Bought and Soulled: Chapter Seven
Not happy with this chapter. Grr. Do I say that too much? Well, read it anyway, I dare you!
Previous Parts Here
Chapter Seven: Bared Souls
“Well, that was a whole lot of nothing,” Buffy tossed her bag on the couch.
Tara looked up from the book she was highlighting. “No lair?”
“Oh, there was lair.” Buffy dropped onto the couch and pulled the elastic off her frayed ponytail. “Boy, was there lair. Real ‘Doctor No’ set-up: buzz saws and trip-wires. Geeks.”
Tara closed her book and capped her highlighter. Economic theory would have to wait. “They knew you were coming?”
“Once again, world-saveage - or at least town-saveage, fails on account of Buffy’s screwed-up personal life.” She wrapped her rubber-band on her wrist and picked dejectedly at it. “I should have been out there, finding them, not going after Spike.”
“No.” Tara scooted close to put her hand on Buffy’s arm. “No, sweetie. You can’t blame yourself like that. H-he… you… after what you saw? How could you do anything different?”
“I don’t know. I just know that since coming back, I’ve done everything wrong. Everything.”
“You haven’t.”
Buffy shook her head. “Tara, you’re, like, sweetness personified, but come on. Fate has thrown me the lamest bad guys in history and I can’t even defeat them! Xander’s never going to speak to any of us again, Willow can’t use magic - what are we supposed to do?”
“Hey, I may not be Willow,” Tara straightened with a smug smile, “but I can sling a spell or two, you know.”
Buffy knew she should be strategizing, but all that came out of her mouth was, “Why did you come back?”
Tara blinked, her brow crinkling a little. “D-do you not want me here?”
“Willow did the unthinkable to you, Tara. She violated your mind. But you’re back. You forgave her. I mean, you did, didn’t you?”
Tara blushed and looked away. “I… I know she won’t do it again. I trust her.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not my business, anyway. I just… it’s not even relevant. Spike didn’t just break my trust, he is evil. Definition thereof. I can’t forget or forgive that. I shouldn’t.”
Tara’s hand once again reached for Buffy’s. Her fingertips were so soft. When Buffy raised her eyes to meet hers, Tara said, “Sometimes what we should do just makes everyone miserable. You start wondering why you’re supposed to in the fist place. For me, not being with Willow was about my safety. But it hurt, being away from her, and then I realized, the danger had passed. She won’t hurt me again - not like that. Any other way we might hurt each other in the future? I-I can accept.”
Tara was smiling, calm, eyes clear and completely in control. Buffy wondered how long it had been since she felt in control of anything, even herself. She threw her arms around Tara and said, “I’m so glad you’re back. If Willow ever hurts you again, I’ll find a way to turn her into a toad!”
Tara laughed and patted Buffy’s back. “We’ll get through this. They’re only three guys our age! I’m not afraid,” Tara said.
“Right.” Buffy pushed herself back from the embrace. “Right. Because we were talking about the geeks. That’s what’s bothering me. Yup. Three geeks.”
“And Spike,” Tara smiled knowing, gathering up her books. “I should start dinner.”
There was a knock at the front door just as Tara left the room. Buffy opened the door to find Spike standing there. She turned to look behind her, wondering if Tara could possibly have conjured this - but Tara was innocently setting her books on the dining table.
“Hello, Buffy.” Spike was in his standard “cleaned up” attire - the red button-down and a knotty silver necklace, his hair pomaded in a more careful manner than usual, a touch of dark eyeliner - just enough to make him panty-combusting-ly pretty. He held a brocade-covered box in his hands, like the kind you got at Chinese gift stores with paperweights or sets of rice-ware bowls.
Buffy tried to bear up under the visual assault. She was so tired. Tara - Tara of all people, had joined the ‘we’re okay with Spike’ parade. Everyone was willing to let her keep dating evil. Everyone but her own conscience, and even it was kinda wishy-washy. “What do you want? Because I have work in an hour.”
“Will only take a second,” Spike said. He looked down at the box in his hands, and then nervously up at her again. He looked so young, boyish, unsure.
Buffy bit her lip and nodded.
“Just wanted to give you this,” he said, and held out the box.
“Spike, you can’t buy me back.”
