Comics!Fic: Denouement (cont'd)
Title: Denouement
Rating: PG
Summary: Willow’s not the best person to comfort Buffy, but she knows who is. Takes place immediately after issue #4. 4,800 words.
Buffy was in the dazed liminal state between waking and sleep when the knock sounded on the door. Too groggy to understand what it was, she could only frown confusedly around, until the door opened and she shot upright in sudden panic.
Who the hell was breaking into Willow’s apartment? Would she be able to defend herself? Where was the phone-
“Hello?”
Her heartbeat slowed as she recognized both the voice and the silhouette.
“Spike?”
“Buffy.”
Relief surged through her for more reasons than one. Spike was here.
And- and she still had her powers; Severin had failed. She would have been able to defend herself against an intruder.
Her limbs still felt shaky as she disentangled herself from the blanket; cold sweat made her shiver. Spike hovered in the doorway uncertainly; he hadn’t closed the door yet.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Come inside. Oh, Willow-”
She couldn’t invite Spike into someone else’s home. She turned automatically toward Willow’s bedroom, prepared to wake her friend, but movement from Spike caught the corner of her eye. He was shifting weight, not quite stepping forward.
But he was already across the threshold.
“Will invited me,” he said, seeing the question on her face. He glanced at something in his hand, and when it caught a flash of light from the hallway beyond, Buffy realized it was his phone. “I wasn’t sure a text would work, but here I am…”
“She texted you?”
He hesitated. It was hard to see his features clearly, silhouetted as he as, but she thought he looked uncertain. “She said I should come over. That you wanted to talk to me.”
Buffy’s first reaction was embarrassment that she might seem needy, but as he stuck his hands in his duster pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, looking, she thought, as vulnerable as she felt, gratitude to Willow rippled through her. That had been very kind to contact Spike, especially to invite him into her home.
“Yeah, I did,” she said huskily and scooted pointedly over into one corner of the couch.
He finally closed the door, flipped the light switch to illuminate the room, and came over. She was pleased to see that some of the awkwardness left his face when he sat. He wasn’t smiling, per se, but in his own wan, tired way, he looked just as happy to be here as she was to have him.
“Thanks for coming,” said Buffy. “I know it’s the middle of the night. Although I guess that doesn’t matter to you- I mean, I know that you’re probably tired after… I didn’t know Willow texted you!”
It was important, suddenly, for him to understand that he was not here by her fiat, that she hadn’t expected him to visit at her whim.
“I figured,” said Spike, his lips quirking. “From your reaction.”
“But I’m glad you’re here,” she said hastily.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. After a moment of gazing at her, he said quietly, “How are you?”
“I’m-” Her instinct was to say ‘ok’; that’s what she’d told Dawn on the phone. But the half-truth wasn’t sufficient when it was Spike asking- and she didn’t need to pretend it was.
“I’m wigging,” she confessed. “I feel like…like it could start again any second. The weakness.”
She knew that no matter what he wouldn’t disparage her, but she was still half afraid of his response; what if he was fine already and she was completely overreacting? What would that say about her?
“I know,” said Spike, in a hushed voice, and relief swept through her. “I don’t feel like myself. Feel all…consumptive.”
More than the discomfited tone in which he spoke it, that last word told Buffy how unnerved he was; he made out-of-date 20th century references easily and blithely, but it was a rare occasion when he mentioned anything sounding like it came from the time period in which he actually lived; even with Buffy he generally kept his human life and mannerisms under lock and key.
“It’s awful,” she murmured, half to herself. It didn’t take much concentration- more like a lapse of concentration, really- to feel again the effect of Severin’s siphoning power; heaviness echoed not only in her limbs but, worse, in her core, making her feel slow and limp and…
Helpless.
She shuddered. Unbidden, vaguer sense memories of her eighteenth birthday returned; she had hoped and thought never to experience those feelings of impotency and incompleteness again.
