Fic: For Want of A Back Porch (Comic!Fic) (4/4)
Title: For Want of A Back Porch (4/4)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. 4,000 words. Part I. Part II. Part III.
A/N: I changed the ending to this yesterday, which is much more impulsive than I usually am, but I thought that Buffy deserved to be more self-aware in the penultimate scene. I hope it works. I am considering writing an alternate ending in which Buffy is not only self-aware but also decides to share with the class. You'll know what I mean, and if you have an opinion on that- such as, which you think is more realistic, would you want to read an alt ending, etc., please let me know. I might write one just for my own gratification, but it would take a few weeks.
Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on previous parts. Your feedback has been so generous and made me very happy. This fic kind of poured out of me after #40 (it's been a while since I've felt such an impetus to write write write and tell a specific story), so I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed it. Thank you.
Part IV
August 19
Buffy jerked upright. For a second she thought she must have had a nightmare, and then the hammering sound came again. A flash of silver blond hair goaded her to her feet. A glance at the clock as she stumbled to the window showed it was close to four in the morning.
“What?” She tried not to sound cranky and failed. Even Slayer nighttime visiting hours had an end time.
“I found out what sort of potion Meltzer and Allie want to use on you,” blurted Spike.
His words were like icy water trickling down her back, waking her with a very unpleasant jolt.
She climbed out the window without further hesitation, forgetting that this was an excellent opportunity to cajole him into coming inside.
“What is it?”
Spike hesitated. That alone sent more chills crawling along her spine. Spike wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’m the Slayer, life is never pretty! What is it?”
“It’s a potion that changes your personality.”
Buffy stared at him as the foreboding in her stomach grew stronger. “To…what?”
“It evokes past insecurities, fears, and base desires,” said Spike flatly. “While simultaneously erasing common sense and impulse control. The victim would essentially regress to being the worst kind of teenager. An impulsive, insecure, emotional wreck of a teenager.”
The words pounded in Buffy’s head for several seconds, the implications setting in, and then she almost knocked Spike over in her dash to the railing.
“What the- Buffy?” His annoyance transformed to concern in an instant. As she leaned over the railing, dry heaving, Spike moved to her side and tentatively touched her back. When she continued quivering, he began rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.
“It’s all right, love. We’re not going to let them do that to you.”
Buffy didn’t reply.
His hand moved upward to her hair. “Besides, as I recall, you were one hell of a teenager.”
Buffy jerked upright. She wished immediately she hadn’t because his hand dropped and he stepped back, looking chagrined.
“I wouldn’t be- I wouldn’t be myself. I’d be some twisted, horrible version-” She blinked back tears as the possibilities pounded her.
To resent her powers as much as she enjoyed them, always feeling like a freak.
To fear exposure again; the panic and betrayal she’d felt when her mother disavowed her.
To fear that those she loved- Dad, Angel, Mom, Giles- would leave her or stop loving her; that she’d be alone.
That she couldn’t love.
To feel dead inside. Again. To forget and ignore and hate and abuse-
-and Spike was looking at her so tenderly right now, while she could feel his flesh beneath her fists as she mocked his love, and she could see her sister neglected and abandoned, and her friends falling apart, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara-
-oh God, Anya Tara Anya Tara, she would fail them again-
“Buffy, Buffy, love, it’s all right-”
She wanted to agree because she hated to worry him, but as his voice shot through her all she could think was desire, and if she regressed the person she would most desire was-
No, no, no, never again, she didn’t want Angel anymore, she didn’t.
But the potion could make her want him, it could make her want him and need him and love him, the bastard, the horrible, murdering bastard.
“Let it out, love, but you have to breathe, Buffy, breathe.”
Spike was gripping her hand in his as he used his other to give her shoulders and hair feather light touches. She became aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks and off her chin. Her face felt soggy, and he looked like he might cry too, as though her breakdown was causing him physical pain. The pressure in her head and nose reached a pitch.
Buffy stepped forward, and as though he had been waiting all along for her to do so, Spike pulled her against him. She buried her face in his shoulder and let herself sob, while his arms encircled her.
“I don’t want to love him, I don’t want him, I don’t want to hurt anyone-“
“You won’t hurt anyone, Buffy. You won’t.”
“I’ll hurt my friends, I’ll hurt you-”
“Buffy-”
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
Silence for an instant, except for the sound of her crying, and then his arms squeezed her even more tightly.
“Oh, dearest…” His whisper was like a reverent sigh. It made Buffy shiver with sudden sharp, incongruous pleasure; made her think of exhalations of bliss after making love. Dearest. She was his dearest.
“You won’t hurt me, love. If you were poisoned, nothing you could do would hurt me.”
“How do you know?” she muttered into his duster.
“Because it wouldn’t be you.” She could feel the smile in his voice. “And nothing that poisoned Buffy could do would ever make me stop loving real Buffy.”
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as more tears forced their way out. She began convulsing again, shuddering against him.
Spike sank downward, pulling her with him. He leaned against the wall and hugged her to him, and Buffy let herself go.
* * *
“How did you find out?” Her voice was raspy after so many tears. Her head was a little clearer, though, and that was what mattered.