“It’s not that. Just… open it, okay? Feel stupid just holding it out. Promise it’s pretty, and not stolen. You don’t like it, I’ll take it back where it came from.”
Buffy took the box. It was heavy. “I shouldn’t be accepting gifts. And I’m not mad… not that mad. Just disappointed. I knew you….” She stared at the glowing crystal ball nestled in the padded box. She pulled it out. “Is this…?”
“Orb of Thesula. Magic Box keeps an ungodly number of ‘em in stock these days.” Spike smirked. “Gee, wonder why.” He rubbed his thumb over his lips and, with a failing attempt at casual, said, “Anyway, yeah. That’s my soul.”
“Oh god,” Buffy said. She backed into the room, her arm holding the orb out as though to get away from it. Her calves hit the coffee-table and she inadvertently fumbled.
Spike dove to catch the crystal sphere before it hit the ground. “Careful,” he said. “Don’t know what happens if this bugger breaks.” He examined the sphere then, as calmly as offering her a flower, held it out to her.
Buffy felt numb. Instead of taking the proffered orb, she backed her way to the couch and sat down. “Spike, you can’t just give someone your soul as a present. It’s - god, I can’t believe I’m even going there - it’s sacrilege.”
“It’s mine, innit? Can give away what’s mine.” He looked down at the orb, ran his thumb along the rough surface. “Had some things I was gonna say. Rehearsed, you know. This was a bitch to get, plenty of time to pace and rehearse. Sounded good, too. Think the gist of it was: Take this, Buffy, and know that I’m always in your power. You hold my soul. No more now than you did before, either. I gave you my heart, even though you didn’t want it, and now I’m giving you my soul - which you sort of asked for. It’s a symbol, like. Maybe not undying love or whatnot since you don’t believe I can love you, but a symbol of what I’m willin’ to do, for you.” He knelt by her, took her limp hand off her knee, turned it over and set the orb on her palm. “And you can do with it what you like. ‘M giving you that power, love.”
She stared in disbelief. “I can’t accept this,” she said. “It’s too much.”
“Too much for you is never enough,” Spike said, and rose to his feet. “I’ll go then. That was all I wanted to say.”
“Wait! Spike!” She jumped up as he walked to the door.
He turned, holding her off with one hand. “Really, Buffy, the longer I stay, the more I say, and the less this… this gesture stands on its own, yeah? I’ll be at my crypt.”
She was left, stunned, holding the orb while he sprinted across the street, duster over his head, for the big oak that shaded a sewer grate.
Only then did she realize he’d done the whole thing during the day. His SOUL. He carried his soul to her through the sewers and ran with it under his arm.
She was still standing in the doorway, the orb held tight to her stomach, when Tara’s hand fell on his shoulder. She jumped a foot and nearly dropped the orb again. She turned with an unfairly angry face to her gentle friend.
“M-m-maybe you should set that down,” Tara said.
Buffy felt the orb - strangely warm and was it buzzing or was that her imagination? “Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.” She hurried to the coffee table and dropped the thing in its unassuming fabric-covered box. “Is it real? Tara - I’m not the sort to take jewelry in to be appraised after being given it, but this…”
“It’s real,” Tara said. She wrung her hands nervously and made a vague gesture. “I can - I can see it.”
“How could he do that? Why would he do that? How am I supposed to react? I’m having a real, real hard time reacting!”
Tara fell limply onto the sofa next to her. “Me too,” she confessed. Both stared at the orb. “It’s kinda sweet, though, i-in a blasphemy sort of way.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said, weakly, “I think that’s how he meant it.”
“D-do you suppose he meant for you to… I mean, for me, or Willow…”
“He told me he thought it would be suicide to get his soul back. Death of personality.”
“Oh. So no, then.”
Buffy shook her head. “I’m not sure it is ‘no, then’. That’s what scares me. He - with Glory, on the tower, heck, back with Drusilla - he was always willing to kill himself for love. He keeps saying it, too. I don’t know if that’s some weird, random streak of noble, or more evidence of just how not human he is.”
