Peace Offering


Halloween. God, how she hated Halloween.

Buffy sighed as she carried the box down to the basement of the Magic Box. Helping out was one thing, but after the weirdo repeating mummy-hand loop, she was leery of everything right now. Especially weird things that happened in the magic shop with her friends—that’s how it all started the last time when she had the run-in with the mummy hand in question.

She was thinking of everything else except the thing that she ran into when she turned the corner. There in front of her with his annoying smirk stood Spike. His bleach blond curls fought to escape the gel that he used to try and tame them, and she found herself staring at the curls brushing his forehead, her fingers twitching as she wondered what they would feel like in her grasp.

Instead, she looked up at him and glared. “Bell—neck—look into it,” she said, setting the box over on the table. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Ran out of burba weed, so I came through the tunnels.” He held up the ropy weeds to show her he was here honestly. Or dishonestly, in this case. “What? I was gonna pay for it.” Buffy gave him a disbelieving look and he rolled his eyes at her. “All right, I was gonna nick it ‘cause that’s what I do. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were done with the customer disservice.”

She grinned. “Oh, I so totally am. Straight time tonight, without the creepy mummy-hand repeato-vision.” She looked around at the packed storage shelves and back at the irritating vampire, exasperated. “Any idea where the mandrake root is?”

He stepped over to the shelf and picked up a jar. “Here they are. There’s three in a jar. They do tend to go a bit wonky when they’re shoved in too tight.”

He held out the jar and she reached out to take it from him, brushing against his fingers as she grasped it. Her hand trembled and she almost dropped the jar at the pulse that raced through her when she touched him. She stared up at him for a split-second, open-mouthed and stunned, then stammered, “Thanks.” She dropped her eyes to the jar in front of her, concentrating instead on the mandrake root instead of the feelings inside her.

Spike gave her a calculating look. “How about a bit of rough and tumble later?” he asked. She looked up at him, eyes wide with shock.

“What?” she squeaked, and he gave her a wide grin.

“Me. You. Patrolling. Hello? It’s what we do.”

She blinked twice, then looked down at the jar in her hand. “Oh. Well, I…I’d better stay. It’s wicked busy up there,” she said, jerking her chin to the stairs, its path to safety and friends.

“Well, not like I don’t already have plans, Slayer. Great Pumpkin’s on in twenty, then creature features after that.” He turned, stashing the burba into his duster pocket. “Catch you later then, Slayer.”

She watched his back as he made his way to the sewer grating he’d entered through, then turned to climb the stairs, wincing inside as she heard the ruckus of customers echoing above her. She paused mid-step and looked at the dark corner where the sewer grate was hidden by boxes and crates. “Maybe patrol wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Sighing again, she climbed up the stairs unwillingly. “Why were things so much easier when he wanted to kill me?” she asked herself before entering back into the fray.

Later, after all the customers had gone and they were preparing to clean up, Xander and Anya made their big announcement about their engagement and Buffy felt a twinge of jealousy shoot through her, scalding her senses. Glancing over toward Tara and Willow, she saw their loving looks and clasped hands. She felt so alone and lonely, left completely out of the love fest that seemed to be going on around her.

It seemed that her friends had found love and companionship and she was alone, always alone. Angel had been completely detached when they’d met in the desert—not the sweet, loving vampire that he’d always seemed to be, but distracted and unsympathetic to her feelings. He had blown her off, basically; told her that she would eventually get used to being alive again and just to get over herself, in so many words.

It hurt. It hurt her that he would be so distant and uncaring, especially after all that she’d been through. At least she could talk to Spike. He did seem to care what was going on inside her head and he was the only one that did really know what happened. He was the only one that she could tell—the rest of her friends wouldn’t understand at all.

She tried to dismiss her trust in him as simple need. She needed someone to unload on and he was always around. As she watched her friends congratulating each other on finding their one true love, she realized that wasn’t the case at all. She confided in Spike because she did trust him, not only to keep her secrets, but also to watch her back and care for her sister when she wasn’t around to do it herself. She snuck out onto the front porch for a little alone time as the party in her living room continued.

