Warning: Use of language in this story.
Six months and twenty seven days after Spike died, he came back to life for her, in the form of his car keys, a note and a knock. It had been early, the sun just clearing the sky, her first cup of coffee not even half finished as she opened the door to find her sister Slayer standing there, leaning against the doorjamb. "Happy Birthday, B, got a present for ya. From him," Faith told her, a sad smile crossing her features, pulling at the corners of her darkly coloured lips. It was rare to see Faith so upset, rarer still for her not to try and hide it. But Buffy knew she'd been fond of Spike, in her own way. He had that energy about him, that magnetism and confidence that just drew you in. Or he had had. But no longer.
"He wanted me to give you this, asked for a favour before everything went to hell. Literally. I didn't ask what was inside, which I think kinda surprised him, but I'm no snoop, not when it comes to matters of the heart. He said to give them to ya when 'the time was right,' whatever that meant. I figured today was as right as any." She set the package on the table, fidgeting with her hands, uncharacteristically nervous: Faith wasn't big on the emotional displays. Running a hand through her hair, she fixed her with a resolved stare.
"Look," Faith began," I know it's been hard, but you seem to be doing really well, looking after Dawnie and all, holding down jobs to get you both through college. I think it's inspiring, actually, and even know, you're still trying to help all those Potentials. But guilt, and grief, they can sneak up at you any time, even when life is going great. Especially when life is going great, cause there's always a part of you that thinks you don't deserve it. But you do, B," she insisted passionately. "You do. You deserve to be happy, and loved and all that, and I don't think you'll be able to make your peace without whatever this is, so that's why I'm here."
Gingerly, she Faith the package in Buffy's palm, curling her fingers around it. "I bet he left you stacks of cash and fancy jewels," she teased, although they both knew that this was something altogether different. Buffy had closed her hand around the envelope, giving her friend -if that was even the right word- a brittle nod.
"Still on for lunch next week?" Faith had asked.
Buffy had just given her another nod.
And Faith had understood, leaving with a light, "See you at the party, B," but giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Now, sitting in the entryway of the small San Francisco apartment she shared with Dawn, Buffy Summers stared at the lumps of metal and plastic she'd taken out of the envelope as they swung from her limp fingers. Just holding them brought back a rush of images, precious memories she had not taken out of the boxes she'd put them into in her mind, too painful to open just yet. Apparently, they weren't now. Him, tossing her these keys on the rare occasions he actually let her drive his beloved car, him trying to take her out on that date, him, kissing her in the passenger seat like there was nothing else he wanted to do more, would be happy to stay there kissing her forever, and knowing him he likely had.
Back then, she'd taken it for granted. Taken him for granted, his strength and his smile and his love for her, so freely given, like it didn't cost him anything, cost him anything to love the Slayer, the woman meant to be his greatest adversary, his eternal enemy. In the end, it had cost him, though. It had cost him his life.
Some days, Buffy wondered what would have happened, if he hadn't given Spike the amulet, if he'd still be alive, if she'd still be alive. She knew she wouldn't. She knew that this, all of this, her new life, right down to the coffee table and the welcome mat and the new shoes in her closet were only because of him, because of his sacrifice. Some days, she wondered if he regretted loving her, in his final moments, if he had wished they'd never met, so long as it didn't lead to this. Buffy didn't know. She hoped and prayed and pleaded, yet she did not know.
The note was on a scrap piece of notepad paper, strings of paper from the binding still clinging to the left edge as Buffy removed it from the envelope Faith had given her. On it was what looked like an address, and a number of some sort, written out in messy blue pen, his handwriting staring up at her, calling out to her.
For a minute, she didn't know what to do. This could be anything, mean anything. And she was trying to do better, trying to move on, for Dawn's sake and her own. What was the point of reopening the wound again, poking and prodding at it until it bled once more? Would she even be able to close it this time, or would the grief finally swallow her whole, the tide of her tears pulling her under until there was nothing left? And yet, at the same time, Buffy couldn't help but believe that this was for a reason, whatever it was. That she was meant to have these now, was meant to follow this string to wherever it led. She'd long since stopped believing in coincidences, and wasn't about to pick up the habit now.
