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Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground	By : cousinjean Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2581 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground

by cousinjean

Chapter Fourteen -- Beautiful Disaster

RATING: R
PREVIOUSLY: Spike convinced Willow to perform the soul restoration curse on him and Buffy.

A/N: This chapter's title comes courtesy of Kelly Clarkson. Or 311. Take your pick.

~*~

She could smell their fear. It assaulted her moments after they walked inside, as her old friends jumped to their feet and warily backed away. It hurt, but she knew she'd earned it.

It also made her mouth water.

"It's okay," Dawn told them, moving further into the hotel. "I'm okay."

Willow and Xander rushed to her as Buffy hung back beside Spike. He kept a hand on the small of her back, his thumb making reassuring strokes through the flimsy fabric of her top. "It's done," he told Willow.

Xander was the first to approach. "Buff."

She stared at him like he was a ghost, even though she was the one who was dead. It felt like forever since she'd last seen him, and she realized that's because it was. Several lifetimes she'd spent in that hell dimension... except that wasn't really her. Was it? Buffy closed her eyes a moment, then made herself look at Xander and smile. "Xand." It was a huge effort to say anything.

He grinned a little. "It's... I... aw, hell." He threw his arms around her. "I missed you."

For a moment, she returned his embrace. Tried to focus on his warmth, his Xander-ness, on how much they loved each other. But underneath all that was the steady rhythm of his pulse, the thrum and drum of a life that would be so easy to take and make her own.

Buffy let go and tried to back away, but there was Willow, pulling her into another hug. "I'm sorry, Buffy. Are you okay?"

"Will..."

"No, stupid question. Sorry." Willow let go, and Buffy saw that she was crying. "I'm sorry. I mean, I'm happy you're back, God, I'm so... but I know what I did to you, Buffy. I know this time. But you had Dawn and I didn't know what else-"

Buffy grabbed her hand and squeezed. "It's okay, Will," she lied. It was a reflex, one she was a little surprised she still possessed. "You saved Dawn. That's all that matters."

Willow accepted her absolution with a watery smile. "It's really you."

"Yeah. It's me." Whoever that is.

Spike got between them. "What say we save the reunions and repercussions for a bit, let her get her bearings first?" His voice sounded strained. She tried to catch his eye and convey her gratitude, but noticed for the first time how drawn he looked. It hit her that everything she was feeling, he was feeling, too. Because of me. I did this to him.

As the others backed off, Dawn came forward. "Do you guys need anything? I bet the butchers'll be opening up soon, if you're hungry. Or maybe there's an all night deli...."

"Already taken care of," said Xander. "There's plenty of blood in the fridge when you guys are ready for it."

The way they casually talked about feeding them both blood made Buffy cringe even while her stomach rumbled.

"Don't worry 'bout us, Bit." Spike tilted her face up to examine her bruises and her swollen lip. Buffy closed her eyes and turned away. "Let's tend to you first."

"I'm fine," said Dawn. "This is nothing." She put a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Buffy, it's nothing. I'm okay. I'm just glad you're finally here. If there's anything you need-"

"Stop being so nice to me!" Buffy snapped. "I was about to kill you, Dawn, don't you get that? I was going to cut you open and watch you bleed!"

Dawn shook her head, her face as stubborn as ever. "That wasn't you."

"Then who was it?"

Spike's hand returned to her back. "Pet-"

"No!" Buffy shook them both off and moved away. Too close. Everybody was... so many heartbeats... She looked around at their stricken faces. It'll make them feel better to help me, she realized, and it was all she could do not to laugh. How wrong was that? "I just, I need..." Sighing in frustration, she covered her face with her hands. As she slid them up and through her hair, she looked down at the 'ho-gear she was wearing. "I need to change," she said finally, hugging herself to hide her cleavage.

"Sure," said Xander. "Your clothes are upstairs." He looked at Spike. "We cleared out your apartment after..."

Spike nodded. "Right."