The front door opened. Dawn bounced in, books on her arm. “Ohmigawd am I famished. Never going to a study session without pizza again.” She set the books down and looked at her sister and Tara, then at the unassuming box they were both staring at. “Is that it? Spike’s gift? What did he get?” She picked up the box and frowned at the glowy orb. “Huh. I told him to go for jewelry or boots. What’s this? Is it magic?”
“Dawn,” Buffy warned, holding a hand out to stop her sister. “Was this your idea?”
Dawn smiled. “So did it work? Are you going to take him back?”
Buffy rose in her seat. Tara grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Don’t kill your sister.”
The humor broke the serious silence. Buffy almost giggled. “What did you do, Dawn?”
“What? I just told him to get you something. A present. Something meaningful and expensive. Like suede boots.”
Tara pursed her lips. “I suppose a soul is something like suede boots.”
“No way.” Dawn picked the orb up out of its box and stared at it. “No way. Is this one of those things like with Angel?”
“It’s a soul, not a toy,” Buffy said, and snatched the orb from her sister. She stuffed it back in its box and closed the lid, sliding the little toggle-clasp back into place. “I can’t believe you talked him into such a weird, freaky, sentimental gesture.”
“Yeah, that is lame. I mean, what are you supposed to do with it? Look at it?”
Buffy looked at the box in her hands. “It was a gesture. A symbol.”
Dawn said, “Buffy, he’s totally sorry about the thing with Anya. I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take him back.”
Buffy sighed. “I’m taking this back.” She hefted the box, shook her head, and went looking for her coat. “Call Doublemeat? Tell them I may be late?”
***
“Spike?” She shifted her feet, suddenly nervous about entering his crypt uninvited. How many times had she just walked in like she owned the place? But now it was different - because they were… something. They were different.
“Here! I’m here!” Spike popped up from the lower level. His hair was a little disheveled and a pillow-crease marked his cheek. “Was… uh, just readin’.”
Buffy nodded. She stepped into the crypt, holding the box in front of her. “I came to give you this back.”
He rubbed the heel of his hand on his cheek. “You don’t, uh, don’t want it, then?”
“I think you know why I can’t accept this, Spike. Souls shouldn’t be gifts.”
He was trying to hide his disappointment, she could tell, as he took the box. His eyes never left it. “Right. Right, well, said you didn’t have to keep it. I... it’s no bother. Just put it on my bedside table, maybe, or see if that warlock bloke can magic it back wherever it’s been loitering these past hundred years. Thanks for not just wreckin’ it.”
“Spike.” She put her hand on his arm. He slowly met her gaze. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t moved.”
“Wanted you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Never mean to… whatever I do wrong, Buffy, I’m tryin’. Tryin’ to be the man you deserve.”
“I haven’t been very deserving lately.” She looked down at her hand on his arm. So easy, to touch, to feel that skin. “I guess… I guess I should give you the chance to keep trying.”
There was a long silence. Neither moved, and only she breathed. “Wait - are you… are you taking me back?”
She grimaced. “Yup. Grand gesture 1, Buffy 0.” She turned her hand, let the backs of her fingers travel over the hard curve of muscle. “I know I shouldn’t; I know it’s wrong. Maybe there is something wrong with me, some part of my soul that didn’t come back. I shouldn’t want to forgive a mass-murderer.”
“Never killed anyone you knew. No one important.”
Buffy stepped back and smacked him, hard. “Listen to yourself!”
He touched his cheek. “Just don’t see the bother over people you don’t even know.”
“Every little girl you killed was someone’s Dawn. Every guy someone’s Xander. Don’t you get it?”
He wanted to say that thinking of all his male kills as Xander was actually pretty fulfilling, but even he knew that would get him knocked on his ass so he set the box on the sarcophagus lid, bit his lip, and shrugged. “’S why you should keep it, pet. You’re the keeper of my conscience, yeah? You tell me what’s right and wrong.”
“I don’t want that responsibility! I’m The Slayer. Don’t you think I have enough weighing on my head?”
“Want to help you. Ease your burdens.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Yeah. I can. Let me take you grocery shopping.”
She stared at him. “Where’d you get the money? For this orb? Anya wouldn’t give it to you. Not even if…” Her eyes grew wide, realizing. “Oh, no… you didn’t… with Anya…”
He cut her off quickly. “I paid cash. It was legit.”
