Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

beneath you	By : agalaxyinblueeyes Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 1505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-beneath you
- 2-One
- 3-Two
- 4-Three
- 5-Four
- 6-Five
- 7-Six
- 8-Seven
- 9-Eight
- 10-Nine
- 11-Ten
- 12-Eleven
- 13-Twelve
- 9
- 10
- 11
Disclaimer:

Remember, these guys don't belong to me. Pfft... Joss, that big
meanie. I only asked to borrow James for an hour!

beneath you

part nine

Spike was NOT happy.
The minute he'd walked into the house, still
laughing at Buffy's little slip-up, Giles had practically
attacked him, dragging him into the kitchen. When the rest of the
gang had entered (and Spike hadn't failed to notice that Xander's
eyes were still seething with hatred whenever the boy wasn't
pretending to avert his eyes), Giles had already been well into
questioning him about his trip.
He'd relayed the information the best he could
-- after all, everything had gone a bit fuzzy since he'd received
his soul. It was clearer now than it had been the first week, but
it was still all hazy. Needless to say, Giles had been absolutely
fascinated.
"Where did you hear of this
legend? How did you manage to get to Africa? What was the name of
the tribe that took you in? Where was the cave? What were the
tasks you had to accomplish? Why aren't you dead?"
Actually, the last one had been from Xander,
which had managed to earn him a dirty look from Buffy and Dawn
both. And those were just a few of the many questions that he'd
been bombarded with. Luckily, the doorbell had rung, announcing
the delivery boy's arrival with the food, and Giles's
interrogation had thankfully been cut short.
Thank the Lord that there had been a lot of
really good food, and five extremely tired, extremely hungry
White Hats there. By the time Spike had finished shredding his
sweet-and-sour pork into tiny little pieces with his molars and
incisors, Giles had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the couch
with a cup of tea (thankfully not in hand when he actually did
collapse -- that would have been
painful).
He sighed with relief when Anya and Xander
shoved off, and the rest of the house went to sleep. Buffy hadn't
been able to meet his eyes for the rest of the night, and though
it amused him greatly when he remembered why, her actions were
all-too-familiar, painful reminders of her attitude towards
him... before. Naturally, he was more than happy to have some
time alone to himself.
He still loved her; this was a given. He
couldn't just unlove her, after all.
But now it seemed that she had a thing for him,
and he couldn't make heads nor tails of it. Granted, he'd known
that she'd fancied him for quite a long while -- that pre-wedding
couple-ness that Willow's spell had tossed them into... as well
as the kisses... and the groping... had somehow managed to
bombard his mind when he'd least expected it.
It would be a terrible, awful lie if he said
that he hadn't enjoyed some of the... er, situations that his
extremely creative imagination had placed them in after that. And
he knew Buffy would be lying if she
said she'd never thought about it. Ten to one, she'd imagined the
feel of Spike's hands and body every time Captain America hadn't
been able to launch her the right way. She should have just come
to terms with it -- Riley, as a mortal, just could not
live up to the sexual stamina of the Slayer. A couple of thrusts,
and Riley would've been shot for the night, while (Buffy had
learned not too long ago) Spike could, in fact, go all
night long.
Ahem. Not gonna think about that. He mentally
admonished himself. He was supposed to
be trying to figure out why Buffy, after years of rejection, and
mental and physical abuse, had suddenly decided he was the hot
and yummy, perfect, loving boyfriend-type after all. Gah... the
woman drove him absolutely mad.
It figures, mate. You finally
accept that the Slayer's not gonna get down an' dirty, an'
actually love you, and here she goes, meddlin' things up again
inside your head!
ARGH! He HATED it when she did this to him! As
if she hadn't tossed him in and out with the damned mind games
last year!
He'd been wondering how to deal with the
situation of his feelings for Buffy, should the circumstances
ever have risen when he would come face to face with her. Well,
he'd been face-to-face with her successively now, for the last
seventy-two or more hours. And his decision was weighing even
more heavily on his nerves. Usually it was Buffy who pulled the, 'I
need to be strong, I can't live by my emotions' bullshit
that usually got her a severe ass-kicking, but now it was Spike's
turn. And he had no doubt that his feisty little girl wasn't
going to be too pleased about it. After all, if Spike refused his
daily routine Kick-The-Puppy job, who was that going to leave
Buffy with?
Well, Harris, maybe, but he was human, for one
-- wouldn't be able to take it. And second, he was still trying
to get back into Anyanka's good graces in hopes she wouldn't
build an 'I Hate Xander' fan club and use her powers to fricassee
him. Although it would be enormously hilarious to see the
self-righteous little prat run screaming down the street with his
head on fire.
He shook his head and made headway for the
kitchen. He needed something comforting, something soothing,
something loving...
Sigh. He needed Joyce. The woman had always
managed to be there for him... even though she hadn't exactly
