In an effort to avoid listening to every detail of their conversation despite the temptation, I busily explored the front of the chapel, running my fingers over the cool wooden pews, staring into the flickering candles lit by believers and mourners, and leafing through a book of church songs.
The church was a Catholic one, so I swung down the kneeling bench and dropped to my knees. I prayed for my family and especially my daughter. I prayed that I would know what to do with the knowledge I'd gained about the supernatural world. . . a world I was finding myself quite caught up in. When at last I sat back to survey the crucifix hanging before me, my ears automatically aimed toward the quiet voices drifting from the back of the church.
Buffy's voice was laced with heartbreak and vulnerability. "None of you can truly understand," she protested.
Spike's response was gentle but bore a trace of impatience as if he'd heard this line of thinking before from the slayer. "Buffy. No one can understand anyone's perspective perfectly."
"Well, there you go. No one can understand me. I'm the slayer. . . the only one. . ."
Spike interrupted her before she could veer off too far into her rant, "*But* we can listen and put ourselves in your shoes."
"But you don't have to experience what *I* do," she insisted. "You don't have to feel responsible for all the deaths that occur."
She's asking him to tell her how special she is. . . that she's needed despite how helpless she feels in the face of ultimate evil. My thoughts fly to Amber and the look in her eye the day her mother and I told her that we weren't going to be together anymore. Despite the conflict surrounding us, I was proud that my ex-wife and I had told her together. It hadn't been easy. The vulnerability of my daughter never failed to touch my core. I decided to call her later tonight to remind her that I love her.
"You can't be responsible for every death that occurs related to the First. That's like saying you're responsible for the sun shining today and not yesterday. You have no control over those things. You can't control what others do all the time."
Buffy sighed. "But I'm supposed to be the leader in this war. And I don't even know what to do to stop the First. And he keeps manipulating people. . . getting people I care about killed. And I know I have to accept that people are going to die in this war. But people look to me to stop it. . . stop the death."
"And what happened with the girl tonight. . ."
"Was one of the deaths I didn't stop. . . no matter how hard I tried."
She sounded so defeated as she studied her hands. I willed Spike to touch her and comfort her. I knew he was a vampire, but if this was the end of the world, she needed someone to understand her. . . or at least try to.
I couldn't fathom the weight she bore, and I wasn't sure I wanted to truly put myself in her shoes as Spike had said others could. The very thought frightened me and made me want to run away. Perhaps she was afraid others would turn from her. . . perhaps they had if they thought they had to take on what she did, . . . and perhaps she was right.
"Buffy. . ."
He reached for her, and she allowed the gesture. Without another syllable uttered, he pulled her onto his lap. She let out a soft cry when he folded his arms around her, and my head snapped fully up from where I was busily pretending to read a tattered hymnal. When I realized that the sob was half out of relief, I refocused on the book, keeping my view on them out of the corner of my eye.
The certain sounds of crying drifted my way, and I remembered the same utterances coming from my wife. . . my ex-wife when she knew we would never work together.
My heart ached as Spike stroked the slayer's shoulders tenderly and rocked her back and forth in his lap. Suddenly, it struck me that the vampire probably understood her better than anyone else could, being mired in the same twisted world she was. She could be herself with him the way no one else could.
A stab of jealousy went through me. I longed to find that kind of companionship. On the other hand, I didn't know if I'd really want the connection if it came with such a hefty price tag.
For several minutes, the two bonded. Funny how adversity brings people together more closely than they ever would have been. When her tears ended in hiccups and tiny shudders, he kissed her forehead, and she moved her arms from his chest until they wrapped around his middle.
"I got makeup on your shirt. Now it's all messy," she said, making one of those observations people put together when they feel a little awkward about expressing their feelings.
Spike's voice was hoarse with emotion, "I can deal with messy, pet. It's what I do."
"I bet," she returned, patting his shoulder but remaining in his arms. Her next sentence deftly sidestepped the other meaning of what he was telling her, "I bet you spent hundreds of years helping Drusilla get the blood out of her clothes."
Spike smiled slightly. "Well, not technically *hundreds* of years. . .but yeah. I bet you had your fair share of dirty garments, too."
"Yeah. Some from slaying the nasty demons, some from Dawn borrowing my clothes, and some from. . . well, *you* know what from," she teased. She settled her head against him again.
The last comment was obviously something from their past that I was not getting.
They were silent for several more seconds. Then, Buffy asked hesitantly, "Can I ask a favor of you?"
Spike was firm and sounded sure of himself. "Anything, pet."
"Promise me something."
Spike stiffened a little. "Now you know that if you ask me to promise you something, I will do my utmost best to follow through. I mean, I won't back down from it."
Buffy nodded and looked into his eyes briefly. "I know. I remember. . . will always remember what you did for Dawn. . .for me. And that was before. . ."
"Before I got my soul."
"Yeah."
I was a little confused on the soul point. What exactly did a soul mean to a vampire? What exactly did a soul mean to any of us as human beings? People do good or bad with a soul. Does a soul amount to anything besides a moral conscious? And do all people with souls have a moral conscious? My instincts told me "no," but I wasn't sure what my instincts said about vampires with souls. Hell, I didn't even know vampires existed until a month or two ago.
"So what do you want me to promise, love?" Spike asked, his voice heavy with emotion. He so obviously loved her. I hadn't realized until that moment that he needed her as much as she needed him.
"Promise me. . . that no matter how bad things get, you won't disappear on me," she murmured as if she thought of relying on. . . depending on someone as being weak. Maybe that's what others had told her. . . that's what society often teaches us.
Spike inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly. "Pet, I can promise you that I'll never leave your side. . . no matter how long the fight takes. . . no matter how brutal it is. I'll be at your side until I'm no longer living."
"Will you?" she asked doubtfully. I wondered vaguely if she had been told those things before and then been betrayed.
"Do you know me?" he asked firmly.
"Yes."
"What do you think?" He paused as if uncertain about whether to continue, but then he plunged ahead, "Buffy, you know I love you. You know I'm not going anywhere."
"Love is fickle," she responded. "I need you to be here. . . not because you love me but because you're willing to stand by me to the death." Her tone is edged with slight bitterness.
Taking her by the shoulders and pushing her back from him, he asked with hurt and slight anger, "Do you think *my* love is fickle?"
Buffy was startled by his retort and back peddled quickly. "No. No, I don't, Spike." She surprised him by touching his cheek tenderly. "You love with your whole being."
She surveyed his face with an expression that suggested something further might happen between them when suddenly, a loud crash rang out over the church.
Spike and Buffy were on their feet in an instant, and I imitated their movements, fighting the urge to hide under the pew. Despite my introduction to the world of fighting evil, I was still a coward at heart. . . at least, when faced with evil forces.
"Is there a 'Spike' in here?" a man announced in a booming voice from the doorway.
The owner of the question was of fairly small stature and wore a handsome suit. He was carrying a stake and was surrounded by approximately twenty demons who looked like they could definitely take down the slayer and her partner. . . if not the whole building.
We were in big, big trouble.
