Chapter 8: Old Habits
Spike's room at the Cleveland Headquarters is definitely an upgrade from the last time he stayed with the Scoobies. No longer condemned to the Summers' dingy basement, his assigned bed-chambers remind him of a hotel suite that hasn't been touched in years, with dust gathering in various places and bedsheets that have seen better days - but Spike couldn't be happier to be in the vicinity of Buffy.
The vampire tosses and turns on his junky mattress, periodically checking the time. It's almost midnight, which means he should probably get up like a normal creature of the night any minute now. However, he can't shake the feeling that when Buffy returns from patrol, she might come to see him like she used to. For that reason and that reason alone, Spike stays put instead of booking it to any room with fresh blood-bags and a television.
He's entirely unsure of what the future holds for him and the Slayer. Their relationship has been nothing if not extremely complicated from the very beginning. The pair went from enemies to kind-of allies to enemies again to actual allies to lovers to "it's complicated" and then finally to friends - well, a little more than friends. Now he's back in the land of the living and the current status of their relationship couldn't be more of a mystery.
Spike reaches for a carton of cigarettes on the table beside him and freezes when he hears a knock at the door. More alive than ever, he rolls out of bed wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans with an unfastened belt. "Coming," Spike calls from across the room, snatching a crumpled-up black t-shirt from the floor and struggling to put it on fast enough. Buffy cracks open the door and peeks inside before he can get it on.
"Oh. Sorry. I thought you said 'come in'." Buffy shields her eyes as if she's seeing something she hasn't seen before. During their time together, Buffy has walked in on him shirtless a million times (without fail) but being apart for almost a year has clearly changed their dynamic.
"No worries, love." Spike rolls his shirt down over his stomach, buckles his belt and places both hands at his hips. "Sorry the place is a mess." He gestures to cigarette butts on the table and empty alcoholic beverages scattered on the floor.
"Well, you've been here nearly a day so I expected as much," Buffy retorts perkily, picking up a crumpled-up beer can and tossing it in the garbage. "Hope you're open to visitors because Dawn just got here and promptly took over my room." Realizing she might be overstepping, Buffy backtracks. "But I mean, I-I can hang somewhere else for a while if you-"
"No!" Spike clears his throat and tries to adopt a less-obnoxious tone. "I mean, no. You can stay." He leans his back against the brick wall behind him and fiddles with the lighter in his pocket. "So, the Little Bit is back. Should I start locking my door?"
"Dawn just spent the last six months rooming with Andrew. I'm sure she'll be happy to see anyone who doesn't speak fluent nerd," Buffy answers, taking a seat on the edge of Spike's springy bed.
"Can't really blame her. I look back on my days of being chained to a sodding recliner in Xander's basement and wonder why I didn't off myself right then and there. Well, I mean, I tried. Didn't quite work out." Spike huffs, pulls a cig out of his carton and wedges it between his lips while Buffy watches.
"You've truly lived in the wackiest of places," she chuckles, fiddling with the pile of blankets on his bed absentmindedly.
"What, you didn't like the crypt?" Spike lights the end of his cigarette and pulls the smoke into his mouth before releasing it into the dark room.
"It wasn't … awful. You know, as far as creepy burial places go," Buffy admits. "It had its moments."
Spike shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Buffy's words reminding him of a world he left behind. She notices a change in his face, somehow picturing the exact images flickering through his mind.
"But yeah. That was a long time ago." Buffy tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear, her eyes focused on the wooden floorboards. "I'm sure your place in L.A. was pretty luxurious. Especially if you were mooching off of Angel and his CEO money."
"Wasn't too bad," Spike releases the cig from his mouth and inhales. "Never felt like home." He avoids looking at her directly by tapping the ashes of tobacco against the lip of his ashtray. "Not like good ol' Sunny D."
"Which is now a giant hole thanks to you," Buffy says through a smirk.
"Had to leave my legacy somehow, pet," he retorts, pointing the tip of his cig at her. Buffy snickers in response.
"I'm honestly surprised this place is still intact since you arrived. You have a tendency to destroy property."
"As long as we're on the subject of your nifty Headquarters, how the hell did you lot get the funding for this place?" Spike inquires before taking another puff of his cigarette.
"Would you believe me if I told you I robbed a bank?"
"Doubtful."