“Finally tracked down the Whedon clan that sold the potion to them. Not a very loyal bunch of demons, fortunately. They were willing to tell me Meltzer’s secret for the right price.”
“What’s the point do you think? If they want to kill me, there are much easier and faster ways to do it.”
“I don’t think…”
“Go on,” said Buffy, when he hesitated.
“I don’t think they want to kill you,” said Spike. His cheek rested on her head, which rested on his shoulder, and his voice reverberated down her spine. “They want to do-” He broke off, and Buffy knew he had been about to say ‘worse.’
“This sort of potion would…it would make you betray yourself.”
“Use me against myself,” murmured Buffy. She had guessed this but had wanted to hear him say it.
“Turn you into your own worst enemy. The potion is cruel in any case, but on most humans the effects might merely be inconvenient; maybe therapy could help the insecurities, I dunno. But Slayers have more…trauma to draw on.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Buffy. How many times did you hear ordinary people complain about having died? Even once?
“You could act recklessly, make stupid mistakes.”
Buffy knew that he was sugarcoating the situation. Try ‘fatal’ instead of ‘stupid.’
“I might turn on the people who love me,” she said grimly, and felt Spike’s breath in her hair as he exhaled.
“There’s that.”
“I might…trust…people I shouldn’t.”
“That too.”
“I might not trust anyone. I might be terrified and paranoid and confused-” Buffy closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. This thinking realistically thing was harder than she had anticipated.
“On the way over I kept wondering the same thing,” said Spike softly. “What was the point? There’s maliciousness, obviously. Maybe they want revenge because of the seed. But I think they’re also aiming for destruction. There are very few Slayers left who pose a significant threat to demons. There’s you, and there’s Faith. If they poisoned both of you, or even one of you, they could turn you against each other and bring what little remains of the Slayer system to shambles.”
A knot of panic twisted in Buffy that had nothing to do with her own danger. “Faith! She used to be so screwed up she made me look perfect. If she regressed- she was all alone and miserable and unloved. She didn’t trust anyone. She used to hate me, she wanted me dead!” The idea of having to fight Faith again, after how far they had come, made Buffy want to scream. This wasn’t fair.
“You should let her know,” said Spike.
“Everyone has to know,” said Buffy. “And I do need to buy a hip flask.”
Spike smoothed his hand over her hair and didn’t say anything. Buffy’s thoughts began to wander.
“I wonder if I would forget everything,” she mused. “Something would have to happen for me to regress, forget the person I am.”
“I don’t think there’s memory loss per se, but yeah, I guess something would change. Maybe everything would get…blurry.”
“I mean, let’s say, for sake of argument, that the potion made me regress to wanting…Riley.” She seriously doubted that would happen, but it was better than bringing up Angel.
“Er. Okay…”
“I would have to somehow forget that we had a horrible break-up and he was kind of a jerk and we’re really not right for each other. Or else maybe I just wouldn’t care?”
“Kind of morbid thoughts, pet.”
Better to be prepared, Buffy thought. It was easier to face this head on, aloud; try to make sense of it. Otherwise the possibilities in her head would drive her crazy.
“What would you do if I did want Riley? This isn’t rhetorical.” She could easily picture Spike’s bemusement.
“I would…tell you he died. No Riley for Buffy.”
“Ooh, that might work. Failing that, remind me he’s married. Even as a teen I had an ethic about cheating. I think.”
“Will do.”
“Hmm…what would you do if I decided that Slaying had to be kept secret?”
“Show you Harmony on one of her bloody TV shows and bring out your competitive streak. You’d show her how to dance.”
For a brief, wonderful moment Buffy grinned.
“Personally I’m more worried about your fashion taste regressing.”
Buffy blinked; had she heard him right? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I knew you in high school and some of those outfits deserved their crumbly end in Sunnydale.”
“You-!” She pulled her head away to scowl at him. He was grinning impudently. “You’re not one to talk, Mr.-wore-the-same-outfit-for-thirty-years.”
“Call it sentimental value. I met a very fine, if ill-dressed woman wearing that outfit.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You are so full of it.” But mollified, she rested her head on his shoulder again.
She was trying to think of more scenarios, caught up in this strange game, when a more serious idea occurred to her that made her gag. If she weren’t so loathe to leave his embrace, she would have run to the railing again.
“What if I forget Dawn? I’ve only had her since I was 19! What if I stop loving her because I don’t know what it feels like to have a sister-!”
“Then Dawn will beat you over the head with a pillow until you come to your senses,” said Spike, with only a slight pause. “Besides, even if you didn’t think of her like a sister at first, you’d grow to love her. It’s impossible not to.”
Now that such a terrifying prospect had occurred to her, Buffy found it impossible to turn her brain off.
“What if I forget you? You were evil when I was a teenager! What if I forget we’re friends and I- I- what if I try to kill you again?”
Cowardly though she knew it was, Buffy was glad that she couldn’t see his face. She gripped his hand, which was wrapped around her middle, so that he couldn’t leave her.
When Spike spoke, he didn’t sound nearly as horrified as she felt. Perhaps, Buffy thought, feeling sick again, he had already thought of this. “Then I’d fight you off. You haven’t taken me yet.”
