Chapter 07

‘i understand your changes
how long before you reach the door
i know where you think you're going
i know what you came here for
and now I'm sick of joking’
- “where do you think you’re going?” by dire straits


Buffy found Spike in the infirmary.

Anna, one of the senior Slayers, had already been halfway through her medical degree when she’d been Called. Although she possessed the same powers as every other girl, she had stubbornly refused to be an active part of the troops. Now, the tall woman ran the infirmary, teaching some of the Slayers how to take care of injuries if need be.

Now, she sat on a stool in front of a stretcher, her wire rimmed glasses pushed high up her nose. Spike sat in front of her, stripped of his jacket and shirt, his shoulder already bandaged.

Anna had taken off his right boot, examining the wound.

“How is he?” Buffy asked, her voice hard, when she pushed the door open.

“He,” Spike answered before Anna had even opened her mouth, “is sitting right here. And he’s doing fine. Just a little bang in the ying-yang is all.”

“Anna, could you give us a minute?” The Slayer crossed her arms in front of her chest, her stance toughening.

“Let me finish this, okay? If I don’t wrap this up, it’s going to ooze forever.” Anna didn’t even look up from her work. She had just cleaned the wound with enough disinfectant to make even Spike wince in pain, now she pressed a thick pad of gauze on his ankle.

“He’s a vampire.” Buffy shrugged one shoulder. “He’ll live.”

“You’re doing your job,” the young almost-doctor started bandaging his foot, “and I’m doing mine.”

Buffy saw Spike shooting her a glance from under hooded eyes, a satisfied, almost nasty grin edging on his face. Was he glad that Anna had stood up to her like that?

“Alright.” Anna snapped off her rubber gloves. “Take it easy with the foot. With your healing powers, you should be fine tomorrow.” She smiled up at the vampire, then stood. “He’s all yours.” With that, she left the room.

A moment’s silence hung in the room, before Spike cocked his head to one side, looking at her. “She’s quite a piece of work. How come she’s so easy with me being a vampire?”

“People around here know who you are.” She paused for a second, then continued. “Wish the same could be said for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The room seemed to have gotten a few degrees colder upon his words. With one hand, he struggled into his leather jacket, draping it loosely over his wounded shoulder.

“You know what it means, Spike,” she snapped back at him. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing is going with me.” His voice became quiet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You damn well do. Stop toying with me.” Anger boiled up inside her, making her voice quiver slightly. “You’ve changed. You’re not the man I used to know. What happened to you?”

Spike looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Ever so slowly, he slipped off the stretcher, keeping most of his weight on his good foot. Somehow, he managed to make his uneven, hobbling walk look graceful.

And he didn’t answer. He approached her slowly, as if deliberately taking his time instead of being forced to limp. Then, he pushed past her, reaching for the door handle.

Buffy’s hand closed around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Spike?” Her voice was steadier now, almost pleading.

“Like you said.” He shot her an even glance. “I’ve changed.”

With that, he freed himself from her grip, opened the door and left.


*

Spike needed a drink. Badly. Lots and lots of drinks, actually. But in a school full of girls—most of who, were not old enough to drink--it wasn’t very likely he’d find any. And with his foot hurt, he wouldn’t be able to get out to a bar or a liquor store.

This thing was spiraling out of hand. He knew that it hadn’t been very likely to go smoothly in the first place but this was… well, it was pretty damn complicated.

If things had gone as planned, he would have been out of here once this apocalypse was cleaned up. There was no use for him here. At least, that’s what he tried to make himself believe.

But now…

Buffy had started sensing something, asking all these question. She wasn’t stupid, far from it. With her experience with vampires (slaying them and shagging them), she knew that something was wrong.

He hated having to lie to her. Well, it wasn’t actually lying. He hadn’t told her anything that wasn’t true. He had just kept certain aspects of the big picture to himself. For now anyway. Now that she had started probing around, he would have to tell her all of it. He should have done so yesterday but his being back from the dead after a decade was already more that she could possibly handle. He wouldn’t be able to hide from her much longer.

It surprised him that he’d made it to his room without one angry Slayer tailing him. He was even able to discard his jacket and slip on a shirt that he buttoned halfway up. As he was rummaging through his duffel bag, he produced a small, well-read book, its pages and its spine mangled. He flipped through the pages until he came upon a folded piece of paper.

Spike swallowed, then sank down on the bed, staring at the paper. Although he had kept it with him for the past ten years, it was still hard on him to read the lines written in the delicate script.

Buffy’s handwriting.

It was the letter she had left him after the night they had spent in the abandoned house in Sunnydale. A letter he had read a least a dozen times before even before he had left that house to head back to the Revello Drive. A letter that had survived his death with him, stashed away in his back pocket. For the past ten years, those few lines were his bedtime story, reminding him of memories he didn’t have any more.

“Got a good read? Some of the girls have formed a book club, maybe you can join in.”

He hadn’t even heard Buffy coming in. “It’s your letter,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The one you wrote me that night.” His voice was very, very quiet.

“Talk to me, Spike,” she jumped right to the chase. The anger had left her tone, leaving it open to something bordering to despair. “Please.”

He took a deep, unneeded breath. “Buffy, I…,” he started but she cut him off.

“No wait, let me tell you something first.” She made a step towards him, her hands fidgeting uneasily. She inhaled and held the breath for a moment, before releasing it slowly. When she spoke, her voice was calm, resolved. “I don’t know what happened to you, what made you think that it was such a great idea to stay away from me for ten years. I don’t care why you didn’t believe me back then, and I don’t care if you believe me now. Whatever it is that makes you tick right now…,” she shrugged, a watery glitter hazing her eyes. “I love you.”

Spike’s gaze was fixed on his hands that still held the letter. Half an eternity ticked by before he looked up. His eyes were filled with nothing but sadness. He drew in a shuddering, needless breath before he spoke, licking his lips. His voice was very, very quiet.

“I don’t.”



***