Squaring her shoulders, Buffy scooped up the envelope and the keys, as well as the coffee mug she'd abandoned by the door when Faith had knocked. Tossing it in the sink, she set the water running and then switched it off, content to let it soak. Powering on her laptop, Buffy had pulled up the address with a few clicks, noting it was some kind of storage unit, in L.A. of all places. For a moment, she just stared at the screen and the flashing advert for half price units. She couldn't just go. She had work at two and Dawn to pick up and dinner to make and laundry to put on and her own coursework to catch up on and...
And she'd loved Spike. No matter what he'd believed when he'd died, she'd known it in her heart. Not the same way as Angel, no, but it has been love nonetheless, and he'd left this for her, had never given up on her, so why should she give up on him now?
She wouldn't. She couldn't. After leaving a message for Dawn on her cellphone, then the fridge, just in case and called in sick to work, Buffy grabbed her leather jacket from the hook by the door and slung her purse over her shoulder, filled with weapons, just in case.
The storage place was cold, and rainy, and the sound of water droplets hitting metal sheeting filled her ears as she made her way down the long rows of doors, the rain and the quiet making her think of the nights she'd spent in her youth patrolling the cemeteries of Sunnydale, that same sense of stillness and yet anticipation, every sense on alert. She finally found the number she was looking for, the lock breaking easily under her touch. Somehow, she didn't think Spike would mind. Easing up the metal door, Buffy took in the space as the light revealed it inch by inch. And the ever-familiar 1959 DeSoto Fireflite sitting in the middle.
Indeed, Spike had not left her cash or jewels, but something of greater value, emotionally. He'd really loved this car. And it was full of papers.
Pulling the door down, muffling the sound of the rain, Buffy flicked on the light switch, bare bulb fluttering, sparking, and then switching on. She kind of felt like she was underwater, like she'd found some secret cave filled with treasure, that she was in a bubble and time had stopped, just for this moment, heavy and expectant. Taking a closer look at the papers, Buffy once again noted that familiar handwriting, taking up all the available space on every page. Taking the keys from her pocket, Buffy opened the driver's side, leather whispering against the upholstery as she settled behind the wheel. She took down one of the pages he'd left against the windshield.
'And so I beheld, the brightest star in any sky,
The most fiery gaze in any eye,
The most precious thing I ever did see,
The greatest thing to ever cross paths with me,
The gentlest creature there could ever be,
The sweetest heart to ever warm my own.'
It was a poem. About her, that he'd written. He'd written a poem for her. And not just one. She looked. Every single piece of paper in the car was covered in a poem he'd written, for her, about her. Filling up the back seat, the windshield, some even making their way into the air conditioning, peeking out through the slats. His whole car was full of her, full of his love for her, clear as day.
"God, you were such a hopeless romantic, weren't you?" she half laughed, half sobbed, resting her head on the steering wheel, desperately trying to control the burning in her eyes.
One piece of paper caught her attention in particular, since it wasn't actually paper, but a Post-it note, taped to the glove compartment. It read, 'Open me.'
Images of Alice's Adventures In Wonderland springing to the forefront of her mind, Buffy opened the glove box, waiting for something to happen. It didn't. Loosing a breath, she rummaged through the maps, empty cigarette packets, flashlight, knife and...was that her lipgloss from two years ago? until she felt glue on her fingertips, indicating another Post-it. This one said 'Play me' which made sense, since it was on a cassette tape. Spike really had been an old school kinda guy, hadn't he? He couldn't have just sent her a disc in the mail, had to make some elaborate, wild goose chase of a game out of it. She didn't mind, though. But still...doubt lingered. Pulling the note off, she twirled it between her fingers absently. That was when she realized that there was another note underneath that one.
'Come on, Pet. It ain't gonna bite you.' He'd added a smiley face at the end of it.
God, she really missed him.
Letting out a chuckle, Buffy stuck the tape in the slot, listening to it click.
"Hello, Gorgeous, it's me."
His voice filled the car, his words wrapping around her, filling her up. A tear slid down Buffy's cheek, hitting the collar of her blouse, she could feel the damp on her neck.
"Since you're listening to this, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that big battle of yours didn't end too well for me. A pity, but kinda inevitable, being a vampire and all."
He hadn't been just a vampire, not to her, he'd been far more than that.
