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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.

Chapter List
- 15
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Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground

by cousinjean

Chapter Fifteen -- Every Breath That Is In Your Lungs...

RATING: R
PREVIOUSLY: A newly ensouled Buffy tried to walk into the
sun when Angel (that asshole ;) threw her out of the Hyperion upon
threat of staking. But Spike, also re-souled, held on, promising that
he'd follow her if she left him like that. What? No, that's just
something in my eye. Sniffle.
A/N: And we're back to the White Stripes for this and the final chapter's titles.

~*~
For weeks, Angel's behavior remained consistent. At sundown, he
would go out and hunt vampires. Alone. Wesley sent people to shadow him
for his own safety. Sometimes Wesley would go himself. But Angel would
take no one with him willingly. Company might compel him to talk, and
he hadn't spoken a word to anyone since banishing Buffy and Spike from
the Hyperion.

In the mornings he would return to his penthouse, often battered and bloody, and hole up for the remainder of the day.

It was brooding at its finest.

So when Wesley found Angel in his office one afternoon, he was
surprised, but took it as a good sign. A sign that perhaps Angel was
finally ready to talk.

"Fancy meeting you here," Wesley said a bit too cheerfully as he stood
at the window next to Angel, looking out at the city skyline. Angel
merely clenched his jaw. "How are you?" Wesley asked, more gently. When
Angel still said nothing, he sighed. "Right. Silly question." Clasping
his hands behind his back, he took a deep breath. Might as well get on
with it. "I've been keeping tabs on them." He knew he needn't clarify
which "them" he meant. "They're settled in their old apartment, and
they've resumed their nightly patrols of the city."

"I know," Angel said quietly. "I've seen them."

"Buffy appears to have a single-minded determination to make up for her sins."

"That's not possible," said Angel.

Wesley nodded. "I suppose you're in the best position to know."

Angel looked at him, finally, then turned to go to his desk. "Do you
think I haven't thought about it? You think I don't know that
everything she's done, I've done, and then some?" He sat down and clasped his hands together on the desk. "And do you really think I care?"

"As a matter of fact I do, on all counts." Wesley moved to stand in
front of the desk. "I also think that if you wish to blame someone for
Connor's death, you need look no further."

Angel looked at his hands. "If you hadn't staked him, he would've turned me. You had to do it. I know that."

"I'm not talking about having staked him." Angel's eyes flicked to
Wesley. Wesley held his gaze for a moment, then took a seat in one of
the leather chairs facing the desk. "When Lilah told me that Connor was
your son, I remembered. All of it."

"You thought you were doing the right thing," Angel said weakly.
"Saving him from me. It wasn't your fault the prophecy was a fake."

"Perhaps. But I might have handled it better. Trusted you to have your
son's best interest at heart. If I had done so, perhaps he might still
be a child, and-"

"I already forgave you for this, Wes. It's old news."

"To you, maybe. I've only had a few weeks to assimilate it."

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but Wesley waved it away.
"I'm not angry about the memory wipe. Under different circumstances I
might be, but... well. At this point a lecture seems a tad excessive."
He smiled, but Angel kept staring at his hands and didn't notice.
Wesley sighed. "The point, Angel, is that I bear as much responsibility
for Connor's fate as anyone."

"You didn't murder him. Buffy did."

"Yes. Like you murdered Miss Calendar. And like Cordelia murdered Lilah."

Angel's response was automatic. "Cordelia wasn't herself."

"I see. When my loved one is murdered, the perpetrator gets a free pass on account of being controlled by a demon."

"I thought Cordy was also a loved one."

"And I thought the same about Buffy."

Angel's hands clenched until his knuckles turned white. Otherwise he
showed no emotion. Finally, he said, "We should have done more. Spike
should have been stopped before he brought her back."

"Yes," said Wesley. That blame could be laid at his feet, too. "I know."

Angel stood up, and without another word, headed toward his elevator.

"Will you go hunting tonight?" Wesley asked him.

"What do you think?"

"Shall I come along?"

"No," said Angel as the doors slid shut.