That thought stirred others about Sunnydale, and she couldn’t keep from looking at Spike and asking, “Is it like when you first got the chip? Before you even knew you could fight demons?”
From the surprise on his face, Buffy knew any similarities had not occurred to him, and she felt a twinge of guilt for asking; she wasn’t really sure what his feelings on the chip were after all these years, if he still resented it or if he had “forgiven” it for enabling their relationship.
“Not really,” he said after a moment. “I felt helpless then, but it was a different sort. I knew I still had the power; I just couldn’t use it. It was…fixable.”
Buffy swallowed. If Severin had succeeded, would there have been any way to “fix” her? Certainly there would have been no way to fix Spike…
She let out a little gasp of mingled horror and pain, and Spike started, sitting up straight and looking at her in alarm.
“You all right?”
She gave a little jerk of a nod, not trusting herself to speak. She wanted to tell him now that he wasn’t to intercede on her behalf again, that it was too dangerous for him- but Willow’s words echoed in her head- You would have rushed in to save him-
“Have you eaten anything?”
Buffy shook her head.
Disapproval flashed across his face, making Buffy wonder if he was going to tell her, as Dawn did all too frequently, that she was too thin and should eat more. Instead he stood and went to the kitchenette, where he began rooting through Willow’s cupboards. Buffy wondered if she should object to the invasion but kept silent. When he returned with a box of Triscuits, she accepted them with a quiet thanks. She still didn’t feel hungry, per se, but maybe food would help alleviate the emptiness inside her anyway.
“Did you get blood?” she asked after she had wolfed down several Triscuits, his eyes beadily watching her the whole time.
“Yep.”
She waited, but he didn’t offer anything else. “Are you feeling better? Relatively speaking, I mean.”
He had better be, considering the worry he had put her through by running off so abruptly. She tried to ignore the little voice reminding her that she had almost left with Willow before remembering to look for him in the first place.
Spike shrugged. “As well as can be.”
Buffy frowned when he didn’t continue. She could understand why he would be subdued- she felt the same way- but that made his taciturn attitude no less surprising or vaguely alarming; he was usually so garrulous. And- well- she’d automatically assumed, without even realizing it until now, that even if he was subdued around everyone else, he wouldn’t be so with her. They were supposed to be able to confide in each other, right?
With a small burst of anxiety, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time he had confided anything of significance to her. Was she just taking it for granted that he trusted her in that regard as much as she did him?
That thought spurred her to fish, and not at all subtly. “Good. You left so soon, and I didn’t know…” Her tone sounded accusing even to her.
“Sorry about that.” Spike glanced down at his lap, where one hand flexed on his knee; the other was stuffed in his duster’s pocket. “I was…I was just freaked out.”
There was something he wasn’t telling her; Buffy knew it, and it stung. What was he keeping bottled up from her? She was the only who could understand, right?
“I could have helped,” she said softly.
Spike looked at her, and something in his eyes- a sliver of doubt? a question? wariness?- made her heart ache.
“Probably,” he said, just as softly.
The solemn way he said it gave Buffy a measure of relief; he sounded sincere, so maybe he just needed time to collect his thoughts before he shared whatever was bothering him; she could understand that.
“Spike.”
He met her gaze.
Buffy felt her cheeks flush slightly. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“Yeah.” His voice almost cracked, which made her blush harder.
She ate another Triscuit, hoping she had gotten her point across without seeming too pushy.
Spike seemed to stir himself. “What happened to the Siphon?”
“The police were taking him to the hospital. A whole lot of police.” Her tone was disgruntled rather than satisfied. Spike glowered.
“That-” He said something quite foul and British-sounding that made Buffy raise an eyebrow, impressed.
“I don’t trust the police to guard him.”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t either, but you have to admit, they probably have a better chance of holding him than we do. Guns were more useful than we were tonight…”
“Don’t want to hold him,” growled Spike. “I want to kill him. Preferably with my bare hands, but if that’s not an option, I’d be happy to devise some more creative means.”
“That isn’t funny,” snapped Buffy.