been pleased with the truth of Spike's feelings for Buffy toward
the end. But still. She'd been as good to him as his own mum had
been. Just then, he could have sworn his heart had suddenly,
painfully pulsed with the desperate edge of regret for not
getting the chance to smooth things over with her before she'd
passed. He missed Joyce -- truly, truly missed her. The elder
Summers woman had been one-of-a-kind and, though the Slayer and
her friends hadn't deemed him worthy to be informed of her
untimely, and unfair, demise, she had taken away a part of him.
She'd taken away part of the humanity he'd still managed to have
left inside of him, part of the humanity that she, and Dawn, and
Buffy had managed to replace.
God. He really wished that there was a way to
bring the woman back. He really needed
to unload. And he really needed her hot chocolate.
What the hell was he bitching for? She'd shown
him the recipe, for Christ's sake! He smiled wryly to himself.
She'd shown her family recipe to him,
so he could make it. She'd shown it to
Dawn as well, the cocoa being the only thing the teenager could
really make without somehow managing to set fire to the curtains
all the way on the other side of the kitchen from the stove. But
Joyce hadn't shown the recipe to Buffy. And frankly, he still
couldn't understand why.
Gathering all the necessary tools and
ingredients, Spike set to work, and within minutes, he was
sitting down at the island, his head bowed, his hands around the
warm, fulfilling mug.
Mentally, he asked himself if this was all
worth it. All of... this, going to Africa in the first place,
coming back to Sunnydale, coming here,
to the Slayer's home, yards away from where he'd actually had the
nerve to... "convince" her to love him, all to end up
with his chip out of his head, and a soul that made him regret
ever having been brought into the world.
The only reason he had stayed here tonight was
because Dawn had batted those beautiful blue eyes at him, begging
him to stay.
He smiled gently when he thought of Dawn. He
wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone who wasn't her, or Buffy for
that matter (and probably not even them), but he absolutely
adored the girl. He'd been wary of her when Dawn had deemed him
'cool' and had started visiting him at the crypt, when he
realized that she found him intriguing and knew she wasn't
afraid. Oh, no, not his little Dawnie. Never afraid of him. He
had a fond recollection (though he knew it wasn't real) from
years ago of a pair of glimmering blue eyes, gazing defiantly at
him as he set foot into the Summers' living room to plot Angel's
downfall. Dawn, in typical rebellious twelve-year-old fashion,
had turned her nose up at her mother's request for her to go to
bed, opting instead to see "what the latest fashion crisis
the Hellmouth decided to spit out now."
He chuckled silently when he recalled the
indignant snort he'd given her, coming quite close to threatening
to eat her before realizing that a very formidable duo of mother
and Slayer were in the room, and that there were more pressing
matters at hand.
When he thought of Dawn... it was worth coming
back. It was worth the dirty looks Harris gave him, the furtive,
unsure frowns Giles sent his way, the fishhooks that tended to
curl Anya's eyebrows from memories of their last... meeting, the
slight anxiety that radiated from Red, and Buffy's tentative
glances and general uneasiness. Dawn was the closest thing he had
to a sister, and she had been the only one that hadn't shunned
him for what he physically was, aside from Joyce. Dawn was worth
it. And he owed that girl a lot.
"Spike?" A soft, sleepy voice came
from the doorway. The blonde tilted his head up curiously,
frowning slightly when he saw Dawn.
"Dawn-luv? What're you doin' up?"
Dawn shrugged, rubbing her left arm and
yawning. "I wasn't tired," she said, directly after.
Spike smirked. "Is that so, pet?"
She grinned sheepishly. "Okay, so I wanted
to come see you when Giles wasn't making an absolute lunatic of
himself for information. Don't tell me you weren't glad to see
him finally go to sleep?"
Spike held up his hands, smiling gently.
"Caught me. What'd you wanna see me for, Bitlet?"
She stumbled toward him, cringing slightly as
her bare feet came in contact with the cold kitchen floor. She
plopped down with little grace onto a stool next to him before
resting her head on his arm. "Just wanted to see how you
were holding up. You looked fine when you first got here, but you
got more quiet as Giles's interrogation went on." She smiled
at him slightly, looking up. "He's always yelling at Anya
for not having any tact, but it's kinda the pot calling the
kettle black, you know?"
Spike sighed, shaking his head. "Better
believe I do."
He became silent after a bit, for so long that
Dawn thought he'd nearly frozen on her. Gently, she nudged him in
the side. "Well? Are you?"
He glanced at her. "Am I what?"
"Okay. All right. Calm. Peaceful, serene.
You know, the opposite of what Giles made you feel?"
Spike snorted. "Don't know if there's a
full recovery from that, Bit. But yeh... 'm all right. Better'n I
have been, last coupla weeks."
Dawn sat up. "Is it 'cos of being here,
with me and Buffy? Or is it the soul?"
Spike raised his eyebrows, contemplating it for
a moment. "Normally, I'd say it was the soul, full stop.
Angel was one thing - I was something completely different. Angel
was forced to accept his soul, I got mine back, my original one,
