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Speak to Me

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The following morning Buffy called in sick. When Willow got back to the room in the afternoon, the Slayer was gone. She didn't return until eleven o'clock, and the redhead put her book down to eye her friend. They hadn't really had a conversation since the one they'd had that night after the Bronze. It seemed Buffy had chosen to ignore what had been said, and go on as though it hadn't even happened. But Willow couldn't do that.

"Hi," she now said.

"Hey, Wills," Buffy smiled distractedly, walking up to her weapon's drawer and replacing the stakes she'd taken out earlier.

Adding a few small bottles of holy water she shut the drawer and threw the bag on her bed, beginning to unbutton her coat and obviously being oblivious to the scrutiny she was under.

"I thought you wanted to go over the math homework for Thursday," Willow remarked and Buffy looked at her briefly, putting the coat in her closet and beginning to undress.

"Right. Sorry 'bout that," she said. "I've just been..."

She trailed off, huffing as she pulled her boots off. Grabbing her pajamas, she pulled the top on. Willow went back to her book with a sigh.

"Preoccupied?" she muttered.

Buffy went to brush her teeth, returning and crawling under the covers.

"Night," she said.

Willow frowned, closing the book and placing it on her nightstand. She looked over at the other.

"Buffy," she said silently, hesitating before she finished: "is there something going on...?"

"Will... I'm sleepy, okay? Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

"So... there's something to talk about?"

"Willow," Buffy whined.

"Fine. Fine. Tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night."

Buffy wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't. She really was tired, but was only lying down because she had been on her feet for the passed ten hours. Patrolling streets in broad day light, hoping for a sign of Adam, finding nothing. And then patrolling after darkness set, just for the sake of it, not meeting a single dustable victim. And no un-dustable either.

She had been afraid of running into Spike, not sure of how to possibly face him. And yet she had wanted to get that first encounter over with. Because she wasn't asking him to leave, not again. And so, he was staying. It was okay. It would be perfectly alright.

"It will," she whispered to herself.

¤

The next day Buffy sat at her desk, reading a book and eating an apple. Willow glanced up at her from the bed, unsure of how to bring up the subject of last night, whatever it may be. Finally she asked:

"Do you think Ath could be a witch?"

Buffy stopped chewing, turning her head to her friend and frowning.

"No. Why?"

"I dunno," the Wicca shrugged. "She just seems to have that quality."

"Witch radar?" Buffy quipped and Willow gave her a look.

"I just thought that I saw her do something the other day... And the girl has to use magic for her baking, no one can get the chocolate chips to mix that evenly with the batter," she stated firmly, making Buffy laugh. Willow smiled. "It's been a while since you did that."

"I guess," Buffy said, growing serious in the next moment and putting down the book. "What did you see?"

Willow looked quizzical.

"You said you saw something that Ath did."

"Oh, right... I might've been wrong, but I thought I saw her writing something on the ground right outside your house. She didn't see me, but when I went up to the spot – after she went back in – I couldn't see anything there."

Buffy smiled, taking a bite out of her apple.

"And this is reasons to think she's connected with the higher powers?" she asked, Willow returning the smile.

"No, I guess I'm being silly. There's something about her, though. Makes me think she's not what we think she is."

"I know that feeling," Buffy nodded thoughtfully. "It's strange, I could swear I've tried to ask her about it... but I can't remember what she's answered."

"Maybe you should try again," Willow remarked and Buffy sighed.

"I will. It's not a threatening question mark, though."

"But when you think about it, since when did you befriend question marks? You're the very vanquisher of question marks. You dislike question marks with heated passion. If there ever is a question mark, the Slayer is there to..."

"Okay," Buffy stopped her, getting off the chair and walking up to her friend's bed, taking a seat next to the other. "But I admit... it's weird. Isn't it?"

Willow nodded, then eyed her friend for a few moments before carefully saying:

"Haven't seen much of Spike lately."

Buffy smiled a weak smile at that, not looking at the redhead.

"No, we're... keeping to our different sides of the fence," she said.

"Must be a high fence," Willow remarked and Buffy looked quizzical. "Well, Spike's never been the one to bow out gracefully."

"Right," the Slayer murmured.

"What's with the face?" Willow asked, suddenly smiling. "You have to agree that if there's one thing that vampire can't do, it's keep out of your business. Maybe it's a good sign, though. He's over you. He's realized that it's never gonna happen and he's moved passed it. Maybe even grown a little because of it. Wouldn't that be funny? Spike evolving because of some warped..."

