Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
A/N: This chapter is short and not so sweet, but perhaps the most necessary chapter in this story.
As always, many thanks to ObscureBookWyrm.
The Dawning
Chapter Five
Buffy raced from Restfield like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, looking to make her a bloody mess. She barged into the house, not pausing to acknowledge her mother or Dawn, and bolted for the bathroom.
She cranked on the shower, tore off her clothes, and stepped under the spray before it fully warmed.
"I won't cry!" she hissed, trying to quell the burn of tears in her eyes. "I won't."
She picked up a wash rag, squeezed out some pomegranate exfoliating bath gel, and scrubbed. Hard.
What she felt went deeper than dirty. It felt unclean. The kind of unclean that came from sin. The sin of feeling for a man who wasn't a man, but a monster.
There was an aspect to her relationship with Spike that she hadn't been able to articulate to anyone, not even to her mother.
The constant feeling of being soiled. Of knowing that she let a man touch her, inside her, whose crimes were unimaginable. The same hands that had murdered children glided over her skin; his body, used to hurt other girls, had given her pleasure.
She tried to block it out. To get past it. But the imagery stayed with her. Haunted her.
A rapist. A murderer. The father of her child. Her lover.
How could she possibly come to terms with all the different truths that made up Spike?
By the time she finished, the water ran pink with her blood, her skin scraped raw.
Buffy dressed without looking at herself in the mirror. Following her nightly routine, she dried her hair and moisturized her skin. As she left the bathroom, she could hear Dawn fussing in her crib. Bypassing her room, she entered the nursery.
"Hey, baby." Buffy smiled down at Dawn. Her daughter smiled back, lifting her feet to show her mother her toes, distressingly covered by her footsie pajamas.
Buffy grabbed Dawn's foot, wiggling it gently. "Don't worry, baby. You'll see them again tomorrow." Buffy picked Dawn up and sat down in the rocking chair. When Dawn nuzzled Buffy's chest, she grabbed her Boppy, positioning it under her arm so she could feed her baby.
The act of nursing Dawn in the half-light of the nursery calmed Buffy in a way that her shower hadn't. It gave her a sense of peace that she'd never experienced in all her life, most especially after her calling. This was her reason for living. Buffy didn't need anything other than Dawn's love. She could go the last few years of her short, violent life with just this. She didn't need the love of a vampire.
Truly, she didn't.
"Buffy." She looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, haloed in the light from the hall. "Xander's here."
Buffy frowned, standing up to lay the now-sleeping Dawn in her crib. She had passed hours holding her child, and hadn't even realized it. She brushed her fingertips across Dawn's downy cheek, feeling all her love for her child swelling in her heart.
"Why is he here this late? Has something happened?" Buffy asked as she passed her mother in the hall.
"I'm not sure."
Buffy nodded, hurrying down the stairs. Xander waited for her in the den, standing near the fireplace mantel, fiddling with the many picture frames scattered on top. When she entered the room, he set down the frame he held, nearly toppling over a few more on the cluttered mantel.
She scurried over, helping him to set them aright as she spoke. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Xander looked surprised. "Yeah. Of course." His laugh sounded a bit off, and Buffy cocked her head to examine him closely. He didn't look injured, and she doubted he'd come to commiserate if he'd fought with Anya.
"Then why are you here?"
Xander shuffled his weight, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his ill-fitting, low-slung blue jeans. The man just could not shop for himself. Anya should really take him in hand, Buffy thought briefly with a small smile.
"I just wanted…" Xander shrugged.
Confused, Buffy sank down in the armchair next to the couch. "Just wanted what?" Buffy asked, afraid of the answer. Buffy just couldn't imagine a scenario where Xander's presence in her house this late at night, acting weirdly, was in any way of the good.
Xander sank into the couch, then shot to standing, nearly tipping over the empty mug of tea Joyce had left out. He moved around the coffee table, pacing with restless energy.
Buffy swallowed hard.
"I just came from Spike's."
Buffy blinked, utterly poleaxed.
"W-what?" She didn't understand.
"He's just." Xander dragged his hand through his hair. "God, Buffy. He's really torn up about this thing between you two."
"Torn up?"
"You're mad that he killed those soldiers. And, yeah, that's bad. But Buffy, can you really blame him? I mean, give the guy a break!" Xander threw up his hands, casting her a chastising look. All she could think about was her mother telling her to have a heart. That was her, heartless Buffy.
She hopped up from her seat, hands on her hips. "I get it, okay. Everyone is all for Spike. Since I'm the Slayer, my story is probably being written down somewhere as we speak and even the readers are all, 'rah, rah, Spike!'" She threw up her hands, pacing to the fireplace.
Xander choked, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand, breaking the tension.
Buffy jerked to a stop in the middle of the living room. "What? Too much?"
"A little. I mean, ego much? Your story's being written down as we speak…"
"Shut up! It's called dramatic license!"
"I think it's called a rant. But all kidding aside, don't you think you're taking this thing with Spike a little too far?" He stepped closer, holding his hand out.