Why did she trust Spike so much, she asked herself. True, he had changed dramatically in the past two years. He’d adapted well to the chip, actually used his vampire strength for patrolling and slaying by her side instead of setting himself up as the master of Sunnydale, which he so could have done a million times over. He had cared for her sister while she was in heaven for all that time, more than her friends did, it seemed. She had heard as much from Dawn time and time again when Willow kept trying to take credit for what had transpired while she was gone.

He still loved her. She had seen it written clearly on his face the night of her return and every night since then. There were times when he thought she wasn’t looking that she would catch him staring at her with such longing and devotion. She couldn’t imagine anyone carrying a torch for that long without some kind of encouragement, but carry it he did. Heck, he nursed it and kept it alive. She could count on him for anything she asked and she asked a lot, she realized.

Maybe he deserved more than she was giving him. Maybe he deserved a chance—the crumb that he’d asked for over a year ago. There had been a lot of water under the bridge since then and he was still as dependable as a…well, she wasn’t quite sure what, but he was dependable. And she trusted him. A lot. The prospect of telling him how she felt gave her tickles in her tummy that felt like they were the size of pterodactyls, but she still felt like it was something that she needed to do—not only for him, but for herself.

She stood and dusted off her pants as Xander came out the front door. “Buffy! I was wondering where you were hiding.”

She smiled. “I just needed some air. What about you?”

Xander fanned himself with his pirate hat. “Sweet mother oxygen. I can’t believe this is all happening.”

Buffy shot him a wry look. “What, you asked her to marry you. It isn’t like one of Willow's spells went wonky.” She frowned and looked up at him. “It wasn’t one of Willow's spells, was it?”

“No, this one’s all me.” He leaned against the porch railing and looked up at the night sky. “I have to keep telling myself I’m wallowing, not drowning.”

Buffy laughed. “Define wallow for me.”

Xander took a deep breath of cool air and replaced his hat. “So, ready? Once more into the breach?”

Buffy shook her head. “No, I think that I’m going to head over to Spike's and grab him for patrol. Night like tonight, there has to be something begging for a smackdown, you know?”

She started toward the stairs when Xander grabbed her arm. “Buffy, what is it with you and Spike anyway? Is there something going on?”

Buffy looked down at her arm where Xander held onto her and he released his hold and looked at her nervously. She cleared her throat and said, “You know, Xander? I think that we have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s never gone back to being evil like we thought he would. He patrols with me and watches my back, he keeps his ear to the ground and tells me when things are cooking in the demon world, and he’s devoted to Dawn. He isn’t the Big Bad anymore, and we’ve kept shoving him away when we should be reeling him in.”

Xander gave Buffy a worried look. “Buff, he’s still a vampire.”

She shrugged. “So is Angel. Even without a soul, Spike has done more to help me than Angel ever did. I just think that he’s been getting the short end of the stake, you know?”

“Well, I don’t agree with you.” Xander's face took on a mulish look and Buffy shrugged again.

“You don’t have to. You have Anya and Willow has Tara. I have nobody. And if I want Spike to be part of the Scoobies, then he is.” She took a couple of steps, then turned around. “You know, I haven’t ever told any of you to butt out of my life, Xander, but this time I am. Butt out.”

Shocked, Xander turned to go back into the Summers’ house. Giles needed to know about this. He didn’t even wait to see Buffy's stubborn look as she left, never looking back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xander never got the chance to speak to Giles alone, nor did Buffy get to talk to Spike with all the upset over Dawn. Buffy climbed the stairs, weary from battling the vampires that didn’t know the custom and slipped into bed, slipping easily into dreams that she shouldn’t be having. Dreams of her and Spike locked in an intimate embraced, making love in a hundred ways. She woke up the next morning feeling irritable and heavy and unsatisfied, staring at the ringing alarm clock and wondering why she even bothered to wake up at all.

After the third morning of rising feeling the same, she made plans to go and talk to Spike. If she could just get these feelings out in the open, maybe they wouldn’t be so…dangerous. If she talked to him, she might feel better—about herself, him, and the burgeoning emotions that threatened to erupt any moment.