This was not comforting. It was such a casual response that the only thing Buffy could think to mumble in reply was, “Only ‘cause you got lucky.”
Spike pulled his head back a few inches to stare at her, his eyebrow quirked. She maintained her death grip on his hand and still had to resist the urge to yank him back.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, and she knew that in any other circumstances, he would have argued. “Then I’d charm you. Worked before.”
Buffy frowned. “Did not.”
“Really? Then all the times you let me go before the chip were just…mistakes?”
“They-” Buffy scowled.
Spike’s eyes danced. “Failing my fighting prowess and charm, I’d resort to the old stand-by. I am a soulful, harmless creature just trying to earn an honest living. I could give you references. I’m sure Dawn would oblige. Or Xander or Willow, should you not trust the nibblet.”
“That…might work,” Buffy conceded.
She was quiet for several minutes before she whispered, “What would you do if there were no antidote? Since there’s no magic…”
“We would never stop looking.” Spike’s voice was suddenly guttural. His arm tightened around her. “We’d search every Whedon clan in the world.”
“And if that didn’t work?” Buffy didn’t know why she was being such a masochist; only that she needed an answer.
“Then we would love you anyway,” said Spike. He pressed another kiss to her hair. “And we would do everything we could to help you learn to love us again too.”
All of a sudden the tears were coming again. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure why, except that it might have something to do with what she suspected it had cost Spike to use the word ‘us.’
Maybe a regressed Buffy wouldn’t be so scared of loving.
“I don’t want my head messed with,” she choked as tears dripped off her face. She remembered the euphoria she had felt with Angel, the irrepressible urge to- to mate with him- and the destruction it had caused, and she sobbed harder. “I’m so sick of forces making me do things that I shouldn’t- that I don’t want-” She gasped, hiccupped, and said brokenly. “I don’t want to lose my mind. It’s my mind.”
“I know, Buffy,” whispered Spike. “Love, I know.”
He did, didn’t he? The chip, the soul, the First. Of all her friends, Spike knew exactly what she was afraid of. He knew what it felt like to lose complete control, to be helpless in his own body.
The knowledge that he really did know, that he wasn’t just saying it to comfort her, eased some of her panic, if not her fear. She clung to him, and he rocked her, and she tried not to think anymore.
When a few minutes passed, and her quaking slowed, Spike murmured, “Do you want to go back inside to sleep, love? I should have called during the day to tell you. I’m sorry I woke you like this.”
“Don’t leave,” whispered Buffy, and curled one hand around his bicep.
“Will you just…hold me?”
He was already holding her. And there was no power on Earth that could make her let him go.
“I won’t, Buffy. Do you want to-”
She shook her head against his shoulder, and he lapsed into silence. She didn’t want the apartment. She didn’t want the reality of her sister and best friend next door and the possibility that she might betray them.
Buffy took several deep breaths, the way she did when she was meditating or about to begin a particularly hard exercise, and closed her eyes.
* * *
“Buffy? Buffy, wake up. It’s almost sunrise, pet.”
Buffy came to slowly, aware first of Spike’s voice, then of his face right near hers, the solidness of him surrounding her, and finally the balcony. Memories of what she’d learned a few hours before returned, and she made a face. Her cheeks still felt sticky from tears. She sat up slowly, wincing peremptorily in case her head pounded, and he shifted behind her.
“Sorry, love,” he murmured. “The sun-”
Buffy nodded and pushed herself to her feet. Spike stood more slowly, trying to suppress grimaces. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that while she had been quite comfy in his lap, he had been sitting on the hard metal grate for hours.
“You go inside and sleep some more.” Spike spoke gently and deliberately, as though to a small child.
“Tell Dawn and Xander about the potion. If you want me to come by later, I will. Ring me anytime, all right?”
Buffy nodded.
“We’re going to beat this, Buffy,” he said, and a warm smile lit his face, so earnest and caring that it was easy to believe him. Spike had survived all the attempts on his mind, after all. And had become an amazing man in spite- or because- of them. The most amazing man she knew, Buffy realized. The thought stirred something in her, and she knew there was a corollary just beyond her grasp.
“Dawn and Xander and Willow and I- we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”
Buffy smiled back. It was easier, with the sun about to peek over the horizon, to dismiss her fears from a few hours before. Yes the idea of the potion was terrifying. But she wasn’t stupid; she didn’t accept drinks from strangers.
And she wasn’t alone.
As Buffy looked at Spike, she knew that ‘thank you’ was inadequate for everything he had done for her. There should be different words to say to someone you loved.
A click seemed to sound in Buffy’s head, like the last piece of a puzzle being slotted into place.
She loved him.
Joy bloomed in Buffy, so strong it almost hurt.
She loved him. And Spike loved her. And it didn’t matter anymore that she was a bad luck charm when it came to love, because if there was even the slightest chance that she could lose her mind, then he had to know the truth before it was too late.
Unless…
Was it fair to tell him now? Or would he think she was overcompensating because of the imminent danger, like Xander’s proposal to Anya during the apocalypse?
“Buffy?”