Buffy moved away, heart aching at the thought of being touched when she felt so unworthy of affection. "Right. I'm the bitch and Spike's the loving father figure who's been wronged by said bitch."
"Buffy, I never said that!"
"You don't have to. Gawd, Xander, you're defending Spike. Spike! I must be in the wrong, right?" She turned away, blinking back her tears. Duty, responsibility, self-sacrifice. All those big, mature words. They all came down to one thing. Suckage.
Xander shifted as the edges of a trap formed around him. "I definitely didn't say that."
"That's why you're here, isn't it? To lead the Bad Buffy sing-a-long." She drifted to the mantel, picking up the photo Xander had been looking at when she walked in. Until a few weeks ago, the picture of her eight-year-old self in ice-skates had held pride of place. Now, a photo of Buffy sitting in her rocking chair, Dawn in her lap, took center. She leaned closer, noticing how her smile in the photo looked a little crooked. A little sad.
Xander's sawdust and sunshine scent enfolded her from behind. She allowed him to rub his palms over her arms, trying to draw comfort and failing. "It's not about right or wrong. I'm just trying to understand what the problem is. Spike's changed, even you can't say differently."
"He murdered those men, Xander," she whispered.
"I can't say that if someone pointed a gun at Anya I would react differently." Xander's voice had a hard edge she didn't like. Stepping away, she shook him off.
"Probably not. But then would you go and hunt the rest of the squad down and murder them in cold blood?"
Xander shifted, and Buffy went on the attack. "How'd you feel if you killed someone, Xander?"
His sigh was chest deep and somehow disappointed. "I'd feel bad, but…"
"That's the difference," she snapped, not wanting to hear whatever justifications he'd form – uncertain if she'd stay strong in her convictions if she did. "You'd feel bad. Spike doesn't. He can't, because he doesn't have a soul."
"Spike only killed those guys because they attacked you and Dawn." Xander's voice rose.
"Murder is a symptom of his soullessness." Buffy's voice rose to match.
Xander angled his head, looking down at her from his greater height. "His soullessness doesn't stop him from loving you, Buffy." The look in his eye held certainty as he spoke.
"Fine." She flung up her hands, feeling sick when he flinched. "You make the argument that the state of his soul doesn't matter." She advanced on him, poking him as he backed away. "But does he truly feel regret? Remorse? How many people has he killed over the years, Xander? Men, women, and children. If I piled the bodies on top of each other would it be high enough to climb to heaven?" She looked him square in the eye, when she asked, "Think we'd find William's soul there?"
Xander swallowed, looking away. "Talk about dramatic license," he muttered. His derision only gave her the strength she needed to go on.
"I mean, he only stopped killing a year ago. Before that he murdered at least one human a night for over a hundred years. And we both know it's more than that. But because he thinks he loves me I should forgive him for that? Forgive him even though he hasn't a soul?" Buffy's voice rose to a shriek near the end, but only because the words came to close to her true desires. The desire to forgive and forget and live on.
"I don't think the soul matters that much, do you, Buffy?" Xander asked, voice lowered to a soothing cadence.
Buffy blinked. Xander – Mr. All Vampires Deserve A Good Staking – did not just say that. What was happening? Had the world suddenly gone wonky?
"He can't regret what he did!" This time she did shriek, and Xander flinched away.
"Buffy, is everything okay down there?" Joyce called from the stairs. Buffy jolted back to herself.
"Yeah, Mom. Sorry. We'll keep it down."
"Okay, if you're sure?" Joyce didn't sound so sure herself.
"I'm sure. Go on to bed."
Xander and Buffy stood in the den; the only sounds were their breathing and the ticking of the wall clock.
"I'm thinking lots of people with souls don't regret their evil acts," Xander finally said. "Patel sure didn't."
Buffy rubbed her hand over her face, pausing to press her fingers to her eyes, massaging away a headache. The Initiative labs flashed through her mind. All that evil stewing down in the bowels of that human-spawned hellhole. It made her sick.
"So I should just forgive him and move on, knowing he could give a flying fig about the people he's hurt over the decades? Don't you think I deserve better than a man you can compare on par with one of the worst human beings I've ever had the displeasure of meeting?"
He settled a big hand on her shoulder. "I'm just saying that a soul doesn't really matter. Not when it comes to love."
"Okay, sure. Love makes it so the soul doesn't matter. Do you think that Dr. Patel never loved anyone? Do you think Hitler knew the true meaning of love? If he did, do you think it truly matters? Should I fuck Hitler if he says he loves me?"
Xander recoiled at her harsh language. He eyed her a moment, before saying, "Buffy, even at his worst Spike is no Hitler."
"You're right," she snapped. "Spike didn't discriminate in who he killed. White, black, Jew. Young or old. That totally makes him better."
"Maybe he didn't!" Xander yelled, startling Buffy. Hell, startling himself. "You're right. He's killed a lot of people. Blood is on his hands, oceans of it. But he's changed. Don't you think that means something?"