"Anyway, if I'm dead, I want to say it's not your fault. Even if you're the one who did me in, I'd still say that. I died a long time ago, and I was given more in my second chance than most people will ever have in their first Cause I had you. However small, a part of me had you, and that makes it all worth it, okay? So no tears. Please, luv, don't turn into our boy Captain Forehead and brood over me: you're far too pretty for that," he said, and she could hear the smirk that laced his words.
"Before I go on, I've got a request."
Buffy raised a brow.
"You're rasing an eyebrow, aren't you? Course you are. Please, humour a dead man? Close your eyes."
Buffy closed her eyes.
"Good," Spike said, as if he could see her. "You're in that storage unit, and I don't want you to be staring at some grimy, gray metal wall while you're listenin' to this. Picture yourself somewhere nice. Like the beach, you in a bikini and me holding a drink with one of those little umbrellas in, since I won't be burnin' in the sun cause I ain't actually there..." He trailed off. "Too much? Fine, you pick, luv," he told her, as if they were arguing over what to watch on TV.
So that was what Buffy picked. Them, on the couch, at her home in Sunnydale, like they'd been so may times. Except this time, her head was on his shoulder and his fingers were smoothing out her hair, and everything was safe and normal and quiet and perfect.
Spike's voice filled the car once again.
"These words...they're just for you, same way that my heart is yours, and has been practically since the moment I laid eyes on ya, even if I didn't know it myself at the time. I got the idea for this from Faith, actually, talking about that time she woke up from her coma and the tape that Mayor bugger left her. I wanted to leave you somethin' that was just yours, that you could keep on you. Someone like you, I know you'd want, need, proof that I'd ever actually loved you. Hell, I need it myself sometimes, cause I'll admit there are moments were I think I'm half crazy that I got Buffy Summers to tell me the time a day, let alone kiss me. Let's face it, Pet, you're far too good for me, so sometimes a bloke needs reassurin' you're real. But you are. I don't know how it happened, really, if it was my dashin' good looks, my impeccable taste in music, my penchant for leather and black tees...but if I had to guess, I'd say it's cause I listened. A pretty small thing, in hindsight, but there you have it. I listened to you, I was there, when nobody else was.
"I liked being that person for you. I loved being that person for you. The other night, when I held you in my arms, I'd never been happier, that out of everyone, it was me you'd let in. And I know that wasn't easy, and I'm real proud of you for it."
Buffy let out a disbelieving snort. In her mind, she imagined Spike flicking her on the nose.
"I'm serious, Buffy." He had rarely said her name. Hearing it now...she just cried. "You're freakin' Wonder Woman, ya know? So long as I get to be Steve Trevor, suave pilot and stud muffin. Don't act so surprised by my DC knowledge; you forget I bunked with Xander: I was bound to be exposed to his geekiritis."
He'd known her so well.
"You're strong, you always have been. And if the battles over though, I hope you don't have to be quite so strong. I hope you're okay, and that Dawn's doin' well, that you're looking after yourself. Did you take her to Disneyland? You told me you wanted to, let her have a real memory of it, not one courtesy of Monk Guy Number Nine or whatever. Don't make her go on the Teacup Ride: you know she'll throw a fit if you make her go on one of those 'kiddie rides.' I know you'll make sure she gets to have the life she deserves, full of laughter and joy and happiness. And I want that for you, too, sweetheart. Don't shake your head at me," he pleaded, "if I say you've earned it, you have, alright? Don't argue with the one hundred and twenty three year old vampire; you won't win."
She heard a rustle, a slight sigh, and she could picture him running a hand through his hair, picture his eyes full of pain and love and all the things he'd ever hoped to have with her.
"But more than anything, I really hope I'm there with you, nothin' I want more than to get outta this mess with you, maybe take you on a real, proper date, no demon huntin' this time," Spike laughed at that, and Buffy couldn't help but laugh as well. That night...God, looking back, what she wouldn't give to have really listened, to have really given him a shot. He'd put on an actual shirt, for her, one that wasn't black. And proper pants. If that didn't scream real love and commitment, what did?
"Flowers and music and candlelight," Spike continued, and she could picture it all, exactly as he described it, "but also actual food, not the kinda crap you feed to pets you feel sorry for then have to fork out a hundred bob at the end a the night."
"I wish you were here, too," Buffy whispered, feeling her heart break all over again.