on my own. I just figured... it might be different for me. I
killed people, I know I did. An' I feel guilt, I do. But for all
I've done, I was never as bad as Angelus. I had my moments, yeh,
but I don' think anyone could've passed up Peaches in the evil
department. But to answer your question, ducks, I think 's both.
'S more'n common sense, you know. 'S... instinct, almost. Bein'
here, 'round you, an' Buffy, bein' back here in this bloody
Godforsaken little town... Make's it better. Just a little
bit."
Dawn leaned her arm on the countertop to stare
at him properly. "Spike? Are you glad you came back to Sunnydale?"
Spike smiled, reaching his hand up to muss up
Dawn's already messy hair. "Nibblet. When I see you, an'
when I see Buffy... I don't think I could ever be more
glad." An enormous smile broke out over Dawn's face, and she
giggled in agreement at Spike's next words: "I still bloody
hate this town, though."
"I always expect you to," Dawn
answered, eyes crinkling. She brightened slightly when she saw
Spike's mug. "Is that Mom's hot chocolate? Is there more? Or
did you drink it all?"
He waved vaguely in the direction of the stove.
"There's more. 'S in the pan. Figured I'd leave some for you
an' Big Sis, Red an' Rupert, but if you drink it all... well,
more's the pity, eh? 'S not my fault."
Dawn snorted as she wandered to the cupboard,
snatching out a mug before meandering toward the stove, and
pouring whatever remained of the hot chocolate into it. "Oh,
sure! Blame it all on me, it's my fault!"
Spike raised his eyebrow at her, nodding to the
now-empty saucepan. "It is all
your fault. You just snatched the rest of it, pet."
"Minor technicalities."
Spike leaned forward on the island, putting his
head in his hands. "'m gonna have to make more, aren't
I?"
Dawn grinned. "Yuh-huh."
"Get the milk out, Nibs," he ordered,
pushing himself out from under the countertop, standing up and
shuffling to the stove to continue slave labor. He heard another
derisive snort and turned to the side to look at Dawn, whose arms
were folded tightly across her chest.
"I don't wanna get the milk. I wanna pour
the Hershey's. Then you can put in the milk and chocolate chunk
bits," she announced clearly, head high.
Spike scowled. Okay. Maybe he hadn't missed
Dawn all that much... "Dawn, just
get the milk, 's not gonna kill ya."
"Yes, it will," she replied cheerily.
His frown deepened, and he moved toward a
cupboard to get the chocolate sauce. "All 'm asking for is
the bloody milk, Dawn. Now, Be
a perfect little love, and get
it."
"Not with you ordering me around like
that."
Spike closed his eyes as he pulled out the
contents necessary, before standing up straight and squaring his
shoulders. "I take it, then, that you want
me to inform Buffy of a certain incident involving, say, your
mum's old Jeep?"
That did it. Pretty eyes widened and Dawn raced
for the fridge, dancing back to him with the milk carton in hand.
"Got it!" she said, a painful-looking smile stretched
wide across her face. Spike smirked, taking it from her and
pouring the right amount of milk into the saucepan before handing
it back to her. Dawn dutifully returned the container back to the
refrigerator's cool confines, then remained silent and at
attention at Spike's side when she returned.
After about a minute, while watching him break
off pieces of chocolate, she spoke up again. Pretty damn good. She lasted a whole fifteen seconds more'n last
time. "So... can I pour the Hershey's
now?"
Spike snatched the bottle to his chest
protectively. "No."
Dawn's eyes widened, and she immediately made a
grab for it. "Please?"
"No! You'll bugger it up somehow an' I'll
end up covered in it!"
Dawn tugged harder. "No you won't! You are
safe from the chocolate sauce, I promise! Just lemme pour
it!"
Spike held on as tight as he could, not
noticing when the cap popped off. Dawn pulled the bottle to her
slowly but surely, her feet slipping along underneath her,
pulling her towards Spike. Spike gritted his teeth, tugging it
back. It was amazing, really. Dawn was almost matching him in
strength, and she didn't even have any of the powers of a Slayer.
Unfortunately, Dawn apparently really did
hold a woman's prerogative to change her mind, and she suddenly
decided that her arms were becoming sore from the impromptu
tug-of-Hershey's-war. Which meant letting go of the bottle.
Causing Spike to tighten his hold on it and stumble backwards,
squirting himself right in the face, from slick blonde hair to
muscular white neck. With chocolate. Room-temperature, sticky,
brown, incredibly-hard-to-wash-out chocolate sauce.
Dawn's eyes widened. Not just from the
incredibly huge mistake of inadvertently pouring chocolate over
Spike, but... well... Chocolate-Covered Spike. It just had a
really nice ring to it.
Spike scowled at her. "Safe from the
chocolate sauce, eh?"
Dawn grinned sheepishly. "Well... you would
have been if you'd have just let me pour it."
"Nibblet..."
"Sorry..."
"What's going on down here?" a new
voice, laced with a wide yawn, popped out from the otherwise
silent kitchen. Spike and Dawn both turned to witness a
pink-jammies clad Willow, stumbling barefoot into the kitchen,
rubbing at her eyes. She stopped still when she saw the brown
liquid mass formerly known as Spike. For a second (through
chocolate-smeared eyes), Spike thought he saw a tiny smirk quirk
her lips. Then, slowly, without missing a beat, she turned and
headed toward the living room.
"Buffy! Dawn melted Spike!"

Buffy closed her eyes, her head
resting in one of the hands she had leaning on the kitchen
counter. After Willow's slightly amused summons, she'd raced down
the stairs expecting to find a pile of ash on the floor,
considering that when vampires melted... well, they didn't turn
into a big puddle of formerly human goo. And it wasn't like she
was really scared for Spike anyway. He could take care of
himself; he didn't need the Big Bad Slayer to fuss and coddle
him.

Okay, so really, it was no use
trying to delude herself. The face must hide what the heart doth
know. Or something like that. It was from Macbeth, she knew that
much, and she probably got it wrong anyway, but what was wrong
with a little modifying? Anyway, she knew very well that it was
full-fledged terror that had been stampeding through her veins
when Willow had called her down. She'd honestly thought that Dawn
had somehow managed to light the vampire on fire, and she'd be
seeing nothing but the really dusty version of Spike's impromptu
attempt to Play Dead.

Instead, she'd gotten all worked
up and scared, running down the stairs in a blind panic, only to
find a chocolate-covered Spike -- so so
not what she needed to see, especially the way she'd been feeling
around him lately. Sex dream about Spike, coupled with the shock
of seeing him looking (absolutely yummy)
ridiculous covered in chocolate sauce kinda made things worse.

So now, she was trying to find a
way to get back to sleep and trying to calm her frazzled nerves.
Not that she'd been sleeping all that well in the first place.
Spike knew about her dream, the smug bastard, and though he'd
obviously been amused, he had (somehow unexpectedly) decided not
to push it with her. He hadn't said a thing about it, and it was
really, really... surprising. Well, it shouldn't have been,
really. He was still Spike; he just had a soul now.

He must have inherited the tact
he'd formerly had right along with it.

Stop being mean! the Pro-Spike side of her brain scolded.
If it wasn't for you playing push-and-pull with him, he could've
been nicer without the soul. You forced him to get it, so now if
he's all kind and gentle and nice and weepy, then it's your
fault, so you get to
deal with it!

She's got a
point, said the other. Even
if he is obsessive and
freaky and downright scary sometimes, you pulled him further into
it, and into your own messed up life. Suck it up and stop trying
to trade it off already!

Great. Even the Anti-Spike side
was against her. I thought you hated him and
everything he stood for! she accused angrily.

Anti-Spike sighed and rolled her
not-really-there eyes. I did. Till you warped
him, and he got a soul. Plus, now that I think about it, he is
pretty hot. I can see why you listened to her
so much last year, she finished, gesturing to
Pro-Spike.

Pro-Spike jumped up and down,
clapping her hands giddily. I KNEW you'd see it
my way sooner or later! Score one for me!

Buffy's head jerked and she lifted
her face up from where it had fallen into the table. Okay. This
mental conversation was getting a little too freaky, even for
She-Who-Hangs-Out-In-Cemeteries. Seven years of really crappy
relationships combined with the paranormal and
the abnormal, not to mention the whole slaying gig and constantly
arguing with her inner self (or selves, in this case) was enough to
make anyone beg for a lifetime in the local mental institute.

Fortunately, she wasn't completely there yet.
She figured she had about one more apocalypse to go before she was allowed to be
dragged in, kicking and screaming. It was times kinda like this when she
wondered why the OtherWorld hadn't worked out. Then she remembered -- Big Stinky
Demon with a habit of stabbing and filling someone with hallucinogens.

Apparently, she'd managed to bore
Pro-And-Anti-Spike with her train-derailing-the-track thought processes. They
were both crying out, in a subtle sort of way, for more Spike.

Well, they were just going to have to survive
without any. Spike-thoughts were bound to make her head hurt. Not like it
already didn't, but she was definitely feeling end-of-the-world sized migraine
potential there.

"Pet?"

Strike that, make it universal annihilation.

Wearily, she glanced up, then jumped back when
she realized just how close to her he really was. "God! Don't do
that! It was annoying without the soul, and it still is with
it!"

That's it, be Snarky!Bitch!Buffy.
Ignore the fact that the Blue Eyes from Hell are boring right through you. Don't
pay any attention to the fact that his hair's all wet and mussed and curly. Stay
away from the ideas that are popping into your head because he's obviously still
wet from his shower. Don't look at the way that T-shirt is practically molded to
his chest, and don't think about the fact that his jeans are so tight that --
Ack!

Spike snorted mirthlessly. "Good to know
've still got what it takes to make you nervous." Buffy squawked
indignantly, but Spike, rolling his eyes, continued. "Shut up, would you? I
need to talk to you about something."

She had half a mind to squawk even more, and
then punch him in the nose for telling her to shut up, but there was something
in his voice that made her... well, shut up. She frowned. "What is
it?"

Spike sighed, scratching his head. His little
fiasco with the kitchen-ware and Dawn had tossed his mind right off the track it
had been driving on... not like it had actually stayed there for very long when
the AD part of his ADHD had kicked in... But he'd had enough time to himself in
the shower to think about it now.

It was time that he started to think about
things without Buffy obnoxiously shoving her way through everything he said and
did. He had a soul now -- he really didn't want to be Depression
Guy, and he'd stake himself if he got all broody like his grandsire -- and
damned if he did, damned if he didn't, he was going to use it to its full
potential. No more living life trotting after the Slayer as her lap dog. No more
letting everyone else walk all over him, especially that pansy, Harris. He loved
Buffy -- he would always love her -- but he was finally going to move on.

Considering he'd had over a hundred and twenty
years of being 26 to grow up, he thought it was pretty damn amazing that he'd
finally done it. Love's Bitch was no more.

" 'm over you."

"Gwah?"

Buffy's jaw had flapped open. Vaguely, she
became aware of this, and managed to snap it shut again, but words failed her,
and her mouth began opening and closing like a trout gasping for water.
Eventually, she managed to draw out something that was classified as human
speech.

"O-Over me?" As opposed to
when you were under me? Ooh. Bad Buffy.

Spike bit his lip. Eek. He looked nervous. This
wasn't good. The only other time he had ever looked nervous was the first time
he'd told her he loved her, and she'd rejected his pleas for a crumb with a
resounding "No," and a punch to the face.

Crap. This meant he was telling her the truth.
Not the snarky, 'Kick my ass if you don't like it' truth, but the 'I'm being as
honest as possible, and I'm sorry' truth.

Breathing. Calm. Don't
hyperventilate. Maybe you misheard him. Over you? Bah! This is Spike! He doesn't
get over anyone!

"Yeah. 'm over you." The widening of
her eyes, not to mention the stunned, murderous look in them aroused his
self-preservation instincts and he instantly backed away, hands up in surrender.
"It's nothing you did, pet, I swear it. I love you, I do, I always
will." He looked up at her, biting his lip again. "Don't think I could
survive if I didn't."

It was out -- that had been the first time he'd
said he loved her since she'd discovered him at the crypt. He hadn't even told
her that when he had relayed his journey to her. Buffy swallowed heavily.

This... this wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to
do this to her. She was supposed to be the one that always broke up with him,
not the other way around! Not that they were together. Not together equaled no
breaking up-age. But still... he was the one calling for the endage of their...
non-relationshippy relationship... thing. It felt like her heart was being
ripped out.

Spike was supposed to be the one who'd stay.

He seemed to be reading her mind. " 'm not
goin' anywhere, luv," he murmured gently, coming forward again, kneeling in
front of her. He took her hands and tentatively covered them with his own,
relaxing a little when she didn't flinch, jerk them away or punch him. " 'm
still gonna be right here in Sunnyhell. 'm still gonna be here whenever you an'
Bitlet need me." He glanced up at her, his eyes begging and pleading.
"But I can't wait for you anymore, Buffy. I can't just sit there anymore
an' hope that everything you say or do in front of me is one day gonna
magickally tell me that you love me."

Her world was shattering. "B-But..."
I
do love you! Ask me! I'll tell you! I swear I will, just don't go! Don't
leave me like the others! she wanted to cry out. The best she came
up with was, "Why? I mean... you know about my dream, so... why?"

A fond smile crossed his lips. "It's not
the dream, luv, though 'm flattered you still think about me that way." He
looked up at her then, solemnly, all his adoration and devotion still conveyed
plainly in his eyes. His answer broke her heart. " 'S because I need to
live. I love you more'n life itself, Buffy, more'n anything 've ever loved in
this world. But 've got to move on. This thing... between us, whatever it is...
's not going anywhere. Never will, because you don't love me, an' I don't expect
you to. I don't deserve your love." He took a deep breath. " 'm not
leavin' forever, pet. 'm always gonna be one crypt away, whenever you need
me."

He stood up, and suddenly, Buffy panicked.
Despite his assurances that he wasn't leaving Sunnydale, that he would still be
around for patrolling or for assisting to take down the next apocalypse, or
hell, even for keeping a promise to Dawn for a game of cards, she desperately
reached for his hand when he turned to leave the kitchen. The familiar electric
bolt made itself known, leaping between their bodies with enough power to send
them flying apart. Spike turned back, his lower lip trembling, with questioning
eyes.

Buffy sucked her lower lip in self-consciously.
She nearly withdrew her hand and reverted to Self-Righteous Bitch!Buffy, but all
at once, Pro-And-Anti-Spike began bombarding her mind. Say it! Don't
let him walk away! Say it, Buffy, say it! shrieked Pro-Spike,
while Anti-Spike hollered Don't you dare pull the bitch card! I will
give you such a migraine if you even think of pulling the bitch card!
As if to reinforce that threat, she felt a twinge of pain along her temples.
Jesus Christ, her voices were manifesting themselves.

Well, as long as they didn't turn her into
Drusilla. They'd made their points loud and clear.

She swallowed hard, squeezing his hand gently.
"Please don't leave, Spike?"

Spike's back went rigid -- she could feel him
tense right through her connection with his hand. He straightened and looked
down at her. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. "Give me a
reason."

She frowned. "What?" Okay, weird.
She'd thought that by simply asking him, he'd automatically turn back, scoop her
into his arms and plaster kisses all over her face, telling her he wouldn't
abandon her after all.