Buffy eyed him, taking in the judgment stamped on his darkened face.
"Oh." She rocked back on her heels at her sudden conclusion. "I know what you're thinking. I forgave Angel because I loved him."
Xander dropped his eyes to his scuffed work boots, and Buffy knew she was right. The ache in her heart spread, and she pressed her palm to the hollow between her breasts, wondering if the pain she felt was her heart dying.
"A part of me will always love him," she whispered. "But Xander, I was a teenager. I didn't think about what it meant to love a killer. I pushed it away, pushed it down, ignored it until it was too late. Ignored his past. His nature. Everything that he was, just so I could love him. I can't do that again, Xander. I just can't." Her voice broke, her expression ragged. Xander felt her agony all the way into his soul. He moved closer, holding out his arms, but she jerked away, unable to take the comfort he offered.
"If Angel anchored his soul tomorrow," she continued. "I don't think I could be with him either. And not just because I don't love him anymore. But because he's ten times the killer that Spike ever was. But the difference between them is the soul. Angel feels true remorse for his past. Spike can't. He feels no regret, no remorse. If I were to ask him about the hundreds of thousands of people he's killed, he'd tell me that he feels bad about it only because I feel bad about it. And maybe that's a start towards something, but is it enough? How can I possibly forgive someone when they feel no regret? And why does it always come down to my judgment? My forgiveness? Who says I have the power to grant true absolution?"
Xander stared at her for long moments, internal war darkening his normally mischievous eyes. Finally, he seemed to come to terms with something painful and life altering. "I'm pretty sure Anya killed more people than Spike. She caused revolutions and spread plagues. She didn't kill to eat like Spike. She killed because she could, because it was amusing. I know all this, but I love her."
"But she's human now, Xander. She has a soul."
He swallowed loudly, then looked at her with a hard glint in his eyes. "Buffy, Anya may have a soul, but she doesn't feel an ounce of regret for any of it."
The words hung between them, the implication sinking into their consciousness.
He cupped her face in his large hands, leaning his brow against hers. "It's not about granting absolution, Buffy. It's about coming to terms with what you can live with."
"How?" she whispered.
"I can't tell you that. For me, loving Anya is enough. But I'm not a hero. I'm not you. You're the only who can decide to live in fear of the future or in hope of it."
Buffy couldn't blink back the tears any longer. They ran hot down her cheeks. "How can I? What does it mean that he's changed because he thinks he's in love? What happens when he decides he isn't in love anymore?"
The true question was left unasked. What happened when Spike went back to killing and she had to stake him?
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "Do you really believe that he only thinks he's in love with you?" Xander whispered against her hot cheek. "You don't believe, even a little, that he loves you, for real and for true?"
Buffy shrugged him off, wiping her tears so she didn't have to look at him. She couldn't answer that without lying.
"Don't you love him just a little?" Xander closed the distance she made between them, refusing to be pushed away.
Buffy choked on the air that was lodged beneath her heart. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
"Don't you miss him?" Xander pushed.
Buffy broke.
"I miss him so much," she sobbed, tears rolling messily down her face. "I miss the way he tucks my hair behind my ear. The way he presses his hand to my lower back when we walk. I miss having him in my bed. I miss the way he looks at me like I'm the most precious thing on this earth, then backs it up with every word and action.
"I miss being loved by him. Because his love is so special. It's without judgment or reservation. Not like my love, where I erect uncrossable boundaries and make impossible demands. I can't love like him because I'm broken. I've been broken for a long time. It makes me so mad because I want him so badly. Without judgment. Without reservation.
"Instead I did what I was supposed to do, and pushed him away. No! Not pushed. Fucking threw him away. I did my DUTY and now he doesn't love me, Xander. Will never love me. I broke the unbreakable. Go me. The heartless, bitch queen slayer at her best. Ripping, tearing, killing…and destroying! It's all I'm good for."
She moved into him, fisting her hands into his shirt to keep herself upright.
"So convince me that I'm wrong. Please. I'm begging you!" Her legs fell out from under her, and Xander grabbed her by the arms. Together they collapsed to their knees, Buffy bowed beneath the weight of her grief, begging for absolution from what seemed to be her only friend. "Please, convince me…'cause…don't you see…I love him. I truly do."
"Oh, Buffy." Xander wrapped his arms around her frail, shuddering shoulders, pulling her deeply into his chest. She pressed her wet face into his throat, blowing hot breaths onto his neck.
"So convince me, Xander. Convince me that loving him is the right thing. Convince me that I won't regret loving him, that he'll never betray me. Love conquers all, right? Right?" she shook him, nearly shrieking. "So convince me and make it alright to love a man who's so drenched in the blood of his victims that it literally courses through his veins. Convince me to throw away my duty, my calling. Convince me that my family and friends are safe for loving him." She shuddered, her body trembling with the weight of her agony.
"Forgive me for loving him. Please. Forgive me."
Bereft of words, all Xander could do was hold on as she sobbed out all the pain and sorrow that had welled up inside her since the day she'd turned her only true love away.