Chapter 13: Déjà Vu

Willow was curled up on the sofa, reading for class the next day, when she heard the knock at the door. Tara was still down at the magic shop, so she dragged herself up to answer it.

“Spike,” she said, surprised to see him on the other side of the threshold.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Willow stepped aside to let him in. “You don’t need an invitation.”

He smiled at her. “Just being polite. Listen, Will, I need you to do something for me.”

Willow settled back into her spot on the sofa and gestured for Spike to take the armchair. “Sure, what is it?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This is going to sound horribly like déjà vu, but I promise not to kidnap you this time.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Uh…”

“I need a love spell.”

Spike was looking down at his hands, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, but he glanced up when Willow didn’t respond. He saw her looking at him, troubled but also curious. “An anti-love spell, actually. To make me… not in love with Buffy.”

The witch’s mouth formed a silent “O” and she nodded slowly as the pieces started to come together. “You know, me and love spells don’t usually go that well,” she said, trying for a half-hearted joke. But she knew how he felt about magic, and about her doing it in particular, and she knew he wouldn't be asking if he weren't very, very desperate.

“Don’t really trust this bollocks myself. But it hurts, Will.” Spike pressed his hand to his chest, where his heart would be. “God, I… I can’t go on like this.”

Willow smiled sympathetically. “I’ll see what I can do. Come on.” He followed her into her bedroom, where she pulled out a book and flipped open to the spell she needed. Spike sat on her bed and watched as she dug through her supplies, gathering ingredients.

Within minutes, she had everything mixed together in a small bowl, the appropriate chants recited. She looked at it. “This needs to boil for a while, until it’s liquidy. Couple of hours. I don’t suppose you have a stove? Or a hot plate?”

Spike shook his head.

“I could do it here, if you wanna wait around. Or come back later…”

“You can’t just nuke it?”

“In the microwave?” Willow asked doubtfully. “I guess. Though we try not to mix the magicks and the food.”

“Oh… right.”

“We could try it,” she offered, sensing he was eager to have this done as soon as possible.

When the mixture was ready, Willow poured it into an empty jelly jar and handed it to Spike.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely.

“Spike? Can I ask you something?” Spike nodded. “You knew, didn’t you? About Buffy? Where she… was.”

She didn’t need to clarify. Spike understood what she meant. “Yeah. She told me awhile back. I guess she just needed someone to talk to.”

Willow looked hurt that Buffy had confided in the vampire and not her best friends, and Spike said, “She didn’t want to hurt you, you know. She didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

Willow nodded and sighed. “I didn’t think – I mean, we were so… We couldn’t stand the thought of her being in hell, and we never thought about…”

“You couldn’t have known.” She still looked like she needed some encouragement, so Spike added, “She’s doing better now.”

Willow smiled. “Yeah, she is.”

“Dating and everything.” Spike glanced down at the potion he was holding. He tried to sound enthusiastic about it, but managed only disappointment. Willow didn’t respond – she didn’t know what to say, so she just studied her shoes. Finally, Spike gestured toward the door. “Well, I should be going then.”

“One more thing, here.” She handed him a crystal and a piece of paper with words written on it in Latin. “Put this in an open flame and recite this chant. Just in case something goes wrong. Break the crystal and it breaks the spell.” He nodded and thanked her again before heading back to his crypt.

Spike unscrewed the jar Willow had given him and poured the blue soupy mixture into the Kiss the Librarian mug he’d swiped from Giles. After it had been used for Spike’s blood, Giles hadn’t really wanted it back anyway. Spike swirled the potion around in the mug and stared at it. It was one of the most unappetizing things he’d ever seen, and coming from someone who drank blood on a regular basis, that was saying a lot. He lifted the mug to his lips then suddenly stopped himself.

Reaching into his pocket, Spike fished out the crystal Willow had given him. He found a large candle and set it on top of the sarcophagus while he got out his lighter. Lighting the candle, he placed the crystal in the flame, saying the words as instructed.

“Bottoms up,” he muttered to himself. With the mug almost to his mouth, the door to his crypt swung open with a bang, startling Spike and causing him to drop the mug, which shattered on the cement floor.

Cursing under his breath, Spike looked up to find Buffy standing in the doorway. He’d been concentrating so hard on making the spell work properly that he hadn’t even sensed her coming.

“I’m sorry,” said Buffy. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Spike fibbed, glancing back down at the mess he’d made on the floor.

Buffy followed his eyes. “Let me help you clean it up.” Before he could object, she was down on her hands and knees, picking shards of porcelain off the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was just anxious to see if you’d –”

“Haven’t yet.” Spike searched around for a towel or rag to clean up the potion, and finally settled for an old T-shirt he found in the corner. “Been a little busy.”

“I can see that. What is this stuff?”

He knelt down next to Buffy and tried to soak up the liquid, but all he managed to do was spread it around and get it on himself. As his hand brushed against Buffy’s, he noticed that her fingers were stained blue from the potion, and they made his hand tingle where they touched.

Unwillingly, Spike felt drawn to her, spiraling out of control, completely unable to suppress the desire he usually kept so well in check. He found himself reaching out with one hand, tangling it in her hair and pulling her close, leaning in and capturing her lips with his.

He slid his other hand onto her thigh as he deepened the kiss. He felt her respond, as fervent as he was, her tongue sliding against his, her hands finding their way to the nape of his neck. She crawled into his lap, and his jeans became suddenly, painfully, tight as her scent enveloped him, her warm body pressed against his.

“Oh, Buffy,” he murmured into her hair. “Love you… love you so much.”

Buffy felt as if she were melting into him. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be touching Spike. She wanted him, needed him; her entire being called out for him. She ran her fingers through his hair, loosening his curls. “Spike,” she moaned, as his hands slid up under her shirt, caressing her skin, brushing a thumb against her bra-clad nipple. A coil of white-hot desire formed in her loins. “Need… need you.”