***

The alarm went off at six. That was normal. Buffy groaned and groped
sleepily for the button. Then she rolled onto her back and looked
around her room, letting her eyes adjust. Also normal. Less normal were
the dot of light next to the "P.M." and the dusky light filtering
through the window shade. Those didn't say normal. Those said vampire.

She looked at Spike, deep asleep beside her, unfazed by the alarm.
Remembered how, that first year after he'd come back with his soul, he
had tried to keep daylight hours. He was always up and ready whenever
she'd come home from work. Sometimes he'd even join her for breakfast.
He'd claimed at first that the Potentials made too much noise for him
to sleep during the day, but later admitted that he just wanted to be
awake when she was, to be there if she needed him. And to be with her.
It'd had nothing to do with trying to feel more human. She already did that for him.

Buffy had, at first, tried to keep regular hours for just that reason.
But it only depressed her, knowing she couldn't be part of the day,
that she could only watch from the shadows. She'd given it up after the
first week, much to Spike's relief. She hadn't exactly been sleeping at
night, either, and a tired Buffy was a sloppy Slayer, especially since
she was so out of practice. She found it only marginally easier to
sleep during the day, but still, she slept. And that made her more
alert on patrol, which made Spike act a little less like her bodyguard
and more like her partner, which made them both a hell of a lot more
comfortable. He'd been so afraid for her those first few weeks. She
knew he suspected that she had a death wish. She couldn't honestly say
he was wrong.

She reached over and traced the back of her knuckle down his cheek.
Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He still breathed in his
sleep. She wondered if she ever did that. She didn't think so. She
wondered if he missed it. If he did, he wouldn't tell her; but she was
pretty sure she'd miss it if he ever stopped. His breathing--like him,
like his love for her--was a constant.

Rolling onto her side and propping her head on her elbow, Buffy gently
laid her palm on his chest. He stirred and let out a contented sigh at
her touch. It made her smile. Closing her eyes, she slowly filled her
underused lungs with air, then blew it out just as slowly. Twice more,
and then she steadied her breathing, matched it to his. She opened her
eyes and watched him sleep, watched and felt him breathe, tried to keep
pace with him. He was so beautiful it made her ache. She wanted to be his constant.

She wanted him.

Buffy blew out a long, frustrated sigh, and rolled out of bed. Time to take a shower. A cold, cold shower.

It wasn't that they could never have sex. Hell, they'd started out
having plenty of comfort sex, both of them too deep in despair for it
to make a difference. But they had to be careful. It got too tempting
sometimes to completely lose themselves in each other, and that way lay
scariness. Their honeymoon night had been particularly dangerous.
They'd both been so giddy that night that they almost forgot. She almost forgot. Spike-Spike's mouth--had
thoroughly worked her over, and as she lay in his arms after, relaxed
and tipsy and still giddy and as close to blissed-out as she'd ever
been, not counting that summer vacation in Heaven, she had twined her
fingers with his, looked at their wedding bands side by side for the
first time, and dared to be happy. In that moment, she nearly forgot
all reasons not to be happy. And the next moment, when it all came back to her, had been the most terrifying moment of her life.

She'd been a lot more reluctant after that.

When her thoughts were as clean as the rest of her, she got out of the
shower and got dressed. She'd learned she could do her hair and makeup
by way of a video camera hooked up to the television-as good as any
mirror, once she got used to everything being backwards, and to the
extra ten pounds that Spike and Dawn both assured her were entirely the
camera's fault. Even so, she kept it simple: a little gloss, a little
mascara, a little more blush and bronzer than she used to need, and her
hair in a ponytail. She dressed for patrol, which was to say her
clothes were functional yet stylish, with plenty ventilation, plenty
room to move, and plenty places to hide weapons, all while maintaining
the illusion of prissiness that she'd perfected over the years. It all
made her feel very Buffyish.

One last check, then she shut off the camera and went to start dinner.
She was chopping vegetables for the salad when Dawn got home from her
new summer job. "Hey," she said, coming into the kitchen to kiss Buffy
on the cheek. "What smells good?"

"Meatloaf."

"Yum."

"Hey! It's Mom's recipe."