There was a pause on the cassette. "If I ain't, I just made you feel a million times worse, didn't I? Crap. Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I ain't exactly feeling cheery myself, makin' this for you. I hate to think of ya alone, but you have to believe me, Buffy, you have to believe me when I say you'll be okay. You're gonna have a great life, no matter what, of that there is not a speck a doubt in my mind." She'd never heard him so sure, except the time when he'd told her he loved her, that in all his existence he'd only ever been sure of her.
Buffy just wished she'd allowed herself to be more sure of him when she had the chance.
In the background, Buffy heard her own voice: "Spike," her past self whined, "Dawn wants to watch the Dawson's Creek marathon. Please tell her I won't be spending what could be our final day watching Dawson Leary blubber like a broken drink's fountain for nineteen hours straight."
"He does not!" Dawn protested hotly.
She remembered it, that very moment. She could picture herself at the bottom of the stairs, a smile on her face, trying to hold onto that sense of normal for as long as she could, wishing she could stay like that forever, that they could stay like that forever, so that nothing bad could or would ever happen. But she'd had to let the bad in, she'd had to, and it had almost cost her everything. It had cost her him.
"I'll be right there," Spike called to her past self, and then muttered on the tape, "You were always such a drama queen, weren't ya?"
Silence prevailed once again.
"So, obviously, I have to go placate your younger self and the Nibblet, even though to tell you the truth I don't actually mind watching girly crap with you. Don't let that get out," he pleaded, "especially not to Harris. Even if I'm dead, I've still got a rep to uphold. I really don't know how to say goodbye," Spike admitted quietly, and he sounded scared, more scared than Buffy had ever heard him before, and she was so sorry for making him feel like that, ever. "You already know I love you, so I can't leave with that, I don't think there are any right words, to be fair.
"How about, 'Nice work, luv.' Nice work being the Slayer, looking after all these girls, being the hero I always knew you were gonna be. Nice work looking after Dawn, in being such a great role model to her, in the love that you gave her, the family you held together. But, more importantly, nice work in making me into who I am now, the other vampire with a soul, a man who knows what's really important in life, who got to experience true happiness, just bein' around you, part of the team, part of something. Nice work on making me into a half decent chap, even if it did take a bit of pummellin' and elbow grease, since I didn't exactly make it easy for ya. The best thing I ever did was love you," there was a pause, "oh, and win a Toblerone at a Pub Quiz one time in the nineties. Who knew William the Bloody could name all the Spice Girls, eh?"
"Be safe, be happy, and just be you. No matter where I am, no matter what becomes of me, know that I love you forever and always, Buffy. I love you."
The tape ended with a click.
Her tears did not.
Buffy simply sat there, knees pressing into the dash, needing these tears, this cleansing of her soul. She hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to him, and yet even in death Spike had still found a way to give her what she needed, even before she knew she'd needed it herself.
She didn't know how long she sat there, crying; it wasn't exactly like she counted the minutes. Once she felt a little bit calmer, Buffy slowly made her way out of the car, the blood rushing to her legs now that she was upright. A part of her didn't want to leave, wanted to stay with this last piece of Spike as long as she could. But she knew she couldn't stay here forever, Spike wouldn't want that for her. He'd wanted Buffy to live, although that was easier said than done with him no longer to live beside her, with her.
Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Buffy held back a sneeze as the dust on the car tickled her nose. An idea struck her, and she ran her finger over the dust in the windshield, leaving the shape of a heart in her wake. It was all she had to give him, although he'd had it anyway, her heart. She'd given it to him without even realizing it, now it was gone, broken, the only person she could imagine fixing it gone with it. Maybe she wasn't supposed to love anyone, ever. Look how all her other relationships had fared: the guy, always leaving her behind, her, feeling empty and hollow and...guilty, that she hadn't been enough to make them stay.
But Spike had. He'd stayed until the very end, and had only left when he'd been forced to let go. God, she wished she'd never given him that damn amulet, wished she'd never seen it or heard of it in her whole life. If he hadn't worn it though...Spike had died a hero, her hero, and she wouldn't take that away from him.
So she'd carry the memories, just like she'd carry around the tape he'd made her, his presence a light in the dark, a hand on her shoulder, guiding her, encouraging her, loving her from wherever he was.
