Buffy came home to a quiet house. The lights were off and the inhabitants were settled into their warm beds for the night. All but her…and apparently Spike.
"Hey," she said.
A smile turned the corner of his mouth. "Hey."
She stepped further into the kitchen and paused beside his perch on the counter. He held a long-empty mug in his hands, touching it only by the pads of his fingers. Sticking her finger inside, she tipped the lip towards herself and peered in.
"Mmm…dried blood. Very tasty. And also excruciatingly hard to get out of clothing and dishes. I thought I told you to rinse these out?"
Her reprimand lost weight when she flashed him a teasing smile. Taking the mug from him, she reached to put it in the sink when she paused.
"Who had cocoa?" Buffy asked.
Spike tilted his head and regarded her. Pensive frown, tightening shoulders, sharp movements…she's on the defence.
"Dawn," he replied. She turned concerned green eyes to his blue ones.
"Why? What's wrong? Oh, no. Did something happen while I was gone? Is that why you're still up?"
"Calm down, Slayer. It's nothing like that. It's just – well – she was a little upset."
She stared at him with the same expression of mingled fear and horror.
"About killing the Bringer."
"Oh." She frowned. "Why?"
He rolled his eyes. "Cuz she got blood on her hands, that's why. And not the metaphoric type, either. She's not a fighter like you and me. You've done a good job of protecting her from that, but it doesn't make this 'initiation' of sorts any easier."
"Well, that's hindsight for you." She sidled up against him, crossing her arms tightly against her chest and glancing at the ceiling. "You think I should talk to her?"
"Nah," he replied, leaning forward so he could look at her face, "I think our talk did her good."
"Your talk?" He nodded.
"As in, you talked to her?" He nodded again.
"About murder?"
"Hey! It's not murder! That thing was a demon and you'd do bloody well not to say otherwise in front of the 'Bit. She's delicate enough as it is, what with finding out her friend's got an expiration date and nearly being killed ten times over tonight."
Buffy's eyebrows raised and she looked at him with mild indignance. "So now you're teaching her the ins and outs of demon-killing morals?"
"And what's wrong with that?"
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, firmly. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong with it."
Spike, his temper flaring, slid off the counter to his feet. Would nothing he did ever be good enough? Righteous enough? Would she never allow him to just be who he is and not have to worry about seeking her constant approval?
"If you have something to say, Buffy, say it now. Cuz I'm listening."
He glared at her, daring her to say something, anything, and condemn herself to a full-on rant from the brassed off vampire. But her face softened, and the delicate frown on her face told him that she'd come to some sort of decision.
She reached out and took one of his clenched fists in her hands. Turning it over, she pulled each finger from its coiled embrace until his hand lay palm-upward in hers. Gently, she fit her hand into his and absently stroked patterns on the back with her thumb as she stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Wanna patrol?"
****
Buffy and Jade had walked in an easy silence. They both enjoyed the night, especially quiet ones when they could clear their thoughts.
The school counsellor was trying to figure out how much of what Jade had told them tonight had been half-truths. Buffy was sure the heart-wrenching tale of the demise of everything Jade had ever known was entirely true. The pain behind the girl's eyes was a deep one; a pain she'd seen in her own eyes so many times before.
But after that, her story became a little sketchy. There were things she left out. Perhaps they were unimportant, perhaps they were too personal. But the thing that really bothered Buffy was the fact that she still didn't know who this girl was. Although, Jade didn't really seem to know herself.
Jade, on the other hand, wasn't so inquisitive about Buffy's life. She wasn't really interested. Her purpose was to deliver messages from the Powers - that was it. She didn't want to be caught in this fight for control of the planet between the Slayer and her band of misfits and all the forces of darkness Hell could spew their way.
No, she was much happier with her mind-numbing visions and strange impressions. Like the one she'd had in the alley. Her 'visions', the ones from the Powers, were given to her on account of that stupid prophecy. She had come to accept them, though at times they were a burden. However, her 'impressions', the talent she was born with, passed down through generations from her grandmother and her grandmother's grandmother and forever back into her ancestry, were what she'd always considered her true gift.