As she patrolled that night, however, she burst out into song. Not just any song, mind you, but a full-blown Disney type song full of allusions and feelings that were too much for her to handle. She didn’t think that it was the proper time and place to discuss any feely-type things with what was becoming her favorite patrolling partner, so she headed home with a heavy heart, resolving to speak to him as soon as she figured out what was going on now. The singing bothered her, to say the least—she didn’t even like to sing anyway, then to burst into this great big Disneyesque number was wigging her out in a major way. Talking to Spike and breaking out in song would be of the major bad, because who knows what she would sing about to him?

By sundown the next night, though, she knew that this was too big a deal for her to wait. She needed information and fast, and Spike was the one to get it from, if he had any. She headed to his crypt as soon as she could get away from her well-meaning friends that were starting to grate on her nerves a little too much, arriving at his door just as the sun was setting.

He climbed upstairs from the basement to find her standing in his open doorway. “Well, the sun sets and she appears. Come to serenade me then, Slayer?”

She stepped warily toward him, unable to read his mood. “So you know what’s going on then.”

“Seeing a Churago demon playing like Yma Sumac will stay with me for a long time. Drink?” he asked, holding out the bottle in his hand.

Buffy’s stomach roiled in rebellion at the memory of the last time they had drank together. “A world of no. So, any idea what’s happening?” she asked, jumping up to sit on one of the sarcophagi that littered the crypt.

His face changed, closing her out. “Oh, so that’s all then—come to pump me for information.” He stalked past her toward the door.

“What else would I want to pump you for?” Buffy realized what she said. “I really just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Spike opened the door and gave her a smoldering look. “Sorry to disappoint, but no idea. Have a good night then.”

Buffy looked across the distance between them, feeling his pain as it rolled out of his every move. “What’s the matter? You’re all bad moody,” she said, wondering what she could say to fix this. Her gut told her that she had to say something, but the words stuck in her throat before they could escape.

Spike tossed her a bitter look. “Don’t know a thing, so be on your way then.” He looked from her to the door and back hinting broadly for her to depart.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, unable to keep the petulant tone out of her voice.

Spike looked away from her, then back again as he began to sing plaintively about feeling alive when he was with her.

She sat there, unable to move, barely able to breathe. He still loved her, he sang it, but he wanted her to leave him alone! She couldn’t stop the emotion running rampant inside her as she contemplated a life without Spike, vampire or not. When he threw the bottle against the wall in his melodic rage she flinched and came back to the present, deciding then and there to do as he asked without her own confession to confuse them both. There could be no turning back if she left, but if that was what would make him happy, then so be it.

He stopped her at the door of the crypt, kneeling in front of her and swearing that she already knew he was her willing slave. Well, yes—but only in the last few days. As for playing with the thought of sleeping with him…there was no playing there. If dreams were deeds, it was already done. If imagination could suffice for reality, they had been making love for a long time. Longer than Buffy was ready to admit to.

She tried to hurry away from him and get distance between them before the song that was inside her burst out of her mouth. She could feel the bubbling lyrics threatening to erupt even as they walked slowly toward the crazy nighttime funeral as Spike continued to confess to her. She found herself paying close attention to his words and movements, seeking clues to what he really wanted. Surprisingly, he had a good strong voice and could really carry a tune, unlike some of the other occupants in Sunnydale.

“I know I should go. But I follow you like a man possessed, there’s a traitor here beneath my breast, and you hurt me more than you’ve ever guessed. If my heart could beat it would break my chest but I can see you’re unimpressed so leave me be….” He ran to stand atop the casket being carried by the pallbearers to the hole in the ground and Buffy hurried behind him, trying to minimize the damage he could cause by frightening the mourners.

Her chest hurt with the effort it was taking her to breathe. How could he ever think that it didn’t matter to her? Unimpressed her ass. And she hurt him? She never wanted to hurt him—quite the opposite. She could barely look at him without her unspoken feelings showing in her eyes. She could barely think when he was around. She could barely feel when he wasn’t around. How could he ever think that she was unimpressed by his devotion to someone who had been dead, the wonder in his eyes when she came back, his gentle way with her since her return? Oh, did she have a lot to tell him…quite the headful.

She saw him vamp out and grabbed him, tearing his hands away from the priest. Her movements sent them spinning away from everyone and into the prepared hole in the ground where she landed on top of him as he warbled out the final plea of his song. “Why won’t you let me rest in peace?” Spike asked her, his blue eyes darkening with passion and his body reacting to her proximity.