Reaching a hand back into the car, Buffy removed the cassette from the player, nestling it among the weapons in her bag, careful not to let any of the blades scratch it.
"I hope you're happy, too," she whispered into the empty air. Closing the DeSoto's passenger door, she lifted up the steel entrance of the storage unit, allowing herself one last, lingering look before she closed it behind her.
Buffy had almost made it to the end of the row of units, rain still content to fall and soak her to the bone when her phone started to buzz in her pocket. Frowning, she fished it from her pocket, frown etching deeper as she glanced at the unfamiliar number. Tentatively, she answered the call with a wary, "Hello, this is Buffy."
"Buffy." Wesley, Wesley, of all people, let out a long sigh of relief. "I'm so glad you picked up: I thought I might have the wrong number. Angel's contact info for you is...a bit out of date," he admitted quietly.
She couldn't say she was sorry. A part of her was still angry at him, although Buffy knew it wasn't his fault, he couldn't possibly have known what the amulet would do. But still, she'd needed someone to blame, and he'd fit the bill pretty damn well.
"Yeah, sorry about that," she replied half-heartedly, "I've just been really busy and..."
"Liar," he accused, albeit mildly. "You're still pissed at him, and rightly so. I know you cared about Spike a great deal."
Buffy nodded, although of course he couldn't see it. "I did. I still do."
"I thought so." He paused, and she could imagine him taking off his glasses and cleaning them, and for a moment she missed Giles so much she thought she'd cry. Maybe she should take a trip to England, her and Dawn could do with a break. Maybe in the summer, if she saved up for a while. Then, Wesley asked, "How quickly can you get to the Hyperion?"
Somehow, she knew. She couldn't explain it, couldn't quantify it, but something in Buffy Summers' gut was telling her she knew what this was about. Thoughts of England now forgotten, Buffy clutched the phone like it was her source of gravity and she was floating in deep space. "Is this...tell me...God, I can't even think right now," she half sobbed, half apologized.
"Are you close? Start driving, and I'll start explaining. It's a long story, Buffy."
When was it not?
Not daring to hope -and yet hoping anyway- Buffy went back into the unit, got in Spike's car and drove like hell.
Being alive felt weird. He'd been a human for a short while, really, then a vampire for nearly a hundred and twenty five years, then a ghost, now back to...this. Human. It was pretty weird, and he'd been privy to some unusual things in his time.
Lounging on the doughnut-shaped couch in the Hyperion's lobby, Spike fiddled with an unlit cigarette as he watched Team Angel at work, putting some old files into storage boxes to take up to their new offices at Evil Incorporated. Another weird thing: seeing Angel give people more than one-syllable answers, to see him chatting with Wesley, chiding Gunn over something or asking Fred about some science or other. It was quite the family picture. He wondered if this was the side he'd shown to Buffy, if it was this she'd fallen in love with. Looking at him now...he couldn't exactly blame her. Who wouldn't want to be loved by someone like that?
Well, at least one thing hasn't changed, Spike thought to himself, at least I'm still bloody jealous of sodding Angel. Points for consistency.
He was just about to head upstairs and see if he could find a room with a working TV and flick through the channels until they'd done when he heard a roaring from out front, a screech of rubber on sidewalk, a car door slamming shut with haste. Having heard it too, Wesley stuck his head out of an office, something glinting in his eyes, although he didn't say a word.
But Spike knew. He'd know that sound anywhere.
"Is that my car?" he asked, not expecting an answer. If it was, that could mean only one thing.
"What's going on?" Angel demanded, but Spike paid him no mind as the Hyperion's doors swung open, emitting Buffy Summers in a whirlwind of leather and flying blonde hair and rain.
He stopped at the sight of her.
At the sight of him, she stopped.
They did nothing but stare. They didn't even breathe, as if that simple motion would crumple the sight in front of them.
"Luv," he breathed, and his voice seemed to undo whatever spell had overtaken her. Racing down the steps, she was on him in an instant, arms going to embrace him...and end up slapping him instead.
"You were a ghost!" she accused. "You were a ghost but you were here and you didn't tell me! God, I could kill you," Buffy muttered, looking like she planned on doing just that. Then her whole face changed, lighting up like the brightest thing in the world, like he'd never seen true light, like he'd been living in the dark until he saw her smile at him like that. "Lucky for you, I'm just too fucking happy," she rasped and kissed him with everything she had. He kissed her just as passionately, not caring they had an audience, not caring about anything but the warmth of her pressing into him, her hands tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, crushing her to him as if she couldn't bear him being even a fraction of an inch father away.
