Escape
Chapter Twelve: Between Love and Eternity

Between love and eternity, there is only death.

Spike slammed the door of his apartment hard behind him, turning to ram his fist into the wall. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall, grabbed fistfuls of his hair and shook his head.

"Bloody, bloody hell," he muttered. "Stupid, stupid soul. Had to be so goddamn reasonable!"

He could have fought for her. He probably would have lost, but at least he would be able to look back in the decades to come and say he didn't give her up without trying.

But he couldn't say that now. Because he had walked away. Hell, he was running away, as far as Cleveland.

Cleveland had never been an option before, he hadn't even thought about it until she said she had chosen Angel.

Well, fuck Angel. What did it take to live up to him? What exactly had Angel ever done for her? Turned evil on her, tried to kill her and her friends, tried to end the world, then dumped her in a sewer. And yet he was the one she chose.

"Like you'd have been such an improvement on Angel," Spike said to himself.

He wouldn't.

He had spent the first four years he knew Buffy and her friends trying to kill them and that didn't stop when he got the chip. He had been surly, stubborn, spiteful and unhelpful, only changing when he realised he was in love with her and by then, it was too late.

Then what had he done? Instead of helping her cope with what had happened to her because of her resurrection, he had enticed her again and again into his bed, knowing deep down that it was making things worse.

Then there was the bathroom incident.

No, he wouldn't have been any kind of improvement on Angel. And even if he was the better choice, what did it matter, when Buffy had been in love with Angel since she was sixteen?

In the end, what comes between love and eternity when the love was so obviously destined?

"Only death, according to Romeo and Juliet," Spike answered himself, shaking his head. "And with those two, even death doesn't count..."

"Is the translation accurate?"

Wes glanced up, then squinted down again at the carefully typed translation.

"Yes," he answered, though he had no idea whether it was accurate or not. And at that moment, he wasn't sure if he cared. "Fred…?"

"Wes," she said, at the same moment, turning to face him with an air of determination. "Oh, sorry, what did you want to say?"

"No, no. You go first."

"We, uh, we kinda… sorta… kissed," she said, blushing slightly.

He lowered his gaze, waiting for the thoughts that told him how beautiful she was when she blushed to clear. It wasn't like he didn't know already that she was beautiful when she blushed. Or when she laughed, cried, got angry or even yawned.

"We did," he nodded, voice careful and measured.

"Kinda back to front, don't you think?" she asked.

"Pardon?" he blinked, uncertain of whether what she was saying was good or bad.

"Well, don't you normally take the girl to dinner or to a movie before you kiss her?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you have any idea how English you sound?"

"Pard – I mean, what?"

"Let me spell it out for you, Wes," she chuckled, coming toward him and leaning over his desk. "There's been something there for a little while now and I… I like it. I like you, you like me, so how about dinner?"

"Dinner and a movie?" he asked, pushing his voice around his dry throat, attempting to sound suave.

"You paying?"

"Do I get a kiss if I do?"

"The way you kiss, you get one even if we go to a taco stand," Fred replied, licking her lips suggestively.

"Really?" he murmured, leaning toward her to capture her lips.

Spike dragged himself to the door, feet heavy, fingers clumsy as he reached for the door.

He blinked when he saw who was standing in his doorway and stepped back in silent invitation. She met his eyes for only a moment, before lowering her head and scuttling past him down the hall, through the open door at the end into the living room.

When Spike had blinked away his shock and made his way to the living room, she was slumped in the soft black leather couch.

"XBox, huh?" she said as he sat opposite her.

"Yeah, though that wasn't as big a surprise as you showing up on my doorstep. Any reason you're here, Buffy?"

She shrugged, slumping even further into the couch.

"I wanted to talk."

"I thought we did all our talking earlier," Spike answered.

"But, after you left, I thought about some stuff and I realised…"

"You realised…?"

"That I'd made a mistake," she glanced up and met his eyes briefly, before lowering her gaze again.

Spike gulped and settled back. Of course, he knew what she was saying and his first instinct was to leap across to her and make love to her on the couch.

But he was suspicious. Her eyes looked red and her cheeks vaguely blotchy. His fingers tightened in the arms of the chair, his jaw clenched and he waited before he answered her.

"What makes you think that?" he asked after a moment.

She looked up with a frown, then met his eyes with a challenging green gaze and shook her hair back, lifting her chin.

"It's you, Spike," she said. "Not Angel."

His fingers tightened again in the leather as he leaned forward.

