spike looked at her, wondering at the changes she'd gone through. She had once told him that she had never been out of California, and he had secretly wished that he could take her all over the world, show her the places he'd seen before, give her new experiences and all the sights she'd ever want to see. Now, she'd done it all on her own, and it had changed her. He thought he detected a little more flexibility in her attitudes, a bit more understanding of other viewpoints. It was good to see.
"Did you enjoy traveling?" he said, anxious to discover if she realized the changes he could see.
A smile touched her face. "It was thrilling, even at the end when I was so sick of living out a suitcase and always having to buy things that I'd left behind. I've got so many stamps in my passport now, I'm gonna need to get a new one."
He smiled at her, and said, "I'm glad. Really."
Her expression was far-off as she said, "I know. Thank you."
He leaned back in his chair, toying with the silverware, before he said, "And me? How did you find out about me?"
Buffy's eyes lost the dreamy expression as she looked at him. She asked, "What do you know about Slayer dreams?"
Spike's brow furrowed. "Just the basic rumor. Prophetic dreams full of mumbo-jumbo that usually make perfect sense after the fact."
Buffy snorted. "As always, freakily correct, Spike," she said with a small grin. "Yeah, they tend to be about as clear as mud. Way emotional, though." When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "The worst dreams I had were right before my seventeenth birthday. I never thought I'd have such vivid, confusing dreams again. And then the Hellmouth was closed."
Spike sat up in his chair. "What happened?"
"The dreams came back with a vengeance. I've never been good at the more mystical side of Slaying--dreams, sensing vampires, all that. I hadn't had a Slayer dream in over a year when they came back." She paused, and squared her shoulders. "You were in them."
"I was?" he asked in surprise. Then, understanding dawned. "That's how you knew I was alive? Your dreams?"
"I know it sounds crazy," she said. "For a while there, I definitely thought I was. I kept seeing you, dressed in your duster and jeans, but in the sunlight. I couldn't understand--I could tell you were inside a building, but you always were standing in a shaft of sunlight. And you'd say odd phrases to me."
"Like what?" he said, having a feeling what she'd say.
"Weird things," Buffy said with a frown. "Like 'Mountain Dew' and 'Chico and the Man.' I didn't think you were in my dreams just to dispense advice on pop culture. But . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she took a large gulp of her water. "I-I liked seeing you. I didn't want to question things too much because I didn't want the dreams to end. Last November, I woke up from one of the dreams and realized that it must mean you were alive, somehow. After that, I got a few more details--I figured out you were in L.A. from seeing the skyline through a window. And I was planning on coming to see you, really."
"So what happened?" Spike asked, his voice clipped.
Buffy bit her lip. "Truthfully? I was scared. Scared that no, I actually was going crazy. I didn't understand why the dreams would have come back like this, and it hurt too much to think about them. So I started doing everything I could to take my mind off them. All the traveling, training till I was so exhausted I could sleep without dreaming, every trick in the book so I wouldn't dream. I even lied to Willow, said I was having nightmares so she made up some special tea that would block dreams." She stared at her plate. "Yet a night I didn't see you, I'd wake up feeling empty." She brought her eyes up to him. "No matter what happens, Spike, please believe that I'm very happy for you. That you're alive."
Spike felt moderately gobsmacked by the story she had unspun for him. It seemed plausible enough, especially her choice to deny what she was feeling rather than face it. Yet he still felt like there was some piece missing out of the puzzle--that was what had him confused.
Before he could ask her another question, their food arrived, and he made himself start eating. Buffy ate enthusiastically, which he was pleased to see. He ate more slowly, trying to find the right words to express himself. Finally, he grew annoyed with his hesitation and just started speaking.
"Buffy . . . " She looked up from her fish, and even put her fork down.
"Yes, Spike?"
He frowned a bit. "Um, well, I have a question for you. And I know how this is going to sound . . . but when did you tell me you loved me before last night?"
Buffy's mouth dropped open, and then she started sputtering. "What?"
"Last night, you were talking like you had told me you loved me. Before, I mean. But . . . unless you said something to me during my crazy period, you have never said you loved me. I'm not saying you should have, at any point. I knew a long time ago that you'd never love me. Or at least, I thought so."
Buffy's face was the textbook definition of shocked. "You-you-you don't remember?"
"Remember what?" he said in frustration. "I feel like I'm in some bad movie where the amnesiac is told he has a wife he can't remember."
Buffy took a deep breath. "It happened in the Hellmouth," she said quickly.
"The Hellmouth?" Spike asked.
"Yeah. Um, the amulet was working, and I came over and tried to get you to leave. You didn't want to leave, and I knew that I couldn't convince you. So I reached out--"
"And took my hand," Spike said. "And then you left."
She shook her head. "There was more. When our hands touched--they lit on fire."
"On fire?" he echoed in surprise.
Buffy sniffed a bit. "Yes. It was like . . . like our souls were touching, Spike. It was so beautiful. It did something to me, to feel you like that. And I said 'I love you.'" She dropped her eyes, as if drawing upon her courage. She then looked at him. "I said 'I love you,' and you said, 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then you told me to leave."
Spike felt his own mouth drop open. "That's what happened?"
Buffy didn't speak. Her lips were trembling, and she was staring at her half-eaten dinner. He watched her for a moment, and then reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. "Hey, Buffy?"
She raised her head and looked at him, tears in her eyes. "You didn't believe me, and I left you, and then you were dead. But I was so numb, I couldn't seem to care about anything. And then I had the first dream, and I woke up crying. I cried for hours--Dawn and Willow were so scared at how I sobbed. And I couldn't bear their sympathy. It was all wrong. So I left, and started traveling all the time. I was running away. But it didn't help. I still had the dreams, still missed you. I felt so guilty because you were always there for me, and I was never there for you. Too little, too late."
A tear fell onto her cheek, and her voice was choked when she continued. "Logically, I knew why you said what you did. But that didn't mean much when I kept thinking 'he didn't believe me, he died not believing me.'"
"God, Buffy," he said, feeling a jumble of emotions at her words. Shock at this turn of events, guilt and sympathy for her pain, and even a small bit of joy at the thought that she had finally said it to him, and meant it. He squeezed her hand gently.
"I don't know what happened in Sunnydale, Buffy." He tried to choose his words very carefully. "And I'm sorry for what you've suffered. I would never want that for you. Ever since I came back, and realized I was stuck in L.A. and couldn't find you, I hoped that you were happy, that you were living that 'normal' life you wanted so much. I . . . I wish now I had tried to find you, if only so you wouldn't had to keep feeling this way."
She bit her lip, and wiped away her tears. "But you don't love me, do you?"
He shook his head. "It's not quite so cut-and-dried, luv. I'll always love you. But, like I said, I told myself that you were happy without me. So I tried to move on. Didn't want to spend the rest of my life moping around, using massive amounts of hair gel and being a grand poof." He grinned a bit, hoping to make her smile, but only to be met with more tears. His smile faded, and he made himself go on. "Buffy, I have a good life here. Friends, even family if you want to stretch the definition of the word. I do good work here, and that's what I want. I can't make up for what I did before . . . but I can help others for as long as I can."
"And I don't fit anywhere in this new life of yours?" she asked, not bothering now to wipe away her tears.
Spike sighed. "Buffy, do you see yourself fitting? You've spent so long answering to others, and now that you're really free, you're trying to do what you think you should do, instead of what you want to do." He paused, and felt his own voice grow deep with emotion. "Buffy, if this isn't what you want, I don't think I could bear letting you go, after having you for real."
Buffy sat back in her chair, pulling her hand out of Spike's. "Everyone keeps telling me that I don't think about myself. Giles, Dawn, and now you. Why is it, when I'm saving the world and being a general, I'm ignoring my feelings, but when I try to show my feelings, I'm being too soft?" She sniffed. "I'm so tired of people telling me what I should feel, what I should do. That I'm always doing the wrong thing. I never thought you'd do that."