Spike was staring at her, half bemused, half concerned, and Buffy realized that her face did hurt because she was smiling so widely. She probably looked like the Buffybot.
“Spike, I- I-”
He was glancing at the sky as she spoke, and Buffy felt her throat close up.
The sun wouldn’t give her the time she needed to make him understand, to soothe his insecurities and then kiss him until she was blue in the face.
“T-thank you.”
On impulse, she hugged him. Spike exhaled in surprise, and Buffy realized that this may have been their first embrace ever that wasn’t prompted by sex or solace. She wondered if he could hear the truth hammering in her breast.
He prized apart from her in seconds, though, with another rueful glance upward. An affectionate smile followed, and Buffy knew, without a doubt, that he had forgiven her. They were back to square ten.
Next time, she would take it to square twelve. At night, when she had all the time in the world to explain.
She wasn’t overcompensating, right?
“Be careful, Buffy,” he said, as he started up the stairs.
“You too, Spike.”
Buffy lingered on the balcony after watching his ship fly away and thought about what it would be like to have him around every day; to sleep in his arms every night and never have to say good-bye at sunrise.
It might just be worth an apocalypse.
About 15 hours later
Dawn hovered by the window, antsy with impatience and straining her ears for the sound of the shower. She wanted him to arrive before Buffy got out. Behind her, already on the couch, Xander rolled his eye every minute or so.
She slid the window up as soon as she heard footsteps on the balcony.
“What’s wrong?” Is Buffy okay?”
Spike looked panicked, which was unnecessary since she had already told him on the phone when she called ten minutes before that Buffy was safe. Although granted, she had also said, in her tersest voice, “But you need to come.”
Now she said, “Yes. But you need to come inside.”
Spike hesitated for only an instant before swinging his leg over the sill. He wasn’t graceful about it- he hopped a bit and caught his duster on the frame. Dawn found it oddly endearing.
Spike glanced around the apartment, taking in Xander on the couch, who steadfastly ignored them, as well as the distinct lack of chaos. “What’s wrong?”
Dawn closed the window while she summoned her best serious expression. “Buffy’s a third wheel.”
Spike stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”
“It’s movie night,” said Dawn. “Buffy is a third wheel.”
She saw the cogs finally click into place. Spike shifted weight, his gaze flicking around the living room again warily.
“Dawn, I’m not sure that’s a good-”
“How much butter do you like on your popcorn? You don’t have to worry about heart attacks, I suppose, so do you want a lot?”
She brushed past him to the kitchen area. He trailed behind, which in this apartment meant taking two steps.
“Dawn-”
“She’s in the shower right now, and she doesn’t know you’re coming, so it will be a surprise.”
“Dawn-”
“I don’t think she told you last night because, hello evil potion wig-out, but she’s getting her own apartment! A unit opened up downstairs, and she signed the lease. Willow’s going to room with her; that way they can afford it. Isn’t that great?”
“Nibblet.”
She swiveled away from the microwave to look at him.
He was giving her his sternest look. “What are you doing?”
Dawn tried not to pout. It wasn’t fair that Spike’s stern look still made her feel…well, little.
“I’m speeding up the process.”
After the past year, Dawn was pretty sure that “Buffy and Spike” was an inevitability. The problem was she didn’t know if they knew it. Knowing her stubborn sister and pigheaded vampire, it could take a few years.
And Dawn was sick of Buffy being lovesick and watching Spike slowly turn into a brooding Angel of old. It was possible that Buffy would take the leap after they brought down Meltzer and Allie together (which was also an inevitability; Dawn just hoped that Buffy didn’t kill them right away; she was so going to kick the asses of any goons who thought they could regress her sister), but frankly, after the past day, Dawn was fed up of hearing about possibilities.
It was time for some certainties.
“What process?” said Spike suspiciously.
Dawn smiled. Suddenly not feeling so little anymore, she danced forward and pushed- all right, shoved- Spike toward the couch.
“Take off your coat. Make yourself at home.” Ignoring his protests, she pulled his duster off and hung it on a hook near the door before heading back to the kitchen. “I think Xander’s secretly relieved to have you here. We’re watching a rom-com, so he could use the extra testosterone.”
Xander snorted, finally breaking his silence. “If I needed testosterone, Spike would be the last person I’d call.”
“Only because you don’t know what it is,” retorted Spike.
“Moron.”
“Wanker.”
“What’s going on?”
Buffy stood in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a ratty tee shirt, booty shorts, and an expression of astonishment. For the first time Dawn felt a flicker of nervousness. She was about to speak, in an extra cheerful tone, when Buffy said softly,
“I was going to call you.” She was staring at Spike with an odd expression.
Dawn had no idea what that was about. “Spike’s here for movie night. I invited him. Come on, sit down.”
Buffy’s eyes flew to Spike, who still looked uncertain. He glanced at the couch right behind him, as though wondering if he should move away, and back at Buffy.
A pale blush was spreading over her face. But she was smiling. Dawn was taken aback by how young Buffy looked. Shy and happy and-
And very much in love.
Spike was smiling too, now, looking as radiant as anyone with a heartbeat. He and Buffy could have been the only people in the room.
Dawn grinned and turned back to the popcorn.