She froze, unable to move. Her mouth worked, trying to spit out the words and finally succeeding. “I can’t,” Buffy replied.

His hands gripped her upper arms. “Why? Why do you torment me, Slayer? Why do you hang around and dangle yourself in front of me like…fresh blood? Hoping I’ll stake myself so you don’t have to?” he growled.

Buffy stared into the tormented eyes of the one person she felt completely comfortable with since her return and decided that if they would ever have a chance, she would have to be completely honest with him. “I think we need to talk, Spike,” she finally replied.

Spike shoved her off of him and climbed out of the grave, extending his hand to her and helping her out of the hole. “Nothing to talk about, Buffy. We need to leave each other alone.”

Buffy held onto his hand, refusing to give it up. Her knuckles whitened as he tried to pull away then finally let her do as she would. “I can’t leave you alone, Spike,” she stated baldly, then turned to walk back toward his crypt, dropping his hand and leading the way.

With little else to do, he followed her, confusion clear on his face. He didn’t try to catch her or ask questions he knew she wouldn’t answer; instead he kept his distance, walking slowly behind her to delay the confrontation that he was sure she was about to initiate.

She didn’t even pause at the door to the crypt; she walked in and sat down on the same sarcophagus she’d been sitting on when he started his tune and waited for him to come in behind her. Spike did, looking at her expectantly as he sat on the sarcophagus across the room from her, wanting to increase the distance between them if this turned violent.

Buffy looked down at her swinging feet then back up at the vampire that had gone from menace to friend. It was time. Time for her to tell him exactly what he meant to her. Surprisingly, she felt no desire to sing to him.

“Spike,” she started, “I’ve been thinking. Thinking about you and what you’ve done since you got the chip….” Her voice trailed off as he processed what she was saying.

Spike immediately started to protest, jumping up to pace in his agitated state. “I’ve done nothing but help your sodding little Scooby gang and watch after the Nibblet ever since…well, you know…and I get no credit for it whatsoever. Nothing but grief, that’s all they ever give me.”

“I know.”

Her simple statement had him turning to stare at her, eyes wide and shock stiffening his entire body. “What’s that you say?” he asked, disbelieving his own ears.

Buffy sighed deeply. “I know,” she repeated, “And it isn’t fair to you. You’ve done everything that you can to help Dawn, help me, cover me on patrol, and they still treat you like a thing, and I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t keep the stunned expression off his face. He sat down heavily on his seat across from her and stared at her earnest look. He belatedly realized how poncy he had made himself in her eyes tonight and reached for a fag then discovered he’d left them in his duster across the room. His hands fumbled nervously as he patted his pockets, then he decided to just sit still and try to listen to what she was saying.

Buffy stared at the floor, trying to ignore his shock and discomfort. When she sensed his complete attention was on her again, she looked up at him. “Even worse, I’ve treated you like crap, and I can’t apologize enough for that.”

The look that crossed Spike's face was priceless in Buffy's estimation. It was a combination of shock, awe, love and disbelief that mingled deliciously and reminded her of the night she had come back. Suppressing a giggle, she said, “I know that you never expected to hear that from me, but it’s true. I’ve never let you live down your past, no matter what you did to help me or how hard you tried, and for that I can never really tell you how sorry I am. You’ve become so much more than you were when I met you the first time, Spike. You’re a better fighter and more important, a better man. I appreciate that.”

Gobsmacked, he stared at her with his mouth agape. Buffy snapped her fingers twice until he blinked and closed his mouth. “Hey, did I break you or what?” she finally asked, and he shook himself.

Suddenly worried, Buffy went to the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood and a cup from the top. She took it back to him and shoved both items in his hand, then ran back to grab a half-full bottle of whiskey from the window nook, along with a pack of cigarettes. “Spike, are you all right?” she said, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

Spike flinched at the sound of her voice, then blinked again. Finally realizing what he held in his hand, he vamped out and tore the bag open, discarding the mug and drinking it straight from the bag. He chased it down with half the whiskey and lit a cigarette before he turned to her, his mouth working to form the words spinning out of control through his mind.

“Wha—what are you tryin’ to say, Slayer?” he finally stammered.

Buffy sat down next to him on the sarcophagus and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I guess the most important thing I’m trying to say is…I trust you. Enough to give you the crumb that you’ve always waited for.”

“Huh?” His mind couldn’t even process the information she was giving him.

Buffy touched his cheek with the back of her hand, smoothing the sculpted planes and lingering in the hollow. “I’m saying that I want to give us both a chance at being happy, Spike.” She dropped her hand to rest beside the other on her lap and stared at the floor. “Things have been…hard since I came back. You’re the only one who knows anything about where I was or how I feel. When I’m with you, I feel safe. I’m content when we’re together. I don’t know if this will go anywhere, but I…I want to give it a shot.”

Spike turned his head to stare at her openly. “Buffy,” he said, his voice husky with unspent tears, “Are you sure, pet? I don’t want to cause you more problems.”

Buffy covered his mouth with her hand. “No, there won’t be any problems.” She stood and paced the empty floor still littered with shards of broken bottle. “Spike, do you know that you’re the only one who ever listens to me? The rest of them act like I should be bouncy Buffy, happy-go-lucky and glad to be back. Why can’t they see what they dragged me back into? A life that I never wanted in the first place.” She stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. “They don’t care if I’m happy or sad or anything. They don’t care if I’m lonely. All they care about is their own feelings—as long as they’re happy, I should be too.”

Buffy's shoulders slumped, defeat weighing her down. “I’m tired of being alone, Spike. I’m so lonely I….” She couldn’t finish the thought, it was so depressing. Instead, she looked up at him with teary eyes and a trembling lip. “So can we try, Spike? Can we try to make each other happy?”

He wondered if she was settling for him because he was the only unattached member of their group, not counting Giles—then tossed the worry to the back of his mind. Hell, if this was the crumb she was tossing, who was he to question? She was here in front of him, crying and asking for affection—he couldn’t turn her away. He wouldn’t. It was too much like an answer to his prayers.

Spike's trembling fingers brushed the tears from her lashes before his arms engulfed her in his embrace. He held her as she sobbed out her frustration and pain on his shoulder, soothing her with quiet words and gentle caresses. When her crying had tapered to silent tears and gentle hiccups, he raised her face with a finger beneath her chin and looked into her tormented eyes. “Buffy, love, there is nothing that would please me more than trying to make you happy again.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “It may be futile, Spike. I don’t know if I can even be happy, but if I can, you’ll be the one that does it.”

He picked up her slight form and carried her to his one comfortable chair, sitting down with her curled in his lap. Stroking her hair soothingly, he said, “What made you come to this conclusion, love?”

She plucked at the buttons of his red shirt. “I think that it started on Halloween,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. “Xander and Anya announced their engagement and everyone was so bouncy and happy and I was all alone. Again.”

He looked down at the top of her head. “The Slayer's life is a lonely one,” he said sympathetically.

“Yeah, I know. Still, there I was with all my friends and Giles and Dawn and all I could think of was getting out of that house and coming over here to see you. Then all that stuff with Dawn happened and I forgot everything else. Until tonight.” She chanced a look at his face and saw the love spilling over into his eyes moments before he spoke.

“An’ what made you decide tonight was the night, then?” Spike asked, his voice holding more than just idle curiosity.

Her finger came up to trace the fullness of his bottom lip and she just let her feelings out in blessed release. “You were telling me to go away and leave you alone, and I didn’t want to. Don’t want to. I mean, of all the people that are in my life now or ever have been in the past, you’re the only one that really gets me, you know? And hearing you say that you wanted me to leave was just…it almost broke my heart.” She couldn’t look in those eyes right now because it would undo her completely. “It almost broke my heart,” she continued in a whisper, “Because I knew that if I walked out that door and ran away like I always did that I would be alone for the rest of my life.”