"Give me a reason why you want me to
stay," he repeated. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum, luv. Not
intentionally. I'm just asking... if you feel anything for me... at all. If you
can even give me the slightest hint that one day, you could ever... care
for me..." His gaze turned pleading. "Buffy, please. If there's any
part of you at all that could ever love me, tell me now. Please. Don't let me
walk away from you, I'm beggin' you."

It was so obvious he didn't want to leave her.
She knew instantly, no matter what he said, that he would never, could never
truly be over her. He wanted to stay with her, wanted to be given a reason to
stay so he wouldn't completely break her, even if he had to wait for an eternity
to hear something affectionate from her. He wanted hope, and at least the
tiniest bit of kindness. That was all. And Buffy had the answer he wanted.
Pro-Spike was hollering her head off now. This is your chance! Tell
him! TELL HIM! Tell him you love him!

Buffy started to open her mouth... and nothing
happened.

Spike swallowed roughly, taking that as his
response. "Right." He ducked his head, refusing to look at her. "Shouldn't've
gotten me hopes up." He smiled at the floor grimly, drawing a deep breath.
"I mean, even with the bloody soul, 'm a horrible thing. Can't see why you
would." He heard her draw a sharp breath and start to speak, but held his
hand up. "Don't. Please, Buffy. Just... let me have the little bit of
dignity I have left. Okay?" He looked up and smiled weakly. " 'S
better this way, anyway. You wanted normal, right? Vampire who willingly got his
soul back... not exactly normal."

He leaned down, kissing her forehead. " 'll
see you 'round, sweetheart."

He walked out the backdoor, not looking back.

And Buffy stared in stunned silence after the
man she'd just let pass her by.

Spike had nearly made it to his crypt before
he'd broken down. His shoulders began heaving and shaking, and he began
breathing heavily, uncontrollably, nearly hyperventilating. By the time he'd
made it to the cemetery gates, he was full-on sobbing, resting his head against
the wrought-iron gates and gasping out his agony.

Leaving Buffy the way he had was most
definitely the hardest thing he'd ever done. It had to be -- he hadn't cried
this hard since her funeral. Now, telling her he was over her, accepting that he
had to move on, was getting to be his biggest regret.

How could he ever move on from Buffy?

And, after all, if he was so over her... then
why was his heart breaking into infinitesimal pieces on the ground?

When his sobs had slowed to whimpers, and the
whimpers to sniffles, he entered the cemetery, wiping his eyes with the backs of
his hands furiously. He hated this -- he hated every single bit of it. Why
couldn't the bitch come down off of her pedestal for just ONE second and admit
what Spike had known since the minute he'd first laid eyes on her? Why couldn't
she ignore her stupid sacred duty bullshit spiel and her even more idiotic
friends' opinions about him for once, and just admit that she loved him?

But fine. If she didn't want to say it... well,
he couldn't force her. Maybe, one day, she'd learn to think for herself. Maybe
one day, she'd stop listening to everyone else's convictions and admit it, to
him, and herself.

And when that day came... wherever he was,
whatever he was doing, whoever he was with... he'd drop it or them in a
heartbeat and race straight back for her. What could he say? He was a
complicated man, but he did have simple needs and a simple life. There was only
ever going to be one woman who could twist his heart around, put it through the
grinder, before taking it out and soothing the sores, and succeed in only make
him love her more. No one was ever going to take Buffy's place.

He was so intent on his thoughts that he walked
straight past Clem, resulting also in not hearing his name being called by the
good-natured, floppy-skinned demon the first, oh, ten times he'd shouted it.

It finally took Clem diving in front of him,
springing his own version of a game face on Spike to make the bleach-blond stop
in place, blinking in surprise. "Clem? What's wrong, mate?" he asked,
frowning.

Clem panted. "I've been trying to get your
attention for the last minute! Where have you been?"

Spike's eyebrows drew themselves together,
creasing. "At Buffy's, why?" Then he grimaced. "Could you put
away the tentacles?"

Clem shook his head frantically, retracting
into his normal features, then looked at Spike worriedly. "I only went out
for a half-hour, Spike, I swear. I don't know who did it, but the crypt is
completely destroyed, I came back, and the whole place was leveled, nothing
was standing straight up!"

Spike's eyes widened, and he spun, sprinting
toward the general vicinity of his home. Vaguely, he heard Clem padding along
behind him, trying to keep up, but he refused to slow down until he saw it for
himself.

