Unsuffer Me- Part IV
This is the last part, although there will be sequel. For now, however, I'm taking a break from writing WIPs to focus on shorter stories. You'll be seeing those pop up at random intervals between now and Christmas. Look for the next long story after New Year's.
Previous parts are here.
Part IV: Home
Spike had known what he was getting into when he started hanging around the Slayer; he had wanted to keep his mind off of Drusilla, and bring some of the fire back into Buffy while he was at it. Eventually, he knew, she’d remember what it was to be the Slayer, and then they would either fight it out to the death, or they would go their separate ways.
He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he would rather not have to kill her, and he didn’t want to make her kill him.
“I have to go back.”
It had been three weeks since he had taken her out to the demon bar; they’d had a good time, a lot more fun than he’d expected. Two drinks in, and Buffy had unbent enough to play darts. They’d won a few bets from demons who didn’t think she was much of a threat. It had been enough to pay her rent for a few weeks.
And now she wanted to go home, to a place where he would be unwelcome.
“When?”
“Soon. They aren’t going to care about me leaving the diner.”
“I’ll drive you back.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’ll save you some money.”
“I’ve got enough.”
“Do you not want my company? Is that what this is?”
“It’s not anything, Spike.”
“Then it’s because you don’t want me back in your town.”
“I can’t risk it. You know that, Spike.”
“And if I give you my word that you won’t have a reason to stake me?”
She turned away from the window to face him. “Then I’d have to take your word, I guess.”
There was a long pause as they looked at one another. “I knew you’d decide to go back.” Spike watched as her eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re the Slayer, pet. I knew you’d get serious about this again.”
“I wish I didn’t have to,” she admitted. “I wish I could stay here forever.”
Spike thought he heard the unspoken words “with you,” but he couldn’t be sure. “Forever is a long time,” was all he said.
“Maybe not forever, but I wouldn’t mind staying.”
“Can you be ready to leave tonight?” Spike asked.
Buffy shook her head. “Not tonight. Not so soon.”
She crossed the room, her lips locking with his. Spike knew that this proved that he was a masochist, having feelings for the Slayer. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was in love with her, but the idea of killing her had no appeal.
He could turn her; the idea crossed his mind again, but that held no appeal. Even the knowledge that he would be her Sire, and she would be dependent upon him couldn’t sway him. Spike still remembered the words his mother-or what had been his mother-had spoken to him.
The remembrance still stung.
They were both soon naked, her warm skin pressed against him, pale from lack of sunlight. She had no time for sunbathing, and she’d lost what color she might have had after long days either sleeping or in the diner, depending on her shift.
Spike still thought that she felt like sunlight-her warmth was the only kind that penetrated, and for the first time, he missed the sun.
Her green eyes were tightly closed as he kissed his way down the column of her neck, and he was suddenly angry. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice harsh in the darkness of her apartment. “Look.”
Buffy’s eyes opened, and he could see unshed tears in their depths. He knew why she was crying; he didn’t think it had anything to do with him. Or not much. Spike couldn’t fool himself that she was in love with him.
He thought-no, he knew-that she did not want to return. For a while, she had been able to forget what it meant to be the Slayer, and she was now taking up that burden again. For a moment-and just for a moment-he wished that he could take it up for her.
But Spike wasn’t stupid. This was all they would ever have-the darkness of a Los Angeles night, and the false comfort of a fake name. Here, she was just a girl, and he was just a vampire who had a penchant for false hope, and they had been able to comfort one another for a time.
But only for a time.
~~~~~
Buffy thought it strange that Spike had been the one to convince her that she needed to go back; he had been the one who had reminded her of home.
Although the night they had gone to the demon bar, and its odd familiarity, had started her in that direction, something Spike had said the week before had convinced her.
They had been lounging on her bed in silence, typical for them after they’d had sex. Buffy didn’t know what it was between them-she would hardly call it love. Maybe it was simply that misery loved company, and Spike was the only one around who might understand what she’d gone through.
“It won’t go away,” Spike had said suddenly. “You bein’ the Slayer. That’s not somethin’ you can hide from forever.”
“I know.”
If Buffy were honest, it hadn’t been something she was having much success at hiding from at that point. She might have already gone back to Sunnydale if it hadn’t been for Spike. What they had-Buffy might not understand it, but she felt like she needed it.
In the end, she could only stall for so long. Buffy could feel the crispness in the air that signaled fall, and she knew that if she had a prayer of slipping back into her old life, it had to be now. Before too much time passed, before she became too comfortable here.
Until Spike, Buffy had just been marking time; now she felt as though she was settling in, and she knew that she couldn’t let that happen.