"That was a sincere 'yum', I swear."

"Well, okay then," said Buffy, eyeing her sister with suspicion.

Dawn reached past Buffy, grabbed some croutons, and popped them in her mouth. "I hope it wasn't much work."

"It wasn't. Don't talk with your mouth full."

Dawn swallowed. "It's just, I can cook my own dinner, you know."

Buffy raised an eyebrow as she sliced up a cucumber. "Your idea of cooking your own dinner always involves takeout."

"Not always," said Dawn. Buffy just looked at her. "Okay,
well, maybe it wouldn't if I had to provide for myself more than twice
a week. It just seems like a lot of trouble, is all. I mean
considering..."

She didn't say it. Didn't need to. Buffy knew the rest: considering
that Dawn was the only one left in the Summers-and-Spike household who
still needed solid food. They went through this almost every night.
Buffy was tired of explaining that she needed to do things like cook
supper and take care of her baby sister. That doing them made her feel
human.

Instead she only said, "I had a craving for Mom's meatloaf. So sue me. You don't have to eat it."

Behind her, Dawn sighed. Then she came over and rested her chin on Buffy's shoulder. "Is that salad almost ready? I'm starving."

"Almost."

"Cool. I'm gonna go change." Dawn gave her another peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Sis."

"You're welcome," Buffy said pointedly. As Dawn headed out of the
kitchen, the phone rang. Buffy wiped off her hands, but before she
could reach the phone it stopped ringing and she heard Spike's sleepy
"'Lo?" come from their bedroom. When he didn't call out for her she
frowned, and considered picking it up accidentally-on-purpose anyway
just to see who he was talking to. But she thought better of it, and
went back to chopping.

She almost had everything ready when Spike came into the kitchen. He'd
pulled on a tee-shirt and jeans but otherwise looked pretty rumpled.
"Evenin', Love," he murmured, stopping to drop a kiss on her shoulder
before heading to the fridge. He pulled it open and squinted blearily
inside for a minute before taking out a container of blood. "You
already eat?"

"Yeah," she said, the answer as unnecessary as the question. She always
had her breakfast first thing. She knew it was entirely her own
hang-up, but she still couldn't bring herself to drink blood in front
of Dawn. "Save room for meatloaf."

He stuck his blood in the microwave and then cracked open the oven to check out the loaf. "Did you add Tabasco this time?"

"There is no call for Tabasco in my mother's recipe."

"So?" He closed the oven. "Trust me, Pet. Spicy's the way to go."

Buffy crossed to the cupboard where she kept the spices and took out
the hot sauce, then she set it on the counter in front of him. "Knock
yourself out."

"Don't mind if I do." He removed his mug of blood from the microwave and added a few shots of the sauce.

After he chugged down half the mug, Buffy grabbed him and pulled him
down into a long, thorough kiss. She let him go and licked her lips.
"Mmm. Spicy."

"You know it, Baby."

Smiling, she turned to take out some plates. "So who was that on the phone?"

"Willow."

"Oh. Did you tell her I'd call her back?"

He drained the rest of his mug, then went to rinse it out. "Matter of fact, she called me. Wants me to run down a lead."

"A lead?" Buffy turned to face him. "Is this about the curse?"

"Yeh." Spike leaned against the counter. "Don't want to get our hopes
too high, but if this pans out, could be we're done with the cold
showers."

"What kind of lead? Is it dangerous? Maybe I should come with."

He shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. Told her I'd go tonight. What about you? You okay to patrol alone?" Meaning: Is
this one of those nights when you'd happily let some vamp throw you
heart first onto the nearest pointy piece of wood if I'm not there to
prevent it?

"I'll be fine," she promised.

"Good. C'mere." Spike reached out to take her hand and pull her to him.
She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as he rubbed a
hand up and down her back.

"You promise it's not dangerous? I mean, it'd be nice to have the whole
happiness clause lifted, but it's not worth risking yourself over. No
offense, but it's not like I'm teetering on the edge of perfect bliss
over here."

"Maybe you're not," said Spike, "but me... one exciting football match and I'm down a soul."

