Spike’s eyes closed as he concentrated on the slight stinging from the hot water blasting his body. He was a sensualist, and showers were a marvel to be enjoyed regardless of the circumstances. So, even as his mind struggled to read Buffy’s all too confusing behavior, he deeply inhaled the scents of soap and shampoo that were her favorites. He wondered how long he would smell like her after using them.


Grinning, he remembered the way her perfectly odd little nose had scrunched up when she’d declared that a shower was the first thing on his schedule.


“No offense,” she’d said, “but you smell like the school basement.”


He hadn’t argued. He’d simply followed her up the stairs in a bemused silence.


He used the cloth that she had handed him to scrub away the last of the dried blood as well as the dust and grime that seemed, to him, to permeate his every cell. If he’d been a human scrubbing with such force, he’d have rubbed himself red, but even recently fed, Spike didn’t have the blood to spare for such things. He read the shampoo bottle, wondering if it was time to bleach his roots again and who he could ask to help if it was. It said to repeat, so he did.


It wasn’t that Spike was one for following rules; it was just a good excuse to prolong a pleasant experience or to delay returning to an even more pleasant but far more confusing one.


“Spike? You didn’t pass out in there or anything, did you?”


He started at the sound of her voice on the other side of the door. Of course she hadn’t gone far; she couldn’t leave him alone. He turned off the water.


“If you’re worried pet, you’re welcome to come in. ‘S nothing you haven’t seen before.” He knew she wouldn’t come in. He was counting on it, really. He could hear her heart rate speed up as she considered his words and wondered if that meant she was embarrassed or excited. Could she still want him?


Reaching for a towel, he brushed the thought aside. It didn’t even matter. She had wanted him before. It didn’t change things. Attraction wasn’t the issue, affection was. Or maybe not, he sighed mentally. She had liked him at least, hadn’t she? She had. He felt sure. If she hadn’t liked him, at least a little bit, then he would never have been able to hurt her. All the time they’d spent arguing about it, all the times he had tried to convince her that she could trust him had been a waste. She had trusted him. She might not have realized it, she had certainly never spoken the words, but her actions had told the story again and again. She had trusted him with her life if not with her heart.


If Spike knew nothing else, he knew that he had hurt her and so he also knew that first he must have gained her affection. You couldn’t betray someone who didn’t trust you. So, yeah, he’d had her trust and her affection.


Affection, not love.


Buffy could never love him.


He understood that now and he knew that she didn’t want to be with someone she didn’t love. It had made her feel like less than what she was. He had done that to her. It hadn’t been his intent, but it had certainly been his doing. He would never have pushed so hard if he’d known then how it felt to be disgusted with yourself.


He glanced at the door and tried to imagine what she looked like standing on the other side. Many times, Spike had seen Buffy when she thought no one was watching. She always looked more vulnerable than she should when she let her guard down. He pictured her chewing her lip, anxious for him to come out where she could better monitor him. He wasn’t so hopeful as to think that she was anxious to see him. He wondered if she was as nervous about the coming day as he was.


Spike couldn’t think of a single day they had spent together alone. Oh, she had stopped by a few times for a quick physical release of one sort or another. He had most certainly tried showing up on her doorstep, blanket smoking, with the hope of wrangling an invite. But they had never just hung out.


He finished drying off and reached for the sweatpants and tee shirt that she had handed him earlier. His jeans were headed to the wash, although Buffy had expressed doubt that they were salvageable. He pulled the string in the waistband of his sweatpants tighter. Both items were clearly too large and still held a faint trace of their previous owner’s scent. Buffy had claimed, as she’d casually held them out to him, that she had found them and figured they were the closest thing to his size in the house. Spike wondered if she had left out the fact that they had been Riley’s to protect his feelings or hers. He wondered if she still had feelings for the ass.


He had no illusions now. He knew that she’d only been gentle that day because she was upset over seeing the boy all happily married. He should have seen it coming. It had been too good to be true. He’d never in his life been so happy as he had in the moment she’d ordered, “Tell me that you love me.” He wasn’t a complete fool; he’d realized the truth as soon as the other man had barged in. Even now, it hurt to know that the most tender lovemaking he’d ever known had nothing to do with him.


He ran a hand over his hair, realizing then that it was nearly dry and that it was curling tightly. He frowned. He hated the curls. Spike looked around the room intently. Surely, he figured, the girl had some hair goop in there somewhere. His eyes touched upon the tub, the shelf behind the toilet, and the empty mirror.


He froze.


It wasn’t until that moment, when he stood dressed and nearly dry enough to leave, that Spike truly realized where he was. Here he had been wondering if Buffy still found him attractive while he stood in the very place where he had tried to force himself on her.