"Anyway, all your stuff is here. C'mon, I'll show you." He started toward the stairs, but Buffy cut him off.

"Just tell me. I can find it."

Xander looked uncertain, but then nodded. He pulled his keys from his pocket and worked one off of the ring. "Room 212. Two flights up and at the end of the hall." He handed her the key.

"Thanks."

"Want me to come with?" asked Spike.

She looked at him, startled, not knowing the right answer. Then she shook her head. "I just need..." She didn't know what, but Spike seemed to understand anyway. Buffy turned and fled up the stairs.

At the second floor landing she paused to compose herself. She could do this. Spike had done it, and so had Angel. Spike was doing it all over again, thanks to her. She owed it to him to try. It wasn't supposed to be easy, she reminded herself. It was supposed to feel like hell. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the hallway to the room where they'd stored the remains of her humanity.

Walking human remains. That's all I am now.

No. She had her humanity back; at least, the part that really mattered. Inside the room, she stripped off her monster's costume and stood there, naked.

Funny. She didn't feel any less a monster.

Boxes holding her and Spike's things were stacked all around her. She could go through them, find a Buffy costume and put it on, dress the part of the girl, or of the Slayer; but what difference would it make? The hero was dead. She was just a killer now.

She turned and caught sight of a mirror, reflecting back an unoccupied room. For once she was grateful that she didn't have to look at herself. But at the same time she felt as empty as her reflection. Soul or no soul, it made no difference to the mirror, and mirrors didn't lie. This one said she was nothing.

How was it that nothing could feel so heavy?

***

They each stood in silence as Buffy ran up the stairs. Spike itched to go with her, but he understood her need for space. Could do with some space of his own right about now. He'd thought the second time would be old hat. Not that it wasn't easier-after all, what was another couple dozen lives on top of the thousands he'd taken before? But he could feel them, the screams of each new victim branded on his conscience.

That wasn't what was killing him, though.

Finally, Willow took Dawn by the shoulders and led her away to see to her injuries. Spike went to the sofa and let himself down onto the cushions, then leaned forward and pressed his palms against his eyes. Without looking up he asked, "This the part where you say you told me so?"

Xander's footsteps halted. "What?"

Spike dropped his hands to his lap and leaned back against the sofa. "Oh, you know. How you all told me to leave well enough alone. That I was playing with Pandora's Box."

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I never said that Pandora's Box part." Xander finished his journey to the sofa with a shrug. "Anyway, that was then. Now..."

"What's done is done."

Xander said nothing, but Spike heard agreement in the silence. Finally, Xander sat down and said, "I'm a pretty simple guy. My friends are back, and they don't want to kill me. This makes me happy. So that's the part I'm gonna focus on."

Spike chewed on this. "Good to know somebody's happy," he said at last. "Pretty sure Buffy's anything but."

"Yeah. But she'll be okay, in time. I mean, she's Buffy. She's the strongest of all of us. And I don't just mean the muscle kind.""Right," said Spike, too weary to argue.

"What about you, man? You're holding up, right? You're not gonna go down and start gibbering in the basement or anything?"

"Thinking about it."

"Well if you do, let me know first so I can start planning the personal hygiene intervention."

Spike tried to smile at the attempt at levity, but somehow it turned into a scowl.

Xander sighed. "Look, if there's any way I can help you guys... anything I can do..."

"Can you think of a way to make this as painless as possible for her?"

"Other than making sure she knows we're all here for her?" He shook his head. "Sorry. I got nothing."Spike took a deep breath. "Then how 'bout some blood?" He finally turned his head to look at Xander. "And whiskey. Lots and lots of whiskey."

Xander clapped him on the shoulder and stood. "That I can do."

Spike watched him head for the kitchen, then slumped forward to hide his face in his hands, grateful for the respite.

She's Buffy. She's the strongest of all of us.

