***************************************

Buffy closes her eyes. Well, unlike certain other vampires of her acquaintance, Spike never claimed that he wanted her to be normal. Happy, yes. Normal, no.

“Thanks. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been recognized yet as an official judging criteria for America’s Next Top Model.”

“Criterion,” Spike says.

“What?”

“Criterion. Singular form of the noun.”

“You know,” Buffy tells him, “we have the strangest conversations.”

“Sorry, my mistake. I forgot you’ve spent the better part of a year talking to the Immortal. Guess I should have worked my way up to words of more than one syllable.”

“Just to review: the Immortal is not stupid, he’s not selfish, and he’s not Angel. Are we clear?”

“I’ve known him longer than you have, Slayer.”

“So you agree.”

Spike scowls down at the Y’Vharrnal. Buffy crouches next to him. Contrary, tempestuous, half-tamed demon. He had to clear it with Dawn before they left the bar.

Her sister had waved them off, enjoying the newfound attentions of both the Immortal and a valiantly not-yet-lit Xander. Buffy reminds herself to make sure to collect all three of them at the end of the night, in the interests of forestalling any drunken debacles.

“What’s going on with you and Dawn?” she asks him.

“What – Christ, Buffy. Dawn said you’d got this in your head. You really think she and I would –”

“No. I mean, I did, for a second there, but no. What I want to know is…how are things? Are you…good, now?”

He studies her for a while. “We’re better,” he says finally. “We’ve raked each other over the coals, pissing and moaning about who left who. But we’re better. We’re okay.”

Buffy digests this. “And…you don’t love me more than Dawn, so you – you couldn’t hate me any more than you hated Dawn.” Her eyes lift to his. “Could you?”

He’s obviously confused. “Never hated either of you, Buffy. Wanted to kill you, but never hated you.” He frowns. “What did you have to drink back there?”

“I was just thinking. That, um…if you and Dawn are okay, then maybe if we work at it – work hard – maybe you and I can be…okay.”

Silence, until Spike braces his hands on his knees and stands. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why?”

“’Cause if you really wanted to make amends, you might have shown up earlier.” Anger builds in his voice. “Like, when I came back from the dead.”

Buffy scrambles up, too. “I guess you just do it so often that I’ve stopped noticing!”

“You stopped noticing a long time ago. You didn’t come to me because it was easier to stay away.”

“But Dawn –”

“It’s different; I shouldn’t have to explain to you how. ‘Sides, she didn’t expect instant hugs and kisses. But you, Buffy –” He shakes his head. “You think people’ll be right where you left ‘em. And maybe that was true, once. Not anymore.”

“I don’t want them to be.”

This catches him off-guard, she can tell. She seizes the opportunity. “Did you ever think, even once, that I didn’t like the way I’d treated you? That when I looked back – at us – all I saw was the hurt?” She pauses, choosing her words with care because truth is the currency that she and Spike trade in. “I’m not saying I had it all planned out, you know. Like I knew what I was doing, because I didn’t. I don’t. But it’s taken a long time for me to like myself, again. And until I did there’d just be more pain between us.”

He surveys her. “Buffy,” he says at last. “Did y’get a bit wise in my absence?”

This secretly pleases her, but she says only, “Not really. I thought I’d have a little more time. To get myself together, before all this happened. I guess I still don’t feel ready. Maybe I never would, though. Maybe I just had to do it anyway.”

“So now that you’re here, what’s your strategy?”

“Um. I haven’t exactly settled on one. There’s a lot to take care of, here. Dawn always wanted to go to UCLA – mostly because there’s an In ‘N Out in Westwood, but whatever – and it’s going to take Xander a while to get back on his feet, especially since he doesn’t want to, and…you and I need to regain our footing, too.” A tremulous smile. “See how I made with the wordplay, there? I’ve been reading. Books.”

“You’re not staying with me. Not you and not her. Got that straight?”

“Mm.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, and he’s so dear to her, and so fragile – she can still see the scars she left on him – and he’ll shed blood and tears in the same useless breath, and with him she’ll start to collect the bits of her heart that have scattered.

They’re probably not over the worst of it; there will be fear and fury and grief before forgiveness takes hold. That’s okay. She suspects that if they keep up the fight long enough, eventually they’ll be on the same side.

“We should get back,” he tells her. “Dawn’s been alone with those two imbeciles for going on two hours.”

She just nods; there are bits of her heart back at the bar, and it’s time to piece them together again.

Later, on their way home, Dawn mentions casually that she’s going to the Arclight with Xander on Friday night and for sushi with the Immortal on Saturday. Spike veers the car into an abandoned falafel stand, curses mightily, and promises Dawn she’ll not leave his sight – or possibly her bedroom – for as long as his corpse walks the earth. In the backseat (Xander’s slumped over in the front, and the Immortal had "his usual room" booked at the Standard before they even left the mountaintop), Dawn pokes Buffy and mutters, “I told you I could bring him around. You owe me a mani-pedi.”

“A little help here, Slayer?” Spike’s still bent on murder, so Buffy nods obediently. “Dawn,” she says. “Am I going to have to stay here and keep an eye on you?”

“Gosh.” Dawn appears to consider this. “That would be terrible.”

“Terrible,” Buffy echoes.

Spike swivels around. “I’m not dense,” he tells them sourly. “And you two aren’t exactly subtle.”

Buffy and Dawn exchange glances. “Never our strong suit,” Buffy says.

“Nope,” Dawn agrees.

The moments stretch out, impossibly long. “Harris’s house has two bedrooms. It’ll take a ‘dozer to clean it out, of course, but it might give the boy something to do besides drink himself into an early grave.” He surveys Xander’s sleeping form. “I’d like to do the honors, when it comes time for that.”

Dawn’s eyes widen in admiration. “That’s an excellent suggestion, Spike.”

“You got what you wanted, Bit. You can quit laying it on with a trowel.” But there’s…relief, in his tone. Resignation and wariness and pleasure, all mixed.

She sticks out her tongue at him - Buffy's convinced that Spike and Dawn bring out some kind of mutual juvenile regression in each other - and sits back in the seat. Buffy rests her forehead against the cool window. “I’m tired.”

“Go to sleep,” Spike says. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

The End.

| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS |