Comics!Fic: Long Time Coming (2/2)
Title: Long Time Coming (2/2)
Rating: PG-13 (discussions related to sex but no actual sex)
Summary: This fic is a continuation of “Freefall, Part 2,” issue #2 of S9. Part 2 is approximately 3,000 words. Part 1 is here.
When Buffy woke it took two long seconds to remember why there was a male body pressed against her. In those seconds she had time to feel relief that the man was clothed and to realize that there was nevertheless an erection poking her stomach.
And then she remembered Spike and his bed and the boy, and she felt slightly disappointed by the former and startled, though not displeased, by the latter.
His arm was wrapped around her, holding her close, and his lips were near her temple. Her own hand lay on his hip. She lifted her head automatically to check the clock on the other side of Spike and was happy to see that over eight hours had passed since the last time she’d stared at the glowing red digits. She could feel all those hours in the looseness of her limbs and blissful clarity of her sinuses.
She lowered her head back to the pillow, but her motions had already disturbed Spike. His hip shifted beneath her fingers, and his eyes flickered open, soft and blue and innocent in his newly wakened state.
Buffy smiled. “Morning.”
Halfway through curling his lips, he inhaled sharply and froze. Lines wrinkled his forehead, and to her confusion, Buffy realized his expression was one of growing horror and shame.
“What?” she said, just as he jerked away from her.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning onto his other side and presenting her with his back. As though this wasn’t good enough, a second later he sat up. His shoulders hunched so high they almost met his ears.
Buffy sat up, too, trying not to feel hurt. Why was he so desperate to get away from her?
“Spike,” she said, and heard the uncertainty in her own voice. It wasn’t a sound she liked. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced back at her, his face still full of the uncharacteristic mix of shame and embarrassment. “Nothing.”
Buffy flipped back the sheets and moved to his side. He turned again, shying away.
“Wh-”
And then Buffy saw his hand splayed over his groin and understood: he was trying to hide the fact that he’d gotten hard while sleeping next to her.
“Oh,” she exhaled. Oh, Spike. She didn’t say it aloud, even though she wanted him to hear in her voice that it didn’t matter; his face was tense enough as it was, his eyes lowered and his jaw clenched.
He had nothing to be ashamed of, thought Buffy. Morning wood was normal for some guys, and it was his bed, and they did have a past, and it was adorable of him to be worried about offending her, but she was actually a little flattered. She remembered being surprised not to find him hard in the mornings in Sunnydale, so the fact that he was now, that he was still attracted to her that way after so much time, was uplifting.
He obviously didn’t feel that way, though, and she didn’t want to prolong his trauma; should she lie back down and pretend she had never noticed? Feign she needed to go to the bathroom so he could have privacy to- you know?
“Spike,” she said, and he tilted his head toward her, though he didn’t meet her eyes.
“It’s okay,” she heard herself say, which was not a step in either of those options.
And then she kissed him.
For another two long seconds it was perfect: firm, delicious as any of their more passionate kisses, and gentle.
Spike jerked his head back, and Buffy nearly lost her balance and fell over.
“Don’t!” he said hoarsely, and she froze at the tinges of anger and hurt in his voice. “Not unless you mean it.”
For a moment all Buffy could do was stare at him, because surely she hadn’t heard right, or surely he was going to add something that would make more sense.
But he just stared back at her, his expression confused and defensive and the slightest bit belligerent.
“What do you mean?” said Buffy finally, her voice brittle. “Unless I mean what?”
Spike looked down at his lap. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Alarm bells were ringing in Buffy’s head, warning her that if she continued pressing she might not like what she would hear- or what she would have to give in return- but the words kept coming. “Unless I mean what?”
Spike twitched, as though she’d raised a fist instead of her voice. “Unless you want something more.”
Her skin felt itchy and tight, like she wanted to burst out of it and run away. Everyone wanted something more of her. More answers, more magic, more help, more than she had to give-
“Like sex?” she said, mockingly.
“No!” He surged to his feet as though she were poison ivy, or a cross, and real anger, not just the tentative ghost of it, entered his face. “I don’t want sex!”
“Sure about that?” She nodded at the bulge in his pants, which he seemed to have forgotten about in his righteous fury.
In an instant the fiery rage fled Spike’s face, replaced by an icy, fathomless emptiness that was far worse. He turned to the door.
“Wait!” Guilt burned her all over as Buffy nearly fell off the bed. The room was so small she didn’t even have to take more than one step to grab his arm. “I didn’t- I’m sorry.” I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have, God what is wrong with me?
“Let. Go.”
Buffy did.
Spike’s voice shook. “Don’t kiss me unless you mean it. Unless you want- unless you have feelings.”
Before Buffy could begin to figure out how to respond, he exited the bedroom and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door with a bang.
Her legs folded beneath her, and Buffy sagged onto the bed. How did circumstances in her life keep managing to turn from good to awful so quickly?
Unless you have feelings.
What the hell was that supposed to- of course she had feelings. Only a willfully blind idiot would not know that after her meltdown in the alley last night.
What he really meant, Buffy thought, and felt a slight twist of panic in her gut, was relationship. Unless you want a relationship.
She stood so fast a rush of dizziness hit her, but the swimming in her head didn’t stop her from striding out of the bedroom, away from the silk sheets and Spike-smell that had been so comforting last night. She needed to leave his apartment. It had been a mistake to think she could stay here as long as she needed, without a problem.
Nevertheless, Buffy stopped short in the living room. She couldn’t rush out onto the streets with no plan, just because her dignity was in tatters. She needed to think about food and money and the police.
And she needed to say a proper goodbye to Spike; she owed him that much.
Anger still coursed through her as Buffy looked at the closed bathroom door, but she didn’t know how much was directed at him and how much she was really just angry with herself. She wasn’t even sure herself what she had meant by her kiss, except that she’d wanted to comfort him and make him understand he didn’t need to be ashamed of wanting her. But she could easily see how he might have construed her kiss as a prelude to a perverse thank you for his help.
God, but did he really think so little of her?
He had to know that she cared too much about their friendship to degrade it that way. Then again-
“I didn’t know that you…cared. So much.”
Last night had proved they weren’t on the same page when it came to measuring their relationship. He thought they were, what, partners? Friends? Friendly partners?
And she thought they were…
What did she think they were?
A day ago she would have said friends, albeit friends with a Past, capital P, but if she were honest, a spontaneous kiss wasn’t really a friend-like thing to do after all. Maybe deep down she really thought they were somewhere in between friends and more-than-friends; more-than-friends who could kiss without it meaning anymore more.
She couldn’t begrudge him the right to not want that. It was his prerogative to not want anything physical if there wasn’t a relationship at its foundation.
But for all he knew she wanted a relationship, too, and a kiss was her way of showing it! It wasn’t her intent-
was it?
-but it could have been. Apparently actions weren’t good enough for him in that regard, though. Apparently for Spike, meaning required words.
Because words had worked out so well for her the last time she’d meant it.
Buffy blinked, her gaze flicking around the apartment frantically for something to distract her. Her stomach ached when she looked at the refrigerator, and she thought miserably of the last thing she’d eaten, a package of pop tarts that the “good” cop had given her before the morning interrogation. Even if Spike did feel like sharing after their fight, he probably didn’t have any human food.
The bathroom door opened, and Buffy pivoted to face him. His face had slipped into a blank mask; he showed no surprise at seeing her near the door.
“You don’t have to leave,” he said, in a voice as neutral as his expression. “You can stay for as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” said Buffy automatically. “But I need food. I’m guessing you don’t have.”
His shoulders sagged slightly. “Not unless you want Wheetabix and Halloween candy for breakfast.”
In other circumstances Buffy would have joked about the latter. “I should go.”
“What are you gonna do? The police are still searching for you.”
The unsuppressed concern in his tone made her eyes flicker briefly closed. Why was caring for each other so soothing and so painful at the same time?
“I’ll lie low. I’ll go to Dawn and Xander’s and snag some stuff from their fridge, and then I’ll…” She probably shouldn’t go home, no matter how much she wanted to; she’d seen enough TV to know that plainclothesmen were probably watching her building. For that matter, they might be watching Dawn’s, too.
“I’ll think about talking to the police. Tell them what I know. Or maybe I’ll go to Willow’s. She might be able to dig something up on Slay Boy.” Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she winced. “I can always wait until tonight and try to find him after dark.”
Spike nodded. “Let me know if you want- let me know if there’s anything I can do.” He paused. “You can always come back here.”
Buffy had to blink rapidly again, and she turned as she nodded so he wouldn’t see. “Thank you.”
She could feel him behind her, motionless and watchful, as she went to his front door. Could she really come back later? Could she come back knowing there would be this tension between them? That even if they made amends there always would be this tension right below the surface because of what they had once been to each other? There was some sort of irony here, she thought. He was her only friend who would help her, and yet sometimes she didn’t think they were even friends at all.
That wasn’t her fault.
And it wasn’t her fault that he didn’t understand how much she cared.
Buffy halted at the door. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
“I did mean it, you know. What I said in Sunnydale.”
His mask cracked, shattering into dust, and shock flooded his face like plaster poured into a new mold. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Buffy wondered whether anyone besides her had ever been able to make him so speechless and didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.
There was nothing more to say, so she made to leave again.
“Buffy!”
She stopped, half relieved and half nervous. If someone had told her a few days ago she and Spike would be discussing this imminently, she would have thought they were crazy. And possibly she would have gone on the lam a lot sooner.
Spike’s expression of disbelief and hope was jarringly familiar, and with a shock that ran all the way to the base of her spine, Buffy realized it was the same way he’d looked at her when she’d descended the stairs so many years ago with cut hands and a bruised soul.
He really hadn’t believed her, then.
Maybe that was for the best. If he had believed her and then hadn’t taken the time to contact her- Buffy bit her lip and dug her nails into her palms, unable to follow that thought.
“Do you…still?” said Spike.
A fluttering, faintly frantic feeling filled her mind. Words with such impact shouldn’t be so softly spoken, she thought.
Did she still? It seemed so long ago, and so many terrible things had happened in the interim; she wasn’t the same person she had been.
Did she?
Buffy looked at him and said the only thing she knew was true. “When I think about you dying, I can’t breathe.”
Apart from a flicker of uncertainty that pursed his lips, Spike didn’t move.
Buffy cleared her throat. The next words could not be stopped. “Do…you?” She braced herself.
“Buffy,” he said hoarsely and ever so gently. “I never stopped.”
For a moment Buffy wondered what it would be like to swoon. He had never stopped. Then she collected herself, as best she could with tears pressing the back of her eyes, and wondered if that really just made it all worse.
“You didn’t tell me you were alive.” Her chin trembled, and she couldn’t keep the pain from her voice, no matter how hard she tried.
Spike looked like he might start crying any second, too. God, what a pair they were.
“I was a coward,” he said. “I thought- I thought I had finished in that cave. And then suddenly I was back. But I was just a ghost, and for so long I was- useless. I thought…I thought you wanted the hero who died to save the world.” He paused and swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d just want me.”
Her heart ached at the thought of the purposelessness and loneliness he must have felt, feelings she could remember all too well herself. She could have helped him; he should have realized that.
“I did,” she whispered.
There were definitely tears in his eyes, now. She wanted to cover her own face so he couldn’t see the same.
Spike’s voice was raw but clear as he spoke. “If I could do it all over again, I’d contact you the second I popped out of the amulet, ghost or not.”
The vow made her feel like trembling in a different, good way, but at the same time a hollow feeling grew inside her.
His fervor was real, but the words were empty. Anyone would fix their mistakes if given the opportunity. She would have told him earlier, instead of in the eleventh hour, so he believed her. She would never have slept with the enemy. She would have saved Giles.