Spike tried to swallow his irritation. Even after all this time, they didn't get it. Sometimes he wanted to tear into them in a blind rage, to scream at them for putting so much on her. Always asking so much of her, and expecting her to take everything in stride.

But this... Spike feared it might be too much. And this time he had only himself to blame. Not the Powers for choosing her, not the Council for refusing to ease her burden, not the Scoobies for setting her on a pedestal so high she couldn't help but fall... not even Willow. Not this time. It had been his idea to curse her. Red never would have done it otherwise.

They didn't know how frail she could be, how fragile. How their absolute faith in her strength made her weak. They didn't want to see it, and Buffy had never wanted them to. He had been the only one she'd trusted with that secret. That was his place in her life, even more than being her lover or her partner-in-arms. He was the one who tried to share her burden and lighten her load, who made it safe and okay for her to be weak even as he never let her forget how strong she truly was.

And he had dumped the heaviest load imaginable squarely on her shoulders. One that there was no way for him to help her bear.

He hated himself for it.

"Well, I can do blood at any rate." Xander returned, carrying two oversized coffee mugs. "But Angel doesn't seem to be much of a whiskey drinker."

"Poof," Spike muttered, taking one of the mugs. He drained half of it before Xander spoke again.

"I can make a run to the store. Sun's up, plenty of places ought to be opening soon."

Spike waved a hand as he finished his breakfast. "Forget it," he said, wiping his mouth. "Bad idea, anyway. Buffy needs me sober." He set his empty mug on the floor.

Xander held out the other one. "I got her some, too, if she wants any when she comes down."

"Thanks." Spike stood up. "I'll take it to her. Got a feeling she'll be shy about eating in front of the rest of you, least for a while."

"Why?"

"Oh, you know," Spike said, even though there was no way the boy could possibly know. "Just another reminder that she's not human anymore."

Xander handed over the other mug in silence. "But she is," he said at last, quietly. "Where it counts. We know that."

Spike nodded.

"You make sure she knows that."

"I will."

Once upstairs, he could hear water running at the end of the hall. She'd left the key in the lock, so he let himself in and followed the sound. The bathroom door stood ajar, and the shower was running, even though there was no light on. "Pet?" he called, setting the mug down and shrugging off his coat. He shouldered the bathroom door open and flipped on the light.

She hadn't bothered closing the curtain. She sat limp in the tub, slumped over to the side with her head resting against the tile, the shower pelting her face. Spike had a moment of panic when he saw she wasn't breathing, until he remembered. But the glassy, blank look of her eyes didn't make him feel any better. He knelt beside the tub, turned off the water and put a hand on her shoulder. He sucked air through his teeth. Her skin was ice.

"Buffy?" He gave her a little shake. Nothing. The panic returned. This was too much like the time she'd broken after the hellgod took her sister. "Love," he tried again, reaching out to sluice the water from her face, "can you hear me?"

She blinked. His relief very nearly choked him. Slowly, she turned her head and stared up at him. "Spike?" Her voice was raw, barely there.

"C'mon," he said, sliding his arms beneath her. He lifted her out of the tub, carried her into the bedroom and set her on the foot of the bed. Then he went to find towels, returning with the bathroom's entire stash. One he draped around her shoulders, another over her head. He used that one to dry her face and hair. Kneeling before her, he used the rest to towel off her arms and legs, rubbing vigorously, trying to return some warmth to her skin.

"Here," he said at last, standing to retrieve the mug he'd left on the dresser. He pressed it into her hands.

She grimaced at the contents. It was the first real expression she'd managed since he found her. "Not hungry," she said, trying to hand it back.

Spike pushed it toward her. "Drink," he ordered. "Need to keep your strength up. Anyway," he lowered his voice to a sympathetic tone, "it'll be easier if you're not hungry. To be around them, I mean." A shadow passed over her eyes, and he knew he'd struck a nerve. Buffy obediently lifted the mug to her lips. Spike watched long enough to make sure she was really drinking, then he turned to rummage through the boxes for her clothes.