The End
Part IV - Alternate Ending
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. 4,000 words. Part I. Part II. Part III.
A/N: I changed the ending to this yesterday, which is much more impulsive than I usually am, but I thought that Buffy deserved to be more self-aware in the penultimate scene. I hope it works. I am considering writing an alternate ending in which Buffy is not only self-aware but also decides to share with the class. You'll know what I mean, and if you have an opinion on that- such as, which you think is more realistic, would you want to read an alt ending, etc., please let me know. I might write one just for my own gratification, but it would take a few weeks.
Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on previous parts. Your feedback has been so generous and made me very happy. This fic kind of poured out of me after #40 (it's been a while since I've felt such an impetus to write write write and tell a specific story), so I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed it. Thank you.
Part IV
August 19
Buffy jerked upright. For a second she thought she must have had a nightmare, and then the hammering sound came again. A flash of silver blond hair goaded her to her feet. A glance at the clock as she stumbled to the window showed it was close to four in the morning.
“What?” She tried not to sound cranky and failed. Even Slayer nighttime visiting hours had an end time.
“I found out what sort of potion Meltzer and Allie want to use on you,” blurted Spike.
His words were like icy water trickling down her back, waking her with a very unpleasant jolt.
She climbed out the window without further hesitation, forgetting that this was an excellent opportunity to cajole him into coming inside.
“What is it?”
Spike hesitated. That alone sent more chills crawling along her spine. Spike wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’m the Slayer, life is never pretty! What is it?”
“It’s a potion that changes your personality.”
Buffy stared at him as the foreboding in her stomach grew stronger. “To…what?”
“It evokes past insecurities, fears, and base desires,” said Spike flatly. “While simultaneously erasing common sense and impulse control. The victim would essentially regress to being the worst kind of teenager. An impulsive, insecure, emotional wreck of a teenager.”
The words pounded in Buffy’s head for several seconds, the implications setting in, and then she almost knocked Spike over in her dash to the railing.
“What the- Buffy?” His annoyance transformed to concern in an instant. As she leaned over the railing, dry heaving, Spike moved to her side and tentatively touched her back. When she continued quivering, he began rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.
“It’s all right, love. We’re not going to let them do that to you.”
Buffy didn’t reply.
His hand moved upward to her hair. “Besides, as I recall, you were one hell of a teenager.”
Buffy jerked upright. She wished immediately she hadn’t because his hand dropped and he stepped back, looking chagrined.
“I wouldn’t be- I wouldn’t be myself. I’d be some twisted, horrible version-” She blinked back tears as the possibilities pounded her.
To resent her powers as much as she enjoyed them, always feeling like a freak.
To fear exposure again; the panic and betrayal she’d felt when her mother disavowed her.
To fear that those she loved- Dad, Angel, Mom, Giles- would leave her or stop loving her; that she’d be alone.
That she couldn’t love.
To feel dead inside. Again. To forget and ignore and hate and abuse-
-and Spike was looking at her so tenderly right now, while she could feel his flesh beneath her fists as she mocked his love, and she could see her sister neglected and abandoned, and her friends falling apart, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara-
-oh God, Anya Tara Anya Tara, she would fail them again-
“Buffy, Buffy, love, it’s all right-”
She wanted to agree because she hated to worry him, but as his voice shot through her all she could think was desire, and if she regressed the person she would most desire was-
No, no, no, never again, she didn’t want Angel anymore, she didn’t.
But the potion could make her want him, it could make her want him and need him and love him, the bastard, the horrible, murdering bastard.
“Let it out, love, but you have to breathe, Buffy, breathe.”
Spike was gripping her hand in his as he used his other to give her shoulders and hair feather light touches. She became aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks and off her chin. Her face felt soggy, and he looked like he might cry too, as though her breakdown was causing him physical pain. The pressure in her head and nose reached a pitch.
Buffy stepped forward, and as though he had been waiting all along for her to do so, Spike pulled her against him. She buried her face in his shoulder and let herself sob, while his arms encircled her.
“I don’t want to love him, I don’t want him, I don’t want to hurt anyone-“
“You won’t hurt anyone, Buffy. You won’t.”
“I’ll hurt my friends, I’ll hurt you-”
“Buffy-”
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
Silence for an instant, except for the sound of her crying, and then his arms squeezed her even more tightly.
“Oh, dearest…” His whisper was like a reverent sigh. It made Buffy shiver with sudden sharp, incongruous pleasure; made her think of exhalations of bliss after making love. Dearest. She was his dearest.
“You won’t hurt me, love. If you were poisoned, nothing you could do would hurt me.”
“How do you know?” she muttered into his duster.
“Because it wouldn’t be you.” She could feel the smile in his voice. “And nothing that poisoned Buffy could do would ever make me stop loving real Buffy.”
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as more tears forced their way out. She began convulsing again, shuddering against him.
Spike sank downward, pulling her with him. He leaned against the wall and hugged her to him, and Buffy let herself go.
* * *
“How did you find out?” Her voice was raspy after so many tears. Her head was a little clearer, though, and that was what mattered.
