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Triangle
By spikeNdru, June 30, 2004
Post-The Girl in Question, PG-13, 6,575 words
An unabashedly romantic closure fic.
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Part I: The Immortal
The music was pounding through her in an almost sexual way. She could feel the vibrations in her nerve endings as wave after wave of sound washed over her. She went to the clubs most nights, now. The music, the dancing and the sex that frequently followed an evening of clubbing gave her both a physical release and an excuse not to think. Thinking led to remembering, remembering led to guilt and guilt led to . . . a place she no longer wanted to be.
So . . . guilt-free dancing. And guilt-free meaningless sex. Great sex. Wonderfully satisfying loveless sex that asked nothing of her but that she enjoy herself. So why did she feel so empty?
She had the life she always thought she wanted. An ironic smile crossed her lips. She had always wanted a normal life and, yeah, living in the Eternal City, with an immortal lover, her only family a former ball of mystical energy, isn’t exactly what a 7-11 clerk from Oxnard would consider normal, but for Buffy Anne Summers, former Chosen One, this was as normal as it gets. So why did she feel so . . . lost?
Having hundreds of Slayers all over the world protecting humanity was of the good. At 23, she was pretty much retired. “Slayer Emeritus” Giles had called her. She had done her job—she’d saved the world numerous times. Hey, she’d even died for the cause . . . twice. She’d earned the chance to do whatever she wanted with her life. Problem was, she didn’t know what that was, yet.
Okay. Free association time, Buffy. First answer that pops into your head is the “real one”. *If you could be doing anything in the world right now, what would it be?* Patrolling with Spike. *What do you want most out of life?* Love. *Who are you?* The Slayer. I am the Slayer. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It’s not what I do, it’s who I am. *Then what the hell are you doing frittering away your time dancing in a Roman night club night after night like . . . Nero or whoever it was?* Don’t have a clue. I am . . . clueless. *No wonder you’re depressed!* Hey! That wasn’t a question. *Nope. It wasn’t. Can’t put anything over on perceptive-girl. Okay, question: Talk to yourself often, pet? Cause that's—* What did you call me? *What did I call you? I’m just your subconscious.*
Buffy spun on her heel, pushing through the tightly packed bodies as she made her way to the door. She had to get out of here now. She couldn’t stand this loud, hot, smoky club for one more minute! She needed air. She needed a purpose. She needed . . .
He was beside her in an instant—solicitous, perceptive, caring . . . empty.
“Buffee, my love, is there something wrong?”
“Yeah. Lots of things.”
“And what can I do to help, my heart?”
“For starters, you can call me ‘Buffy’. That’s my name. ‘Buff y’ — not ‘Buff ee.’ God, you sound like Andrew! And I can’t believe I just said that! But it’s true. Lately, whenever you call me ‘Buffee’, my mind sort of adds ‘Slayer of the Vampyres’ in Andrew’s voice and that is so distracting . . . I can’t begin to tell you . . .”
“Aaah.”
“What do you mean ‘aaah’? Are you gonna look wise and tap your chin, next?”
“Therein lies the problem, yes?”
“’Splainey?”
“Being Buffee is not enough for you, my goddess. You are not only Buffee Summers, you are also the Slayer. . .”
“Nope. Not me. Not 'the' slayer. 'A' slayer, maybe. One of many.”
“And you feel diminished, yes?”
Buffy thought for a moment.
“Yeah. I guess I do. I thought empowering hundreds, maybe thousands of slayers would make me feel less alone. Instead. . .”
“You are more alone and isolated than ever. You have lost your purpose. Your raison d’etre.”
“My what?”
“Your reason to be. . .”
“Yeah. . .”
“You are conflicted. You enjoy our time together, yes?”
“Yeah, I do. Really. It’s just. . .”
“It is a ‘vacation’ for you Buffee, not a new life. You needed this time to relax, to enjoy yourself, to fall in love, to forget your responsibilities. . .”