She thought that it would have been easier to refuse his offer of a ride to Sunnydale, if only because she could disappear, and they wouldn’t have to say goodbye.
Buffy was no good at saying goodbye.
Spike hadn’t taken no for an answer, though, and she’d had no choice but to take him up on his offer. That was why she now found herself in the passenger seat of his car, staring at the darkened window and seeing nothing.
“How much longer?”
“Not long.” Spike paused. “Thought we’d stop for the night soon.”
“We can make it before daylight.”
“But I can’t make it out of town. I’ll drop you off around sunset tomorrow an’ be on my way.”
Buffy hadn’t made him promise not to return; she half-hoped he would, that he wouldn’t do anything to make her stake him. She hoped that he wouldn’t, for fear that she would have no choice but to kill him.
What she felt for him wasn’t love, but there was a connection that went deep, and if severed, it would hurt.
Thinking about it now, about not seeing him again, Buffy nodded. “Okay.”
She didn’t say anything until after he’d pulled up in front of the motel located on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The place was seedy, the sort that would rent rooms by the hour just as often as it rented them by the night.
A few months ago, Buffy would have grimaced and refused to stay; she knew better now. She knew just how low it was possible to sink.
Standing there, with Spike just behind her, Buffy took a deep breath, smelling cigarette smoke and other things best left unnamed. “Can I get a smoke?”
There was the familiar sound of Spike rummaging in his pockets, the snick of the lighter, and the cigarette appeared in front of her face. “Thought you weren’t going to start.”
“This is the last one. I won’t be able to smoke after this.” She turned to face him. “I won’t be-” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t explain. Buffy just knew that the person she had been over the last few months wouldn’t be accepted in Sunnydale; she would have to resume an identity that was unlikely to fit.
“You gonna be okay?”
Spike’s expression was oddly compassionate, and it prompted her to be honest. “No, but that doesn’t really matter.”
“I guess not.”
They came together with a desperation softened by sorrow. Maybe it wasn’t love, but Buffy knew that she would miss him.
~~~~~
“Why are you watching that?”
Spike glanced over at her. Buffy had just emerged from the bathroom wearing one of his shirts, her wet hair spread out over the towel laid across her shoulders. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Howard the Duck?” she said, as though the title was explanation enough; maybe it was. “It’s a talking duck, Spike. I saw this when I was eight, and I hated it then.”
Spike put his hands behind his head, making it clear that he had no intention of changing the channel. “It’s this or infomercials. You were the one who wanted to take a shower.”
“I wanted to get cleaned up. The water pressure here is a lot better.”
He turned his attention back to the TV, not wanting to acknowledge that the inevitable was almost upon them. “It’s not a bad movie.”
“And again I say: talking duck.”
He glanced over at her, smiling at her passion over a bad movie, and she smiled back. Buffy laid her hand against his bare chest. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, suppose we should.” Spike pulled her close as she settled on the bed next to him. “It’s gonna be okay, luv.”
“I know. Good night, Spike.”
“’Night.”
He slept and was unsurprised to find her gone that evening when he woke. The note that lay on the pillow next to his head was short and sweet.
“Spike-thanks for everything. Buffy.”
As he dressed, Spike realized that one of his t-shirts-the one Buffy had worn to bed the night before-was gone. With a sigh, he folded the note carefully, and tucked it in the breast pocket of his duster.
He couldn’t resist the urge to drive by Buffy’s house on his way out of town; he could see her silhouetted in the window, along with her mother and what looked to be her Watcher and friends. She was already sliding back into her life, and he doubted that he’d be any more than a distant memory in a week or two.
Spike only wished that he could forget as easily.
~~~~~
Buffy slid the window up cautiously, not wanting to wake her mother. Joyce had hugged her so tightly that she was certain she’d felt every ounce of worry her mom had felt while she was gone, and the same had been true for Giles as well.
She’d been vague with her explanations, not mentioning Spike at all, even though he was an integral part of her trip back.
She hadn’t meant to leave him abruptly, but when she had begun to think about what time she might show up at her house, and what her mom and Giles might find if they thought to check the bus schedule-
Well, it seemed wiser to arrive at a time when no one would be able to find a discrepancy in her story. She was getting good at this lying thing.
Buffy wondered if Spike had already left town, if he’d already dismissed their time together as a blip. Maybe he was glad to be rid of her. Maybe he had already convinced himself that it was just an aberration and the next time they met, he would kill her.
Maybe he felt as bereft as she did right then.
Because for those few weeks, Buffy had been able to forget about who she was, what she had done, the sacrifices she had made. She’d simply been a girl making her way in a big city, but she knew the truth now.