His eyebrow shot up now. “I wasn’t joking.”
“You can’t go after him. He can kill you.”
Spike snorted. “Lots of things can kill me. I’ll just take different precautions. Won’t let me near him. Wonder if the bobbies would let me borrow a gun…”
“Spike!”
He glanced at her, surprise writ across his face at her sharp tone. “What?”
In her mind’s eye he was dying again, his face turning human and haggard and gray; never had she been so disappointed to see a vampire’s wrinklies fade. She felt a sudden urge to ask him to change now- she needed proof that he was really all right-
Instead she said in a tense, forcedly calm voice, wistfully remembering the days when she could just order him around and trust he would obey (okay, so that hadn’t been often, but still), “You can’t go after him. It’s too dangerous.” She paused and then decided to ignore Willow. “You shouldn’t have attacked him tonight.”
His careworn face finally grew animated; admittedly, anger wasn’t what she’d hoped to provoke tonight. “You expect me to just sit back and watch while he steals your powers?”
“I wouldn’t die. You would!”
“You would try to save me!”
His furious expression faltered during his retort, though. Buffy tried to tell herself that she had imagined the faint note of question in his voice, but it was right there in his eyes, too-
“Of course I would,” she said quietly. Her eyes felt like they were burning suddenly. That wasn’t good. Why did he have to be such a stubborn ass about this?
“Well then!” He crossed his arms. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”
He sounded sincerely offended and there was no mistaking his belligerent posture, but she thought his expression was more mollified than before, a scowl rather than a glower.
She wasn’t remotely in the mood to fight with him- the very idea made her feel exhausted and depressed- so she kept her voice conciliatory (but firm). “I think it’s too big of a risk for you to go after him by yourself. Don’t. Please.”
Spike’s lips pursed. “I won’t if you won’t.”
It was an understatement of epic proportion to say that being told which battles she could and could not fight irritated her, and her instinct was to argue, but she held her tongue. It was hardly fair of her to refuse what she asked of him.
“I won’t either,” she promised, and hoped it was one she could keep. It wasn’t like she had any immediate plans to go after Severin. She didn’t even know what she could do to him; while there was most definitely a part of her that wanted him dead and she knew he couldn’t be fully human, the thought of killing him herself made her stomach turn over. Maybe, for once, this was actually a case best left to the human justice system; Severin couldn’t drain anything from the police. They could put him in jail.
But would they be able to keep him there?
She couldn’t assume anything, could she; maybe he had other monstrous powers of which she wasn’t aware, or maybe he was demon enough that she could slay him with a clear conscience. For all intents and purposes she actually knew next to nothing about Severin; she obviously couldn’t trust anything he had told her about himself.
And how stupid had she been to believe him…
Buffy tried to mentally box up the self-recriminating thoughts; even if she deserved them, now wasn’t the time to wallow in guilt.
She reached across the middle couch cushion and touched Spike’s knee. “I know I’m being grouchy!Buffy about fighting Severin but…thank you for coming tonight.”
Spike blinked at her, and she felt her cheeks heating again. Why did he look so surprised whenever she was kind or- or gentle? Didn’t he know how- how grateful she was that he was there- that he was back in her life?
“Course I came,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t do any good…”
She squeezed his knee instinctively, and he looked down at her hand.
“You’re welcome,” he said in softer tones.
Her throat felt tight, and her eyes were tickling again. She finally removed her hand and gave him a nervous little smile. He stared warmly back, and she had the wild idea that she would have to take Willow out to lunch tomorrow somewhere really nice to thank her for this.
She was in the middle of daydreaming what tomorrow might be like, hoping that things would still be cordial with Willow, when she realized that Spike was watching her intently. His head was cocked in a ponderous way, and his eyes were focused- intense. Was he finally going to open up about whatever was bothering him? Hope shot through her.
“What is it?” she asked gently, trying to sound encouraging.
He glanced down, seemingly embarrassed. He looked up again quickly, though, his expression tentative, hesitant- and yielding.