She would have killed Angel when she had the chance.
“You can’t do it all over again,” she heard herself say, as though from a great distance.
It was a minute before she focused her gaze again and saw how drawn and bone-pale and broken-looking his face had become.
“Where does that leave us?”
Buffy hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Spike didn’t say anything.
She wiped her eyes with her fingers and tried to inhale deeply. Was that all? Was that the answer and the argument and the ending?
Where did they go from here?
She wanted, suddenly, more than anything, to be in his arms. She wanted him to hug her as he had last night, to know that he would always hug her when she needed it. If he held her, she’d know everything was all right, or that it would be, eventually. Words could be too late or too little, but a touch was worth a thousand.
She couldn’t ask that of him, though, not now. Not unless she wanted-
Her heart gave a funny jolt in her chest.
Buffy stared at him, possibilities that were as tantalizing as they were terrifying whirling through her. She was scared; she could admit that to herself. Of being hurt, of hurting him, of the apocalypty badness that always seemed to follow her whenever she tried to be with someone.
But maybe she had to try anyway. Because while she wasn’t sure of precisely what she wanted, she did know that she never-
A loud growl ripped through the apartment, interrupting her thoughts. Mortified, Buffy put a hand over her stomach.
Spike seemed to stir to life. “You should go.” His tone was back to being business-like. Except for shiny spots under his eyes, he was composed. “Get some food, lay low. Let me know how I can help.”
“Oh- okay.”
Food. Yes. That was a matter she actually couldn’t ignore.
Buffy turned to the door, but the knob stayed still under her fingers. She could feel his gaze on her back.
She never wanted to be too little and too late again.
She pivoted and crossed to him. A second passed while she looked up into his surprised eyes. She hoped he saw whatever he needed to see in her own. Then she pressed her lips to his.
This time, he let her.
Whether he stayed still out of duty, guilt, or shock, Buffy didn’t know, but she didn’t push her luck. She pulled back after making her soft, firm point, looked him in the eyes, and whispered,
“I’ll be back.”
Rating: PG-13 (discussions related to sex but no actual sex)
Summary: This fic is a continuation of “Freefall, Part 2,” issue #2 of S9. Part 2 is approximately 3,000 words. Part 1 is here.
When Buffy woke it took two long seconds to remember why there was a male body pressed against her. In those seconds she had time to feel relief that the man was clothed and to realize that there was nevertheless an erection poking her stomach.
And then she remembered Spike and his bed and the boy, and she felt slightly disappointed by the former and startled, though not displeased, by the latter.
His arm was wrapped around her, holding her close, and his lips were near her temple. Her own hand lay on his hip. She lifted her head automatically to check the clock on the other side of Spike and was happy to see that over eight hours had passed since the last time she’d stared at the glowing red digits. She could feel all those hours in the looseness of her limbs and blissful clarity of her sinuses.
She lowered her head back to the pillow, but her motions had already disturbed Spike. His hip shifted beneath her fingers, and his eyes flickered open, soft and blue and innocent in his newly wakened state.
Buffy smiled. “Morning.”
Halfway through curling his lips, he inhaled sharply and froze. Lines wrinkled his forehead, and to her confusion, Buffy realized his expression was one of growing horror and shame.
“What?” she said, just as he jerked away from her.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning onto his other side and presenting her with his back. As though this wasn’t good enough, a second later he sat up. His shoulders hunched so high they almost met his ears.
Buffy sat up, too, trying not to feel hurt. Why was he so desperate to get away from her?
“Spike,” she said, and heard the uncertainty in her own voice. It wasn’t a sound she liked. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced back at her, his face still full of the uncharacteristic mix of shame and embarrassment. “Nothing.”
Buffy flipped back the sheets and moved to his side. He turned again, shying away.
“Wh-”
And then Buffy saw his hand splayed over his groin and understood: he was trying to hide the fact that he’d gotten hard while sleeping next to her.
“Oh,” she exhaled. Oh, Spike. She didn’t say it aloud, even though she wanted him to hear in her voice that it didn’t matter; his face was tense enough as it was, his eyes lowered and his jaw clenched.
He had nothing to be ashamed of, thought Buffy. Morning wood was normal for some guys, and it was his bed, and they did have a past, and it was adorable of him to be worried about offending her, but she was actually a little flattered. She remembered being surprised not to find him hard in the mornings in Sunnydale, so the fact that he was now, that he was still attracted to her that way after so much time, was uplifting.
He obviously didn’t feel that way, though, and she didn’t want to prolong his trauma; should she lie back down and pretend she had never noticed? Feign she needed to go to the bathroom so he could have privacy to- you know?
“Spike,” she said, and he tilted his head toward her, though he didn’t meet her eyes.
“It’s okay,” she heard herself say, which was not a step in either of those options.
And then she kissed him.
For another two long seconds it was perfect: firm, delicious as any of their more passionate kisses, and gentle.
Spike jerked his head back, and Buffy nearly lost her balance and fell over.
“Don’t!” he said hoarsely, and she froze at the tinges of anger and hurt in his voice. “Not unless you mean it.”
For a moment all Buffy could do was stare at him, because surely she hadn’t heard right, or surely he was going to add something that would make more sense.
But he just stared back at her, his expression confused and defensive and the slightest bit belligerent.
“What do you mean?” said Buffy finally, her voice brittle. “Unless I mean what?”
Spike looked down at his lap. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Alarm bells were ringing in Buffy’s head, warning her that if she continued pressing she might not like what she would hear- or what she would have to give in return- but the words kept coming. “Unless I mean what?”
Spike twitched, as though she’d raised a fist instead of her voice. “Unless you want something more.”
Her skin felt itchy and tight, like she wanted to burst out of it and run away. Everyone wanted something more of her. More answers, more magic, more help, more than she had to give-
“Like sex?” she said, mockingly.
“No!” He surged to his feet as though she were poison ivy, or a cross, and real anger, not just the tentative ghost of it, entered his face. “I don’t want sex!”
“Sure about that?” She nodded at the bulge in his pants, which he seemed to have forgotten about in his righteous fury.
In an instant the fiery rage fled Spike’s face, replaced by an icy, fathomless emptiness that was far worse. He turned to the door.
“Wait!” Guilt burned her all over as Buffy nearly fell off the bed. The room was so small she didn’t even have to take more than one step to grab his arm. “I didn’t- I’m sorry.” I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have, God what is wrong with me?
“Let. Go.”
Buffy did.
Spike’s voice shook. “Don’t kiss me unless you mean it. Unless you want- unless you have feelings.”
Before Buffy could begin to figure out how to respond, he exited the bedroom and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door with a bang.
Her legs folded beneath her, and Buffy sagged onto the bed. How did circumstances in her life keep managing to turn from good to awful so quickly?
Unless you have feelings.
What the hell was that supposed to- of course she had feelings. Only a willfully blind idiot would not know that after her meltdown in the alley last night.
What he really meant, Buffy thought, and felt a slight twist of panic in her gut, was relationship. Unless you want a relationship.
She stood so fast a rush of dizziness hit her, but the swimming in her head didn’t stop her from striding out of the bedroom, away from the silk sheets and Spike-smell that had been so comforting last night. She needed to leave his apartment. It had been a mistake to think she could stay here as long as she needed, without a problem.
Nevertheless, Buffy stopped short in the living room. She couldn’t rush out onto the streets with no plan, just because her dignity was in tatters. She needed to think about food and money and the police.
And she needed to say a proper goodbye to Spike; she owed him that much.
Anger still coursed through her as Buffy looked at the closed bathroom door, but she didn’t know how much was directed at him and how much she was really just angry with herself. She wasn’t even sure herself what she had meant by her kiss, except that she’d wanted to comfort him and make him understand he didn’t need to be ashamed of wanting her. But she could easily see how he might have construed her kiss as a prelude to a perverse thank you for his help.