“Um. About that ‘falling in love’ . . . I haven’t . . . I mean, I’m not . . .”
“Ah, yes. I understand. You and I, we are a delicious interlude, but your heart belongs to the two vampires . . . and theirs to you. I could sense it strongly when they were here last night.”
“They? What they? What do you mean ‘when they were here last night’?”
“Angelus and William the Bloody . . . they were in Rome, searching for you. You did not know this? I naturally assumed you chose to avoid them. . .”
Buffy flung up her hand in a *stop* gesture, then raked her hands through her hair and stared at him with disgust.
“What are you trying to pull, Immortal? What stupid, sick game are you playing? Spike’s dead. He sacrificed himself to save the world. I know this. Are you trying to tell me he didn’t die . . . that he’s still alive and never let me know? That’s bullshit! And Angelus? You’re saying Angelus is back. . .”
“Ah. A thousand pardons! Calm yourself, my sweet, and I will explain all.”
“I’m calm!” Buffy gritted out between clenched teeth. “Now start talking—and this better be good!”
“Come. We will walk a ways . . .” The Immortal took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm and patted it.
That condescending pat caused the loss of at least two layers of enamel on her teeth as she heroically refrained from beating him to a bloody pulp.
“Start. Talking. Now.”
“I apologize. I thought you knew all this, of course. I would never have mentioned any of this if I had known it would cause you such distre—”
Her hand tightened on his arm with a vice-like grip. “Stop. Stalling. And. Talk. Right. Now!”
The Immortal sighed and put both hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
“Angelus is still souled, if that is your concern. He is attempting to use the resources of the LA Branch of Wolfram and Hart to do good. He has made many positive changes. Of course, the dear boy won’t succeed in the end . . . Wolfram & Hart is too powerful, but one must respect his idealism. Of course, he is very young. . .”
“You’re saying Angel wasn’t corrupted? He’s still trying to do good?”
“But of course. Did he not tell you this?”
“Well . . . we didn’t . . . we thought . . .”
“Ah. I begin to understand. Your organization assumed he had been corrupted, took the fact that he was running W&H at face value and failed to look any deeper.”
“No! Well, yeah. I mean, we . . . he . . .”
“Do you actually know anything about the being you call Angel at all? Do you know what his life has been like in Los Angeles?”
“There was never enough time . . . and things kept coming up . . . and then . . . I don’t want to talk about Angel! What did you mean about Spike?”
“When he sacrificed himself for the world, he became a Champion of Light. The Powers That Be had need of him, so they brought him back to work with Angel. Of course, like you, Angel let himself be distracted by minutiae and also failed to question or to look deeper. He allowed a former W&H attorney of his acquaintance to take credit for Spike’s return, but that is beside the point. Your two vampire lovers are both alive—or, more accurately—un-dead in LA, fighting the good fight, trying to make a difference, trying to change the world and you are . . . vacationing?”
Buffy slapped his face as hard as she could. He only smiled.
“You bastard! You knew all this! From the very beginning—you knew all this and didn’t tell me!”
“But, Buffee . . . you had only to ask.”
With a glare of disdain, Buffy whirled and ran into the night. She had gone less than a block when she stopped, ripped off her frivolous, strappy, high heeled sandals and flung them as far from her as she could. She ran barefoot as hard and as fast as she was able, trying to outrun the rage and guilt she felt.
It felt good to be running. To push her body to its limits and then beyond. When was the last time she had trained? Had done anything more demanding than dancing? Fighting the Ubervamps in the Hellmouth, that was when! What had happened to her? What had she become?
Angel . . . and Spike . . . Spike was alive? Spike who said he’d never leave her, who said he loved her. . . Spike was alive and never contacted her! Angel knew Spike was alive and never told her! He never said he was, what, “undercover” at W&H? He let her think he had been corrupted and never bothered to explain?
Maybe the Immortal was right . . . what did she really know about his life since he moved to LA? If the Immortal was telling the truth, Angel and Spike had been fighting the good fight while she . . . she had spent the past year shopping and dancing and making love.
A feeling of self-loathing washed over her strong enough to stop her in her tracks, gasping for breath. Giles and Willow and Xander were tracking down and training watchers and slayers. Faith was in Cleveland, actually being the slayer and she—she was *on vacation*? For a year?
Buffy wrapped her arms around herself defensively. She had been drifting . . . and no one pulled her back. No one needed her. She was “retired”. Slayer Emeritus. Out to pasture. And she had not only let it happen, she had reveled in it! Some “Champion” she was! Feeling all “holier-than-thou” with Angel and Spike because she was the Chosen One! She was good and pure and innocent and had been chosen to be a Champion.
Angel was trying to atone for his past—he was fighting for good to make up for all the bad he’d done, but she had been Chosen . . . so that meant she was better than him, right? She fought for good because it was the right thing to do, not to atone for any badness.
Except that she hadn’t been doing much “fighting for good” lately. Oh sure, she still staked the occasional vampire when she came across one during her club-crawling, but it’s not like she went out of her way.
And Spike . . . Spike fought at her side, doing good in defiance of his vampire nature and what did she do? Encourage him like the Champion she was supposed to be? Help him, support him in his quest for change? Nope. She called him an “evil, soulless thing” and told him he’d never be good! And did he accept that? Did he believe he’d never be good because she repeatedly told him so? Did he go back to being evil? Nope. He went and got a soul. Oh, yeah, she was a real champion! Far superior to two evil vampires! Right!
And Dawn . . . she had told Dawn she wanted to show her the world, that she wanted to be there for Dawn. And she did try . . . at first. But then the Potentials started arriving, and The First, and the Ubervamp and Caleb . . . and Dawn got pushed aside again. The Potentials needed her—to protect them, to train them, and all her energy got focused on them and Dawn sort of fell by the wayside.
Why hadn’t she continued training Dawn? Why hadn’t she included her in the workouts with the Potentials? They had no more power than Dawn when they were just Potentials . . . and Dawn was actually a better fighter than most of them. So why hadn’t she included Dawn?
Because, no matter how green or incompetent they were, the other girls were “Potential Slayers” and Dawn was her baby sister? Oh, God! Had she really been that patronizing? Yep. She had. How could Dawn even stand to be around her anymore? And when it was all over, when they’d won and she finally 'earned' her normal life, then she finally gave Dawn the love and attention she deserved, right?
Yeah. She moved them to Rome where they didn’t know anybody, parked Dawn in school and went out clubbing most nights leaving Dawn alone—again—or with Andrew while she 'lived' her normal life, enjoyed her *vacation*. Oh, yeah! She was a shining example of a sister, a Slayer, a Champion. Not!
She had so much to make up for—to Dawn and Angel and Spike and herself. She didn’t even know where to begin.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy sat alone in her dark bedroom.
She had tried to talk to Dawn, to explain, to promise changes, but it had all sounded . . . old. She’d said all those things before and never followed through. No wonder Dawn was skeptical. Nothing she could do about it now. Talking—
reassurances—wasn’t going to cut it this time. She’d have to show Dawn she had changed. And she would. But later—
right now there was something important she had to do.
She had to go to LA . . . see Angel . . . and Spike. Oh, God, Spike! What could she say to Spike? She had to see them both. Find out where they all stood. She’d dithered enough. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life going around half-baked . . .
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Part II: Angel
Buffy got out of the taxi and stood looking up at the huge edifice with the tasteful “Wolfram and Hart” sign in front. She felt a frisson of fear as icy fingers clawed their way up her spine. This place had been a repository for evil for so long it was like a miasma surrounded the building. How could Team Angel stand to work here? How could they force themselves to enter this building day after day if the Immortal had been telling her the truth and they really hadn’t been corrupted? Well, that was a part of why she was here—to see for herself.
Squaring her shoulders, she entered the lobby and paused in the shade of a potted plant. Well dressed employees purposefully went about their business. It all looked so normal. Bright, sunny, it looked like any other thriving, big-city office building. The *ding* of the elevator drew her attention, and as the doors opened, she saw a couple embracing for one last kiss before parting.
Buffy smiled. Good to know romance was still alive, even in an evil law firm! The tall, dark man in the designer business suit brushed the hair back from the face of the attractive blonde with such tenderness it gave her a good feeling. With a radiant smile, the blonde gave him one final, quick kiss and then grabbed for the elevator door before it could close. She slipped out as he held the door for her and turned to watch her go.
Angel? The Italian couture suited 'lawyer' tenderly kissing the blonde goodbye was Angel? Buffy’s mouth dropped open as she turned to stare at the blonde pushing open the outer door and walking rapidly down the sidewalk. Her movement caught Angel’s eye and she turned back to find him staring at her in shock.
“Buffy?”
She gave a little wave and crossed the lobby to the elevator.
“Hey, Angel.” She pasted what she sincerely hoped looked like a friendly smile and not the grimace it felt like, on her face.
The doors again began to close, and he impatiently slammed them open.
“Buffy. What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too, Angel.”
Suddenly becoming aware that he was gaping like a landed fish, he closed his mouth with an audible snap.
“Can we talk?” she asked. “I mean, I know you’re all busy with the firm and . . . everything, but . . .”
He gestured her into the elevator and keyed in the penthouse floor. Buffy studied him while he silently looked straight ahead as the elevator ascended. The doors opened on his private suite and he led her into the living area. Sun streamed through the wall of picture windows.
“How come you’re—”
“Not on fire?” Angel smiled briefly. “Necro-tempered glass. The whole building has it, as well as my cars and plane. Makes getting around so easy, people sometimes forget I’m a vampire.”
“But you never do.”
“No. I never do. Why are you here, Buffy?”
She sat on the couch and was a little bit disappointed when he chose the chair opposite her instead of sitting beside her. Oh, well, maybe it was better this way.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” she began.
He continued to look at her steadily and waited for her to go on.
“We. . . Giles and Willow and I, we maybe jumped to some conclusions about you and what you were trying to do here. . .”
“You could have asked,” he suggested quietly.
“Yeah. And we probably should have, but it just seemed so clear. I mean, you took over Evil, Inc., what were we supposed to think?”
“If you didn’t trust me, why didn’t you contact Wesley, or Fred, or. . .”
“I don’t know, Angel! I did call, to tell you about closing the Hellmouth, and about Spike dying and that we were going to be based in Europe trying to sort out the whole thing with the Slayers, but then, you weren’t exactly forthcoming with us, either! You never told us why you took over W&H or what you were trying to do here. . .”
“Let’s face it, Buffy, we haven’t really been a part of the day-to-day experiences of each others’ lives for years, now. I had my reasons for working from inside W&H and you weren’t a part of them. It was nothing to do with you. I had decisions to make, goals and purposes that were not about you, or us, or your mission. I have my own mission. I had at least thought we were on the same side until Giles and Andrew both told us you didn’t trust us anymore.”
“I should have called. I know that. I was just afraid—” Buffy looked away and twisted her fingers together.
“Afraid you’d call and Angelus would answer?”
“Yeah. I think . . . I think it was better not knowing for sure. Willow and Faith said . . . that Willow had to re-ensoul you again, last year and. . .”
“That was a deliberate decision, to bring back Angelus. Maybe not a good one, but it was deliberate. Wesley hired a Shaman to remove my soul because he thought Angelus had information that I didn’t. Information we badly needed. I . . . I don’t think you’ve ever understood what it means to me to be trapped inside with Angelus ascendant. It damn near destroyed me, Buffy. And I saw how you reacted when I was just pretending to be him when we set the trap for Faith. He’s always there, just beneath the surface, trying to get free and you’ll never be able to deal with that. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to deal with that! I’ve seen it in your eyes. You may think you love me, or. . . at least loved me, but I’m never alone in this body, Buffy. He’s always here, too, and you’ll never be able to totally trust me again.
“I’d like to. I want to. . .”
A brief, sad smile crossed his face for an instant and then was gone.
“I know.”
“Do you . . . do you still love me?” she asked haltingly.
Buffy saw the pain in his deep brown eyes as he tried to answer as honestly as he could.
“I’ve never been much good at talking about my—” his fingers made *air quotes* “ 'feelings', but I’ll give it my best shot. I owe you that.”
Angel leaned forward in his chair and took both her small hands in his large, strong ones. She felt the familiar lurch in her gut that happened whenever they touched.
“You were the first person I ever loved, Buffy. Ever. In 277 years, I have never loved anyone the way I loved you. You made me feel warm . . . included . . . worthwhile. You made me feel like a person. I thought I could go back. Start over. Just be a guy in love with his girl. You gave me that.” A smile touched his lips. “You even got the Scourge of Europe to attend a High School Prom, which, in retrospect, is probably one of the most bizarre moments in my very long, unconventional life.
“I believed I had changed. I believed I was different . . . I could make a difference because of you. And then he came back and it was worse than ever. For a hundred years, I believed he was gone. I was no longer Angelus, but I didn’t know who Angel was. Then Whistler came to me. He showed me a path. He showed me you. And I thought I had discovered who Angel was.
“Then, after the best night of my life, I was sucked down into hell and Angelus took over my body and I was helpless. I can’t describe to you how that felt. Willow might understand some of it, but you never will. You can’t. It isn’t in you.
“Then, I was brought back, and I still loved you, but it was different. It would never be that all-encompassing, passionate, loss of ego again, because I now know what it means to lose myself. I knew we couldn’t be together the way we had been, and so we had to part. And as time went on, we grew apart. We had different experiences, developed relationships that the other couldn’t share.
“Then I learned about a prophecy and thought there might someday be a chance for us. It was always in the back of my mind. Eventually, I started developing real friendships. I’d never had that before, either. The Scoobies were never really my friends, and you and I weren’t either. Spike was right about that. We could be lovers or enemies, but we could never be friends. I didn’t know how to be a friend. Doyle and Wesley and Cordelia taught me.
“Cordelia became an amazing woman, Buffy. We had something special. She became my best friend and then, almost without my noticing how it happened, I realized I was in love with her.
“I still loved you, I’ll always love you. You were my first love, but our lives were so different, and the love I felt for Cordelia had a solid foundation. If we’d have had time to grow . . . develop . . . who knows? But we didn’t get that time. Things happened and I lost Cordy. She’s dead now and we’ll never know what might have been.
“But you . . . my first love . . . I still had hope that maybe someday we could try again.”
“You said ‘had’,” Buffy spoke at last. “You said ‘had hope’. . . not ‘have’?”
Angel shook his head.
“Our time is past, Buffy. We both know it. What we both sometimes long for is what might have been, not what might be. I do love you. You’ll always be important to me, but I’m not in love with you, and you’re not with me, either.”
She nodded. “You’re right. But it’s hard to give up . . . hope. The idea that somehow, someday, things will finally work out and be the way they used to.”
“They’ll never be the way they used to be.”
“No. I feel sort of . . . cheated. Like I’ve spent the past five years being in love with the idea of being in love with you instead of actually being in love with you, you know?”
Angel smiled.
“Yeah. I know.”
“But I still love you, Angel. I still want what we had!”
Suddenly, he was sitting beside her, and she was in his arms. Buffy traced the line of his eyebrow and then trailed her hand down the side of his face. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in the scent of her.
“As long as we both live, we’ll have it . . . in our memories.”
A single tear streaked down her cheek.
“And that’s where it belongs, doesn’t it? In our memories. Our shiny, perfect first love.”
“And now, we have to go on . . . and find new loves, different loves. And by doing that, we honor what we had, because you’re the one who taught me how to love, Buffy, and for that, you’ll always have a place in my heart.”
Buffy smiled through her tears.
“That girl I saw you with. . .”
“Nina? She’s special, Buffy. She’s an art student, lives with her sister and niece. It’s all pretty new. I don’t know what may develop there, but I think I’d like to find out.”
“Wow. You with a normal girl! Having a hard time picturing that!”
“She’s a werewolf.”
“Oh. Good. Makes me feel better, somehow.”
Angel laughed.
“And you with the Immortal. . .”
“Oh, that. That was just a . . . thing. Angel, what I really need to do is to see Spike. Do you have a problem with that?”
Tamping down the atavistic flare of jealousy that always occurred at the mention of Spike’s name, Angel thought about it. Really thought about it.
“No. I don’t. It’s sort of weird, cause I feel like I should have a problem thinking about you and Spike. But over the past year, I’ve spent a lot of time with him. I’ve seen his soul, and I think I’m big enough to be able to see his good points. I still don’t like him. But I understand him, and he’s a good man, Buffy.”
Taking his face in both her hands, she gently kissed him.
“I love you, Angel.”
“I love you, too.”
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Part III: Spike
The British Racing Green Jaguar was decidedly out of place in this neighborhood of rusty trucks and 15 year old Escorts and Cavaliers. Gunn grinned as he smoothly pulled up to the curb. He pointed.
“It’s the basement apartment in that building.”
Buffy smiled nervously. “Thanks.”
“Want me to wait?”
“No. No, I’ll be fine. Thanks again for the ride.”
Gunn flashed a broad grin. “Anything that gets me away from the paperwork and out in the Jag is no trouble at all. Believe Me!”
“Well, good.” Another nervous smile. “See ya.”
She took a deep breath and turned to wave as Gunn pulled away. Buffy bit her lip. Why was everything always so complicated with Spike? With Angel, it was easy. She always knew where she stood with Angel. They had had an actual, defined relationship. They had seen each other as boyfriend/girlfriend and been accepted as such by their friends. They had gone out in public together. When it ended so abruptly and painfully, she had the love and support of everyone who mattered to her. She could talk to them and share her pain. Okay, Xander wasn’t exactly supporto-boy at first, and there was a smidge of “Na na na, I told you so” in his attitude, but when all was said and done, she knew he was in her corner—that he was there for her. He didn’t blame her.
When she continued to love Angel even after it happened, no one told her she 'shouldn’t' love an evil, soulless thing like him, because they all—every single one of them—saw Angel and Angelus as two different people. Even Giles. Even after Angelus tortured him almost to death and killed Jenny. . . he accepted that it was okay to love Angel. They were all glad for her when Angel finally showed at the prom. No one demurred whenever she said she was going to LA to see him.
Spike, on the other hand, elicited entirely different reactions. She wondered why that was. Even without a soul, Spike had worked with them, protected them, cared for Dawn. Every single one of the Scoobies had left Dawn in 'Soulless Spike’s' care at one time or another because they all knew he loved her and would never hurt her.
The mere thought of Angelus anywhere within a hundred miles of Dawn caused Buffy to break out in a cold sweat.
Why were they so different, Angel and Spike? Why was Angel viewed, even now, as the 'love of her life' and Spike as her 'dirty, little secret'?
Even today, it had been easy with Angel. She felt comfortable with Angel. They loved each other, would always love each other, but the relationship was over. They both knew and accepted that, and were okay with it. Game over. Move on. Everything was clear and defined.
Why wasn’t anything easy with Spike? It was all so messy and complicated and confusing!
Being with Angel was like being in the calm, quiet eye of the storm. Spike was the storm. He was like a damn hurricane, buffeting every aspect of her—soul, mind and body. Spike was a bloody 'force of nature', he was! Nothing was ever calm, clear and certain with Spike! Just when she thought she’d finally figured everything out, he’d do or say something completely unexpected and there she’d be—swept up in the whirlwind again.
Buffy paced up and down the sidewalk muttering to herself. A passing bike messenger gave her a curious look and then hastily pedaled faster.
“Oh, good, Buffy! Scare the natives!” That guy thought she was crazy. It was all Spike’s fault! He made her crazy! Always had. Quite possibly, always would. Oh, now there’s a thought! Why couldn’t Spike be just. . . normal. Like a normal guy? Everything would be so much easier if they could just sit down and talk like normal people.
Instead, he’d probably get all perceptive and insightful and confusing until she didn’t know what she was trying to say. He never accepted anything she said at face value. No, he had to dig and twist until she didn’t know what she meant or what she felt and. . . maybe she’d better go away and come back tomorrow. Tomorrow would be much better. She’d get a good night’s sleep and recover from jet lag and be able to put things into perspective.
Okay, Buffy, breathe. . . It’s just Spike! Why are you so crazed about seeing Spike? Isn’t this what you wanted? What you wished for all those nights you cried yourself to sleep after he died—just like after Mom died—and you couldn’t let anyone know how desperately you missed him? That stupid, sarcastic, slimy little weasel had wormed his way into her life, her heart, her very essence, without her noticing . . . until he was gone and then what she noticed was the big hole of emptiness where he’d been. There was the tiny, little “Dad” hole, the bigger “Angel” hole, and the huge, gaping “Mom” and “Spike” holes—she was starting to feel like Swiss cheese!
Buffy squared her shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths. She could do this! She had to do this.
She entered the apartment building and descended the steps to the basement. She knocked. Nothing happened. Oh, God! What if he wasn’t home? What if after putting herself through all this, he wasn’t even here? She knocked again, harder—she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Don’t get your knickers twisted! I’m coming!”
His voice! It was really his voice!
Spike flung open the door and they stared at each other. Buffy could see the emotions pass over his expressive face: shock, joy, uncertainty and finally a guarded wariness. She hated that she could elicit that expression.
“Buffy,” he breathed. His voice was a sigh, a caress.
“You’re really here? Oh, God, Spike, it’s really you. You’re not dead!”
He grinned. “Well, technically. . .”
Oh, great! She’d been here all of 30 seconds and already she wanted to hit him; 31 seconds and she wanted to jump his bones; 32 seconds and she wanted to be back in Rome, safely unaware of his existence.
Those incredible blue eyes that she had never thought to see again, darkened with concern.
“Buffy, are you alright? Dawn! Is Dawn. . .”
“No! No, everyone’s fine. No emergency, no big evil brewing. . .” She tried for lightness. “You didn’t call, you didn’t write. . .”
“I wanted to. . . if you knew how much I wanted to. . . I just didn’t know how. . .”
“It’s easy! You just pick up the phone—” she mimed dialing, “put it to your ear and talk in the other end.”
She saw a shutter come down in his eyes as she felt his withdrawal. She winced, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. I just. . . I dreamed of this day for so long. I thought if I could just see you one more time, I’d talk to you. . . really talk to you and I’d get a chance to tell you all the things I never told you before, and I could make up for all the thoughtless pain I caused you and finally make things right. But here I am, and I don’t know how to talk to you or even how to begin to say what I wanted to, so I’m all nervous and flippant. . . but what I really am is scared!”
His eyes softened as he looked at her.
“Um. Can I come in?”
“Oh. Sorry.” He stepped back and his arm made a sweeping gesture of welcome. “It’s not much. . .”
“No, it’s fine. Much better than a crypt.”
“They don’t really have them in LA.” A fleeting smile crossed his face. “With real estate at a premium here, they tend toward small, tasteful, little bronze markers.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“This is really awkward, isn’t it? Maybe we should just jump into bed and—”
“No.”