She pulled back, slightly, resting her forehead in the crook of his shoulder, arms coming around him, squeezing so tightly he thought he might crack a rib, not that he cared because it was her, it was her, it was her.
"Are you plannin' to let go any time soon?" Spike asked her with a chuckle.
Buffy shook her head, nose brushing the side of his neck. "Never."
"'Never'?" he echoed. "That's pretty permanent."
"Never. Never, ever, ever, ever," she replied, some of the girl she'd once been alight in her tone. But she distanced herself, features clouding over with hesitation. "Unless you want me to let-"
Spike captured her mouth in a searing kiss, firmly extinguishing any more of such talk. "God, never," he breathed onto her mouth. "Don't ever think that, not for a single second. It took me this long to be with ya, I'm sure as hell not lettin' you go now. Unless you-"
It was her turn to shut him up. "I thought I made myself pretty clear with the never evers, didn't I?"
Spike placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "That you did. Unfortunately, breathing is a higher priority these days than it used to be..." he trailed off.
"Right. Yeah, sorry." Buffy made to move out of his embrace, but he didn't let her get far, instead wrapping his arms around her waist, chin resting on the crown of her head. For a moment, he just held her, breathing her in, not in the vampire way but the mortal one. Although he could no longer hear her heartbeat, he could still feel it, murmuring against his own, a sound he'd never thought he'd hear and yet was beginning to cherish. Maybe being human wasn't so weird, since those last few months, whenever he'd been with her, he'd felt more human than when he'd been alive in the 1800s.
As if thinking the same thing, Buffy lifted the hem of his black tee, her hand making its way up his bare chest, all the way to his now-beating heart. Spike tried to not to shiver at the touch of her small, familiar hand, especially with Angel lurking behind them, watching every move the pair made like a bloody hawk, an inscrutable expression on his face although he was yet to say a word. Spike suspected that would soon change.
"It's different," she noted, and he understood what she meant perfectly.
"Bad different?" he asked her hesitantly, and she understood him perfectly, too. Can you accept me like this? Does it change anything? Now that I can't protect you like I used to, are you still willing to be vulnerable around me?
Buffy bunched up his t-shirt in her fists, wanting him to look at her, to see. "No. The good kind of different, happy different. Spike, I don't care what you are. Human or vampire or ghost or the StayPuft Man from Ghostbusters, although you are very lickable," she purred in his ear so only he could hear. From tears to teasing in five seconds flat. God, he'd missed her, missed his she made him feel. "I care about this," Buffy placed her hand over his heart. "I know this. This is who you are, how you feel. That's all that matters to me, all I care about. How do you feel about it?" she asked him, so sincerely, and it made him want to cry, to weep at having found someone as wonderful as her.
No one else had asked him that. Everyone else had just assumed that he'd be ecstatic, grateful at no longer having to hide in the shadows and being constantly plagued by thoughts of blood and urges of violence. But he'd been a vampire for so long, had lived and seen and felt so much, had fallen in love with Buffy as a vampire...he didn't know how he fit into the world anymore.
Now, now he knew he'd be alright, so long as he had her, so long as she looked at him like that.
So he told her honestly, "Weird. Unsettled. Kinda scared. But I'll manage." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a faint smirk crossing his face. "You brought my car. Faith gave my present to you then?"
She nodded. "This morning. Thanks for the treasure hunt. You know, most girls are fine with jewelry or gift cards on their birthday," Buffy said with a wry grin.
"Ah, but you're not just any girl, are you luv? Had to be special. I see you didn't even bother to clean it up before you made your mad dash over here. Reckless driving, Miss Summers, is not a suitable virtue," Spike scolded, flicking her on the nose. "And in the rain," he added.
"You would have done the same, if it was me."
He gave her a look that said, Of course I bloody would have, but that doesn't mean I'd want you to, idiot.'
"Such a hypocrite," Buffy teased, winding her arms back up around his neck. "What you said...i'll never forget it. I don't think you'll ever realize just how much it meant to me, what you mean to me."