“I…I don’t know if I would have died tonight.”
Buffy tried not to frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“When he was…draining me, I…I didn’t feel like I was dying. Know every time’s different, but I’ve died twice in drawn-out, painful ways, so I should be able to recognize when it’s happening again, right? S’pose I could have been dying; could feel myself getting weaker. But my head wasn’t going fuzzy, and I felt-” He looked down, his fumbling, rushed words finally stumbling to a halt.
“Felt what?”
“Felt…like I was getting warmer. My chest was burning, like there was something wrong with my heart.”
“Spike.” Buffy knew she sounded like a schoolteacher, but she couldn’t help it. “He turns them human, so that kind of makes sense. And you would have died. How would you not have?”
Spike looked at her. “My soul.”
Buffy froze. His-
Oh.
Huh.
“You think- you think you would have turned human and just been…alive?”
His expression grew uncomfortable again. No, not uncomfortable- shy?
“Maybe. The Siphon burns away the demon, right, and the vampire dies because it’s just a human husk left. But since I have my soul, maybe I would’ve…just been human.”
It took Buffy a moment to realize she was gaping at him, and only then after he looked away, his jaw gone tight.
Spike. Human.
“Oh,” she managed, and then said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to be human?”
Spike hesitated, his gaze flicking to hers. “Dunno. Would be weird after all this time.” He shifted without actually changing position, in a self-conscious way. “But…it might not be bad. Being…normal. What, uh, what do you think?”
“Of you being human?”
“Yeah. You ever think about it?” He was looking at her weirdly, sort of squinting from beneath his lashes.
Buffy felt a small frown cross her face and tried to squash it; she felt like he was asking a different question, although she had no idea what. “Um. No.”
“Oh.”
Did he sound disappointed?
Spike leaned back against the couch; his shoulders slouched, but she didn’t know if he was wilting or if it was simply the contours of the cushions. Still, Buffy had the distinct feeling he hadn’t liked her answer.
But when was she supposed to have thought about him being human? It wasn’t something he had ever expressed interest in.
She tried to imagine it, him being human: she’d see him as much during the day as at night, and he’d eat (more) human food, and…would he have to get a job? Her nose wrinkled automatically at the mental image of Spike standing behind the counter at the coffee shop.
Jobs aside, it would be nice- really nice- to see him in the sunlight; it might be cool- and unnerving- to see him age.
She’d miss fighting with him, though, if he didn’t have his vampire strength; even if they hadn’t done much sparring or even back-to-back fighting recently, she’d miss the possibility of it.
He would still fight alongside her if he were human, right? He wouldn’t just give it up?
She pursed her lips. The whole concept of Spike being human was just bizarre. That didn’t mean she couldn’t get used to it- there would be lots of great things about it, like meeting at their convenience rather than the sun’s- but she just hadn’t given the matter any thought before. She had never daydreamed about Spike being human the way she had daydreamed about Ang-
A shudder wracked her.
When Buffy had willed the thought of him away and focused again, Spike was blank-faced and staring at the geometric prints on Willow’s wall.
“You can still go into game face, right?”
Spike started. “Yes.” From the decided way in which he said it, Buffy got he impression he’d tried as soon as leaving the warehouse. After several seconds of her continued stare he made a small noise that might have been disgruntled.
His face shifted; blue eyes turned yellow, ridges erupted on his forehead, fangs grimaced at her, and Buffy felt a welling of relief in the pit of her stomach.
As she smiled he shook his head, returning to human visage again. She was trying to think of something supportive to say when an awful thought chased away her relief.
“You’re not going to try to get him to do it, are you?” she blurted. “Get Severin to try to turn you human?”
She wanted him to look at her like she had grown two heads, but instead his expression was cagey.
“No,” he said, only ninety percent convincingly. “I want to kill him, not ask him any favors.”