God, but did he really think so little of her?
He had to know that she cared too much about their friendship to degrade it that way. Then again-
“I didn’t know that you…cared. So much.”
Last night had proved they weren’t on the same page when it came to measuring their relationship. He thought they were, what, partners? Friends? Friendly partners?
And she thought they were…
What did she think they were?
A day ago she would have said friends, albeit friends with a Past, capital P, but if she were honest, a spontaneous kiss wasn’t really a friend-like thing to do after all. Maybe deep down she really thought they were somewhere in between friends and more-than-friends; more-than-friends who could kiss without it meaning anymore more.
She couldn’t begrudge him the right to not want that. It was his prerogative to not want anything physical if there wasn’t a relationship at its foundation.
But for all he knew she wanted a relationship, too, and a kiss was her way of showing it! It wasn’t her intent-
was it?
-but it could have been. Apparently actions weren’t good enough for him in that regard, though. Apparently for Spike, meaning required words.
Because words had worked out so well for her the last time she’d meant it.
Buffy blinked, her gaze flicking around the apartment frantically for something to distract her. Her stomach ached when she looked at the refrigerator, and she thought miserably of the last thing she’d eaten, a package of pop tarts that the “good” cop had given her before the morning interrogation. Even if Spike did feel like sharing after their fight, he probably didn’t have any human food.
The bathroom door opened, and Buffy pivoted to face him. His face had slipped into a blank mask; he showed no surprise at seeing her near the door.
“You don’t have to leave,” he said, in a voice as neutral as his expression. “You can stay for as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” said Buffy automatically. “But I need food. I’m guessing you don’t have.”
His shoulders sagged slightly. “Not unless you want Wheetabix and Halloween candy for breakfast.”
In other circumstances Buffy would have joked about the latter. “I should go.”
“What are you gonna do? The police are still searching for you.”
The unsuppressed concern in his tone made her eyes flicker briefly closed. Why was caring for each other so soothing and so painful at the same time?
“I’ll lie low. I’ll go to Dawn and Xander’s and snag some stuff from their fridge, and then I’ll…” She probably shouldn’t go home, no matter how much she wanted to; she’d seen enough TV to know that plainclothesmen were probably watching her building. For that matter, they might be watching Dawn’s, too.
“I’ll think about talking to the police. Tell them what I know. Or maybe I’ll go to Willow’s. She might be able to dig something up on Slay Boy.” Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she winced. “I can always wait until tonight and try to find him after dark.”
Spike nodded. “Let me know if you want- let me know if there’s anything I can do.” He paused. “You can always come back here.”
Buffy had to blink rapidly again, and she turned as she nodded so he wouldn’t see. “Thank you.”
She could feel him behind her, motionless and watchful, as she went to his front door. Could she really come back later? Could she come back knowing there would be this tension between them? That even if they made amends there always would be this tension right below the surface because of what they had once been to each other? There was some sort of irony here, she thought. He was her only friend who would help her, and yet sometimes she didn’t think they were even friends at all.
That wasn’t her fault.
And it wasn’t her fault that he didn’t understand how much she cared.
Buffy halted at the door. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
“I did mean it, you know. What I said in Sunnydale.”
His mask cracked, shattering into dust, and shock flooded his face like plaster poured into a new mold. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Buffy wondered whether anyone besides her had ever been able to make him so speechless and didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.
There was nothing more to say, so she made to leave again.
“Buffy!”
She stopped, half relieved and half nervous. If someone had told her a few days ago she and Spike would be discussing this imminently, she would have thought they were crazy. And possibly she would have gone on the lam a lot sooner.
Spike’s expression of disbelief and hope was jarringly familiar, and with a shock that ran all the way to the base of her spine, Buffy realized it was the same way he’d looked at her when she’d descended the stairs so many years ago with cut hands and a bruised soul.
He really hadn’t believed her, then.
Maybe that was for the best. If he had believed her and then hadn’t taken the time to contact her- Buffy bit her lip and dug her nails into her palms, unable to follow that thought.