The Slayer would always have a destiny, and it would always be a lonely one.
Previous parts are here.
Part IV: Home
Spike had known what he was getting into when he started hanging around the Slayer; he had wanted to keep his mind off of Drusilla, and bring some of the fire back into Buffy while he was at it. Eventually, he knew, she’d remember what it was to be the Slayer, and then they would either fight it out to the death, or they would go their separate ways.
He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he would rather not have to kill her, and he didn’t want to make her kill him.
“I have to go back.”
It had been three weeks since he had taken her out to the demon bar; they’d had a good time, a lot more fun than he’d expected. Two drinks in, and Buffy had unbent enough to play darts. They’d won a few bets from demons who didn’t think she was much of a threat. It had been enough to pay her rent for a few weeks.
And now she wanted to go home, to a place where he would be unwelcome.
“When?”
“Soon. They aren’t going to care about me leaving the diner.”
“I’ll drive you back.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’ll save you some money.”
“I’ve got enough.”
“Do you not want my company? Is that what this is?”
“It’s not anything, Spike.”
“Then it’s because you don’t want me back in your town.”
“I can’t risk it. You know that, Spike.”
“And if I give you my word that you won’t have a reason to stake me?”
She turned away from the window to face him. “Then I’d have to take your word, I guess.”
There was a long pause as they looked at one another. “I knew you’d decide to go back.” Spike watched as her eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re the Slayer, pet. I knew you’d get serious about this again.”
“I wish I didn’t have to,” she admitted. “I wish I could stay here forever.”
Spike thought he heard the unspoken words “with you,” but he couldn’t be sure. “Forever is a long time,” was all he said.
“Maybe not forever, but I wouldn’t mind staying.”
“Can you be ready to leave tonight?” Spike asked.
Buffy shook her head. “Not tonight. Not so soon.”
She crossed the room, her lips locking with his. Spike knew that this proved that he was a masochist, having feelings for the Slayer. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was in love with her, but the idea of killing her had no appeal.
He could turn her; the idea crossed his mind again, but that held no appeal. Even the knowledge that he would be her Sire, and she would be dependent upon him couldn’t sway him. Spike still remembered the words his mother-or what had been his mother-had spoken to him.
The remembrance still stung.
They were both soon naked, her warm skin pressed against him, pale from lack of sunlight. She had no time for sunbathing, and she’d lost what color she might have had after long days either sleeping or in the diner, depending on her shift.
Spike still thought that she felt like sunlight-her warmth was the only kind that penetrated, and for the first time, he missed the sun.
Her green eyes were tightly closed as he kissed his way down the column of her neck, and he was suddenly angry. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice harsh in the darkness of her apartment. “Look.”
Buffy’s eyes opened, and he could see unshed tears in their depths. He knew why she was crying; he didn’t think it had anything to do with him. Or not much. Spike couldn’t fool himself that she was in love with him.
He thought-no, he knew-that she did not want to return. For a while, she had been able to forget what it meant to be the Slayer, and she was now taking up that burden again. For a moment-and just for a moment-he wished that he could take it up for her.
But Spike wasn’t stupid. This was all they would ever have-the darkness of a Los Angeles night, and the false comfort of a fake name. Here, she was just a girl, and he was just a vampire who had a penchant for false hope, and they had been able to comfort one another for a time.
But only for a time.
~~~~~
Buffy thought it strange that Spike had been the one to convince her that she needed to go back; he had been the one who had reminded her of home.
Although the night they had gone to the demon bar, and its odd familiarity, had started her in that direction, something Spike had said the week before had convinced her.
They had been lounging on her bed in silence, typical for them after they’d had sex. Buffy didn’t know what it was between them-she would hardly call it love. Maybe it was simply that misery loved company, and Spike was the only one around who might understand what she’d gone through.
“It won’t go away,” Spike had said suddenly. “You bein’ the Slayer. That’s not somethin’ you can hide from forever.”
“I know.”
If Buffy were honest, it hadn’t been something she was having much success at hiding from at that point. She might have already gone back to Sunnydale if it hadn’t been for Spike. What they had-Buffy might not understand it, but she felt like she needed it.
In the end, she could only stall for so long. Buffy could feel the crispness in the air that signaled fall, and she knew that if she had a prayer of slipping back into her old life, it had to be now. Before too much time passed, before she became too comfortable here.
Until Spike, Buffy had just been marking time; now she felt as though she was settling in, and she knew that she couldn’t let that happen.
She thought that it would have been easier to refuse his offer of a ride to Sunnydale, if only because she could disappear, and they wouldn’t have to say goodbye.
Buffy was no good at saying goodbye.
Spike hadn’t taken no for an answer, though, and she’d had no choice but to take him up on his offer. That was why she now found herself in the passenger seat of his car, staring at the darkened window and seeing nothing.
“How much longer?”
“Not long.” Spike paused. “Thought we’d stop for the night soon.”
“We can make it before daylight.”
“But I can’t make it out of town. I’ll drop you off around sunset tomorrow an’ be on my way.”
Buffy hadn’t made him promise not to return; she half-hoped he would, that he wouldn’t do anything to make her stake him. She hoped that he wouldn’t, for fear that she would have no choice but to kill him.
What she felt for him wasn’t love, but there was a connection that went deep, and if severed, it would hurt.
Thinking about it now, about not seeing him again, Buffy nodded. “Okay.”
She didn’t say anything until after he’d pulled up in front of the motel located on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The place was seedy, the sort that would rent rooms by the hour just as often as it rented them by the night.
A few months ago, Buffy would have grimaced and refused to stay; she knew better now. She knew just how low it was possible to sink.
Standing there, with Spike just behind her, Buffy took a deep breath, smelling cigarette smoke and other things best left unnamed. “Can I get a smoke?”
There was the familiar sound of Spike rummaging in his pockets, the snick of the lighter, and the cigarette appeared in front of her face. “Thought you weren’t going to start.”
“This is the last one. I won’t be able to smoke after this.” She turned to face him. “I won’t be-” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t explain. Buffy just knew that the person she had been over the last few months wouldn’t be accepted in Sunnydale; she would have to resume an identity that was unlikely to fit.
“You gonna be okay?”
Spike’s expression was oddly compassionate, and it prompted her to be honest. “No, but that doesn’t really matter.”
“I guess not.”
They came together with a desperation softened by sorrow. Maybe it wasn’t love, but Buffy knew that she would miss him.
~~~~~
“Why are you watching that?”
Spike glanced over at her. Buffy had just emerged from the bathroom wearing one of his shirts, her wet hair spread out over the towel laid across her shoulders. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Howard the Duck?” she said, as though the title was explanation enough; maybe it was. “It’s a talking duck, Spike. I saw this when I was eight, and I hated it then.”
Spike put his hands behind his head, making it clear that he had no intention of changing the channel. “It’s this or infomercials. You were the one who wanted to take a shower.”
“I wanted to get cleaned up. The water pressure here is a lot better.”
He turned his attention back to the TV, not wanting to acknowledge that the inevitable was almost upon them. “It’s not a bad movie.”
“And again I say: talking duck.”
He glanced over at her, smiling at her passion over a bad movie, and she smiled back. Buffy laid her hand against his bare chest. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, suppose we should.” Spike pulled her close as she settled on the bed next to him. “It’s gonna be okay, luv.”
“I know. Good night, Spike.”
“’Night.”
He slept and was unsurprised to find her gone that evening when he woke. The note that lay on the pillow next to his head was short and sweet.
“Spike-thanks for everything. Buffy.”
As he dressed, Spike realized that one of his t-shirts-the one Buffy had worn to bed the night before-was gone. With a sigh, he folded the note carefully, and tucked it in the breast pocket of his duster.
He couldn’t resist the urge to drive by Buffy’s house on his way out of town; he could see her silhouetted in the window, along with her mother and what looked to be her Watcher and friends. She was already sliding back into her life, and he doubted that he’d be any more than a distant memory in a week or two.
Spike only wished that he could forget as easily.
~~~~~
Buffy slid the window up cautiously, not wanting to wake her mother. Joyce had hugged her so tightly that she was certain she’d felt every ounce of worry her mom had felt while she was gone, and the same had been true for Giles as well.
She’d been vague with her explanations, not mentioning Spike at all, even though he was an integral part of her trip back.
She hadn’t meant to leave him abruptly, but when she had begun to think about what time she might show up at her house, and what her mom and Giles might find if they thought to check the bus schedule-
Well, it seemed wiser to arrive at a time when no one would be able to find a discrepancy in her story. She was getting good at this lying thing.
Buffy wondered if Spike had already left town, if he’d already dismissed their time together as a blip. Maybe he was glad to be rid of her. Maybe he had already convinced himself that it was just an aberration and the next time they met, he would kill her.
Maybe he felt as bereft as she did right then.
Because for those few weeks, Buffy had been able to forget about who she was, what she had done, the sacrifices she had made. She’d simply been a girl making her way in a big city, but she knew the truth now.
The Slayer would always have a destiny, and it would always be a lonely one.