Buffy laughed. "Who knew soccer was so dangerous? Good thing we didn't take that sports channel package."

"If you say so," he sighed. "Anyway, I want my wife at least able to be happy. That so wrong?"

"Your wife will be plenty happy as long as her husband has all of his non-dusty parts."

So they had finally done it. No fancy wedding, and no Vegas. Just a
construction buddy of Xander's who happened to be ordained and a quick
and simple ceremony at Lorne's. After all they'd been through, it
seemed silly to worry about all the pomp and circumstance of a wedding,
and stupid to put it off any longer. It wasn't like they had anyone
left to invite besides Xander, Willow and Dawn, anyway. And they were
already married in every way that counted. It was just a matter of
making it legal. Well, as legal as a marriage could be between two
technically dead people, one of whom had a fake birth certificate and
forged green card.

The rings were what mattered to Buffy. The vows, the license... those
were redundant as far as she was concerned. But the rings meant that he
wasn't going anywhere, that he really was in this with her for as long
as she was in it, and even after that. Not that she hadn't already
known. But it was reassuring to have the constant reminder on her
finger.

She lifted her head to see Spike smiling down at her. He brushed some
loose bangs out of her eyes, then bent to catch her lip between his.
The kiss was just taking a turn toward dangerous territory when Dawn
cleared her throat.

"Is supper ready?" she asked.

Regretfully, Buffy pulled away from Spike, and marveled at her sister's
lack of gagging noises or cracks about getting sex too near the food.
Her little girl really was all grown up. Smoothing out her clothes,
Buffy nodded. "Yes it is." She picked up the plates and handed them to
Spike. "Set the table," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, going to comply, but not before snagging the
bottle of Tabasco to take with. Rolling her eyes, Buffy handed the
salad bowl to Dawn. Then she retrieved the main course from the oven
and followed them to the table.

As she sat down, she took a moment to be thankful for these little
moments where they got to be a family. As reasons to keep living went,
she decided, this was pretty high on the short list.

***

Seemed an odd place to find an old gypsy woman. Then again, Spike
supposed, would be a stranger thing to find a gypsy caravan in the
middle of Los Angeles. The rooftop of the abandoned building didn't
look altogether solid. But at least it wasn't the tinderbox that the
building's insides probably were. Good thing, what with all the
candles.

The things covered a card table, where sat an old woman in a folding
chair facing away from him. Her silver hair flowed down her back, so
long that it grazed the floor. As Spike drew closer, he could see that
she was fiddling with a tarot deck. Not quite as clich� as a crystal ball.

"Why have you come, vampire?" There was something familiar about her
voice, ancient and cracked as it was. Something her thick Romany accent
couldn't disguise. Couldn't put his finger on it, though.

"Heard you might be the one can help me."

"And why would I help a such a creature?"

"Dunno. Maybe 'cause I'm less lethal than the average vamp?"

The gypsy raised a boney hand, its puckered skin paper-thin and
translucent, and beckoned him closer. As he moved around to stand
beside the table, she sniffed the air around him and pointed a hooked
finger. "You are cursed."

"Yeh. Kinda why I'm here."

She looked back at her cards and turned one over. "The soul is meant to bring you endless torment."

"And it does at that." Spike reached for the card, then yanked his hand back when she slapped it.

"Even a moment of true happiness is forbidden. That is the way of the curse."

He snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Got news for you,
Hagatha. Without your little gypsy interference, the way it works is
that a moment of happiness is followed by yet more guilt when you
remember why you don't deserve to be happy in the first place. It's a
vicious, never-ending cycle. All your curse does is give the soul a way
out. Then it's Miller time for the demon once again." He shook his
head. "I mean, who's the genius that devised a so-called curse to reward bliss with yet more conscience-free bliss?"

"You've got a point," said the old woman. Then she started to laugh.

The laugh was what did it.

Spike grabbed her by the throat, hauled her out of the chair, and threw
her toward the stairwell. Then he stalked over to pick her up and slam
her against the door. "Just what are you playing at, Lilah?"