He found one of the velour track suits she'd always favored on weekends in, and returned to his knees in front of her. He slipped her feet into the sweatpants and slid them over her legs. "Here, lift up a sec'," he said, letting her lean her weight on him long enough to hitch the pants up into place. Then he picked up the jacket and undid the zipper. When he looked back up at her, she had her face tilted down and away, and he realized: she'd gone bumpy while eating and didn't want him to see.

Quietly, Spike took the mug from her hands and set it aside. He slipped her left arm into the jacket, then her right, and zipped up the front. Now she was dressed, he cupped her cheek and turned her toward him. When she tried to pull away, he caught her face with both hands. She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Buffy," he whispered, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. He rose up to press his lips to the ridges on her forehead. A sound came from her, something between a whimper and a sob, and he pulled back to look at her, his own face transformed.

Buffy blinked a couple of times and stared at him in bemusement. He innocently quirked a brow ridge. "What?"

A bark of laughter found its way out of her. She lifted her fingers to his face and almost smiled. As she did, her features dissolved back to normal, and so did his. He leaned in and gently, tenderly, settled his lips against hers.

"Love you," she breathed against him, and in spite of everything, he smiled. Oh, yeah. This was his girl, all right. Reluctantly, he got up to find a comb. Then he settled himself on the bed behind her and carefully ran it through her damp hair. He was almost finished when she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Well, I know how your hair tangles."

"No." She was silent a moment, then she tried again. "Why are you taking care of me?"

Spike frowned. "What kinda question's that?"

More silence. Then, barely audible: "I killed you."

He froze, but only for a second, then went back to methodically dragging the comb through her locks. He tried to play it light. "So did Drusilla. Spent a hundred years taking care of her." He shrugged. "Guess that's just my way."

Buffy turned around and caught his wrist to stop him. "Spike," she said, her voice more forceful. "I murdered you. I didn't seduce you into making a stupid choice. I held you down and-oh, God." She dropped his arm and stood, turning her back to him. "How can you even stand to look at me?"

Spike stared at her, astonished. Worthy of O. Henry, this was. He got her a shiny new conscience, only to have her beat herself up for his sake. Which only made him want to beat himself up more. He could almost laugh at the irony. Almost.

"Buffy, Love." He got up and turned her to face him. "For starters, I'd sooner stop breathing than stop looking at... um. Okay, bad analogy. But you know what I mean. I love you." She only sighed. He could practically see the despair settling over her. "Anyway," he pressed on, "that wasn't you."

"That's a lie."

"It's not."

She shook her head. "Don't. We both know that's not true."

"I bloody well do know," he said, raising his voice. "I was there. You weren't. That was plain to see!"

"Spike..."

"On the surface, yeh. It seemed like the real thing. Near enough I thought I could make do. At first. But it didn't take long to see that the genuine article was long gone."

"But I don't understand. You were still..."

"No, Baby. Don't compare yourself to me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's different."

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is!" He took a deep breath to compose himself. "You can stop my heart, take away my soul... and all that really changes are my appetites. That, and what I'm willing to do to satisfy 'em." He shrugged. "I don't know why that is. But that's not how it is for everyone. I learned that lesson early on, with me mum. Hell, Buffy, why do you think I never wanted to turn you? Even before the soul, when I would've done almost anything to keep you with me?" He reached up to brush a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "Knew it wouldn't be you. Not really. And I wouldn't be satisfied with a shell. That's why...." He dropped his hand and looked away, the easier to make his confession. "S'why I was so desperate to get you back."

A crease formed between her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Spike licked his lips. "Will did the mojo, but I'm the one put her up to it."

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "You?"

He nodded. "So I'm the last person you should feel bad about hurting. Wouldn't be able to feel bad if it weren't for me."

Her lips pursed together as she took this in. Finally she asked, her voice half a whisper, "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"You already know I couldn't."