Anyone can receive visions. It took special blood to get impressions.
Her impressions were few and far between; but important. She'd had one the day she'd met Zeke - no one else had heard the duck, because the duck was making no sound. So the fact she'd had one in the alley while she was killing that vampire was very important. And even more important was the fact that she'd just now realized that she'd met the two blondes from that impression just hours earlier.
This needed explaining.
"I saw you."
The girl's voice was like shifting gears for Buffy; one moment she was happily driving down the Highway of Contemplation, and now suddenly she was thrown into neutral.
Buffy froze on the sidewalk and stared at Jade.
"You what?"
"I saw you in a vision. With Spike."
It seemed that Buffy's brain was now in park. She wasn't sure if she'd heard right, and frankly, if she had, she didn't want to hear it again. Her and visions were non-mixy things and only led to badness and chaos.
"What happened in the bathroom?" Jade asked, all open innocence and saccharine gaze.
It took Buffy a few tries to slide back into a normal gear, opening and closing her mouth a few times like a fish out of water, trying to understand where the water had disappeared to and why the air had gone. Where's the air?
Jade's posture of peace and tranquility made Buffy want to open up, to spill the contents of her heart right here on the sidewalk and sift through them all together, cuz Lord knows she would never be able to do it alone. But the whole truth was too personal, so she decided on the condensed version.
"It's…complicated."
She saw that Buffy was skirting around an uncomfortable topic. There was fear in her eyes, and self-loathing, and many other things she couldn't pick out in the short moment they were all present before Buffy's face became an emotionless mask in the woman's attempt to shut out Jade's prying ways.
Well, that wouldn't do.
"Uncomplicate it for me."
Jade had resolve face, and Buffy had seen it enough times on enough people to know that she wasn't going to get away from this conversation without a few lacerations to her heart. She took a deep breath and told her the same thing she'd told her sister when Spike had returned to Sunnydale after his sudden exit.
"Spike and I…stuff happened between us that neither of us are proud of. We hurt each other. A lot. The bathroom - that was the culmination."
"He did something that really scared you."
Jade wasn't asking questions. She'd seen it all in Buffy's face, both in the impression and right now, this moment, here in the cool night where the sky wasn't overcast and the breeze was gentle, while she could still remember with delicate accuracy the thrill of the fight and the exhilaration of the win and the absurdity of having a vampire comforting a crying teenager with blood on her hands and the anger she'd felt when Zeke had come but the happiness too and the longing and the need and the pure, pure hatred.
"Yeah, he did," Buffy whispered, and Jade realized that, for a moment, she hadn't been paying much attention and had almost missed it. "But I - I kind of deserved it. He was trying to make me see that I have feelings for him, but it got out of hand."
They had begun to walk again, much slower this time, to be sure that what needed to be said would be said, and simply enjoying the wonderful period of getting acquainted with a person's unique movements and personality.
"If you ask anyone else, they'll say he tried to rape me. Well, maybe Dawn won't. But he wasn't. Trying to rape me, I mean. He was hurting, and he wanted the pain to stop. He wanted me to admit my feelings, cuz I'd always denied them. But he lost control and…"
"…and he tried to force you to love him," Jade finished.
"Yeah."
"But it just made him seem like a monster."
"Yeah."
There was a pause, and Buffy was finding the sidewalk very interesting. I will not cry, I will not. I will not.
"But you do. Love him."
She looked up sharply. "No! I - no…I don't."
There was another pause. "But you could."
Jade stopped walking and looked Buffy in the eyes, trying to communicate to her that she knew a thing or two about unconventional relationships and that it was okay to love someone even if they could sometimes be a monster…
"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for everything."
Buffy glanced up and realized that they had in fact arrived at Miriam's warm two-story red brick bungalow, complete with white-picket fence that pleasantly allowed the clematis to wind into it.
Jade was already unlocking the gate and stepping onto the inlaid stones of the front path when Buffy came to her senses.
"You're welcome."
Jade smiled and waved as she opened the front door and walked inside. Buffy had stood a long time at the fence before she left for home.
****
Buffy and Spike, on the other hand, were walking in a very strained silence. Mostly because she hadn't said a word to him since they'd left the house and he kept having to look at her to assure himself she was still there and breathing and she hadn't somehow fallen into an open manhole along the way.
When she'd come back from Heaven, Buffy had been full of these sort of silences. Back then, it had meant she was lost in her thoughts, trying to sort out memories and relationships that she couldn't seem to handle in any normal, functioning state. Lately, it had meant that she was, well, she was still thinking, but it was in a more brood-like capacity than before.
Tonight, even Peaches would be outdone by the Slayer's brooding techniques.
He tried desperately to come up with something to talk about. Small talk, mindless chatter, weather forecasts, inaccurate, of course, since those ponces at the station couldn't predict a tornado if it was whipping them about like they were in The Wizard of freaking Oz…
She had stopped walking, and he was a good ten paces ahead of her. He hadn't sensed anything amiss, no demons hanging about, but he turned around and tensed himself for a fight. If he trusted anything, it was his Slayer's sense of danger and her ability to attract it.
His Slayer. Damn, would he ever be able to stop thinking of her that way? If she could hear his thoughts, she'd stake him, he figured. She didn't like to be considered a possession - that's part of the reason her and Angel had broken up. Treating her like a breakable china doll, all gentle touches and soothing words…not like the tough warrior she really is.
"Buffy?" He called to her, noticing her blank expression and becoming very anxious. Buffy was never blank. She was hard, ruthless, angry, sorrowful, pained, happy, thrilled, blissful, quiet, loud, raging…but never blank. "What is it, love?"
What is it? Only the most awkward conversation in the history of the universe that I'm trying to prepare myself for. Stupid vampire.
He walked quickly back to her, senses on high alert, and incredibly frightened for Buffy's well-being. Grabbing her by the shoulders he gave her a little shake, and she looked up at him, her eyes so full of fear and anguish that he felt as if he were being staked by thousands of splinters, tearing his heart into tiny pieces.
"Spike," she whispered. His name echoed in his ears, and he heard the breathy gasp she spoke it with over and over again in his mind. Her warm hands cupped his face, and she held him in her gaze.
"I need to tell you something." She wasn't sure why she was whispering, but it felt to her that this moment was so precious and private and amazing and she only wanted it to exist between the two of them.
It wasn't that he couldn't hear her - he did have vampiric senses after all. But the way she was looking at him, and the way she gently warmed his skin with her own, was drawing him ever closer to her, head dipped towards hers, hands finding themselves on her waist. There was something happening between them, something blooming here on the sidewalk that he never thought he'd find, and he wanted it so desperately he could feel himself burning from the inside out and he was sure he'd be dust if she didn't get on with it.
"I'm here," he whispered back, mirroring her intensity. She was losing herself in the depths of his blue, blue eyes, the ones she hadn't even known were blue until that night she'd asked him to tell her how he killed the other slayers, and then she'd been surprised but happy at the colour, and then she had been lost, but not in him, and then he found her and brought her back even though it hurt, hurt them both, and she'd screwed it up like she screwed up everything else with everyone she'd ever cared about and she knew, knew, that what she felt for him wasn't just friendship, and it wasn't hate anymore, if it ever had been, and she was standing with him now, so close, because she'd thought about it, all summer and at her desk and in the car and shopping for groceries, she'd thought about it between Miriam's and home, between home and here, and she was certain that she was right.
That what she felt was right.
"I want to start over."
A frown tugged one eyebrow down for a moment, and he cocked his head to the side in confusion.
"I want - us - to start over. I was wrong; I'm always wrong, I did have feelings for you, I still do, and I realized that if you left again, if you left me, for good, dead or of your own free will…"
"Never of my own free will," he interrupted.
"…I would die. Die inside. Because I - I do have feelings for you. Now. Then. I don't know what they are, but…I want to find out."
Well. He hadn't been expecting that.
"I know I screwed up -" her voice broke, and she had to close her eyes to focus and push back the tears. "I screwed up, and we hurt each other. Last year was bad. Really bad. But I feel like something good came out of it. It opened my eyes." And she did open her eyes. He was staring at her with such love and devotion and disbelief and hope and desire.