“Finally tracked down the Whedon clan that sold the potion to them. Not a very loyal bunch of demons, fortunately. They were willing to tell me Meltzer’s secret for the right price.”
“What’s the point do you think? If they want to kill me, there are much easier and faster ways to do it.”
“I don’t think…”
“Go on,” said Buffy, when he hesitated.
“I don’t think they want to kill you,” said Spike. His cheek rested on her head, which rested on his shoulder, and his voice reverberated down her spine. “They want to do-” He broke off, and Buffy knew he had been about to say ‘worse.’
“This sort of potion would…it would make you betray yourself.”
“Use me against myself,” murmured Buffy. She had guessed this but had wanted to hear him say it.
“Turn you into your own worst enemy. The potion is cruel in any case, but on most humans the effects might merely be inconvenient; maybe therapy could help the insecurities, I dunno. But Slayers have more…trauma to draw on.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Buffy. How many times did you hear ordinary people complain about having died? Even once?
“You could act recklessly, make stupid mistakes.”
Buffy knew that he was sugarcoating the situation. Try ‘fatal’ instead of ‘stupid.’
“I might turn on the people who love me,” she said grimly, and felt Spike’s breath in her hair as he exhaled.
“There’s that.”
“I might…trust…people I shouldn’t.”
“That too.”
“I might not trust anyone. I might be terrified and paranoid and confused-” Buffy closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. This thinking realistically thing was harder than she had anticipated.
“On the way over I kept wondering the same thing,” said Spike softly. “What was the point? There’s maliciousness, obviously. Maybe they want revenge because of the seed. But I think they’re also aiming for destruction. There are very few Slayers left who pose a significant threat to demons. There’s you, and there’s Faith. If they poisoned both of you, or even one of you, they could turn you against each other and bring what little remains of the Slayer system to shambles.”
A knot of panic twisted in Buffy that had nothing to do with her own danger. “Faith! She used to be so screwed up she made me look perfect. If she regressed- she was all alone and miserable and unloved. She didn’t trust anyone. She used to hate me, she wanted me dead!” The idea of having to fight Faith again, after how far they had come, made Buffy want to scream. This wasn’t fair.
“You should let her know,” said Spike.
“Everyone has to know,” said Buffy. “And I do need to buy a hip flask.”
Spike smoothed his hand over her hair and didn’t say anything. Buffy’s thoughts began to wander.
“I wonder if I would forget everything,” she mused. “Something would have to happen for me to regress, forget the person I am.”
“I don’t think there’s memory loss per se, but yeah, I guess something would change. Maybe everything would get…blurry.”
“I mean, let’s say, for sake of argument, that the potion made me regress to wanting…Riley.” She seriously doubted that would happen, but it was better than bringing up Angel.
“Er. Okay…”
“I would have to somehow forget that we had a horrible break-up and he was kind of a jerk and we’re really not right for each other. Or else maybe I just wouldn’t care?”
“Kind of morbid thoughts, pet.”
Better to be prepared, Buffy thought. It was easier to face this head on, aloud; try to make sense of it. Otherwise the possibilities in her head would drive her crazy.
“What would you do if I did want Riley? This isn’t rhetorical.” She could easily picture Spike’s bemusement.
“I would…tell you he died. No Riley for Buffy.”
“Ooh, that might work. Failing that, remind me he’s married. Even as a teen I had an ethic about cheating. I think.”
“Will do.”
“Hmm…what would you do if I decided that Slaying had to be kept secret?”
“Show you Harmony on one of her bloody TV shows and bring out your competitive streak. You’d show her how to dance.”
For a brief, wonderful moment Buffy grinned.
“Personally I’m more worried about your fashion taste regressing.”
Buffy blinked; had she heard him right? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I knew you in high school and some of those outfits deserved their crumbly end in Sunnydale.”
“You-!” She pulled her head away to scowl at him. He was grinning impudently. “You’re not one to talk, Mr.-wore-the-same-outfit-for-thirty-years.”
“Call it sentimental value. I met a very fine, if ill-dressed woman wearing that outfit.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You are so full of it.” But mollified, she rested her head on his shoulder again.
She was trying to think of more scenarios, caught up in this strange game, when a more serious idea occurred to her that made her gag. If she weren’t so loathe to leave his embrace, she would have run to the railing again.
“What if I forget Dawn? I’ve only had her since I was 19! What if I stop loving her because I don’t know what it feels like to have a sister-!”
“Then Dawn will beat you over the head with a pillow until you come to your senses,” said Spike, with only a slight pause. “Besides, even if you didn’t think of her like a sister at first, you’d grow to love her. It’s impossible not to.”
Now that such a terrifying prospect had occurred to her, Buffy found it impossible to turn her brain off.
“What if I forget you? You were evil when I was a teenager! What if I forget we’re friends and I- I- what if I try to kill you again?”
Cowardly though she knew it was, Buffy was glad that she couldn’t see his face. She gripped his hand, which was wrapped around her middle, so that he couldn’t leave her.
When Spike spoke, he didn’t sound nearly as horrified as she felt. Perhaps, Buffy thought, feeling sick again, he had already thought of this. “Then I’d fight you off. You haven’t taken me yet.”