She kissed her way down his cheekbone until she found his lips again, taking his lower one between her teeth and tracing it with her tongue. He could smell her arousal, could practically taste it as he slid one hand down to cup her mound through her soft linen pants. She groaned into his mouth, grinding against his touch. “Please, Spike,” she begged, her voice husky with lust.

“Come on,” he rasped, drawing himself up and pulling Buffy with him. She immediately set to unbuttoning his jeans while stroking his erection through the denim. They stumbled toward the sarcophagus, Spike trying to lead her while Buffy groped him.

Spike laid Buffy down on the stone coffin, her hot little hand working its way into the crotch of his jeans and closing around his cock. “Fuck, Buffy,” he groaned, struggling not to come right there in her hand. He swung a leg up and straddled her, his mouth descending on hers again as she squirmed beneath him to get out of her pants. In her frenzy, she kicked aside the candle that was sitting on the tomb, and it clattered to the floor. The crystal that was perched in the flame cracked and broke into several pieces.

Abruptly, Buffy pulled back and broke the kiss. “What the hell are you doing?” she cried, shoving Spike off her, so that he nearly toppled off the sarcophagus. A tumult of emotions went through her as she fumbled with putting her clothes to rights and ensuring she wasn’t revealing anything indecent. How could she do this? How could she let herself – she’d been absurdly close to actually having sex with Spike. Her hand had been on his –

Whoa, okay, let's not go there, she told herself, hurriedly cutting off that train of thought. She really didn't need to think about how he'd felt in her hand, or how it might have felt in…

Stop. Badness. Thoughts majorly of the bad here.

“I’m sorry, I…” Spike tried to recover his balance. He had no idea what had just come over him, but he suddenly realized he was sort of hanging out of his pants. “I just got caught up in the moment, you know?”

“What moment?” she demanded, leaping to her feet. “There was no moment!”

Spike scrambled to stand up next to her, buttoning his jeans back up. “There was a moment, Buffy. I felt it.”

Buffy punched him – hard. A swift right hook that sent him flying backwards onto the sarcophagus again. “Feel that too?”

“We kissed, Buffy.” Spike pulled himself up again. “That means something.”

“No, you kissed me. Maybe that means something to you, but all it means to me is that you’re a pig.”

“You wanted it.” Spike grabbed her by the wrist so that she couldn’t walk away from him. “You kissed me back.” He gave her a knowing look. “You were all over me, so don’t tell me you didn’t –”

“Spike! I can’t do this with you!” Buffy wasn’t sure what was making her angrier, the fact that Spike had kissed her, or the fact that, if she was honest with herself, he was right. She had wanted it. Badly.

Glancing at Spike’s hand wrapped around her wrist, she realized both their hands were stained blue from the liquid Spike had spilled. She looked from their hands to the floor where the crystal shards lay in a puddle of wax. “It was a spell,” she said accusingly, jerking her arm away. “You did a love spell on me!”

Spike’s face fell as he realized what had happened. Shame coursed through him at how willing he’d been to forget the spell, to pretend that Buffy really felt those things towards him. “No, love, I –”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Buffy’s eyes narrowed with anger. “How could you do this?”

“I didn’t, Buffy, I swear!” She turned to go, and he rushed around to block her path. “It wasn’t meant to be for you. It – it was for me.” Buffy just stared at him, and he was forced to go on. “An anti-love spell. I wanted to stop loving you.” He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a second wave of embarrassment at that admission, that he had so little control over his own emotions he had to resort to a bloody spell to get over her.

Buffy blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what she’d expected at all. Spike trying to manipulate her, trying to make her fall madly in love with him and return the feelings he had for her – yeah. But trying to stop loving her? That was different. She knitted her brows in thought, her heart racing.

Spike took her perplexed expression and her silence as an indication of her disgust. “What do you want me to do, Slayer? You think I don’t know this is unnatural?” He slammed his palm against a pillar. “Vampire in love with the Slayer,” he said, in a mocking voice. “I’ve tried to get rid of it. I mean, God, Buffy, you died! And I still couldn’t get over you…”

Spike assaulted the pillar again. “I’m weak, Slayer. I know it. Fucking weak, and it’s your fault! I can’t – can’t help it. I just keep looking for one little sign that maybe someday you’ll love me. But it’s got to stop.”

“You’re right,” Buffy said coldly, all trace of emotion gone from her voice. She ignored the insistent signals her body was sending her, telling her she was still attracted to him. Remnants of the spell, she told herself. “It has to stop. I don’t love you. I will never love you.”

She’d said it before – she’d even said worse – but the words still hit him like daggers. When he spoke, his tone was quiet and controlled. “Right, then. Maybe you should go.”

Buffy realized she’d hurt him, and she tried to soften the blow. “Spike, that… what just happened between us… that wasn't real.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. If it had been real, he wouldn’t be feeling like he’d just violated her. The spell had made her do things she never would have done with him if she were herself. It was one thing for him, because he already loved her – and bloody hell, he would have a hard time forgetting the sensation of her touching him – but if they'd gone much further, he'd have as good as raped her. He couldn't bear the thought of that – and his first instinct was to rail against Red, for screwing up yet another spell. But, honestly, the blame was his. He'd been careless, hadn't followed her instructions, and it had blown up in his face. He should have known better than to rely on magic.

He couldn't take it anymore, what she was doing to him, the things she made him feel. If he couldn't get rid of the feelings, he'd have to get rid of her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off sharply. “Don’t, Buffy. I need to… not be around you for a while.”

“Spike, you can’t just –”

“Get – the hell – OUT, Slayer!” he roared, and she ran out of the crypt, not stopping until she was a safe distance away.