"You know, this isn't even our only location," Buffy brags. "We have squads in Tokyo, Barcelona, New York -" Spike's eyes widen at her list of much more appealing locations than Ohio.
"And the Scoobies decided to settle down in Cleveland for what? The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?" he quips charmingly.
"In case you forgot, Cleveland's on a Hellmouth." Buffy's voice suddenly takes on a serious tone. "I'm uh ... usually in Scotland, actually. Command Central."
"Is that right?"
"And as much as I love the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the gang's only here in case the forces of evil decide to make another unwelcome appearance in L.A," Buffy explains, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her knees. Spike watches her tentatively.
"So ... assuming Wolfram & Hart is officially closed for business ..."
"I'll be heading back to Scotland."
"I see," is all Spike says in return. He brings his cig to the ashtray and stubs it out.
In that moment, Buffy realizes she hates the idea of leaving Spike behind a second time.
He can't possibly want to go back to L.A. with Angel. I mean … does he? No, that's ridiculous.
This is Spike.
He wants to be where I am ... right?
She decides to test the waters. "Speaking of, our Scotland Headquarters is the crème de la crème of top-secret organizations. Super well-attended. You'd hardly ever notice that we get attacked all the time," Buffy pauses, thinking up more ideas. "And sunlight? Basically nonexistent there." She stares him down, noticing every miniscule facial reaction to her words. "Cigarettes are also much cheaper in Scotland. N-Not that I smoke or anything. I-I just know some people do," Buffy's voice trails off.
Well, that was tragic.
There's an uncomfortable silence while the question of Buffy and Spike's future hangs over their heads. The bleach-blonde vampire abandons his corner of the room and steps closer to Buffy, who is all out of compelling reasons to come to Scotland with her. All but one - the only one Spike cares about.
"And you'll be there," he says pensively.
"Well, yeah. Duh. Who do you think runs the place? Andrew?"
"Listen, pet. Let's just see what happens with the Senior Partners and then we'll talk."
A rage the size of Illyria's almost-pet dragon consumes Buffy completely. We'll … talk?
"God, what is your deal, Spike?!" Buffy explodes, leaping off the bed. "I get that mixed signals are our thing but can we just press pause on them for a sec? After everything we went through together, everything we …" A coat of glossiness materializes in Buffy's hazel eyes. "You're really just going to treat me like a stranger?"
"Buffy, I-"
"You don't want to come back with us? Fine. I get it. I'm hold-on-to-the-past-girl and you've clearly moved on, but-"
Spike halts her words with a sudden grip of her hands; it's intimate. She looks down at the chipped, black nail polish on his fingers as they curl around her tiny palms.
"None of this is about what I want. It hasn't been for a long time. No matter what I feel for you … how much I love you … I can't think about it."
"Well, right now I'm asking you to. I'm asking you to think about it." Buffy glares at him. "What do you want?"
Spike tightens his grip on Buffy's hands and brings them to his chest slowly; the spot where his soul burns the strongest. His pale blue eyes sharpen, digging their way into her heart as she looks up at them.
"I want to be wherever you are," he professes.
"Well, now you're just saying whatever you think I want to hear," she remarks, loosening her hands from his until they fall to her sides.
"Has anyone ever told you that you are a deeply stubborn woman?"
"Not today."
The tension in the room suddenly disappears as Buffy cracks the smallest smile that Spike then mirrors. She gives him a look - one he knows all too well: can we just hold each other for a while? His body warms to her silent request which he accepts with a grateful nod. With gentle hesitation, they walk around to opposite sides of the bed and slowly come together in the center of the mattress. Spike scooches in and slides an arm around Buffy's upper back, allowing her to curl into him. Buffy nestles her face into his chest, her long, blonde mane unleashed on his shoulder. Spike's chin rests over her head; he plants one soft, bold kiss on the top of it and waits to see how she reacts. After a moment of reflection, Buffy squeezes onto his black t-shirt with her fingers and molds her body to his, deepening their embrace. For a split second in time, Buffy and Spike are one mind, one heart and one being - as they were a year before.
"Buffy?"
The silence in response causes Spike to adjust his face so he can see hers. The Slayer is already fast asleep, her nose making a small whistling sound that breaks Spike's unbeating heart into a million pieces. He nuzzles his nose against the crown of Buffy's head and inhales the sweet scent of citrus and slayage.