"I want to try again. I want to make up for all the bad…stuff…that happened."
Spike had yet to say anything of consequence. Buffy was beginning to fear that he'd reject her, for lack of believing in her honesty, or fear of abuse, or…god, what if he didn't trust her? What if she'd wrecked it all beyond saving?
"Is it too late?" she asked, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "Don't tell me it's too late."
And still he said nothing. She could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed what she'd asked of him. But she needed an answer, dammit!
"Well, well. If it isn't the Slayer and her pet vampire, all close and cuddly!"
Spike's eyes slid from Buffy's and looked over her shoulder. She turned as well, and saw five vamps in V-formation ready to take them on.
Pulling herself from Spike's embrace, she pulled a stake from the sheath on her back and smiled grimly at them, aware of her dishevelled state but not caring a toss what they thought.
"Didn't your sires tell you not to piss me off?"
Their feral grins told that, no, their sires were as dumb as these guys looked.
"Well, they should've," she growled, before launching herself at the one that had spoken earlier.
Spike shook his head in disgust at the tossers that thought they could take on his Slayer and win. He hoped that he'd never been as over-confident as these morons, because really, the only vamp to beat Buffy had been the Master, and then she'd come back and kicked his ass. These guys had no hope in Hell.
Of course, what Spike didn't realize was that Buffy was in a delicate emotional state. Here she had bared her heart to him, and not only had he said nothing, but he wasn't standing up for her against these punch stupid whack vampires stake - poof!.
One of them grabbed her from behind in a choke hold, and another knocked her stake to the ground. Years ago, Spike would have jumped right in and killed her himself, relishing her wide, frightened eyes and tear-tracked face. Now, it enraged him.
In short quick movements, he had killed two of the remaining vampires and set out after the third, the one who'd held Buffy, and chased him down the sidewalk. He tore a branch off a tree as he passed it and threw, dusting the vamp from twenty feet away.
Buffy collapsed to her knees. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Emotions equal stress equals sloppiness. A relationship with Spike was probably a horrible idea, especially since he didn't seem to love her anymore, which he said he always would, but worrying about it was going to get her killed.
This had been the problem with Angel - did he love her, did she love him, was he going to go evil, how close was too close…on and on until it had left her a quivering puddle of doubt, and then he'd left her. Had it been her fault? His? Both?
She touched her tender neck where she was sure purple bruises were probably blossoming on her skin. A cool hand moved her shaking fingers from her injury to inspect it themselves, pressing gently, feeling for damage.
"Are you alright?" Spike asked.
She nodded and rose to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand, and dusting herself off. He picked her stake up from where it had fallen and held it out to her. The haunted look on her face wasn't lost on him, and he waited patiently as she stepped close enough to take back her weapon.
Then he moved in and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so that she could rest her head against his chest. One hand stroked soothing circles across her back, and the other tangled itself in her golden hair.
"Buffy." He moaned her name against her neck, breathing deep the scent that was purely her, vanilla and honey and something primal, and her heart soared in her chest. Moaning was good. Moaning meant there was something going on in him, something that maybe meant…
"Do you think we can?" he asked, lips moving against her soft flesh as he spoke, and his breath danced gently across her skin. Her eyes slid closed as she allowed her senses to be overloaded with the pure pleasure of having his lips on her body. She felt his tongue against her throat and she gasped, desire coursing through her veins and burning in her womb.
Buffy pressed closer to him, running her hands down his chest and scratching his stomach lightly through his t-shirt. His muscles quivered beneath her touch and, encouraged, she slid her arms around his waist and explored his back with her palms.
"I hope we can," she answered. His ministrations had finally meandered its way to her face and at her words, paused at the corner of her mouth.
"Because this…" she tilted her face to look him in the eye, "deserves a chance."
They were still looking at each other when their lips met. The kiss deepened slowly, lazily, hands unhurriedly exploring terrain they already knew but were longing to rediscover. He didn't remember her tasting so sweet, and she couldn't recall him ever making her feel this way before with just a kiss.
It was a long time before the couple finally broke apart and headed for home, hand in hand.