This was not comforting. It was such a casual response that the only thing Buffy could think to mumble in reply was, “Only ‘cause you got lucky.”
Spike pulled his head back a few inches to stare at her, his eyebrow quirked. She maintained her death grip on his hand and still had to resist the urge to yank him back.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, and she knew that in any other circumstances, he would have argued. “Then I’d charm you. Worked before.”
Buffy frowned. “Did not.”
“Really? Then all the times you let me go before the chip were just…mistakes?”
“They-” Buffy scowled.
Spike’s eyes danced. “Failing my fighting prowess and charm, I’d resort to the old stand-by. I am a soulful, harmless creature just trying to earn an honest living. I could give you references. I’m sure Dawn would oblige. Or Xander or Willow, should you not trust the nibblet.”
“That…might work,” Buffy conceded.
She was quiet for several minutes before she whispered, “What would you do if there were no antidote? Since there’s no magic…”
“We would never stop looking.” Spike’s voice was suddenly guttural. His arm tightened around her. “We’d search every Whedon clan in the world.”
“And if that didn’t work?” Buffy didn’t know why she was being such a masochist; only that she needed an answer.
“Then we would love you anyway,” said Spike. He pressed another kiss to her hair. “And we would do everything we could to help you learn to love us again too.”
All of a sudden the tears were coming again. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure why, except that it might have something to do with what she suspected it had cost Spike to use the word ‘us.’
Maybe a regressed Buffy wouldn’t be so scared of loving.
“I don’t want my head messed with,” she choked as tears dripped off her face. She remembered the euphoria she had felt with Angel, the irrepressible urge to- to mate with him- and the destruction it had caused, and she sobbed harder. “I’m so sick of forces making me do things that I shouldn’t- that I don’t want-” She gasped, hiccupped, and said brokenly. “I don’t want to lose my mind. It’s my mind.”
“I know, Buffy,” whispered Spike. “Love, I know.”
He did, didn’t he? The chip, the soul, the First. Of all her friends, Spike knew exactly what she was afraid of. He knew what it felt like to lose complete control, to be helpless in his own body.
The knowledge that he really did know, that he wasn’t just saying it to comfort her, eased some of her panic, if not her fear. She clung to him, and he rocked her, and she tried not to think anymore.
When a few minutes passed, and her quaking slowed, Spike murmured, “Do you want to go back inside to sleep, love? I should have called during the day to tell you. I’m sorry I woke you like this.”
“Don’t leave,” whispered Buffy, and curled one hand around his bicep.
“Will you just…hold me?”
He was already holding her. And there was no power on Earth that could make her let him go.
“I won’t, Buffy. Do you want to-”
She shook her head against his shoulder, and he lapsed into silence. She didn’t want the apartment. She didn’t want the reality of her sister and best friend next door and the possibility that she might betray them.
Buffy took several deep breaths, the way she did when she was meditating or about to begin a particularly hard exercise, and closed her eyes.
* * *
“Buffy? Buffy, wake up. It’s almost sunrise, pet.”
Buffy came to slowly, aware first of Spike’s voice, then of his face right near hers, the solidness of him surrounding her, and finally the balcony. Memories of what she’d learned a few hours before returned, and she made a face. Her cheeks still felt sticky from tears. She sat up slowly, wincing peremptorily in case her head pounded, and he shifted behind her.
“Sorry, love,” he murmured. “The sun-”
Buffy nodded and pushed herself to her feet. Spike stood more slowly, trying to suppress grimaces. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that while she had been quite comfy in his lap, he had been sitting on the hard metal grate for hours.
“You go inside and sleep some more.” Spike spoke gently and deliberately, as though to a small child.
“Tell Dawn and Xander about the potion. If you want me to come by later, I will. Ring me anytime, all right?”
Buffy nodded.
“We’re going to beat this, Buffy,” he said, and a warm smile lit his face, so earnest and caring that it was easy to believe him. Spike had survived all the attempts on his mind, after all. And had become an amazing man in spite- or because- of them. The most amazing man she knew, Buffy realized. The thought stirred something in her, and she knew there was a corollary just beyond her grasp.
“Dawn and Xander and Willow and I- we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”
Buffy smiled back. It was easier, with the sun about to peek over the horizon, to dismiss her fears from a few hours before. Yes the idea of the potion was terrifying. But she wasn’t stupid; she didn’t accept drinks from strangers.
And she wasn’t alone.
As Buffy looked at Spike, she knew that ‘thank you’ was inadequate for everything he had done for her. There should be different words to say to someone you loved.
A click seemed to sound in Buffy’s head, like the last piece of a puzzle being slotted into place.
She loved him.
Joy bloomed in Buffy, so strong it almost hurt.
She loved him. And Spike loved her. And it didn’t matter anymore that she was a bad luck charm when it came to love, because if there was even the slightest chance that she could lose her mind, then he had to know the truth before it was too late.
Unless…
Was it fair to tell him now? Or would he think she was overcompensating because of the imminent danger, like Xander’s proposal to Anya during the apocalypse?
“Buffy?”
Spike was staring at her, half bemused, half concerned, and Buffy realized that her face did hurt because she was smiling so widely. She probably looked like the Buffybot.
