She had locked the door, the little twit. Spike rolled his eyes at the childish audacity of such a maneuver, when she knew good and bloody well that something as flimsy as a lock wouldn't keep him out. Still, he observed the tenets of human decency by knocking first, a sharp rap with his knuckle.
"Buffy, let me in."
"No," came the muffled response, prompting another eyeroll from Spike.
"Don't be ridiculous, we need to talk."
"No," she said again, more firmly. "Go away."
"Don't make me break the door down."
"Don't you dare break the door down."
"Come on, pet…" He opened his mouth to formulate some pleading argument, and then remembered that this was Buffy, and arguing with her was a waste of time. With a sharp jerk of the doorknob and a kick to the base of the door, he solved the problem. She was lying face-down on the bed, her hair fanned out around her head like a halo. She had changed out of her work clothes, he noted, and was wearing a spaghetti-strap tee shirt and pajama bottoms with little teddy bears printed on them—not quite the silky, sexy nightclothes she chose when a night of carnal pleasure was on her mind. He stood and watched her prone form for several moments before speaking.
"I staked Angel," he said casually. "Hope you got your goodbyes out before."
Buffy sighed and sat up to face him, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees in a hopelessly endearing, childlike posture that threatened to dissolve some of Spike's justifiable anger. "Did not," she said. "You two enjoy your warped sparring too much to ever kill each other."
"Keep believing that, pet. Next time he butts into things that don't concern him, I'll prove you wrong."
"You won't." Her eyes held some warning, belying the power she wielded in spite of the innocent facade. "I wouldn't let you."
He eyed her carefully. "Still love him, do you?"
"I'll always love him," she said, oblivious to Spike's subtle wince as those words cut into him. "In some way," she added softly.
"So I'm the skeleton in your closet, then."
"That's not true."
"You lied to Angel about us, Buffy. I heard you with my own ears; you can't deny it. 'I'm not sleeping with Spike.' I know why you said it, too. Not humility, not protecting your fragile reputation amongst the people you love … wishful thinking."
She took a moment too long to answer, robbing her next words of credibility. "That's not true either. I don't know why I lied. It just came out. I didn't want to deal with his—"
"Jealousy? Anger? Overhanging brow?" Spike offered when she didn't finish her sentence.
Buffy's eyes met his reluctantly as she said, "Disappointment."
Spike let that sink in for a moment, holding her gaze mercilessly. "Because that's the worst, is it? Angel, Giles, Xander, even the witches … all the ones who knew you best, back when you were someone else … it's your greatest burden, fear of what would happen if they knew what we know, what we feel every time we're together, every time you let me slip inside you and allow yourself to go. Disappointment. They'd shake their heads and wag their fingers and cluck their bloody tongues, and you ... don't want to deal with it? God, you're the weakest of the strong, love."
"Spike…"
He shook his head, refusing to let her speak until he'd said his piece. "I'm not your plaything, to toss about and store away out of sight when you're done for fear of someone catching you at it. You mangle my heart, Buffy, every time I look at you, and I don't think it can take much more. I know I can't." He sat down on the bed and pried her hands from around her legs, squeezing them tight enough to hurt. "I love you, Buffy. I. love. you. And I lived without you, once. When you came back I thought the torment would end. But it's worse; it's just getting worse every time we're together, every time I hold you and feel you looking over my shoulder to make sure we're alone. Every time you jump out of your skin when someone walks through the door. Fuck's sake, Buffy, just stake me and get it over with. This slow torture is just bloody wrong."
"Spike, I—what are you saying?"
"I refuse to be your shame. That might once have been a fitting label, but I won't wear it anymore. Not now that you love me back and only wish you didn't."
"I do love you. You know I do."
"And Giles?"
She looked startled, and her eyes flashed guiltily. "What about him?"
"What does he know about us?"
Buffy shook her head pleadingly. "Spike, that's not important."
"It is. It is to you."
"What do you want me to do? My friends all know about us. I stood up to Xander when he tried to intervene. I let you move in here even though it's probably sending all kinds of wrong messages to Dawn. You want me to go yell it from the rooftops all over Sunnydale? What do you want from me?" Buffy paused to swipe irritably at the tears that were trying to slip from the corners of her eyes. Spike restrained himself from the urge to kiss those tears away. "I'm sorry I lied to Angel, okay? You're right, I am weak. But this isn't easy, Spike. None of this is easy. Loving you sure as hell isn't!"