“Tell me how. And who did the spell.”
“It isn’t important.”
She braced her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to be your… your moral guardian if you don’t tell me these things?”
He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I had some cash on hand. Enough for the orb. Can’t recount where every penny came from, but I didn’t steal any of it, all right?”
“And the spell?”
“Warlock. Rack - you remember him. Yeah, evil bugger, but he was willing to do the spell. I just had to do some stuff for him. Nothing nasty.”
“Do some stuff?” Buffy gaped. “Isn’t that the guy you told me was no good? What stuff? Spike! Do you ever think at all? Is there nothing in that head but hair roots?”
“No one got hurt, nothing got damaged. It was a power ritual, Buffy. I know about this stuff. Can’t you trust me even a little?”
His eyes were pleading, wide, and glinting wet in the low light of the crypt. Buffy wrapped her arms tight around herself. “I want to,” she said.
He put his hands on her elbows. “So do. Just a little, love. ‘S all I’m asking.”
“I don’t want this responsibility.”
“I know, love. But it won’t be bad. I’ll be so good. So good, Buffy. I’ll really think about things, I swear. I can do this.”
Buffy took a step back. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Only way to know is to try.”
“If you had a soul…”
“I do.” He waved at the box on the sarcophagus. “An’ it’s not going anywhere.”
Buffy shook her head a little. “I don’t… I don’t make every moral decision right.”
“And I don’t make every one wrong,” he countered. He was looking down at her, now, his features all soft, so beautiful. It would be too easy to assume innocence behind those blue eyes. “Forget the past, love. Let’s not have this same argument over and over. Let’s just try.”
Her brain had stopped processing the problem. “I need to go kill something. Come patrol with me.”
Spike whooped a cheer like he’d been invited to the best party in the history of parties. He dove to the left, scooping his duster up from where it lay on the other sarcophagus. “Let’s have ourselves a time, then,” he said, and, after slipping into his coat, crooked his elbow toward Buffy.
Buffy couldn’t help a small smile. “This isn’t a date.”
“You keep telling yourself that. First dibs to the lady. Let’s see what we can find to slay.”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she took his arm, and they walked out into the night together.
Continued -->
Previous Parts Here
Chapter Seven: Bared Souls
“Well, that was a whole lot of nothing,” Buffy tossed her bag on the couch.
Tara looked up from the book she was highlighting. “No lair?”
“Oh, there was lair.” Buffy dropped onto the couch and pulled the elastic off her frayed ponytail. “Boy, was there lair. Real ‘Doctor No’ set-up: buzz saws and trip-wires. Geeks.”
Tara closed her book and capped her highlighter. Economic theory would have to wait. “They knew you were coming?”
“Once again, world-saveage - or at least town-saveage, fails on account of Buffy’s screwed-up personal life.” She wrapped her rubber-band on her wrist and picked dejectedly at it. “I should have been out there, finding them, not going after Spike.”
“No.” Tara scooted close to put her hand on Buffy’s arm. “No, sweetie. You can’t blame yourself like that. H-he… you… after what you saw? How could you do anything different?”
“I don’t know. I just know that since coming back, I’ve done everything wrong. Everything.”
“You haven’t.”
Buffy shook her head. “Tara, you’re, like, sweetness personified, but come on. Fate has thrown me the lamest bad guys in history and I can’t even defeat them! Xander’s never going to speak to any of us again, Willow can’t use magic - what are we supposed to do?”
“Hey, I may not be Willow,” Tara straightened with a smug smile, “but I can sling a spell or two, you know.”
Buffy knew she should be strategizing, but all that came out of her mouth was, “Why did you come back?”
Tara blinked, her brow crinkling a little. “D-do you not want me here?”
“Willow did the unthinkable to you, Tara. She violated your mind. But you’re back. You forgave her. I mean, you did, didn’t you?”
Tara blushed and looked away. “I… I know she won’t do it again. I trust her.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not my business, anyway. I just… it’s not even relevant. Spike didn’t just break my trust, he is evil. Definition thereof. I can’t forget or forgive that. I shouldn’t.”