And yes -- there it was. Or rather, there it had
been. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around frantically in hopes of seeing
something that wasn't completely destroyed. Launching himself on
to the rubble, he began digging, sifting the powder away until he found the hole
in the ground that had led to his basement bedroom. Climbing down (for some
reason, the ladder had been left intact), he stood still and gazed around in
absolute horror.

It was all gone. Nothing had been left whole.
Not one. Sodding. Thing. His home had been destroyed.

He was homeless.

He laughed bitterly at the cruel irony of it.
He'd put out so many people, killed them, destroyed them, right along with their
houses, and he'd reveled in it, reveled in their fear and grief... And now
someone had done the exact same thing to him, short of killing him.

He'd nearly lost his sanity. He'd lost any
ideals of a relationship with Buffy. He'd lost his home. He had nothing left.
He'd lost everything.

He turned and climbed back up the ladder,
scrambling over the remains of his domain, when he tripped, fell forward on his
hands, and saw something half-hidden by the debris. If memory served him
correctly, it had been taken by Willow sometime after the Birthday Party That Wouldn't
End last year. A week after Dawn had been set back down firmly on the straight
and narrow, but only a few days before he and Buffy had broken up.

Shrugging off the bad memories, he smiled and
picked up the slightly torn picture of himself and Dawn scowling menacingly at
the camera, her wearing plastic fangs and monster make-up, and himself in game
face, baring his teeth while Buffy raised her eyebrows and shook her head at
them in exasperation, hands on her hips.

Well, okay. So maybe he hadn't lost everything.

He tucked the picture into his back pocket as
Clem stumbled over to him. "Is there anything left?" the demon asked
tentatively, tilting his head.

Spike pursed his lips together gently, patting
his back pocket and sighing. Slowly, he nodded and smiled. "One
thing." Suddenly, he frowned. "No idea who did this? Nobody new that
has a grudge against me?"

Clem shook his head. "Not that I remember.
I just came back from getting some chips" -- he held up the slightly
crinkled orange bag -- "at the local demon-mart, and it was like
this."

Spike shook his head. "Looks like 'm gonna
have to go hunting," he said, a wry smile curling his lips. Then he frowned
again. "Where the hell am I gonna stay?"

Clem scrunched up his face -- the only time
that he looked more human than demon -- in thought, then snapped his fingers.
"Why don't you try Buffy? She'd take you in, wouldn't she?"

Spike paused -- all physical motion and all
mental thoughts came to a complete stand-still. Then he scowled and glared up at
the sky, cursing the Powers That Be. "You bloody ponces think you're funny
as hell, doncha?!" he roared. Clem stared at him in confusion until Spike
shook his head. "C'mon, Clem. Looks like we both need a good home. Hope the
Slayer doesn't mind a coupla strays." He scowled at the sky again.
"Bloody imbeciles."

Clem shrugged, unfurling the bag of Doritos and
pulling out a handful, feasting on them hungrily as he followed Spike back to
Revello Drive.

Behind the trees that surrounded the area
behind Spike's former crypt, a pair of alarmingly bright green eyes followed the
vampire and the floppy-eared demon's progress, an eager, wicked smirk curling
her lips.

When she'd come across Angel, it had been
absolute jubilation for her. Manipulating him had been non-stop pleasure.

It was going to be fun trying to see what would
take down Spike. She had followed him all the way from Africa, the second she
had sensed the glaringly obvious neon glow-in-the-dark 'I HAVE A SOUL --
TORTURE ME!' sign pointing at the vampire's head.

But Spike seemed stronger than that idiot
Angel. Smarter, no doubt. It would be difficult trying to bring him down.

But she was going to try her damndest.

Now all she had to do was lure him in. Bit by
bit. Before destroying every little bit of what made his pathetic life with mortals
worthwhile. Crying over the Slayer of all people. Pah. Spike was a
Vampire, a Master Vampire at that. The Slayer should be bowing down on her
scrawny little legs, begging him to eat her and make it painful.

Well. She was around now. And she was
going to make sure that Spike remembered what being a proper vampire was like.

Now. What to do about that pesky... soul.
She chuckled. "Oh my, my, my. This is
going to be fun."
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

beneath you