He caught her wrists and pulled her into his embrace, shushing her soothingly. "That's what I've been saying all this time," he whispered into her hair. "But it's not supposed to be. What would be the bloody point? You have to suffer for true love. It's not about comfort; it's about passion. It's about pain. It's what you long for."
Buffy pulled away and looked at him with overflowing eyes. "No. No, I don't want it to be."
"Not your choice to make, love."
"Then whose? It's up to us what we are, Spike, if we're going to be anything more than this—more than violent sex and empty words. I need more than that."
"I'll give you more, Buffy, anything. Just tell me what you want."
"I don't know, I want to feel clean again … and good. I'm weary of being so ashamed."
Spike's jaw clenched tightly, and he studied her closely before responding. "So that is it, then, I'm right. What's at the heart of it, still."
"It's not you. Not really. It's me, it's something in me. I'm not who I was before, Spike, and only you seem to realize that. And I'm constantly having to put on this show for the rest of them because they shouldn't have to deal with the horror of what I've become."
"It's not a horror, Buffy. It's just you. It's natural that you'd've changed after what you went through, no one could—"
"Nothing is natural about what happened to me, Spike! Nothing. Not the way I went out, sure as hell not the way I came back. Why would it be natural that I ended up sleeping with a vampire who used to spend every waking moment dreaming up new and creative ways to add me to his dead-Slayer conquest list?"
"Buffy…"
"No. Please don't try to paint a normal face on this, because that just makes it more horrible."
Spike sprang to his feet and looked down at her, his eyes blazing. "Am I horrible? What we have … is it horrible?"
She studied the bedspread. "Well, except for Dawn, everyone else seems to think so."
"Fuck everyone else, Buffy! What do you think?"
"I think we're fooling ourselves by pretending we can ever be a functional, hand-holding, cuddles-by-the-fire kind of couple."
"Don't even try that with me, that's not what you want."
"How do you know?" She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes before saying something she knew would hit him like a ton of bricks. "It's what I had with Angel."
She'd expected a reaction, perhaps a violent one, but got nothing but a slight thinning of the lips. "You call that functional," he said, his voice low but hard. "You're rewriting history with the rosy hindsight of a schoolgirl. What you had with him was every bit the freakshow, and you're lying to yourself if you deny that."
"Maybe. But it feels true."
They stared at one another in a drawn-out silence so heavy it seemed to rob the room of oxygen. Spike opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but then didn't, which alone was out of character. At last he started out of the room.
"Spike, wait."
He didn't, though. He closed the door behind him and started down the stairs. He was out the front door and halfway down the path when the bit's voice stopped him. He turned reluctantly to see her small frame silhouetted in the doorway.
"What happened? Where are you going?" she asked, so timid it broke his heart.
"Nothing for you to worry over, sweet," he said in a valiant attempt at a carefree tone. "It's late. You should go to bed."
"I can't sleep when you're not here."
His smile wavered and he didn't trust himself to respond to that. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.
"Did you and Buffy have a fight?" she pressed.
He rolled his eyes as he exhaled a nerve-steadying cloud of smoke. "Not as such, no," he answered truthfully. "We just talked."
"About Angel? Are you mad that he showed up here? Because it really wasn't Buffy's fault, Spike. He came to the door. I'm the one who let him in. I didn't know it was going to cause trouble, or I would have told him to go away. I promise. So be mad at me, not her, okay?"
Her earnest blue eyes pierced his heart, and for just a moment he almost hated her for it; hated them both, for their mutual iron grip on him. Then the feeling passed and all that remained was the old suffocating love that shackled him to these two for better or worse. Usually, it seemed, the latter.
"It's not like that, Niblet," he said. "Now stop being such a nosy brat, and do as I tell you. Go inside, bolt the door, go to bed. I'll see you soon."
"When?"
"Soon. Leave it."
"Can I come with you?"
He arched an eyebrow at her dubiously. "Let me think. No."
"If you're not leaving for good, you'll let me come."
"Dawn, I haven't got the time or the patience for this adolescent shit. You've got ten seconds to get your ass back inside that house and lock the door. I'm hereby not responsible for any bodily harm I might inflict if you keep pestering me."
"Fine, then, just leave," she said, her voice wavering, teary. "I knew you would. You're just like everybody else. I hate you."
"Yeah? Well it's mutual!" he shouted after her as she turned her back on him and slammed the door with all her strength.
He stood still and waited, listening for the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place. Only when he heard it did he turn and walk away into the night.
xXxXx
Feedback, please? Anyone with me?