Tara’s hand once again reached for Buffy’s. Her fingertips were so soft. When Buffy raised her eyes to meet hers, Tara said, “Sometimes what we should do just makes everyone miserable. You start wondering why you’re supposed to in the fist place. For me, not being with Willow was about my safety. But it hurt, being away from her, and then I realized, the danger had passed. She won’t hurt me again - not like that. Any other way we might hurt each other in the future? I-I can accept.”
Tara was smiling, calm, eyes clear and completely in control. Buffy wondered how long it had been since she felt in control of anything, even herself. She threw her arms around Tara and said, “I’m so glad you’re back. If Willow ever hurts you again, I’ll find a way to turn her into a toad!”
Tara laughed and patted Buffy’s back. “We’ll get through this. They’re only three guys our age! I’m not afraid,” Tara said.
“Right.” Buffy pushed herself back from the embrace. “Right. Because we were talking about the geeks. That’s what’s bothering me. Yup. Three geeks.”
“And Spike,” Tara smiled knowing, gathering up her books. “I should start dinner.”
There was a knock at the front door just as Tara left the room. Buffy opened the door to find Spike standing there. She turned to look behind her, wondering if Tara could possibly have conjured this - but Tara was innocently setting her books on the dining table.
“Hello, Buffy.” Spike was in his standard “cleaned up” attire - the red button-down and a knotty silver necklace, his hair pomaded in a more careful manner than usual, a touch of dark eyeliner - just enough to make him panty-combusting-ly pretty. He held a brocade-covered box in his hands, like the kind you got at Chinese gift stores with paperweights or sets of rice-ware bowls.
Buffy tried to bear up under the visual assault. She was so tired. Tara - Tara of all people, had joined the ‘we’re okay with Spike’ parade. Everyone was willing to let her keep dating evil. Everyone but her own conscience, and even it was kinda wishy-washy. “What do you want? Because I have work in an hour.”
“Will only take a second,” Spike said. He looked down at the box in his hands, and then nervously up at her again. He looked so young, boyish, unsure.
Buffy bit her lip and nodded.
“Just wanted to give you this,” he said, and held out the box.
“Spike, you can’t buy me back.”
“It’s not that. Just… open it, okay? Feel stupid just holding it out. Promise it’s pretty, and not stolen. You don’t like it, I’ll take it back where it came from.”
Buffy took the box. It was heavy. “I shouldn’t be accepting gifts. And I’m not mad… not that mad. Just disappointed. I knew you….” She stared at the glowing crystal ball nestled in the padded box. She pulled it out. “Is this…?”
“Orb of Thesula. Magic Box keeps an ungodly number of ‘em in stock these days.” Spike smirked. “Gee, wonder why.” He rubbed his thumb over his lips and, with a failing attempt at casual, said, “Anyway, yeah. That’s my soul.”
“Oh god,” Buffy said. She backed into the room, her arm holding the orb out as though to get away from it. Her calves hit the coffee-table and she inadvertently fumbled.
Spike dove to catch the crystal sphere before it hit the ground. “Careful,” he said. “Don’t know what happens if this bugger breaks.” He examined the sphere then, as calmly as offering her a flower, held it out to her.
Buffy felt numb. Instead of taking the proffered orb, she backed her way to the couch and sat down. “Spike, you can’t just give someone your soul as a present. It’s - god, I can’t believe I’m even going there - it’s sacrilege.”
“It’s mine, innit? Can give away what’s mine.” He looked down at the orb, ran his thumb along the rough surface. “Had some things I was gonna say. Rehearsed, you know. This was a bitch to get, plenty of time to pace and rehearse. Sounded good, too. Think the gist of it was: Take this, Buffy, and know that I’m always in your power. You hold my soul. No more now than you did before, either. I gave you my heart, even though you didn’t want it, and now I’m giving you my soul - which you sort of asked for. It’s a symbol, like. Maybe not undying love or whatnot since you don’t believe I can love you, but a symbol of what I’m willin’ to do, for you.” He knelt by her, took her limp hand off her knee, turned it over and set the orb on her palm. “And you can do with it what you like. ‘M giving you that power, love.”
She stared in disbelief. “I can’t accept this,” she said. “It’s too much.”
“Too much for you is never enough,” Spike said, and rose to his feet. “I’ll go then. That was all I wanted to say.”