"Slayer, didn't you hear what I said? I'm thinking of myself, and that's what I want you to do. Because I don't want to live on hope anymore. I want to know what a real relationship is like."
The tears were rolling down her face faster. "Well, that's what I want, too. And I want it with you. I love you."
Spike paused, wondering how to answer her. Hearing the words knocked him for a loop, yet amidst the shock and happiness still lingered a kernel of doubt, of mockery. It sounded a lot like her, shouting that he was evil and unclean, that nothing good could be within him . . .
She seemed to take his silence as an answer. She shook her head in anger and sadness, and looked at him. "Spike, you're so stupid. You can't think of yourself, *and* be in a real relationship. It doesn't work like that." She stood up, yet paused by his chair. "I guess you were just being honest when you said I didn't love you. Because you don't believe me." She seemed to be staring into his eyes, forcing him to look at her and see all her misery. "If you find you change your mind, I'll be staying at Fred's till Friday morning."
She leaned down, and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips. She pulled back, and whispered, "All I want is you." And with that, she walked out of the restaurant.
Spike watched her leave, gazing at the straight set of her shoulders, the determination in her walk. Only Buffy could throw herself at your feet, yet make you feel like you were surrendering to her. It was just one of the things he loved about her.
And one of the many things that made it hard for him to see how they could be together. Today, tomorrow, or ever.
End, Chapter 4
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words.
Spoilers: Everything up through Angel 5x08, Destiny. Nothing after that--'cause spoiler-free's the way to be!
Summary: Set a year in the future from the events of Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in L.A., making friends and building a new life for himself.
Putting the Question
Chapter 4
A loud banging pulled Spike from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into during the early hours of the morning. He laid in bed for a moment, before groaning and calling out, "Just a minute," to whoever was trying to use brute strength to communicate. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed his t-shirt from the floor as he walked to the door. He flipped the lock, and pulled the shirt over his head as he waited for the door to open.
Instead of seeing a face, he saw a fist fly towards his face. He let it make impact, and felt his head snap around. Expecting Angel, he was surprised to see that it was Fred.
"Buffy came in last night, crying like her heart was broken. She told me what you said. For God's sake, Spike, I never thought you'd be that cruel!"
Fred stalked inside and slammed the door, and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Spike stared at her, holding his cheek.
"Fred? What the hell are you talking about?"
She glared at him. "I'm talking about being maliciously hurtful towards the woman you say that you'll always love."
"Whose friend are you, mine or hers?" he said angrily, although in the back of his head he felt like the other shoe had finally dropped. They were finally going to turn on him, and this all-too-brief period of friendship and teamwork was coming to an end.
His question seemed to take the anger out of Fred, and she deflated like a balloon. "I'm yours, of course. Oh, Spike, I'm sorry. I . . . Buffy's story hit a nerve with me, and I flew off the handle. I'm so sorry--can you forgive me?"
His head snapped up from the floor, his thoughts veering away from the plans he'd been making to leave now that it was all over. "What?"
"Can you forgive me?" she asked quietly. "I was in the wrong, to take Buffy's side without hearing yours first. I feel like a lousy friend and an even worse person now."
Spike felt a bubble of relief rise up within him and pop, leaving happiness in its wake. "Oh, love, there's nothing to forgive." He dropped his gaze. "I-I did say some awful things to Buffy last night. But she just gets me so worked up and I get defensive." He brought his gaze back to her face, and saw that she was ready to protest. He held up his hand and said, "Apology accepted."
She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug. Spike took a deep sniff of her hair, enjoying the smells that made her Fred--chamomile, sugar, and a faintly chemical odor that he ascribed to the lab. With a squeeze, she let him go, and moved over to the couch.
"So, you want to tell me what happened last night?" she said, raising an eyebrow at him.