"Stop," Buffy said, voice low and eyes not on her friend.

Willow furrowed her brow.

"It's so easy," the Slayer finally picked up, "to look at something and think you're seeing exactly what's there, isn't it? God, Willow, you should know better than to judge the outside like that."

"It's not like I haven't seen what's inside of him," Willow shot. "I almost had the bite marks to show for it."

"That's not all of him," Buffy mumbled. "That's just..."

"The demon?" Willow filled in. "Buffy, you're scaring me."

"Not as much as I scare me," Buffy shook her head, rising and walking up to the trash-bin to throw away the skeleton of the apple. "Not as much as this whole thing terrifies me. But, I've seen him change, Will. I can't help it. I can't. I believe in him, and I can't turn back from that. I believe that he can be a better man. I believe that he wants to be. He doesn't want the chip removed. He made that decision."

Willow shook her head.

"Buffy, listen to yourself. God, with the chip in his head he doesn't have to worry about it, does he? He can earn a corner of trust with you, and he won't really have to work for it, will he? He's leashed. I don't know how you make that right, but I think it's wrong. He wants to show self-control, fine. If you believe he could, then I have to believe in you, Buffy. But self-control with the chip? What is that?"

"You were coming down on me when I wanted to remove it, and now you're coming down on me 'cause it's staying in?" Buffy asked, disbelieving.

"I'm just trying to understand," Willow replied. "And I'm really trying not to be biased here, but what makes you think it's real?"

Buffy clenched her jaws together, turning to the window and looking outside, her right hand unconsciously beginning to fiddle with the cross around her neck.

"The way he looks at me," she then said. "That's real."

Willow swallowed, taking the profile of her friend in before asking silently:

"Are you in love with him?"

The fiddling slowed, the Slayer's gaze seemed caught on something far away, and then she snapped out of it, turning her eyes back in Willow's.

"I can't... love him," she said.

"You can't choose who to love," Willow remarked. "Believe me, I know."

Buffy smiled weakly, her face was suddenly pale and her eyes were growing sad. The burden Willow had noticed on the Slayer seemed to grow even heavier.

"Not exactly the same; is it?" she asked.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Buffy gave her a look at that, and Willow felt wounded by it in a way she didn't know if Buffy had ever hurt her before.

"I'm too tired to get into it," Buffy then stated, "and I'm pretty sure you'd never be able to hear it anyway."

"That's not fair..."

"It's not, huh?" Buffy wondered. "Will, you've been rooting for me and Riley ever since the first second you knew he was interested. I didn't tell you, 'cause I already knew what you think. You've made sure I know."

"How can you say that like I did something wrong!" Willow exclaimed, getting to her feet as well. "I saw how happy you were, how happy he made you. Think I'd want anything less for you, after seeing everything you went through with Angel? Think I'll stand here now and go whoopdidoo over the fact that you're standing over there, telling me that you're in love with another vampire? You know it'll end badly, Buffy. All the reasons you had not to be with Angel, they're there, between you and Spike, only magnified by a thousand. He doesn't have a soul! There's nothing in him that feels remorse; that feels compassion; that feels anything at all!"

At that Buffy nearly slapped her. The Slayer's hand raised and then hung mid-air as both pairs of eyes widened with realization of what had almost happened. Willow stared at her. Buffy lowered her arm, taking a step back.

"I'm sorry..." Buffy said; then her face grew set in stone as she repeated: "I can't love him. Because you're right; he's dead. And the last thing I need... is more death in my life."

Willow looked at her, seeing the countenance on her; the irreproachable face of the Slayer, before the latter turned and walked up to her closet, bringing her coat out.

"I'll be back late," she said.

"Buffy," Willow tried, but the other was already out the door.

The Wicca sat back on the bed.

Alright, here was the path of ugly.

Willow tried to get her thoughts to work coherently, but she couldn't. This mindset was too new. She had watched the Slayer and the Vamp interact. She had noticed ease between them, an ease that she wasn't even sure the two of them were aware of. She slowly got off the bed and took out her jacket, putting it on and leaving the dorm.

There was someone she needed to speak with.

¤

Spike turned his head as there was a knock at the door. He furrowed his brow. Knocks didn't come often, and he wasn't expecting anyone. He was pretty sure. Getting up he walked up to it and opened it, his eyebrows rising as he took in the small frame of the redhead. She smiled tryingly, waving one hand a little.

"Hey," she said.

He couldn't hide his questioning expression.

"Hi," he then replied.