His eyes darted about the room as the scene replayed itself in his mind. He’d been so desperate. He’d only come over to talk. He hadn’t even expected to touch her. All that he had wanted was for her to admit that he was something. He’d just wanted to feel like he was something. She’d been so self-righteous in her anger over his fling with Anya, but she’d hurt him too. She’d left him. He was going to tell her that.


Mostly though, he’d just wanted the hurting to stop. Not seeing her, that made him hurt. Seeing her, even if she was yelling at him, would make that pain go away at least for a little while. Then he’d seen her, and she looked so sad, and he thought that he could make them both stop hurting.


Spike felt ill remembering how easily he had convinced himself that she didn’t mean what she was saying, that she wanted him and that she would forgive him once they were together again. He dropped down to the floor and sat with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as though he could block out the memory and ducked his head. He shook.


Buffy knocked gently and called out, “Spike.”


It was taking him too long and she hadn’t heard anything for several minutes. She was going to have to go in.


“Spike?”


She tried calling for him once more before she opened the door. She stepped in carefully, more than aware that she didn’t know what or maybe who to expect. She spotted him immediately, crouching in a tight ball near the tub. He looked for all the world like someone too lost in their own torment to even notice her entry. It hurt her heart.


She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. She wouldn’t have wished this kind of pain on him when she’d hated him. Had she ever really hated him? Buffy couldn’t remember. He’d been a threat. She remembered being scared. He’d scared her when other vamps hadn’t. And then he’d annoyed her. His presence, his existence had annoyed her. She couldn’t kill him, not while he wasn’t a danger. Vengeance wasn’t a Slayer’s duty; at least it wasn’t this slayer’s duty. So she hadn’t killed him, she’d just watched him. The watching was the worst. Watching Spike when he wasn’t hunting was a little too much like watching a person. The Slayer didn’t have time to wonder about the ethics of her job. Vampires were monsters and Spike was annoying, only sometimes she’d kind of liked him. Buffy couldn’t remember ever hating him.


She took a step closer, her hands raised palm forward in front of her. It could be a trick. The First could be messing with them. “Spike, I need you to talk to me. I need to know that you’re you and not…”


He looked up then, not bothering to hide the tears wetting his checks.


She gasped softly and fought the urge to leave. This was too much. Spike was curled up in the very spot where he’d hurt her the most. He’d proven that she’d been right all along. She could admit now, if only to herself, that she had begun to think that she’d been wrong. She’d never thought that she could love him, not that. But, she had accepted that he loved her and she had thought, truly, that he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d said it so often and so earnestly. Even now, Buffy was fairly sure that he’d meant it. Spike just hadn’t known what he was capable of.


He looked desolate; his pain laid raw and naked before her.


Buffy knew what it felt like to be empty of everything but hurt. She remembered thinking that numb would be better and she remembered learning that it was worse. At least the pain had been hers, she had been herself. Numb, she was no one.


The pain in his eyes was his. Buffy recognized Spike’s pain all too well. He wasn’t being controlled by The First. The knowledge didn’t really make her feel secure. She knelt down in front of him and waited. Spike always talked.


“I shouldn’t have come back. I don’t know…how can you even look at me?” His words came shakily as tremors raked his body. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”


How could she look at him? It was a fair question. How could she look at his face and see past the pain he’d caused her? She supposed that she could look at him because he just kept giving her something new to look at. How could you turn away from a vampire who sought out his own soul? How could you not try to forgive him? “You came back because you want to do the right thing.”


“I hurt you.”


Buffy struggled to find a response. She had hurt him too, but it wasn’t an excuse. She knew that he had never wanted to hurt her, but he had. She couldn’t deny it. She wouldn’t tell him that it was okay. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be okay. He knew that. He’d known that immediately. It was why he’d left. She sighed.


“You did.” She said it without condemnation; she was simply stating a fact.


He turned his head away. Shame and despair cloaked his words “Never wanted to.”


Buffy nodded, even though he wasn’t watching. She didn’t really have anything to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, it just didn’t change anything. Knowing that he shared the nightmare didn’t really make it any less hers. Misery doesn’t really love company.


“I should leave.”


“It wouldn’t change anything.”


“It’d be easier.


She scoffed. “For who? You? Maybe.”She chose her words carefully and spoke them confidently. “You already decided that you’d rather do the right thing. You got your soul back, Spike. That couldn’t have been easy. This…this isn’t easy, but you can do it. You can help me.”


He gazed up at her through his lashes. “You really think so?”


She swallowed and nodded. “I do.”



A/N: I'd like to give a big Thank You to all the readers who have taken the time to review and an even bigger Thank You to Dampersnspoons aka beta-reader extraordinaire.

Please review. I love reviews.