"I'm glad you liked it: you're impossible to shop for," he teased. "As for the feelings...I think I've got a pretty good idea," he murmured, relishing in the feel of her, something he never thought he'd experience again.
"How's Dawn?" Spike asked her, trying to calm the fuck down and think rationally, although she was making it very difficult.
"She's fine. She's doing really well in school, and she's made loads of new friends, I can hardly keep track. She's happy. But she misses you. We both did, for different reasons of course." Pushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead, Buffy let out a sigh, letting her hand make it's way down his face, the length of his jaw, before pulling back and turning to face the brooding elephant in the room. Wesley had made a hasty retreat to the basement with Fred and Gunn several minutes ago, likely not wanting to witness the verbal punch-up that was about to ensue. Spike, on the other hand, was happy to kick back and watch her go at it, he always had been.
"Hi," she said.
"Hey."
Buffy frowned. "I'm really mad at you."
"I know," Angel acknowledged.
"How could you..." she trailed off, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. Spike made to put a hand on her shoulder but she moved out of his reach. He understood: she wanted to do this herself, she wasn't mad at him, mostly, but it still stung a little.
"I wanted to," Angel began, trying to placate her, make her see his side of things, "I really did."
"No, you didn't," Spike mumbled.
"Fine, I didn't. But can you really blame me? I've known Spike for over a hundred years, and you've known him for what, nearly seven? He doesn't change, not really, and no matter what's going on with us, whether we're talking or not, or even in the same country -yeah, I know about your Roman Holiday- I just don't want to see you get hurt. Besides, it just wasn't the right time, with everything that's been going on lately, and it wasn't my call anyway."
"So you make the time," Buffy seethed. "This isn't ordering takeout, Angel, this is me, and Spike, and you knew..." She broke off, shaking her head violently, body pulsing with anger. "You knew what he meant to me, and yet you let me think he was gone," Buffy snarled savagely. He'd rarely heard the Slayer so angry. And to think it was for him...
"I lost you," Buffy continued, "and then I lost him...You have no idea what that's like. That pain, that guilt."
The vampire clenched his jaw, eyes flaming. "I do," he insisted. "I remember when you died, how I felt then."
"But my death wasn't your fault! You weren't there. You didn't have to watch as..."
Oh, so this was what it was all about.
Spike put his arms around her, her face burying in his chest as she sobbed her fierce warrior-heart out. "Alright, now, it's okay," Spike soothed. "Don't work yourself into a state, sweetheart. See, I'm perfectly fine, okay? Come on, give Spikey a smile, eh?"
She gave him a watery smile. Buffy faced Angel once again. "You may think he's not capable of change, of being a better man, and that opinion is yours to have. But it's not mine, it hasn't been for a long time, if ever. Just because you can't see goodness doesn't mean it's not there, Angel. You of all people should know that."
Having finished verbally filleting her ex honey, she turned her attention back to Spike. "I'm mad at you, too, you know. Just a bit."
Spike felt his face settle into it's trademark smirk. "Well aware, Pet. Wouldn't want ya to feel otherwise."
"Did you really think I was that shallow, that I wouldn't feel the same way anymore?" Buffy asked him quietly, brokenly.
He shook his head, desperate to console her. "No, no, nothin' like that. It was just, I was a ghost. I couldn't do much, and the thought of being around you, without bein' able to hold you, touch you...it was just too much. And I didn't know how long I'd last, if one minute I'd go poof and vanish, cause that did happen a few times. I couldn't put you through that again. I also, selfishly, wanted you to remember me as I had been, puttin' on the hero cape for five minutes and all, I didn't want to cheapen what I'd done, what you gave me. Which, in hindsight, is about twenty three kinds of stupid. I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm so sorry."
"When did you get so noble?" Buffy wondered with a smile, all seeming to be forgiven, for the moment.
Spike gave her one of his own. "Right around the time I fell in love with you, I'd reckon," he replied with a crooked grin.
"I'll let it go. For now. You," she turned to Angel, her glare worthy of melting diamonds, "we aren't finished. But thank you, for looking after him. I mean that."
"I know," he nodded. He said to Spike, "If you hurt her, I will kill you. Got that?" Then he said to Buffy, "I don't think I've ever seen you this happy." Even when you were with me, his face seemed to say. "Or heard you swear before, either."