The bitch was still laughing. When she got it under control, she
flashed him a grin. "Cool glamour, huh?" As she spoke, the old crone
guise faded. Without it, Lilah Morgan looked as deceptively pristine as
ever.

"B-grade performance," he said. "What gives?"

"I have a message for you from the Senior Partners. I didn't figure
you'd show if I just called up and asked you to meet me here."

"Got that right."

"Hence the need to lure you in."

"Yeh, well, now you've wasted both our time." Spike shoved her out of the way and yanked open the door to the stairwell.

She put her hand over his. "They have a gift for you. Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Not interested." He jerked his hand away and went through the door.

"Not even if they've already bestowed it?"

Spike paused.

"Not even if it's exactly what you came here for?"

He turned and stepped back onto the roof. Lilah let the door swing shut. "The curse?" he asked.

"Lifted."

"What, just like that?"

"Yup. You can go home and grab your super-honey and pound her into next
week. Pleasure her until your mouth runs dry. Whatever. You'll both
still be all tormented and goody-goody in the morning."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just consider it a token of our appreciation."

"What for?"

She laughed, and folded her arms. "What do you think? You brought magic
back into the world. Filled it back up with vampires, which not only
provides us with new clientele, but also serves as a nice distraction
while we do our thing. What's more, you let the Senior Partners off
their leash. They think that deserves a reward." She smiled. "Consider
it your Christmas bonus come early."

Spike looked down fought the urge to punch her in her smug face. When
the desire faded, he lifted his gaze. "And why should I believe you? If
Buffy and I did such a good job for Wolfram & Hart without our
souls, then it seems to me the Partners'd be all too happy to see us
lose them."

Lilah nodded. "True. But you've worked with us long enough to know that the Senior Partners always reward good work."

"I also know they never do anything for anybody that doesn't somehow benefit them."

"Also true. Which brings me to their second offer."

"I knew it," he said, throwing his head back and laughing. "Your bosses
are so sodding predictable it's pathetic. Tell you what, Pet." He
looked at her. "Piss off. And tell the Partners I said same." He
reached for the door.

"Shanshu."

Spike froze, his hand on the knob. Go, he told himself, but while he tried to will himself to move, she kept talking.

"They can restore it. Give it back to you... or to a recipient of your choosing."

His voice thick and heavy, he said, "You gonna tell me that doesn't have a catch?"

"No. As a matter of fact, it requires a sacrifice. One souled vampire."

"Sod that," he said, opening the door.

"Huh," said Lilah, catching the door again. "You gave your life once so
she could have a normal life. I'd have laid money that you'd jump at
the chance to do it again. Oh well." She let go the door and it closed
behind him. He stood there, at the top of the stairs, for he didn't
know how long.

He could give her back her humanity. All of it, full stop.

She could grow old with her friends. She could be somebody's mum. For
the first time since becoming the Slayer, she could just be Buffy.

Yeh, she'd mourn him. Probably curse his name for making the decision without her. But she'd be human. Normal. She could move on. Find someone who could give her... give her all the things he was going to, before.

As Spike choked back a sob, he took some satisfaction in knowing that at least it probably wouldn't be Angel.

When he opened the door again, she was waiting by the table, smug grin
pasted on. "I need to see Buffy. Should talk to her, tell her..." He
swallowed. "She should have a say."

"Sorry," said Lilah. "This is a one-time offer. If you walk out that door again, it'll be rescinded."

Spike clenched his fists. "You right, bloody bitch."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger. Anyway, won't saying goodbye just make it harder?"

He sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He remembered the
last time. Holding her hand in his, his soul touching hers, finally
hearing her say the words he'd have given anything to hear. Somehow
he'd mustered up the courage to let her go. He didn't know if he could
do that again. Not if he had to see the look on her face as he went.

He looked down at his hands. Remembered how her fingers had burned into
his right. How they had trembled as they slid the ring onto his left.
Spike stared dully at the ring, the symbol of the promise he was about
to break. He pulled it off, crossed to the little table, and set it
down. "Make sure this gets back to her."

"I will," said Lilah.

"What do I do?"

She held up a pen and turned the pages on a contract. "Just sign on the dotted line."

~*~
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Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground