Title: 2 AM
Author: Goddess_Hecate
Beta: Immortal Beloved
Song: Breath (2AM)
Artist: Anna Nalick

BtVS and all associated characters are property of their respective owners blah, blah. No copyright infringement is intended blah, blah. Does anyone actually read these? Oh , alright, alright I don’t own the bloody song either.

So I made you all wait long enough to think maybe I wasn’t gonna update, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for happier endings than that. Not that you’ll be able to tell from this little chappie. Enjoy and Review!

~*~
‘There’s a light at the end of this tunnel’ you shout
‘Cuz you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out
~*~

Buffy felt numb. She had just left the only person capable of making her feel at a time like this. If someone asked her now what half-baked excuse that she had given to Spike as to why they couldn’t go on like this, she wouldn’t be able to tell them. The same excuses had probably bubbled to the surface. She was sure that she had recited them like multiplication tables. Spike x Buffy = wrong. Buffy + love = Sadness. The derivative of Buffy using Spike = Buffy’s death. At least she thought that that was how derivatives worked. One semester of calculus had been neither useful, nor sticky. Buffy shook her head. It was a lovely distraction, but totally not the point. It wasn’t that the excuses that she used were untrue. It was more that they danced around the point, the point that had made it crucial that she end this thing with Spike that night.

It wasn’t that she was worried that she had gone to Spike for comfort after listening to the incessant, but well-meaning, blathering of Riley’s wife. Although she was loathe to admit it to anyone―even herself―something within her liked the almost boyish excitement that crossed his eyes when she entered his crypt. Something in her enjoyed the look of awe that would cross his features when she rode him. Something in her reveled in the feeling of his love. It was a strangely warm feeling that she kept wrapped around her on the coldest of nights when she woke once more to the musty air and cramped space of her coffin. Remembering Spike as the one who bandaged her hands that night, the one who would have stayed and fought rather than running, the one who would have gone to the effort to dig her out had he only known, was comforting. Even giving her semi-permanent residence in the land of Denial, Buffy could admit that she found comfort and warmth in Spike’s love.

That had not been the issue. The issue had been when, on that night after letting him drape his warm cloak of love around her shoulders, Buffy’s heart had answered with its own warm spark. The feeling was terrifying beyond all recognition. The initial feeling had been terrifying enough. It was emotion. Emotion that ran deeper than the anger and obligation she had felt toward her friends and sister. Emotion that reached far wider than the lust that she had felt for Spike. The emotion was far too scary and troublesome to consider, and it didn’t even take into account the recipient of that particular emotion. Buffy still wasn’t exactly sure that it was, but she knew what she prayed it was not. She simply couldn’t love Spike. It just wasn’t possible to love him while she still found it difficult to remember to love her friends, her watcher, and her sister. Buffy thought it best not to consider what the emotion was in Spike’s presence. She was too afraid to sort it out on her own. No, her aimless wandering had brought her to Tara’s dorm.

Buffy considered chickening out. Maybe she was over reacting. Maybe it was just heartburn. Maybe it was just physical. But something in her told Buffy that this was so much more. This was dark, dangerous, scary, horrifying. And with complete and utter certainty Buffy knew that she had lied to Spike that night. Every word, every excuse that she had thrown in his face was a lie. Buffy couldn’t face it alone. She pounded on the door in front of her.

~*~
And these mistakes you make, you’ll just make them again
If you only try turning around
~*~

“Tell me you love me.”

Spike did not have to think about how to answer that. Even if he had ever been able to deny her requests he felt his love for the Slayer coursing through every fiber of his being. “I love you. You know I do.”

“Tell me you want me.”

Spike could tell that this was going to end badly for him. Never before had Buffy wanted to hear about his feelings. Despite the hope that he felt surging through him, Spike had played this game with Buffy too often to be naïve enough to think that he had finally reached her. Still, Spike found himself incapable of lying or shutting up. “I always want you. In point of fact—“

“Shut up.” As usual Spike did not have to stop himself. She had stopped him. Before Spike had time to think, Buffy’s lips were on his.

Had there been any blood left in his brain to think with, Spike might have noticed that there was no hitting. Had there been any blood left in his brain to think with, Spike might have noticed that Buffy made no attempt to push him to go harder. Had there been any blood left in his brain, Spike might have noticed that for the first time ever in their stormy affair, Spike was allowed to make love to Buffy the way that he wanted. Had there been any blood left, Spike might have noticed that somehow this time felt like a first time and a last time all at once. Spike might have noticed that this was goodbye. But Spike spend very little time thinking during that hour; and by the time his crypt was in shambles and Buffy had stormed out of his crypt, commando in tow and righteous indignation all a flutter, Spike had too much on his mind to remember how unusual their sex had been that night. Which was why it was such a shock to him when Buffy had announced that this was the end. It seemed especially cruel given his confession to Tara just nights before. Had it really only been two nights ago that he had come to ask her for advice? Had it really been only two nights ago that she had told him that he had a chance?

If he thought about it, really thought about it, Spike realized that he had known from the moment Buffy spoke that night that this goodbye would be more significant than the rest. He had known even before her lips touched his that this was nothing more than one last time. He had known what to expect, but, in a cruel way, that made it all the more shocking when the time actually came for her to say goodbye. Knowing what was coming should have made it easier to bear, less painful, but it hadn’t. That reality struck Spike as especially cruel.

What to do now? Spike’s initial inclination was to sit on the roof of his crypt and wait for sunrise. He had put up with just about enough of heart ache, and it was high time to put a stop to it all. He was, of course, being melodramatic. He had no intention of leaving this world as tempting as oblivion might sound. Besides, that would do nothing more than prove her right about men. No, Spike knew that leaving was not the answer. Hadn’t he just sorted this out with Tara? It was hard for Spike not to snort when he remembered Tara’s words.

“You have to teach her how to trust… Can you still stand to be around her even if she can never love you... Then, with time, you can teach her.”

Spike had been willing to stay with Buffy no matter what, but it had never occurred to him that she would leave. How was he supposed to teach her how to trust when she wasn’t around? How was he supposed to teach her about love when she had broken off his only opportunity to show her that he loved her?

Spike wasn’t sure how long he had sat on the tomb smoking and thinking. It could have been hours or minutes for all the consciousness he had of it. At length, he hopped off and took a long swig of whisky. Nothing like a little liquid courage to get you through the long, cold night. Spike wasn’t sure where he planned on going when he left, but, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that ultimately he would reach Tara’s dorm. He needed answers, and she was just the person to conjure some up.