Spike didn’t speak, just allowed her to ramble on as he traced patterns on her back with his free hand. Buffy continued confessing as a weight lifted from her; secrets that she’d kept for years were finally freeing themselves and she felt relieved to be spilling them into his lap. “Even when you were all with the evil, I couldn’t help but think that you were a hottie. Giles kept lecturing me about souls and all that jazz, but I still knew that you were so much more than he ever imagined, especially after you helped me beat Angel. When I saw how much you cared about Drusilla, I couldn’t help it—I was jealous. I didn’t think that anyone would ever love me like that, ever.”

Spike continued to hold his tongue, afraid that interrupting her with questions would stop this wondrous flow of information. She went on distractedly, pausing to take a much-needed breath.

“Then when you came back to Sunnydale—I thought it was to try and kill me again. When I found out it was to get Dru back, I was so surprised. And again with the jealous, because nobody had ever done that much to make me love them. Then you made that speech about love and I just melted because you were right. Angel and I couldn’t ever be friends. Heck, we weren’t even able to be lovers either because the smoochies didn’t feel right after…you know, after I had to kill him. It was like they were a consolation prize, you know?”

He murmured his assent and understanding as he learned more about how the Slayer's mind worked with every minute that passed and every word that fell from her lips. She turned her tear-stained face to him and looked at him with autumn eyes of green, gold, and brown. He started to open his mouth to make a comment, then remained silent, waving his hand for her to continue.

Buffy studied his face so close to hers that she could see the fine lines that were already forming while he was alive—smile lines bracketing his soft mouth and crow’s feet barely there at the corners of his eyes. She wondered if he knew that they were there, showing the world what a smiling happy person he was instead of the big bad that he purported to be.

Buffy took a deep breath and spilled the last secret—the big one. The one that she had held tight in her heart for years, refusing to share it with Willow no matter how hard she tried to pry.

“Then I fell in love with you.”

Spike's eyes widened and he could stay silent no longer. “What? When?” he demanded, his hands gripping her upper arms.

Buffy dropped her eyes, ashamed of years of lies. “Somewhere between the time that you left and the Gem fight. Oh, I fought it, don’t kid yourself. But I kept thinking about how noble and good you were, keeping an old truce and fighting for a love that never existed and…that’s why I was crying the whole time we were fighting. It wasn’t over that stupidhead Parker. It was because you were fighting me again, when I thought that you…but then I realized you didn’t…and you didn’t even have a clue how I felt, so I buried it deep enough that even I forgot it. Until Willow cast that stupid spell.”

Unconsciously his body throbbed, remembering a lap of squirming Slayer. She felt his reaction and snuggled back against his shoulder, her arm coming around his waist to pull his body closer to hers. “Yeah, Willow cast that spell and instead of seeing it as a spell, I saw it as an answer to my prayers.”

He looked down at her hair instead of at her face, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Prayers, pet?”

Her voice was as shaky as he felt inside. “Yeah. I always wanted you to see me as more than just the Slayer and I thought that you did. For once.”

He could no longer listen without looking into her eyes, so he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her across his lap, peering closely into her face. “I did see you as more than just the Slayer, pet, but that happened long before the witch’s spell.”

He expected her to answer him, asking probing questions because that was her way. He never expected her to pull his head down to press her mouth lightly to his but that was exactly what she did. Her lips were softer than he remembered. When she finally let him raise his head to look into her eyes, they were shining with a secret light in their depths.

“Spike,” she whispered, her breath tickling his sensitive skin, “Can we go to…your bed? Will you…I mean, can we…?” She looked at him hopefully and he was thrilled at her uncertainty as well as her offer.

He scooped her up in his arms and stood in one smooth motion. “We can, pet, and we will if that’s what you want. Is it really what you want?”

Her voice was breathless. “More than anything, Spike. Make me feel alive again.”

He had a momentary thought that this would change everything. He looked down into her beauty, the dearest face in his unlife, and wondered if he should say it aloud then decided against spoiling their moment. The mysterious singing could wait; the Scoobies could research on their own. Tonight—well, tonight belonged to this girl, no, woman in his arms, and she deserved it all. His Buffy deserved his best and he was just the vamp to give it to her.




A/N: Some dialog taken and altered slightly from the shows Afterlife and Once More With Feeling. Song lyrics for "Rest In Peace" copywrite Joss Whedon, taken from the musical episode.

Just realized that I never did post this fic here, only on my LJ and website. So sorry for the oversight.