“Spike, I- I-”
He was glancing at the sky as she spoke, and Buffy felt her throat close up.
The sun wouldn’t give her the time she needed to make him understand, to soothe his insecurities and then kiss him until she was blue in the face.
“T-thank you.”
On impulse, she hugged him. Spike exhaled in surprise, and Buffy realized that this may have been their first embrace ever that wasn’t prompted by sex or solace. She wondered if he could hear the truth hammering in her breast.
He prized apart from her in seconds, though, with another rueful glance upward. An affectionate smile followed, and Buffy knew, without a doubt, that he had forgiven her. They were back to square ten.
Next time, she would take it to square twelve. At night, when she had all the time in the world to explain.
She wasn’t overcompensating, right?
“Be careful, Buffy,” he said, as he started up the stairs.
“You too, Spike.”
Buffy lingered on the balcony after watching his ship fly away and thought about what it would be like to have him around every day; to sleep in his arms every night and never have to say good-bye at sunrise.
It might just be worth an apocalypse.
About 15 hours later
Dawn hovered by the window, antsy with impatience and straining her ears for the sound of the shower. She wanted him to arrive before Buffy got out. Behind her, already on the couch, Xander rolled his eye every minute or so.
She slid the window up as soon as she heard footsteps on the balcony.
“What’s wrong?” Is Buffy okay?”
Spike looked panicked, which was unnecessary since she had already told him on the phone when she called ten minutes before that Buffy was safe. Although granted, she had also said, in her tersest voice, “But you need to come.”
Now she said, “Yes. But you need to come inside.”
Spike hesitated for only an instant before swinging his leg over the sill. He wasn’t graceful about it- he hopped a bit and caught his duster on the frame. Dawn found it oddly endearing.
Spike glanced around the apartment, taking in Xander on the couch, who steadfastly ignored them, as well as the distinct lack of chaos. “What’s wrong?”
Dawn closed the window while she summoned her best serious expression. “Buffy’s a third wheel.”
Spike stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”
“It’s movie night,” said Dawn. “Buffy is a third wheel.”
She saw the cogs finally click into place. Spike shifted weight, his gaze flicking around the living room again warily.
“Dawn, I’m not sure that’s a good-”
“How much butter do you like on your popcorn? You don’t have to worry about heart attacks, I suppose, so do you want a lot?”
She brushed past him to the kitchen area. He trailed behind, which in this apartment meant taking two steps.
“Dawn-”
“She’s in the shower right now, and she doesn’t know you’re coming, so it will be a surprise.”
“Dawn-”
“I don’t think she told you last night because, hello evil potion wig-out, but she’s getting her own apartment! A unit opened up downstairs, and she signed the lease. Willow’s going to room with her; that way they can afford it. Isn’t that great?”
“Nibblet.”
She swiveled away from the microwave to look at him.
He was giving her his sternest look. “What are you doing?”
Dawn tried not to pout. It wasn’t fair that Spike’s stern look still made her feel…well, little.
“I’m speeding up the process.”
After the past year, Dawn was pretty sure that “Buffy and Spike” was an inevitability. The problem was she didn’t know if they knew it. Knowing her stubborn sister and pigheaded vampire, it could take a few years.
And Dawn was sick of Buffy being lovesick and watching Spike slowly turn into a brooding Angel of old. It was possible that Buffy would take the leap after they brought down Meltzer and Allie together (which was also an inevitability; Dawn just hoped that Buffy didn’t kill them right away; she was so going to kick the asses of any goons who thought they could regress her sister), but frankly, after the past day, Dawn was fed up of hearing about possibilities.
It was time for some certainties.
“What process?” said Spike suspiciously.
Dawn smiled. Suddenly not feeling so little anymore, she danced forward and pushed- all right, shoved- Spike toward the couch.
“Take off your coat. Make yourself at home.” Ignoring his protests, she pulled his duster off and hung it on a hook near the door before heading back to the kitchen. “I think Xander’s secretly relieved to have you here. We’re watching a rom-com, so he could use the extra testosterone.”
Xander snorted, finally breaking his silence. “If I needed testosterone, Spike would be the last person I’d call.”
“Only because you don’t know what it is,” retorted Spike.
“Moron.”
“Wanker.”
“What’s going on?”
Buffy stood in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a ratty tee shirt, booty shorts, and an expression of astonishment. For the first time Dawn felt a flicker of nervousness. She was about to speak, in an extra cheerful tone, when Buffy said softly,
“I was going to call you.” She was staring at Spike with an odd expression.
Dawn had no idea what that was about. “Spike’s here for movie night. I invited him. Come on, sit down.”
Buffy’s eyes flew to Spike, who still looked uncertain. He glanced at the couch right behind him, as though wondering if he should move away, and back at Buffy.
A pale blush was spreading over her face. But she was smiling. Dawn was taken aback by how young Buffy looked. Shy and happy and-
And very much in love.
Spike was smiling too, now, looking as radiant as anyone with a heartbeat. He and Buffy could have been the only people in the room.
Dawn grinned and turned back to the popcorn.
The End
Part IV - Alternate Ending