"Can I come in?" she wondered. "If you're busy I can come back..."

"Not at all," he assured, stepping back and widening the opening for her to step through it.

He closed the door behind her.

"Wow," she said, looking around. "It's very you," she added, turning to him.

He smiled tentatively.

"It's not a whole lot more than a hole in the ground," he said. "But thanks for your consideration."

She smiled a small smile, her body-language telling him just how not relaxed she was.

"You, if anyone, should know I can't bite," he remarked. "Please, have a seat. Buffy had the place poshed up, but I sold most of it when I left."

Willow frowned.

"You left?" she asked, walking up to the loveseat to sit down, as he walked into the kitchen to get a glass and some juice.

"Orange okay?" he wondered.

"Fine," she nodded, waiting until he came up and handed her the glass. "You left?" she then repeated as he sat down next to her, cup of blood in hand.

"Briefly," he confirmed.

She eyed him for a few seconds, and then she asked:

"Why?"

He eyed her back.

"Why are you here, Red?"

She took a mouthful of orange juice, then fastened her gaze in his again.

"Do you understand what this is doing to her?" she inquired.

He stared at the Wicca, taken aback. He hadn't thought she was here for Buffy. He hadn't thought Buffy had told her. Then again, perhaps she hadn't. He wondered exactly what had brought Willow to his doorstep. He looked away from her, feeling strangely small under the others probing observation.

"What 'what' is doing to her?"

"What do you want from her, Spike? What is this to you? If you're playing games, so help me, I'll..."

He glared at her at that.

"I don't demand a bloody thing from her that she's not willing to give."

"Willing? I don't think 'will' has anything to do with this anymore..." She trailed off, and he didn't want to push for more of an explanation. "I've seen how much you hate her," she added.

"And I've felt it," he bit back. "And now..." His gaze grew searching as he looked for the right words, but he couldn't find them. "Is this why you've come?" he then asked. "To question me?"

He seemed somewhat amused by this, and he somewhat was.

"I want you to make me believe, the way you've made her believe."

He felt something dead inside of him slowly come alive at those words.

Willow watched the most dramatic change she'd ever seen on a face. He seemed to grow younger, his forehead smoothed, his lips bore a slight smile, and his eyes began to sparkle with a sudden light that mixed with the blue and made the iris' bear the color of infinite skies. It was remarkable.

"Buffy is... impossible," he then said, keeping the small smile on. "She's stubborn, self-righteous, a know-it-all who actually likes to fight me... Those are some of her best qualities," he smirked, and Willow had to smile as well, despite herself. "She's... vulnerable," he then said. "She has this rough exterior, but if you can get to what's beneath it..." He trailed off. "She's funny, but not in an obvious way, even to her. ...She looks at you, and you can see those wheels in her head bloody turning, trying to figure you out." He paused, smiling again as he added: "Or maybe that's just with me."

Willow smiled once more, intent on listening.

"She's soft," he said, voice growing quiet as he seemed to be talking more to himself. "And warm. And un-surprisingly flexible." Another smile, though his gaze was drifting somewhere Willow couldn't see. "And if I could take here away from here, I would," he finished, fixing his eyes in Willow's again. "If I could protect her from all of it, I would. But I can't. It's who she is. And she doesn't need me to. Wouldn't want me to, I understand that. And it's part of what I love about her. She's a warrior. She has a fire inside that'll never burn out. She may want it to, but she couldn't let it. What I can do is help. Carry some of the burden. Give her a few hours of extra sleep. That's why I came back, I reckon. That and the fact that I don't wanna be where she isn't."

Willow watched him for a few moments in silence.

She hadn't thought she would be this easily persuaded, but everything about him spoke nothing but truth. Was he this good an actor, then?

"You've had a few days to practice that; haven't you?" she asked.

He smirked.

"In front of the mirror?" he wondered, cocking an eyebrow. "Don't have a reflection."

"You know, I've often wondered how you guys keep yourselves looking the way you do. And why do the clothes go all invisible, too? Are they suddenly part of the whole curse simply 'cause you put them on? And isn't it strange, to not have seen your own face for a hundred years?"

He smiled at that.

"Portraits, love," he replied. "Me and Dru used to get ours done all the time. We ate the artists afterwards, of course... Two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Please, no speaking," Willow shook her head. She hesitated, then continued: "I don't think I think you deserve her."

He smiled a little.

"I know I don't," he retorted.

¤

Buffy walked with a determination that felt plastered on.