“Do you…still?” said Spike.
A fluttering, faintly frantic feeling filled her mind. Words with such impact shouldn’t be so softly spoken, she thought.
Did she still? It seemed so long ago, and so many terrible things had happened in the interim; she wasn’t the same person she had been.
Did she?
Buffy looked at him and said the only thing she knew was true. “When I think about you dying, I can’t breathe.”
Apart from a flicker of uncertainty that pursed his lips, Spike didn’t move.
Buffy cleared her throat. The next words could not be stopped. “Do…you?” She braced herself.
“Buffy,” he said hoarsely and ever so gently. “I never stopped.”
For a moment Buffy wondered what it would be like to swoon. He had never stopped. Then she collected herself, as best she could with tears pressing the back of her eyes, and wondered if that really just made it all worse.
“You didn’t tell me you were alive.” Her chin trembled, and she couldn’t keep the pain from her voice, no matter how hard she tried.
Spike looked like he might start crying any second, too. God, what a pair they were.
“I was a coward,” he said. “I thought- I thought I had finished in that cave. And then suddenly I was back. But I was just a ghost, and for so long I was- useless. I thought…I thought you wanted the hero who died to save the world.” He paused and swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d just want me.”
Her heart ached at the thought of the purposelessness and loneliness he must have felt, feelings she could remember all too well herself. She could have helped him; he should have realized that.
“I did,” she whispered.
There were definitely tears in his eyes, now. She wanted to cover her own face so he couldn’t see the same.
Spike’s voice was raw but clear as he spoke. “If I could do it all over again, I’d contact you the second I popped out of the amulet, ghost or not.”
The vow made her feel like trembling in a different, good way, but at the same time a hollow feeling grew inside her.
His fervor was real, but the words were empty. Anyone would fix their mistakes if given the opportunity. She would have told him earlier, instead of in the eleventh hour, so he believed her. She would never have slept with the enemy. She would have saved Giles.
She would have killed Angel when she had the chance.
“You can’t do it all over again,” she heard herself say, as though from a great distance.
It was a minute before she focused her gaze again and saw how drawn and bone-pale and broken-looking his face had become.
“Where does that leave us?”
Buffy hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Spike didn’t say anything.
She wiped her eyes with her fingers and tried to inhale deeply. Was that all? Was that the answer and the argument and the ending?
Where did they go from here?
She wanted, suddenly, more than anything, to be in his arms. She wanted him to hug her as he had last night, to know that he would always hug her when she needed it. If he held her, she’d know everything was all right, or that it would be, eventually. Words could be too late or too little, but a touch was worth a thousand.
She couldn’t ask that of him, though, not now. Not unless she wanted-
Her heart gave a funny jolt in her chest.
Buffy stared at him, possibilities that were as tantalizing as they were terrifying whirling through her. She was scared; she could admit that to herself. Of being hurt, of hurting him, of the apocalypty badness that always seemed to follow her whenever she tried to be with someone.
But maybe she had to try anyway. Because while she wasn’t sure of precisely what she wanted, she did know that she never-
A loud growl ripped through the apartment, interrupting her thoughts. Mortified, Buffy put a hand over her stomach.
Spike seemed to stir to life. “You should go.” His tone was back to being business-like. Except for shiny spots under his eyes, he was composed. “Get some food, lay low. Let me know how I can help.”
“Oh- okay.”
Food. Yes. That was a matter she actually couldn’t ignore.
Buffy turned to the door, but the knob stayed still under her fingers. She could feel his gaze on her back.
She never wanted to be too little and too late again.
She pivoted and crossed to him. A second passed while she looked up into his surprised eyes. She hoped he saw whatever he needed to see in her own. Then she pressed her lips to his.
This time, he let her.
Whether he stayed still out of duty, guilt, or shock, Buffy didn’t know, but she didn’t push her luck. She pulled back after making her soft, firm point, looked him in the eyes, and whispered,
“I’ll be back.”