Spike spent his days focused on work, on doing what needed to be done to get his words into print. There, he could find sources for distraction.
The nights, however, were a different story. Sleep proved to be elusive without Buffy there beside him. He'd stubbornly refused to change the sheets, desperate to hold on to her scent, but with time, it faded until he didn't have even that anymore.
She was gone, as were any traces she'd ever been there at all—save for the deep impression she'd left on his heart.
But even through the pain, Spike kept going, even when it was all he could do to keep from letting the loss break him.
He'd made a promise to Buffy, and he would keep it.
So when it became too much, he wrote, pouring his anguish onto the page.
Even without his muse, he still wrote for her.
Buffy couldn't remember a time when she'd felt more humiliated, even when she had to admit she'd been William McGonagall's muse when he'd written his most infamous works.
She'd been assigned to two poets since she'd had to leave Spike, and both had been pathetic examples of inspiration. They'd requested a new muse within a week, one going as far as to say the only thing Buffy could inspire in him was the need for a drink.
Apparently, she had become downright depressing.
It wasn't as if she didn't try to be cheery and helpful, but it seemed as if every aspect of her existence had now become tainted with Spike's memory. She thought about him every second, every little thing seeming to remind her of him.
It seemed her latest poet had gotten sick of dealing with a muse who regularly burst into tears.
Her superiors now believed they'd acted too hastily in taking her off probation and were currently in chambers discussing what would be done with her. She was certain she was going to be relegated back to the file room for the rest of eternity, but she didn't care. It didn't matter where she was anymore.
Anywhere without Spike felt like nothing more than Hell.
She locked herself in her room, sobbing against the pillows on her bed. Her heart was broken beyond repair, and she didn't know what she could do about it. Leaving had hurt her even more than she'd imagined it would, the gaping hole inside of her only seeming to grow larger with each passing day. She found no joy in anything, no reason for laughter.
"Buffy? Buffy, are you in here?"
Buffy sat up and wiped at her eyes when she heard Tara enter her rooms and call for her. "I'm in the bedroom!" she called back.
Tara came into the room then, frowning when she saw Buffy's tear streaked face. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry this is happening to you again," Tara said as she sat down near Buffy on the bed. "You don't deserve to be stuck in that horrible file room."
"It's not the file room," Buffy replied, shaking her head. "I don't care about that anymore. They can banish me to a rock pit for all I care!"
Tara's brow creased. "Buffy? What are you talking about? What's happened to get you so upset?"
Buffy's face crumbled. "Oh, Tara, I've fallen in love!"
"You've fallen in love? Who have you fallen in love with?" Tara asked before she realized the question was foolish. "Oh. Your poet—Spike."
"Yes, Spike," Buffy said. "I don't even know how it happened, but it did, and now…" She trailed off as she slumped forward against Tara.
Tara gently stroked Buffy's back, murmuring soothing sounds of comfort as she tried to calm her friend. After several moments, she asked softly, "Tell me about it?"
With a shuddering breath, Buffy pulled back up. "It happened so fast. He was very kind to me, and he made me feel…special. Like I was truly something to be treasured. You know how sometimes the people we're sent to help can make you feel all used?"
Tara nodded. "I do."
"Well, Spike didn't make me feel that way at all. I didn't feel used, just useful. And he always made sure I was taken care of, did things to make me happy, like buying me ice cream and letting me chose what to watch on the telly."
Buffy paused for a moment in her story, sighing. The memories she held of Spike were bittersweet now, the happy times they'd spent together now tinged with the pain of loss. "I wanted to be around him all the time," Buffy said as she began to speak again. "I felt drawn to him. I even…" She stopped again, then admitted in a whisper, "I even wanted to sleep beside him."
Tara couldn't help the arch of her eyebrow that accompanied Buffy's statement, but she didn't say anything but, "And did something happen from that?"
Buffy nodded, even as she blushed deeply. "He… He kissed me one morning. And Tara, it was the most wonderful thing I had ever felt." Her blush deepened. "Well, up to that point anyway."
Now, both Tara's eyebrows rose. "Did he do things besides kiss you?"
Buffy nodded again. "Yes. He did… Well, he did some really, really naughty things to me. Way against the rules sorts of things. Just not, you know, that. He would do this thing he called 'wanking,' and I'd stay in there with him while he did it and let him touch me. And…and I'd touch him, too."
"A…and you liked this?" Tara asked, unable to hide the surprise from her voice. She'd never known of a muse who had actually crossed such a line with a human she was supposed to help.
Her blush growing deeper again, Buffy said, "I did. Very much. The pleasure, was…well, it was indescribable. He could make me feel things I didn't even know existed until he touched me." Buffy looked down, her hands playing with the fabric of her chiton. "But it was more than just the physical. He could bring me so much joy simply by being near me. I still don't know how it could've happened, but it did, and now that we're apart, I feel like I've been ripped in two."
She looked back up, tears glistening in her eyes. "This feeling inside me, what it's like to be away from him… It's horrible, Tara."
"And this is why you haven't been able to perform your muse duties since your return?" Tara asked as she did her best to process all Buffy had confessed.
"Yes," Buffy told her, glancing down again. "Spike's all I can think about, and when I think about him, I'm sad—too sad to inspire anyone."
"Buffy, have you considered, well, maybe you're not meant to inspire anyone anymore?"
Buffy looked up sharply, hurt in her eyes. "Tara? How…how can you say such a thing?"
"I'm not trying to be hurtful," Tara said quickly, trying to clarify herself before she upset her friend further. "I just meant, well, perhaps your path is a different one now."
"I'm a muse, Tara. It's my purpose."
"Is it?"
"Of course it is," Buffy replied. "As a muse, I have a sacred calling. It's our inspiration that allows the world to be full of beautiful things."
"In my experience as a muse, I've seen there's no thing more beautiful in all of existence than love."
Tara's words made Buffy grow still for a moment before she cocked her head slightly and asked, "What do you mean?"
"You said you don't know how things came to be the way they are between you and Spike, and I can't say I have the answers, either, but perhaps the Powers That Be allowed love to blossom between the two of you because that is your true purpose. Perhaps the love you share with Spike was what you were truly sent down to Earth to inspire."
Buffy was silent for several long moments, contemplating Tara's words. She'd assumed her love for Spike had been some sort of glitch, a product of the Powers either being too distracted to catch the problem or a deliberate game meant to wound. She'd never thought that perhaps she had been meant to fall in love with Spike as Tara was now suggesting.
"Do you really believe this could be possible?" Buffy asked, hope creeping into her voice for the first time in days.
Tara looked into Buffy's eyes. "What does your heart tell you?"
Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My heart tells me that I love Spike." She swallowed. "It…it tells me I belong with Spike."
"Then perhaps you do." Tara reached out, taking her friend's hands lightly in hers. "You spoke of purpose, and I can tell you without any hesitation that there is no greater purpose than love."
Again, Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she felt herself being pulled in two different directions. "Should I go to him?" he asked, her voice sounding small.
Tara's answer echoed her earlier sentiments. "Listen to your heart, Buffy. It will tell you what to do."
Buffy listened, and received all the answer she needed.
She loved Spike.
She leaned forward, hugging Tara tightly. "I'll miss you," she whispered in the other muse's ear.
"I'll miss you, too," Tara said, tears forming in her own eyes now.
Buffy stood, though she faltered, standing beside the bed as she was unsure of how to leave. "I…"
"Go, Buffy," Tara said with a soft smile. "Their deciding what to do about you right now, and if they declare you grounded to this plane, then you'll never be able to get back to him. This is no time for long good byes."
Buffy gave a quick nod, knowing Tara was right. "Thank you," she said before she closed her eyes and disappeared in a shimmer of light.
Tara wiped her eyes. She would miss her friend dearly, yet she could take comfort in the knowledge that she would be happy.
"Live well, Buffy," she whispered before she left the room as well.
Spike hated coming home.
His flat seemed too empty, too quiet, a space in it now nothing could fill.
Nothing but Buffy…
He'd gone out that evening, trying to find distraction with his mates, but had ended up leaving the pub early, his old haunt suddenly no longer holding the joy for him that it used to.
Nothing held any joy for him anymore.
Since she'd left, he'd felt as if he was doing no more than going through the motions, waking up each day and doing what needed to be done simply because he'd made the promise to her that he'd do so.
It had him exhausted, and he didn't know how much longer he could continue. Every day without her was a little bit worse than the one before, and he feared that as time wore on, he'd have to break his promise.
Facing the morning was just too hard when he wasn't able to wake with her in his arms.
Tired and worn, he trekked to the bedroom, his eyes cast down as he opened the door, ready to simply fall into the bed and try to seek the sliver of peace he could find in unconsciousness. Perhaps tonight he would dream of her again.
Then he heard it, a small mewing sound that pierced his heart. Fearing he'd see nothing when he looked, yet unable to convince himself until he faced the inevitable disappointment, Spike lifted his head.
And there, sitting on his bed in much the same way she had been the first time he'd seen her, was Buffy.
Wasn't that a completely evil place to leave it? Please don't hurt me—I promise to make it all better on Tuesday!
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