“No?” Her voice was tentative and halting. “Are you. . . you don’t want me anymore? I mean, not that I’d blame you. . .”
“I don’t want you like that.” His voice was low and savage. “No more mindless fucking that damn near destroyed us both. You used me to fill the hollow emptiness in you, but you sucked out everything that was me until I was hollow and empty, too. I never felt more alone than when I was with you, Buffy. . . so, you tell me who was the real vampire in our encounters!”
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right! Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
His eyes softened. “That’s the first time you’ve ever really said that to me.”
“I know. And I mean it. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the things I did. . . the way I treated you. When you were dead—when I thought you were dead—” She took a deep breath. She could do this! It was way past time. “There was no big evil that had to be fought, no responsibilities that I could use as a distraction to avoid thinking. . . I couldn’t put off dealing with things because there was nothing immediate and important and world-shattering that I could use as an excuse. I had time to think. . . too much time to think. Everybody had their lives to live and I only had me. And I didn’t like ‘me’ very much. How could anyone else like me if I didn’t even like ‘me’?
“You kept telling me I was perfect and special and wonderful, but I didn’t feel it. I felt petty and bossy and resentful and empty. So how could I believe you when you told me you loved me? I knew I wasn’t loveable, so in my mind, that made you either stupid or deluded or manipulative, and that’s the way I reacted to you.
“I kept telling myself you didn’t really love me—you couldn’t love because you didn’t have a soul, but that was a lie. You were capable of more love than anyone I’ve ever known. But if I accepted that—that an evil, soulless vampire was capable of really loving someone with every fiber of his being, what did that make me, that I couldn’t? I told myself I loved Dawn and my friends—but I didn’t! I didn’t! There was only a cold, dead place inside where the love was supposed to be. Where I wanted it to be instead of. . . nothingness. So who’s the real vampire? You’re right, Spike; it’s me. It’s always been me.”
Buffy discovered she was sobbing—great wracking sobs torn out of her insides, and she couldn’t seem to stop. And then Spike’s arms were around her and he was holding her and stroking her hair and saying “Shush” and “Hush” and “Let it all out, Buffy” and it felt so good, and he felt so good and, God! How she’d missed this!
She clung to him and cried until she felt light and empty inside. But this was a good empty. Scrubbed clean.
Sitting up straight, she ran her hands over her face, tossed back her hair, and smiled.
“I feel like a crockpot!”
He tilted his head and raised one eyebrow.
“Not sure I followed that, love.”
“Okay. I was a crockpot—full of warm, bubbling stew. And then the stew got scooped out bit by bit and there was only a little bit left on the sides and bottom, but the crockpot never got turned off, and after awhile, the remaining stew got burned and hard and crusty, and when I put anything else in the pot, it’d get hard and crusty, too. But now, I feel like the bowl was finally put through the dishwasher and now it’s all clean and shiny and ready to be filled with something completely new. . .”
Her voice trailed off. Oh my God—how lame was that? A crockpot! This may have been the most inane analogy she’d ever come up with! Or. . . maybe not. There was that thing with the cookie dough. . . What was up with her and food metaphors, anyway?
She blushed. “Okay. That sounded really stupid, but you know what I mean!”
Spike smiled and it lit up his whole face.
“Yeah. I do.”
*Spike smiles like a child,* she thought. *Happy, open, trusting, full of love. After all he’s been through, it’s nothing short of a miracle that he can still smile like that.*
She felt an answering smile spread across her own face.
“So, do you think there’s any chance we could maybe start over? I mean, right from the beginning, and do things right this time? Spend time really getting to know each other from where we are right now, without all the baggage?”
“I’d like that,” he said softly.
Buffy stuck out her hand.
“Hi! I’m Buffy.”
He took her hand in both of his.
“Spike.”
THE END
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