She didn't know where she was headed. She felt as though darkness was suffocating every sense within her, until there was nothing left but a single ray of flickering light, struggling to guide her. It was so faint that she didn't know where it wished to lead her. So she extinguished it, and let her convictions take over. Through shadows they carried her easily, told her where to step, and as she didn't stumble, she began to trust that they were right.

Her confessions to Willow earlier had made her waver, but it had been for only a fraction of a second.

She reached into one of the pockets of her coat and felt the object there. It was sleek and cold against her fingers. Small, silvered, and his. His. Thus, it didn't belong with her, did it? Didn't belong to her. Wasn't hers to hold onto in any way.

She entered the graveyard hosting his crypt. It was quiet. She slowed her step. Approaching his door seemed to have grown into a process, without her fully realizing it. She had to check her heart beat, check what she wanted to say, get everything straight since there was no room for error.

Fleetingly she imagined what it would be like to be running down the path, without a care as to what façade she would have to put up once she stood before him. Imagined him readily opening the door, her arms wrapping around him...

She clenched her jaws together, chasing the image away.

No.

All she could think was no.

That was never, not ever, going to happen.

She stopped before the door.

Placing a hand against the roughened wood she wanted to turn and walk away. Tomorrow night she could do this. Tomorrow night she could rip everything apart. But then she drove it away. No turning back now. It was what it was, and would be what it had to be.

Suddenly the door opened.

He looked wondering. Slightly humored. A little surprised, perhaps. But mostly, pleasantly surprised to see her.

She walked passed him.

"Wasn't sure you'd be here," she said.

He shut the door, turning to her.

She rested her eyes in his and not a single word would come over her lips. Last time she had seen him had been so painful, had made her understand that she had to end it. It couldn't go farther. Then again, how could it go farther than this?

"I shouldn't 've come back," he finally murmured.

He saw the immediate disagreement in her gaze.

"What do you want, then?" he asked.

She swallowed hard.

"I..."

She trailed off. Her hand still in the pocket of her coat, keeping a tight grip on what she had come to return to him.

"Here's something new: had a bleeding tête-à-tête with Red before," he stated, and Buffy felt as though a glacier formed at the nape of her neck and poured through her at the pure shock she suffered from this disclosure.

"Willow?" she asked. "She came here?"

"No, I ran into her at Willy's. 'Course she came 'ere," he replied, bringing out a fag and putting it between his lips, neglecting to light it, and Buffy felt the control she'd had over her pulse begin to slip. "She's not so bad, you know? At least not when she grows a pair and that whole twitchiness runs off her," he added and Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

"She's not twitchy," she remarked.

"Alright, nervousness, then," he relented, taking the cigarette between two fingers, glancing at it and then tossing it unceremoniously aside. "Edginess. That whole... innocence vibe she's got going for her. But she looked me in the eye tonight, Buffy," he said. "She's worried 'bout you."

"I know," she mumbled, putting her free hand in her other pocket and closing it around the items there.

Slowly bringing them out she reached over and placed her fingers over a nearby sarcophagus, gently opening them and releasing his belongings onto the stone.

He furrowed his brow quizzically.

"Didn't feel right to keep them," she said, voice low.

She hated how she was barely able to meet his gaze.

"You won them fair and square," he objected silently.

She smiled just a little, then shook her head.

"I don't want them," she said. "They're too big for me. And they look better on you, anyway."

He tilted his head slightly, and she drew a steadying breath before giving a nod.

"Right, then. I should go."

She headed passed him, but he made her stop by saying:

"And my lighter?"

She didn't have anything to answer to that. Her mind went blank. And then he was right behind her. His right hand softly slid down her right arm, following her wrist down into the pocket, where her hand was buried. She closed her eyes at the touch, at the sensation of him near her, at the swindling notion that it was the last time he would be.

His fingers brought her hand out, circling it before carefully making her let go of the object it was holding. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His nose almost brushed hers, and then she stepped away, walking up to the door and through it.

He moved up to the sarcophagus, staring at the rings before turning from them, not willing to touch them. She was ridding herself of him. Soon he would be gone, he could feel it. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Spike!" a voice growled from downstairs and the vampire straightened his back in indignation before he headed up to the ladder.

"Bloody hell, what're you doing down there?" he barked.

A younger vamp came to stand at the base of the ladder, looking up apologetically.

"Sorry, took the tunnels. Quicker," he explained, then added: "Adam wants to see you. Said it's urgent."

"Bugger," Spike muttered, grabbing his duster and jumping down to join the other.