“Favors? You have no idea if it would be successful or not! You just think it could turn you human, but it could actually kill you very, very de-”
“Buffy, I said I wasn’t going to do it!” He scowled and looked away. “It’s…it’s not worth it.”
Buffy snorted. ‘Not worth it’ was an understatement. Honestly, how had a few very questionable seconds of maybe-not-dying provoked such fanciful thoughts?
Then again, they’d been separated for so long; maybe he’d had these thoughts for a while and she was just…out of the loop.
That realization depressed her, and she found herself making a face. Spike wasn’t much different; he still wore a scowl, apparently thoroughly frustrated by her questions.
Buffy sought for a different subject. What had they been talking about before? Besides extracting very grudging promises from each other, that is.
“I met your friend. Elder Koe. What’s his deal? How’d you meet him?”
Spike stirred. “Eldre Koh,” he corrected distractedly. He paused before continuing, obviously gathering his thoughts. “His deal is that I found him at Alcatraz, and he claims he owes you a debt for destroying the Seed. He’s also the reason I knew about the Siphon in the first place, credit where it’s due and all…”
He explained everything that Eldre Koh had already told her and Willow; coming secondhand, it sounded even less useful. Where had Severin come from? If he was so feared by demons why had she never heard of him before?
Would Giles have had some nugget of long-ago read information about the Siphon stored in his prodigious memory banks? He would have known what to do, or he would have known where to look for guidance.
That thought was as painful as anything else she’d experienced in the past few hours, and Buffy tried to box it up, too. To distract herself, she neatly rolled up the plastic bag of Triscuits and closed its package securely.
“Do you know anything else about him?” asked Spike. “He was pretending to be your friend. Did he say anything?”
A hot wave of humiliation swept through Buffy, even though he hadn’t spoken accusingly; all her locked away thoughts sprang out of their boxes. Severin had pretended to be her friend, and she’d fallen for his act hook, line, and sinker. How could she have been so naïve? She’d slept over at his house.
Giles would be ashamed.
Her fingers dugs into her legs, and she drew a sharp intake of breath.
“What’s wrong?” Spike demanded.
“N-nothing.” Buffy looked down and took several deep breaths. “He told me a little about his past, but I have no idea if it’s true or not.” Haltingly, she related everything Severin had told her about his girlfriend and their plans to be vamped.
“What a world class idiot,” said Spike when she was finished, in tones of deep disgust.
Under the pretense of brushing her hair behind her ear, Buffy ducked her head to hide her face, in case she was flushing. If Severin was an idiot, what did that make her for trusting him?
Spike sighed. “So all we know for certain is that he’s scum with the unfortunate ability to steal anyone’s supernatural power. What I want to know is why. Is he just a power-hungry megalomaniac? Or is he working with someone? He’s obviously not on our side, but he doesn’t seem to be on the demon side of things either, judging from all those vampire corpses in the warehouse.” He lapsed into silence with a glower.
Buffy leaned her head against the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted- in both a sleepy way and a this-was-all-becoming-too-overwhelming way. She had a brand new enemy who hated her and could actually do something about it; she had no money and might not even have a job anymore after the fiasco with the police; she might not have an apartment anymore either if Anaheed and Tumble kicked her out; her sister and friends probably thought she was a moron for blithely trusting Severin instead of going to the police; and questionable soul hypotheses aside, Spike had almost died.
Would it be weird if she asked him to hug her? Could she just lean forward and hug him? Embarrassment made her draw her legs up to her chest and hug them with her arms instead; what if he thought she was a fool for trusting Severin and he was just really good at hiding it? Asking for comfort would make her seem weak and needy.
“So, why are you here instead of at your apartment anyway?” asked Spike unexpectedly, breaking her self-pitying reverie.
“Um…Willow came to get me at the warehouse and let me spend the night so I wouldn’t have to deal with my roommates. They probably still think I’m on SFPD’s most wanted list.”
“That was good of her. You two patching things up?”
Buffy traced a pattern in the couch cushion so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Was it that obvious that her friends had been grumpy with her lately? “Hopefully.”