"What did Buffy tell you?" he asked cautiously.
Fred shook her head. "Uh-huh. You first."
Spike sighed, and sat down next to her. "It seemed normal at first. I mean, we were patrolling, just catching up a bit, then we ran into some demons that had cornered two girls. A bit of quipping, and we got into the fight. Good fight, too--I'll always love fighting with Buffy. She's the best, and I would know," he said, giving Fred a look. She nodded, and he continued. "The fight finished, and we're just standing there amidst the bodies. And she's just staring at me. Bloody odd it is. So I go to shake her a little, and she hugs me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. And, I hugged her back, because for all I knew, she was getting weak from demon fumes or something." He shook his head. "Unrui demons, which I suspect emit some gas that makes humans act completely irrational."
"Spike, what happened next?" Fred prodded.
"She kissed me."
Fred sat up a bit. "And?"
He shrugged. "Well, it was good. Really good," he said. "I kissed her back. But then I just . . . stopped. It didn't seem right, to kiss her. Like we were putting the cart before the horse, just like before. So I pulled away from her, and she's blathering on about how she's missed me and how 'no one says my name like you do, Spike.'" He frowned. "Of course, this is setting off all my 'danger, danger!' instincts, so I get in a huge fight with her."
"What did you say?" Fred asked, her voice soft and concerned.
"Things that I was too mad to think about not saying, and things I probably shouldn't have said, and let's just leave it at that. I told her I had spent the last year getting over her, and she wasn't happy to hear that, much less why I made myself move on." He paused, and chose his words carefully. "So she said, 'I guess telling you I loved you was the perfect way to make you get over me.'" He looked up at Fred, confused. "I don't understand. She's saying this, like she's told me before that she's loved me. But she never has. *Never*," he emphasized when he saw Fred preparing to interrupt. "She always insisted there was no way she could love me while we were sleeping together. And then, after I got my soul . . . " His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. "Well, circumstances didn't lend themselves to courtship, even if we had wanted to go that route."
"How do you feel?" Fred asked.
"Confused," Spike said. "I feel like I don't know which way is up, and it's all her fault. She had to come back and screw me over one more time, for old times' sake I guess." He leaned back against the couch, and closed his eyes.
He could feel Fred leaning back as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He threw his arm around her shoulder, grateful for the contact. Fred was the only one who seemed to get how tactile he was, and give him opportunities to touch her. It was nice to hug her without worrying about whether she'd flinch away, like Buffy had when he'd first returned.
He softly groaned, and made himself think of the present problem. "So, Dixie, wanna tell me what the Slayer said when she was crying on your shoulder?"
Fred seemed to hesitate a bit, and then asked, "Spike, what do you remember of your last moments? You know, before . . . "
"I died?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She nodded solemnly. He sighed, and remembered those last moments in the Hellmouth.
"Well, the amulet was doing its thing, and the whole place was starting to come down. Buffy came over to me and told me I had to leave, that it wasn't safe. I told her no: that I was going to stay and do the clean-up. She was . . . I don't know, worried, I guess? She didn't argue too much with me about leaving; I think she knew that this was what I had to do. But before she left . . . " He stopped, and relived the moment when he had felt closest to Buffy in all the years he had known her. "She reached over, and put her palm against mine, and our fingers were intertwined. It was beautiful," he said. Understatement, that. It had been a revelation greater than sex.
Fred broke the reverie he'd fallen into. "And then what happened?"
He shrugged. "She left and I went up like a Roman candle." He looked at Fred curiously. "You know all this, Fred. Why are you asking about this?"
She fiddled a bit with the lapel of her lab coat, and said, "I think you need to talk to Buffy."
He resisted the urge to groan. "Oh, no. I'm going to do everything I can to avoid her."
"Even when you have to patrol tonight?"
"We've had plenty of times when we've patrolled out of necessity rather than desire."
"Still, do you think it's a sign of progress when you want to avoid her? I would think that you were scared of her--of what she has to say for herself." Fred inched away from him a bit, and took a deep breath. "Perhaps you're scared that she might convince you to change your mind?"
He scowled at her. "You don't have to be all smart and logical about it, not to mention making me feel like a right pansy."
She patted his knee and said with a grin, "It's what I'm paid to do. Except for the pansy-making, of course." Her grin faded a bit. "Spike, I really think you need to talk to Buffy and get her side of the story." When he started to protest, she held up her hand. "What if you have dinner with her, but Gunn goes with you on patrol? Buffy's staying with me tonight--I already invited her--so that way, you can talk, and don't have to worry about then having to work with her if things get awkward."
He looked at her from underneath his brows. "Are you up to something?"
Fred snorted. "Please, you don't know me that well if you think I could pull off something sneaky."
"You've always got to watch the quiet ones," he said, running his hand over her hair. "All right, all right. I'll do it, but only because you're supporting Buffy on this one. If I had my way, I'd crawl into a Jack Daniels bottle and not come out till she left."
Fred got up, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Exactly the reason for the plan, silly," she said before turning and leaving.
Spike shook his head, and then pulled himself from the couch. He had a feeling that this dinner tonight wasn't going to be pretty, but Fred was right. Even though he didn't care for Buffy anymore romantically, he owed her the chance to talk about things and clear the air. Besides, he knew that ending things on a fight just meant that they'd have to deal with the issues later on. Better to deal with things now.
With pessimistically hopeful thoughts, he showered and got dressed, and then got to work before he had to deal with Buffy.
***
At 5:30, a knock sounded on his door. Spike tossed the manuscript he'd been working on to the side, and got up from the couch. He found Buffy on the other side of the door, looking nervous, sad, and beautiful. She twisted her fingers together, seemingly unable to look at him. "Um, hi."
He could feel his gaze roaming around, pretending to look at her while trying hard not to. "Why don't you come in for a minute--I'd like to change." He gestured over towards the mini-bar. "Help yourself to water, a drink--I'll be right back."
He escaped into his bedroom, where he quickly washed up in the adjoining bathroom--sans mirror, of course--before turning to his closet. He had worn jeans and another t-shirt all day, so he was happy to drop them on the floor and change into a pair of slacks. He stood in front of his closet, though, pondering his shirts. He reached for a blue button-down, but as his hand made contact with the fabric, he had a sudden memory of Buffy once saying that she wished he'd wear blue more often. He drew his hand back like he had been scorched, and then quickly grabbed a black silk shirt and threw it on. Knowing that he was taking too long, Spike shoved his feet into a pair of black Doc Martens, instead of his scuffed boots, and then headed out into the living room.
Buffy turned from where she'd been contemplating the only piece of art hung in the room, a swirling abstract work in shades of red, black, and grey. "I like this painting," she said, her voice sincere yet sounding a bit defensive, like she was expecting him to deny her feelings. But he only nodded, and explained that it had been a gift from Gunn for his birthday. She looked surprised, but didn't say anything as he grabbed his jacket and keys, and escorted her out of his office.
In the garage, he took the Viper out of habit, but then worried that Buffy would think he was choosing that car because she had liked it. Suddenly, he realized how he was already second-guessing himself, doing things because Buffy liked them or going against his preferences to spite her. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention on the road as he drove them to one of the restaurants he preferred. It was a sophisticated, elegant place, but it was also distinguished by great food and that air of laidback nonchalance that California seemed to create in everything. He hoped the surroundings would help keep this evening from going to hell in a handbasket.
He waited until they had placed their drink orders before speaking. "I want you to know that I'm here to talk because Fred said I needed to hear your side. I don't know what you have to add to what we both already know, but because she asked, I'm here."
Buffy nodded, her face a blank mask. "I see. Are you involved with her?"
Spike nearly laughed at the suggestion. "With Fred?"
Buffy blushed but spoke in a controlled voice. "You're very close to her, and she's very sweet and caring. She reminds me of Dawn and Willow, and you always liked both of them."
Spike nodded. "You're right, Dixie is a combo of some of Dawn and Will's good parts, as well as a sprinkling of her own unique qualities. She was my first friend at Wolfram and Hart because she was big-hearted enough to work and work and work to try and make me corporeal again. But we're not seeing each other--she's been dating some fellow science geek for about a year now."
Buffy's eyes had widened a bit, and her cheeks had grown even more flushed as he spoke. She sighed, and looked down at her plate, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking about things that aren't my business."
Spike sighed. "Buffy, look at me."
She looked up at him, an expression extremely familiar on her face. The old deer-in-headlights look was firmly fixed on her face.
He spoke softly and quietly, trying very hard to keep emotion out of his voice. "Despite what I said, I didn't want us to finish everything up by walking away after a fight. I've never walked away before, and I didn't want to start now. I was hoping that tonight we could . . . clear the air a bit. Try to meet in the middle."
Buffy's expression had grown more blank as he spoke, and her voice was equally emotionless. "Yes, I'd like that."
The waiter arrived and placed their drinks in front of them, and then took their orders. When he left, Spike took a quick gulp of his wine for courage, and then started things rolling. "Why don't we start from the beginning, and you tell me what you've been up to in the past year, and how you knew I was alive."
Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, I've been doing a couple of different things. A lot of traveling to meet up with the new Slayers, explain to them what's happened to them, tell them about the facilities in Devon that Giles has set up. We invite all the Slayers to come there, to get an introduction to slaying and learn more about the new Watcher's Council."
"Is there anyone other than Giles left?" Spike questioned.
Buffy nodded. "He's contacted quite a few Watchers that had gotten kicked out, as well as relying on Watchers who were in the field when the Council's headquarters were blown up."
Spike tilted his head. "Yet he never replied to any of Wes' phone calls or emails asking for information. Not that Wesley wants to go back, but he was curious about what resources were available to Giles and wanted to help out."
Buffy looked down at the table. "I don't know about that one. Honestly, I've barely spent any time in Devon. It was . . . easier, after everything that happened, to keep moving."
"Have done it myself," Spike said softly, and the words brought back the memory of watching Buffy come down the stairs in her now-vanished house, blood all over her knuckles . . .
Buffy's voice was rough as she continued speaking. "It's only been in the last month or so that I finally started slowing down a bit. I guess I figured a year was long enough to keep running and I had to start facing the rest of my life."
Spike looked at her, wondering at the changes she'd gone through. She had once told him that she had never been out of California, and he had secretly wished that he could take her all over the world, show her the places he'd seen before, give her new experiences and all the sights she'd ever want to see. Now, she'd done it all on her own, and it had changed her. He thought he detected a little more flexibility in her attitudes, a bit more understanding of other viewpoints. It was good to see.
"Did you enjoy traveling?" he said, anxious to discover if she realized the changes he could see.
A smile touched her face. "It was thrilling, even at the end when I was so sick of living out a suitcase and always having to buy things that I'd left behind. I've got so many stamps in my passport now, I'm gonna need to get a new one."
He smiled at her, and said, "I'm glad. Really."
Her expression was far-off as she said, "I know. Thank you."
He leaned back in his chair, toying with the silverware, before he said, "And me? How did you find out about me?"
Buffy's eyes lost the dreamy expression as she looked at him. She asked, "What do you know about Slayer dreams?"
Spike's brow furrowed. "Just the basic rumor. Prophetic dreams full of mumbo-jumbo that usually make perfect sense after the fact."
Buffy snorted. "As always, freakily correct, Spike," she said with a small grin. "Yeah, they tend to be about as clear as mud. Way emotional, though." When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "The worst dreams I had were right before my seventeenth birthday. I never thought I'd have such vivid, confusing dreams again. And then the Hellmouth was closed."
Spike sat up in his chair. "What happened?"
"The dreams came back with a vengeance. I've never been good at the more mystical side of Slaying--dreams, sensing vampires, all that. I hadn't had a Slayer dream in over a year when they came back." She paused, and squared her shoulders. "You were in them."
"I was?" he asked in surprise. Then, understanding dawned. "That's how you knew I was alive? Your dreams?"
"I know it sounds crazy," she said. "For a while there, I definitely thought I was. I kept seeing you, dressed in your duster and jeans, but in the sunlight. I couldn't understand--I could tell you were inside a building, but you always were standing in a shaft of sunlight. And you'd say odd phrases to me."
"Like what?" he said, having a feeling what she'd say.
"Weird things," Buffy said with a frown. "Like 'Mountain Dew' and 'Chico and the Man.' I didn't think you were in my dreams just to dispense advice on pop culture. But . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she took a large gulp of her water. "I-I liked seeing you. I didn't want to question things too much because I didn't want the dreams to end. Last November, I woke up from one of the dreams and realized that it must mean you were alive, somehow. After that, I got a few more details--I figured out you were in L.A. from seeing the skyline through a window. And I was planning on coming to see you, really."
"So what happened?" Spike asked, his voice clipped.
Buffy bit her lip. "Truthfully? I was scared. Scared that no, I actually was going crazy. I didn't understand why the dreams would have come back like this, and it hurt too much to think about them. So I started doing everything I could to take my mind off them. All the traveling, training till I was so exhausted I could sleep without dreaming, every trick in the book so I wouldn't dream. I even lied to Willow, said I was having nightmares so she made up some special tea that would block dreams." She stared at her plate. "Yet a night I didn't see you, I'd wake up feeling empty." She brought her eyes up to him. "No matter what happens, Spike, please believe that I'm very happy for you. That you're alive."
Spike felt moderately gobsmacked by the story she had unspun for him. It seemed plausible enough, especially her choice to deny what she was feeling rather than face it. Yet he still felt like there was some piece missing out of the puzzle--that was what had him confused.
Before he could ask her another question, their food arrived, and he made himself start eating. Buffy ate enthusiastically, which he was pleased to see. He ate more slowly, trying to find the right words to express himself. Finally, he grew annoyed with his hesitation and just started speaking.
"Buffy . . . " She looked up from her fish, and even put her fork down.
"Yes, Spike?"
He frowned a bit. "Um, well, I have a question for you. And I know how this is going to sound . . . but when did you tell me you loved me before last night?"
Buffy's mouth dropped open, and then she started sputtering. "What?"
"Last night, you were talking like you had told me you loved me. Before, I mean. But . . . unless you said something to me during my crazy period, you have never said you loved me. I'm not saying you should have, at any point. I knew a long time ago that you'd never love me. Or at least, I thought so."
Buffy's face was the textbook definition of shocked. "You-you-you don't remember?"
"Remember what?" he said in frustration. "I feel like I'm in some bad movie where the amnesiac is told he has a wife he can't remember."
Buffy took a deep breath. "It happened in the Hellmouth," she said quickly.
"The Hellmouth?" Spike asked.
"Yeah. Um, the amulet was working, and I came over and tried to get you to leave. You didn't want to leave, and I knew that I couldn't convince you. So I reached out--"
"And took my hand," Spike said. "And then you left."
She shook her head. "There was more. When our hands touched--they lit on fire."
"On fire?" he echoed in surprise.
Buffy sniffed a bit. "Yes. It was like . . . like our souls were touching, Spike. It was so beautiful. It did something to me, to feel you like that. And I said 'I love you.'" She dropped her eyes, as if drawing upon her courage. She then looked at him. "I said 'I love you,' and you said, 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then you told me to leave."
Spike felt his own mouth drop open. "That's what happened?"
Buffy didn't speak. Her lips were trembling, and she was staring at her half-eaten dinner. He watched her for a moment, and then reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. "Hey, Buffy?"
She raised her head and looked at him, tears in her eyes. "You didn't believe me, and I left you, and then you were dead. But I was so numb, I couldn't seem to care about anything. And then I had the first dream, and I woke up crying. I cried for hours--Dawn and Willow were so scared at how I sobbed. And I couldn't bear their sympathy. It was all wrong. So I left, and started traveling all the time. I was running away. But it didn't help. I still had the dreams, still missed you. I felt so guilty because you were always there for me, and I was never there for you. Too little, too late."
A tear fell onto her cheek, and her voice was choked when she continued. "Logically, I knew why you said what you did. But that didn't mean much when I kept thinking 'he didn't believe me, he died not believing me.'"
"God, Buffy," he said, feeling a jumble of emotions at her words. Shock at this turn of events, guilt and sympathy for her pain, and even a small bit of joy at the thought that she had finally said it to him, and meant it. He squeezed her hand gently.
"I don't know what happened in Sunnydale, Buffy." He tried to choose his words very carefully. "And I'm sorry for what you've suffered. I would never want that for you. Ever since I came back, and realized I was stuck in L.A. and couldn't find you, I hoped that you were happy, that you were living that 'normal' life you wanted so much. I . . . I wish now I had tried to find you, if only so you wouldn't had to keep feeling this way."
She bit her lip, and wiped away her tears. "But you don't love me, do you?"
He shook his head. "It's not quite so cut-and-dried, luv. I'll always love you. But, like I said, I told myself that you were happy without me. So I tried to move on. Didn't want to spend the rest of my life moping around, using massive amounts of hair gel and being a grand poof." He grinned a bit, hoping to make her smile, but only to be met with more tears. His smile faded, and he made himself go on. "Buffy, I have a good life here. Friends, even family if you want to stretch the definition of the word. I do good work here, and that's what I want. I can't make up for what I did before . . . but I can help others for as long as I can."
"And I don't fit anywhere in this new life of yours?" she asked, not bothering now to wipe away her tears.
Spike sighed. "Buffy, do you see yourself fitting? You've spent so long answering to others, and now that you're really free, you're trying to do what you think you should do, instead of what you want to do." He paused, and felt his own voice grow deep with emotion. "Buffy, if this isn't what you want, I don't think I could bear letting you go, after having you for real."
Buffy sat back in her chair, pulling her hand out of Spike's. "Everyone keeps telling me that I don't think about myself. Giles, Dawn, and now you. Why is it, when I'm saving the world and being a general, I'm ignoring my feelings, but when I try to show my feelings, I'm being too soft?" She sniffed. "I'm so tired of people telling me what I should feel, what I should do. That I'm always doing the wrong thing. I never thought you'd do that."
"Slayer, didn't you hear what I said? I'm thinking of myself, and that's what I want you to do. Because I don't want to live on hope anymore. I want to know what a real relationship is like."
The tears were rolling down her face faster. "Well, that's what I want, too. And I want it with you. I love you."
Spike paused, wondering how to answer her. Hearing the words knocked him for a loop, yet amidst the shock and happiness still lingered a kernel of doubt, of mockery. It sounded a lot like her, shouting that he was evil and unclean, that nothing good could be within him . . .
She seemed to take his silence as an answer. She shook her head in anger and sadness, and looked at him. "Spike, you're so stupid. You can't think of yourself, *and* be in a real relationship. It doesn't work like that." She stood up, yet paused by his chair. "I guess you were just being honest when you said I didn't love you. Because you don't believe me." She seemed to be staring into his eyes, forcing him to look at her and see all her misery. "If you find you change your mind, I'll be staying at Fred's till Friday morning."
She leaned down, and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips. She pulled back, and whispered, "All I want is you." And with that, she walked out of the restaurant.
Spike watched her leave, gazing at the straight set of her shoulders, the determination in her walk. Only Buffy could throw herself at your feet, yet make you feel like you were surrendering to her. It was just one of the things he loved about her.
And one of the many things that made it hard for him to see how they could be together. Today, tomorrow, or ever.
End, Chapter 4