“Wait! Spike!” She jumped up as he walked to the door.
He turned, holding her off with one hand. “Really, Buffy, the longer I stay, the more I say, and the less this… this gesture stands on its own, yeah? I’ll be at my crypt.”
She was left, stunned, holding the orb while he sprinted across the street, duster over his head, for the big oak that shaded a sewer grate.
Only then did she realize he’d done the whole thing during the day. His SOUL. He carried his soul to her through the sewers and ran with it under his arm.
She was still standing in the doorway, the orb held tight to her stomach, when Tara’s hand fell on his shoulder. She jumped a foot and nearly dropped the orb again. She turned with an unfairly angry face to her gentle friend.
“M-m-maybe you should set that down,” Tara said.
Buffy felt the orb - strangely warm and was it buzzing or was that her imagination? “Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.” She hurried to the coffee table and dropped the thing in its unassuming fabric-covered box. “Is it real? Tara - I’m not the sort to take jewelry in to be appraised after being given it, but this…”
“It’s real,” Tara said. She wrung her hands nervously and made a vague gesture. “I can - I can see it.”
“How could he do that? Why would he do that? How am I supposed to react? I’m having a real, real hard time reacting!”
Tara fell limply onto the sofa next to her. “Me too,” she confessed. Both stared at the orb. “It’s kinda sweet, though, i-in a blasphemy sort of way.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said, weakly, “I think that’s how he meant it.”
“D-do you suppose he meant for you to… I mean, for me, or Willow…”
“He told me he thought it would be suicide to get his soul back. Death of personality.”
“Oh. So no, then.”
Buffy shook her head. “I’m not sure it is ‘no, then’. That’s what scares me. He - with Glory, on the tower, heck, back with Drusilla - he was always willing to kill himself for love. He keeps saying it, too. I don’t know if that’s some weird, random streak of noble, or more evidence of just how not human he is.”
The front door opened. Dawn bounced in, books on her arm. “Ohmigawd am I famished. Never going to a study session without pizza again.” She set the books down and looked at her sister and Tara, then at the unassuming box they were both staring at. “Is that it? Spike’s gift? What did he get?” She picked up the box and frowned at the glowy orb. “Huh. I told him to go for jewelry or boots. What’s this? Is it magic?”
“Dawn,” Buffy warned, holding a hand out to stop her sister. “Was this your idea?”
Dawn smiled. “So did it work? Are you going to take him back?”
Buffy rose in her seat. Tara grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Don’t kill your sister.”
The humor broke the serious silence. Buffy almost giggled. “What did you do, Dawn?”
“What? I just told him to get you something. A present. Something meaningful and expensive. Like suede boots.”
Tara pursed her lips. “I suppose a soul is something like suede boots.”
“No way.” Dawn picked the orb up out of its box and stared at it. “No way. Is this one of those things like with Angel?”
“It’s a soul, not a toy,” Buffy said, and snatched the orb from her sister. She stuffed it back in its box and closed the lid, sliding the little toggle-clasp back into place. “I can’t believe you talked him into such a weird, freaky, sentimental gesture.”
“Yeah, that is lame. I mean, what are you supposed to do with it? Look at it?”
Buffy looked at the box in her hands. “It was a gesture. A symbol.”
Dawn said, “Buffy, he’s totally sorry about the thing with Anya. I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take him back.”
Buffy sighed. “I’m taking this back.” She hefted the box, shook her head, and went looking for her coat. “Call Doublemeat? Tell them I may be late?”
***
“Spike?” She shifted her feet, suddenly nervous about entering his crypt uninvited. How many times had she just walked in like she owned the place? But now it was different - because they were… something. They were different.
“Here! I’m here!” Spike popped up from the lower level. His hair was a little disheveled and a pillow-crease marked his cheek. “Was… uh, just readin’.”
Buffy nodded. She stepped into the crypt, holding the box in front of her. “I came to give you this back.”
He rubbed the heel of his hand on his cheek. “You don’t, uh, don’t want it, then?”
“I think you know why I can’t accept this, Spike. Souls shouldn’t be gifts.”
He was trying to hide his disappointment, she could tell, as he took the box. His eyes never left it. “Right. Right, well, said you didn’t have to keep it. I... it’s no bother. Just put it on my bedside table, maybe, or see if that warlock bloke can magic it back wherever it’s been loitering these past hundred years. Thanks for not just wreckin’ it.”
“Spike.” She put her hand on his arm. He slowly met her gaze. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t moved.”
“Wanted you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Never mean to… whatever I do wrong, Buffy, I’m tryin’. Tryin’ to be the man you deserve.”
“I haven’t been very deserving lately.” She looked down at her hand on his arm. So easy, to touch, to feel that skin. “I guess… I guess I should give you the chance to keep trying.”
There was a long silence. Neither moved, and only she breathed. “Wait - are you… are you taking me back?”
She grimaced. “Yup. Grand gesture 1, Buffy 0.” She turned her hand, let the backs of her fingers travel over the hard curve of muscle. “I know I shouldn’t; I know it’s wrong. Maybe there is something wrong with me, some part of my soul that didn’t come back. I shouldn’t want to forgive a mass-murderer.”
“Never killed anyone you knew. No one important.”
Buffy stepped back and smacked him, hard. “Listen to yourself!”
He touched his cheek. “Just don’t see the bother over people you don’t even know.”
“Every little girl you killed was someone’s Dawn. Every guy someone’s Xander. Don’t you get it?”
He wanted to say that thinking of all his male kills as Xander was actually pretty fulfilling, but even he knew that would get him knocked on his ass so he set the box on the sarcophagus lid, bit his lip, and shrugged. “’S why you should keep it, pet. You’re the keeper of my conscience, yeah? You tell me what’s right and wrong.”
“I don’t want that responsibility! I’m The Slayer. Don’t you think I have enough weighing on my head?”
“Want to help you. Ease your burdens.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Yeah. I can. Let me take you grocery shopping.”
She stared at him. “Where’d you get the money? For this orb? Anya wouldn’t give it to you. Not even if…” Her eyes grew wide, realizing. “Oh, no… you didn’t… with Anya…”
He cut her off quickly. “I paid cash. It was legit.”
“Tell me how. And who did the spell.”
“It isn’t important.”
She braced her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to be your… your moral guardian if you don’t tell me these things?”
He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I had some cash on hand. Enough for the orb. Can’t recount where every penny came from, but I didn’t steal any of it, all right?”
“And the spell?”
“Warlock. Rack - you remember him. Yeah, evil bugger, but he was willing to do the spell. I just had to do some stuff for him. Nothing nasty.”
“Do some stuff?” Buffy gaped. “Isn’t that the guy you told me was no good? What stuff? Spike! Do you ever think at all? Is there nothing in that head but hair roots?”
“No one got hurt, nothing got damaged. It was a power ritual, Buffy. I know about this stuff. Can’t you trust me even a little?”
His eyes were pleading, wide, and glinting wet in the low light of the crypt. Buffy wrapped her arms tight around herself. “I want to,” she said.
He put his hands on her elbows. “So do. Just a little, love. ‘S all I’m asking.”
“I don’t want this responsibility.”
“I know, love. But it won’t be bad. I’ll be so good. So good, Buffy. I’ll really think about things, I swear. I can do this.”
Buffy took a step back. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Only way to know is to try.”
“If you had a soul…”
“I do.” He waved at the box on the sarcophagus. “An’ it’s not going anywhere.”
Buffy shook her head a little. “I don’t… I don’t make every moral decision right.”
“And I don’t make every one wrong,” he countered. He was looking down at her, now, his features all soft, so beautiful. It would be too easy to assume innocence behind those blue eyes. “Forget the past, love. Let’s not have this same argument over and over. Let’s just try.”
Her brain had stopped processing the problem. “I need to go kill something. Come patrol with me.”
Spike whooped a cheer like he’d been invited to the best party in the history of parties. He dove to the left, scooping his duster up from where it lay on the other sarcophagus. “Let’s have ourselves a time, then,” he said, and, after slipping into his coat, crooked his elbow toward Buffy.
Buffy couldn’t help a small smile. “This isn’t a date.”
“You keep telling yourself that. First dibs to the lady. Let’s see what we can find to slay.”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she took his arm, and they walked out into the night together.
Continued -->