Buffy sniffed, then gave a nod of finality, and acceptance. "Then I guess I didn't leave you much choice." Her chin quivered. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands.

Carefully, Spike wrapped his arms around her. "It gets easier," he promised. "You can do this. And I'll be right here with you, the whole way." He eyed the bed. "Been forever since either of us slept. C'mon." With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her over to it. "Let's get some rest. We can worry about recriminations later."

She nodded, and climbed onto the mattress. He stretched out on his back, and she turned to curl against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. He held her tight, and as they drifted to sleep, curse or no curse, he dared to feel content.

The door slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges. They both sat up. Buffy blinked at the silhouette in the doorway. "Angel?"

"Get out."

Spike squinted up at him. "Hold on, Mate-"

"The boy." Angel stepped into the room, his eyes locked on Buffy. "Connor."

Spike looked at Buffy. Her eyes widened.

"He was my son."Buffy's hand flew to her mouth, but Spike only turned back to Angel in confusion. "What the hell do you mean-?"

"You have ten seconds to get out of my house before I kill you."

Spike leapt to his feet, putting himself between them. "Now hold on a bloody minute! Where the fuck do you get off-" He faltered as Buffy ran past him into the hall. "Buffy, wait!" He started to go after her, but then turned back to Angel. "How could you, of all people? After everything you did to her? Everything she forgave us both for?"

Angel finally met his eyes, and Spike could see that he was dying in there. "He was my son."

Spike backed down. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what. Finally he said, "Sun's up. Where are we supposed to go?"

"Not my problem." Angel picked up Spike's coat and shoved it at him. "Time's almost up."

Spike took his coat and ran after Buffy. He called her name as he bounded down the stairs, but stopped when he saw Xander and Willow picking Dawn up off the floor.

"She just took off," said Xander. "We tried to stop her, b-"

Without waiting to hear the 'but', Spike held his coat over his head and flew out the door. She was halfway down the walk, smoke rising from her. He could smell burnt skin and hair, hear her sizzling. "God, no," he pleaded, and tackled her. They rolled together into the shade. He could already feel flames coming off her, and used his coat to beat them out. She got to her hands and knees and started crawling toward the light.

"Buffy, no!" He grabbed her, dragged her back, but she struggled, and she was strong. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Let me go!" she screamed, trying to get loose.

He held on to her waist with everything that was in him, and scooted further back into the shadows. "Stop it!"

"Please!" she sobbed, clawing at his arms. "I can't do this."

"You can."

"I can't!" But she stopped fighting. "Please," she cried. "Oh God, it hurts. I can't do it. You have to let me go."

He kept his arms around her, refusing. "If I didn't let go last year we wouldn't be in this mess."

She shook her head. Spike feared her sobs might tear her in half. "It's over. Please let it be over! I have to go!"

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against her back. "Buffy, please try."

"I can't!"

Almost choking on his own tears, he relaxed his grip. "All right," he said. "If that's what you want. But if you go, I'll follow you. Because I can't do this either. Not without you."

She didn't move. Didn't cry. Spike waited, holding his breath, praying silently to a God that didn't hear his kind.

After a small eternity, she shuddered. "How did you do this?"

"I had you," he told her. "Now you have me."

"It's so heavy."

"I know." He tightened his grip again and buried his face in her hair. "But this is the worst it gets. I promise you that."

He heard a motor, and the squeak of worn shocks. He looked up to see Harris's truck parked on the lawn before them. He and Willow got out and started unfolding a tarp over the truck bed. Dawn also got out, and came over to them. "Xander says the apartment's still in your name till the end of the month," she said, stooping to help lift Buffy to her feet. "Can we please go home now?"

Buffy stared at her like she didn't understand. "Home?"

"Yeah. You know, that place where we all live and hang out and watch TV and are a family? Xander will come back later for your stuff."

Buffy licked her lips, and nodded. "Home." She didn't struggle as they lifted her into the back of the truck.

~*~
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Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground