Feedback: Very much appreciated.
CHAPTER THREE
-----------------------------
Spike stared at the vision in front of him, knowing full well she wasn’t real. Bloody well didn’t matter that his senses seemed to tell him otherwise. But while his shell-shocked brain struggled to produce some kind of coherent thought, his body responded to a simple, more primal instinct.
Only her swift reflexes stopped him from slamming the door in her face.
Of course, Buffy – this dream Buffy of his – didn’t seem to realize she was a figment of his imagination. She even had the audacity to raise an eyebrow as she stood there, palms flat against the door. A hint of the wry smile returned. “Strangely enough, not the reaction I was going for.” Despite the teasing words, her eyes were locked on his, huge and expressive and totally at odds with her tone. “Can I come in anyway?”
He must have said something in response, but he didn’t know what. His mind was racing too fast for sound to keep up, and he felt the strangest buzzing sensation in his head. By the time the world caught up with him again, she was standing in the middle of his apartment looking fit and tan and indescribably beautiful. A small duffel bag rested on the floor next to her feet. Spike faced her, his back now pressed against the closed door.
As he watched wordlessly, her eyes traveled slowly around the room, lingering a bit on the small kitchen area, the ratty sofa, and the poorly made bed. When she looked at him again, the warmth in her eyes had vanished and her lips formed a hard line. He instantly flashed back to General Buffy calling for the old Spike to make his presence known, and that threw him for a loop all over again.
“So. Did they leave out the slayer radar when they brought you back,” she asked in a flat voice, “or are you just getting sloppy in your second unlife?”
It seemed like forever before he got the word out. “What?”
She folded her arms. “The door? You didn’t know it was me. That’s…not like you.”
He swallowed hard. “Buffy…”
“But then you’ve been doing a lot of things these days that aren’t like you.” Her voice could have frozen a volcano. “Pretending to be dead when you’re really not, for example.”
She was angry with him. Okay. Familiar ground. He could work with that. He cleared his throat. “Actually, pet…”
“Don’t. You. Dare.” She ground out the words. “Don’t you dare turn this into a joke.”
The very tangible pain in her face brought him up short, capturing his attention more effectively than a fist to his nose ever had. It also had a strange calming effect on him. Straightening, he pushed off from the door but moved no closer. “Wasn’t going to, Buffy,” he said quietly. “Was just gonna say there was no pretending to it. I was gone, and then I was back. You know how it happened, right?” He stopped, head tilting. “Who was it told you?”
She glared at him. “Who do you think?”
He grimaced. “Andrew.” Taking her silence as confirmation, he nodded. “Truth is, it surprises me a bit. I never expected he’d hold out, but after seein’ him in Rome, figured maybe I was wrong.”
Something flickered in her eyes and she raised her chin. “He wanted to come. I wouldn’t let him. I thought he might get in the way of my staking you.”
Spike couldn’t help it. He had to smile. “Little angry, are we?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Handling it well…all things considered.”
“Lucky for you, it was a long flight. I lost track of how many times I dusted you in my head, and I got plenty of extra points for creativity. But it’s out of my system now. Maybe.” Her stony expression softened ever so slightly, though it could have been wishful thinking on his part. “Dawn wanted to come, too, but I asked her to wait. She has school to think about, and…I wanted to see you on my own first.”
The mention of Dawn reminded Spike of the letter and a lump formed in his throat. He nodded. “Just as well, I expect. Not sure I’m up to takin’ on the both of you right now.”
Again, something flickered in her eyes. Was it…hurt? Confusion? Maybe a little of both.
“You really are going to make me ask, aren’t you? Okay, then…why, Spike? Why did I have to find out from Andrew that you were back and living in LA? That you weren’t a pile of ashes buried at the bottom of the hellmouth? So, what…did you catch amnesia and forget how to mail a postcard or use a telephone?”
“Develop.”
“What?”
“Develop amnesia. Can’t catch it. It’s not contagious like the flu or somethin’.”
She gaped at him. Then her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He could see storm clouds brewing on the Buffy horizon. “Coward.” She spat out the word.
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. Big fat vampire coward.”
His head tilted. “You trying to start a fight?”
She lifted her chin. “Just making an observation. I find out you’re alive, I catch the first plane out here, I track you down, then when I ask for a simple explanation, all you want to do is dodge the question. I think you’re afraid. An itty bitty ’fraidy cat.”
The initial shock of Buffy’s unexpected appearance had started to wear off and Spike was regaining his equilibrium. He gazed at her solemnly, fighting back a smile. “Right. See, now I’m confused. Are you sayin’ I’m big and fat or itty and bitty? Cause either one, I’m takin’ issue with.”
“You didn’t tell me. You knew what I – ” She broke off, her small yet oh-so-lethal fists clenched in wordless impotence.
“You want something to drink?” It was blurted out, and he wasn’t sure where the impulse had come from, but it seemed only polite to offer. Judging by the look on Buffy’s face, he wasn’t the only one thrown off kilter by his strange gesture.
The nagging need to be in motion finally overcame his sense of self-preservation, driving him forward before she could recover. Giving his pissed-off love a wide berth, Spike moved to the refrigerator and yanked open the door, stooping to peer inside as he hid from her disbelieving stare.
“Let’s see. I’ve got beer and…beer. Oh, and…there’s tap water, too. Wouldn’t recommend it. The pipes, you know.”
He ventured a peek and found her standing with hands on hips, her face a strange mix of emotions. Finally, she shook her head. “I’ll risk the water. But it better be a clean glass or I’ll reconsider the not staking you.”
By the time he had the glass filled, she’d settled onto the couch, her jean-clad legs crossed and her arms folded over her chest. She watched his approach, her expression as closed-off as the rest of her. Eyes riveted to his face, she accepted the water but remained silent.
“I didn’t tell you because…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling as drained as the main course in an all-you-can-eat vampire buffet. He shook his head. “Bloody hell. Look, we can dance around this for hours, neither one of us wanting to say it, but the truth is I knew there wasn’t a place for me in your life anymore. What we had…whatever it was…it was done. Finished. Me hangin’ around trying to hold on wouldn’t have helped either one of us. Would’ve hurt us both in the end, trying to make like I could ever fit in. It’s different here. There are things that need doing and people who think I’m the one to do them. People who…accept me. A little.”
She hadn’t moved since he’d started speaking and Spike found himself wondering if he could really do this. Was he setting things right, or making a mistake? Either way, he was in it now. Nothing to do but plow ahead.
Pacing a few steps away, he stopped and turned to face her head on. “And, yeah, I know I should have told you, but I couldn’t stand to hear that you’d moved on. Or worse…that you’d pretend you hadn’t. That you’d ask me to stay not because you really wanted me there, but because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“And it was more, too. If I’d done that…if I’d faced up to it then…it would have meant letting go of that last little bit of you. For real, this time. Not because you jumped off a tower and not because I had a date with destiny, but because bloody Rupert was right. There’s no future for us. We weren’t meant to be. I wasn’t ready to see that. Not then.”
“But you are now.”
It wasn’t a question, so Spike didn’t bother answering it. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t want to see the accusation in her eyes, or worse yet, the pity.
“Those last weeks in Sunnydale…used to think about what it could have been like. If I’d done things differently. If I’d changed sooner. If it had been me that made it to Sunnydale before Angel.”
He glanced up. “If you hadn’t met him first.”
Spike watched as Buffy unfolded from the sofa with unconscious grace, crossing to the table where she deposited her untouched glass. As she moved, he circled around, warily keeping his distance. Their impromptu pas de deux brought him back to his original position in front of the couch, where he waited, trying to read her intent in the taut lines of her back.
When she faced him again, her gaze was steady. “If it had happened any differently at least one of us wouldn’t be here. In a permanently not-here kind of way.”
Spike nodded slightly. “Reckon not,” he allowed. “But that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?” At her questioning look, he shrugged, equal parts sad and wistful. “Was a time, if I saw something I wanted, just took it. Didn’t let anything stand in my way. People say you can’t always have what you want just because you want it, but I never believed it.” He snorted softly. “Hell, Angelus tried every way he knew to beat it into me, but I was a stubborn pillock. Then you came along.
“How many times did you tell me, eh? That I was convenient. That you could never love me. That there was only one vampire in the world for you, and I wasn’t him. I heard it, but I didn’t believe. Always been hardheaded.” He summoned up a faint smile. “Lucky for you, though…not so much anymore.”
The silence hung heavy in the air between them, like an invisible barrier. It was broken only by the grinding hum of the old refrigerator and the steady drip of water from the faucet he’d failed to shut off properly.
Just when he felt on the verge of exploding, Buffy stirred. Eyes locked with his, she approached with slow, deliberate steps.
His breath caught in his throat, time coalescing into an excruciating suspension of past and present. Then gentle fingers called him back, tracing a feather-light path across his cheek, drifting down his neck and across his shoulder before finally coming to rest over his heart.
“I’m so sorry.”
And he had to let go. For real and forever, even as his heart shattered.
-----------------------------
TBC in Part 4
[Reviews - 32]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2781 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
This story is a Spuffy companion piece (or sequel of sorts) to a very brief vignette I wrote called “Dear Departed.” It isn't necessary to read that one first, but you may understand some things a little better if you do. I posted this story to TSR a long time ago but it was lost not long after that when the site’s server had some technical difficulties. I’m finally getting around to posting it again. Hope you enjoy!