She was tracing figure eights with her index finger when a huge yawn stiffened her shoulders. She tried to cover her mouth. “S-ah-sorry…”
“You should try to sleep,” said Spike. “’M sure you need it. I’ve kept you awake long enough.”
“Don’t- don’t worry about me,” Buffy started to say, but another yawn interrupted her. She blinked, trying and failing to perk up. She was exhausted; the thought of burrowing into Willow’s couch was much more appealing than it had been before Spike’s visit.
“You don’t have to leave.” When she saw the dubious look he was giving the couch, she realized how it had sounded. She frowned at the couch, too. She was not at all averse to a sleepover- it was quite appealing actually; she didn’t want Spike to leave- but the couch just wasn’t big enough for two people to lie on, not unless they were lying completely on top of each other. She flushed at the thought.
That wasn’t…well, she wasn’t completely averse to that possibility either, but they weren’t there- and weren’t even on their way there as far as she knew; since coming home from his space adventures, Spike hadn’t given her any indication that he was interested in something more.
And she- well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Sometimes she knew she wanted him that way- a hand-holding-and-hot-sex kind of way- but other times she was equally certain they shouldn’t cross that line just now; she couldn’t make him any guarantees, and it was better to refrain than to risk losing him as a friend.
Even though tonight, when she had almost lost him completely, made that seem kind of irrational…
Buffy gave a small shake of her head to clear it and ignored the slight pang in her chest. “I didn’t mean- I just don’t want you to feel like you’re being kicked out.”
She could sleep upright, leaning against the couch. There’d be room for two, then. “You’re probably tired, too, if you want to rest for a few hours-”
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You won’t!”
As Spike looked at her, Buffy wished there were a big neon sign over his head to tell her what he was thinking. Did he think she was needy?
Was she needy? That was another reason she couldn’t- couldn’t start anything.
But if he made the first move…
Before she could figure out some graceful way to retract her offer and free him to go, he murmured, “Okay.”
Buffy couldn’t keep from smiling. Hoping she didn’t look weirdly happy, she straightened and tried to spread out the blanket.
Spike shook his head. “You lie down.”
“But-”
“I’ll sleep during the day.” He stood, glancing around the apartment. When he started toward the chair at Willow’s small table, Buffy said, “Stay on the couch! There’s room.”
She lay down to prove her point, curling her legs so she took up only two cushions and left the third free for him to sit on. For once it paid to be short.
Spike turned off the overhead light and resumed his seat. Buffy saw his head turned toward her, his eyes pinprick gleams in the sudden darkness. He leaned forward-
Her breath caught, butterflies erupting in her stomach without warning-
Spike drew the comforter up around her shoulders and smoothed it down. Her breath left her in a whoosh, leaving her feeling a little dizzy. He settled back, close enough that her toes brushed his thigh. Her body felt like it was humming, but Buffy tried not to wriggle; she didn’t want him to think she was uncomfortable.
“Thanks again for coming over,” she said softly. And staying.
“You’re welcome.” In the darkness, his rough, throaty accent felt like a caress.
If he was patient enough to just watch her sleep, like he had in Sunnydale, did that mean he still felt-?
No; probably not. He was probably just being nice. And maybe- maybe he was lonely. He didn’t have anyone to go home to and share breakfast with.
Willow wouldn’t mind if he were still here in the morning, right? She had invited him, after all. The three of them could eat breakfast together and discuss what to do about Severin, and later Willow could drive Spike home in her nice, sun-proof car.
Buffy smiled into her pillow and closed her eyes.
* * *
When rays of sunlight streaming through the apartment windows woke her the next morning, it took a moment of groggy blinking to remember where she was. The geometric prints were an instant reminder, and she rolled over to look for Spike. Only then did she realize that she had stretched her legs out the full length of the couch.
Like the rest of the room, the third cushion was empty. If she squinted, she thought she could make out the faint impression left by someone sitting for a long time.
Otherwise, it was as though he had never been.