"Buffy…" he said, voice rough with frustration and annoyance. She couldn't do this to him. She couldn't mess him about like this.

He knew the score. He knew how this story ended and it didn't end with Spike and Buffy smoochies. It ended with him as far away as possible and her happy with Angel. That was just the way it was.

But according to Buffy, it didn't have to be that way.

"You were wrong, Spike. When I said I loved you in Sunnydale, you were wrong when you said I didn't. I love you, Spike," she hoped he didn't hear the crack in her voice.

She had wandered around LA for an hour before she realised she was barely two blocks from his apartment. So she made her way there.

She wasn't lying, she did love Spike. It might not be the way she loved Angel, but it was love and Buffy didn't want to consider a future without love.

Spike could give her the passion she craved, he could comfort her, play the dutiful boyfriend, he'd do it all willingly, she knew.

So he wasn't as tall as Angel, his eyes were too blue, his features sharp and confrontational. So he made her prickle instead of melt when he touched her. The differences between Spike and Angel were minor, she could live with them.

She had expected him to have reacted by now. But he hadn't. He was staring at her, a blank look on his face. She almost sighed in frustration and got up, came towards him, cupping his chin and drew him in. Her lips brushed his and she reached around his neck to caress his hair.

So his lips weren't as full as Angel's, his hair slightly softer. It didn't matter. Why should it?

When she leaned in a little more to deepen the kiss, he pulled back sharply, staring at her.

"What?" she asked, a little breathless.

"We can't," he muttered, pushing her back and sliding out of the chair.

He was across the room in a few strides and watched her as she turned and sank into his vacated chair.

"I thought -" she stopped, pursed her lips and looked away.

"What? You thought I loved you?" Spike asked. "Damn right, Buffy. I do love you. And God knows I want you. But I don't want you like this."

"Like what?" she replied, genuinely confused.

"What's Angel done, eh?" Spike asked, ignoring her question. "What's he done that's got you round here making a pass at me?"

"You think this is a pass? This isn't a pass. This me giving you what you want."

"No, it's not," Spike turned away, staring out the window, feeling sunlight dance across his skin as it flooded through the specially made windows. He ran a hand over his hair and sighed, then remembering her red rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, he looked back at her. He frowned before asking. "Angel didn't do what I think he's done, did he?"

Buffy only shrugged, unwilling to answer.

"He broke up with you, didn't he?" Spike asked softly, coming back toward her and crouching in front of her. "Well. That was… unexpected."

"Huh. Tell me about it," Buffy muttered, then, as though realised what she said and the bitterness with which she said it, she cleared her throat. She shifted, sitting up and looking down into Spike's eyes. "But that's got nothing to do with what I just told you."

"How stupid do you think I am, Slayer?" Spike replied, standing up and pacing. "I never believed what you said before I figured he broke up with you. I'm not gonna be your replacement for Peaches! I may not deserve much, but I damn well deserve more than that!"

"What do you want from me, Spike? I'm telling you I want to be with you! You, me and Dawn, we can be a family, we'll go to Cleveland with you -"

"So you get as far away as possible from lover boy?" Spike sneered. "No thanks. I think I'll like living as a bachelor. Now, you toddle on back to Angel and tell him it's him you really love."

"No."

"Well, that's just cutting your nose off to spite your face and you know it. You love him, Buffy. You've loved him since you met him. You loved him when he was trying to end the world. You loved him when none of your friends thought he was good for you. You loved him when he left you, you loved him when you were with Riley, you loved him when you were with me. You've never stopped loving him and he's never stopped loving you. Like I said before, you two are fated. So don't take the piss out of fate – go and tell him you're not letting him get away that easy."

"Beg him to take him back you mean?" Buffy asked, eyes narrowed.

"I didn't say beg," Spike corrected. "But bloody hell, if that's what it takes, if that's the last resort, yeah, beg him."

"Why are you telling me to do this?" Buffy asked, mystified.

"God knows. I don't know. I guess it's because… I love you. I want you to be happy. I wish you could be happy with me, but I'm an all or nothing kinda guy. I don't want another woman half in love with Angel. Been there, done that, got the bite marks. So off you go, love, tell him how you feel, yell, scream, do anything to get the message across. And yeah, if it comes to it, beg him."

"Sorry, Spike," she said softly, getting up and crossing the room to the door. "But I don't beg."

She left the living room and he heard her walk down the hall and leave the apartment. He closed his eyes.

When did he get so fucking, idiotically selfless?