Buffy had grown up a lot since high school, a fact Spike thought Angel was still yet to grasp. Things changed, people changed, even demons. Demons could get happy endings, too.
"I haven't been this happy," she admitted in a whisper, like she couldn't believe it herself. The grin soon on her face was positively wicked, and Spike felt his blood thrum in his veins at the sight of it. No one made him feel more alive than Buffy Anne Summers did. "Which is why I'm gonna do this."
Linking her hands with his, Buffy pulled Spike across the lobby, out into the pouring rain. "Buffy!" he yelled. "We're gonna get drenched!"
Wait, since when was he the sensible voice of boring reason?
"Come on, live a little!" Buffy called, like she was thinking the same thing, jumping into a particularly deep and treacherous puddle, soaking herself up to the thighs and him up to his knees. Letting out a roar of laughter, Spike kicked more water at Buffy then proceeded to tackle her, the small of her back coming to rest on the hood of his car.
Raindrops clung to her lashes, catching in the strands of her hair, making her eyes sparkle and dance. Yeah, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Now without Angel playing sentry, she didn't hold back, wrapping her arms around him fully, tugging him towards her. He kissed her, and again, and again, and it felt like waking up, like coming home, like life and joy and happiness and all the things he'd ever wanted to have, wanted to have with her, and now could.
Picking her up off the car, Spike spun his girl around, laughing as they both got a mouthful of rainwater.
Then she said, the three words just for him, "I love you."
"I know."
"No, like I really, really love you. 'I love you forever' love you."
His heart melted. "No, luv, I know."
"I missed you," Buffy wept, her own tears mingling with the rain streaking her face. "So much. Every minute, every day. And I'm so sorry. And I hate the fact you died and you thought I didn't feel for you what you felt for me. Cause I did. I do. After you closed the Hellmouth...I knew it. I wish I'd worn it instead, that there could have been some other way"-
"Don't." He cut off her little ramble, the pads of his thumbs wiping away her tears. "If we had, I couldn't do this." Spike pulled out a ring, a plastic ring with a heart on it. "I got this outta one of those gumball machines at the hospital. Took me ten bucks just to get the right one," he grouched. "Look, I know it's way too early to be throwing around the 'M' word or the 'K' word..."
"What?"
"Marriage. Kids."
"Oh, right." She seemed shocked, to say the least. But not...unhappy? -he filed that away for later.
"Exactly. So this isn't an engagement ring: It's a promise. That no matter what, I'm always gonna love you. It's not always gonna be puppies and rainbows, we both know that, but my heart, the way I feel about you... that isn't ever going to change," he promised her, blue eyes full of a reverent conviction. "Even if you can be damn infuriatin' sometimes, and you never bloody listen or ask for help when you need"-
She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, making him quiver, and not from cold. "You wouldn't have me any other way," Buffy stated with a sultry smile.
"No, you've got me there, girl. You got me."
And three words, just for him, only ever for him, "You've got me."
He put the ring on her finger. She waved it at him, glittery plastic catching the dim light. "Shiny," she marvelled. She intertwined their hands, squeezing gently. "Best birthday present ever," Buffy murmured, and he knew she wasn't talking about just the ring. Then she placed his keys in his palm. "I want you to come back home with me, to my place San Francisco. Dawn will be waiting, and there's this party, and I'd love to have you there, with me...but only if you're ready to."
Spike hooked a wet strand of hair behind her ear, cradling the sides of her face, gazing at her with all the love and softness he possessed. "With you, Pet, I'm already home."
Kissing in the rain was even better than how it looked in the movies, cause the moment was real, and perfectly crafted, just for the two of them.
Author's Note: Hello, readers! This is my longest one-shot ever, and I'm so very proud of it. Buffy and Spike deserved a happy ending, and it was a pleasure to write this for them. I apologize, I know this takes one look at the timeline, frowns, then chucks it out the window, but since I haven't actually watched season five of Angel, I just wrote from what I vaguely know happens with Spike being a non-corporeal, then made up stuff I thought should have happened. Let's just pretend he came back as a human and that was that, shall we?
If you get the time, please, please, leave a review. I really want to know what you think of this one. I'm hitting a milestone birthday today, so this fuc holds a very special place in my heart.
Thank you so much for reading!
All my love, Temperance Cain