Chapter 09

‘and that's all that remains of the years
spent doing to rounds
and it never rains around here
well it just comes pouring down’
- “it never rains” by dire straits


“Spike,

When you read this, I’ll be gone. I’m sorry to leave you like this, especially after last night. I’ve never been good with words, so I can’t even begin to describe what yours meant to me.

You are right. You’ve seen my best but mostly my worst. And still, you are here. You still say those words to me even after everything we’ve done to each other. I’m grateful for them, more than you’ll likely ever know.

In times like these, you’re my best friend. And more than that. Much more. I know that I’ve done a lot to you for you to doubt that but just this once, you have to believe me. I trust you with my life.

Speaking of which, right now I’m probably risking mine to save the world. Again. Talk about compulsive behavior. I hope to see you back at the house.

Thank you for everything.

Love,
Buffy”


*

He had memorized those words, had learned them by heart. Those words stood for the memories he’d lost. They were only a poor substitute for the feelings he couldn’t feel anymore.

Sometimes, Spike wished that faerie lord had taken his memories altogether. For three years he existed with this blank spot inside him, a shadow on his emotional cornea, if he allowed his inner poet to describe what it felt like.

It was there but not there at the same time. He had believed his soul hurt like hell, but being robbed of the one thing that was even remotely good about him, the one thing that kept him fighting all those years… well, that was hell.

He should have told her that he was back. Maybe that would have saved him from making this bloody awful mistake. Yeah, when it came to Buffy, he wasn’t much of a thinker.

If he’d ever had even the slightest chance, he had screwed that one up pretty well. If she had told him a few years ago that she loved him, he would have believed her. He would have swept her off her feet. He would have… loved her.

Now he sat in his empty room in front of his bed, his wounded leg stretched out. Once more, he had read the letter, and he would read it many more times tonight.

His foot throbbed steadily as it started to heal. And his left hand felt numb as… another jolt of pain lanced through his chest and down his arm. A pain so sharp and piercing, it was as if someone had shoved a white-hot poker into his heart.

Spike clenched a hand over his chest, almost clawing at his flesh, raking over the already faded scars. His left hand twitched in pain, a cramp knotting itself in his biceps.

It was the second time in two days this was happening, and this time it hurt almost twice as much.

What the hell was this?


*

Buffy’s feet carried her down into the basement in a blaze of fury. She needed to let off some steam, even if that just meant pummeling the hell out of a punching bag.

She was beyond angry. There was no word in her language or the next that could describe the feeling that surged through her. There was anger, hate, and despair. There was loss, confusion, and blinding fury.

Why had he done that? Why had he traded his love away?

There should have been other ways to protect her. He could have tipped off Giles or Andrew, they could have sent a team of Slayers to help. But no, Spike had fool heartedly taken matters into his own hands. She didn’t doubt his good intentions but there must have been other ways.

It had taken her years and many gruesome incidents to understand that he wasn’t just in her heart but that she actually loved him in return. And now he had shot that whole “in return” part straight to hell.

His love for her had been a huge motivator for her, and now that was supposed to be gone? He was useless to her like this.


*

Buffy’s fists ached from the sheer brutality that she used on the punching bag. Sweat coated her face and upper body, leaving streaks in the grime on her cheeks.

“What’d that punching bag ever do to you?” Willow stood in the door to the training room, her arms crossed over her chest, a look of concern on her face.

“The Fates are awake, and Spike doesn’t love me any more,” the Slayer said in between punches, not breaking her rhythm once.

“What do you mean, the Fates are awake?” the witch’s attention perked up.

Buffy told her what had happened at the factory. “I don’t know why nobody followed up. We were pretty much fair game.”

“The book Spike brought me might say something on that. I guess even if they wake up the Fates, they are not yet strong enough to wreak havoc. For now, at least.” Willow smiled apologetically. There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Buffy…,” the Slayer kept hitting away at the punching bag. “Buffy, tell me.”

Finally, Buffy’s fists sank to her sides and her shoulders sagged. Slowly, she told Willow the other part of the story as well. By the end of it, her voice was shaking audibly and she had one hand up covering her eyes.

“Buffy, I’m sorry.” Willow had crossed the room, laying a hand on Buffy’s shoulder.

The Slayer nodded weakly, then went over to a pile of training mats and sat down. “You know what the worst thing about this is?” Her voice had re-gained some sad strength. “I know why he did it. I can understand it.” She paused. “You remember when Glory captured him, trying to find out who the Key was?”

“Like that’s something easy to forget. He got beat up pretty badly.”

“I was at his place afterwards. I wanted to figure out if he’d told Glory about Dawn. You know what he said to me? That he’d rather have Glory kill him then see me or Dawn getting harmed.” A wry smile flickered over Buffy’s face. “It’s always been like that. He always… always did what he thought was right, consequences be damned. Beatings, torture, the soul. Took me long enough to realise that he was… serious. And now it’s… it’s gone. And… as much as I hate him for it, I… I can understand it.”

Willow looked at her for a long time. “The two of you are officially the most screwed up couple that walks this planet.”

“You’re dating Kennedy. How screwed up are you?” Buffy shot back in a moment of light humor. “You know… for all these years, I tried to imagine what it would be like if he ever came back. Sometimes we fought, just stared at one another or we would…,” she let her words trail off. “But it was never like this.”

“So you really wish that he hadn’t come back?”

“No. I’m happy… somehow. I just wished it was different.”

There was a moment’s silence between them before Willow spoke again. “You want me to figure out if I can reserve the spell of the faerie lord?”

“Would you do that for me?”

“That’s what best friends are for, right? Chatting about boys, doing a little research on faeries…”

“The Fate thing is priority, though. We can deal with my screwed up love life later on.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I can multi-task.”


***