21. Losing It
"I want ice cream," Dawn
pouted loudly, closing the freezer door more emphatically than she had
to. "Buffy ate the last of the fudge ripple! I am so gonna kick her
butt!"
"Well, go get some bloody ice cream then and quit whining about it,"
Spike grumbled good-naturedly at her from the couch, as she entered the
living room.
Dawn stuck her tongue out at him in feigned annoyance, but she was
inwardly very pleased. They had spent the afternoon together, talking
easily and watching television, and there had actually been several
moments like this one, in which Spike almost seemed like his old self
again.
A part of her knew that the moment someone else, someone even minutely
more threatening than her utterly un-threatening self entered the room,
his demeanor would likely revert back to the fearful, uncertain nature
he had developed during his slavery.
But for the moment, it was just the two of them, and they could both
pretend that they were back in better times, when their roles were
reversed and he was like a protective older brother to her – back when
*he* was the one who always made *her* feel safe and protected.
"Bloody ice cream," Dawn repeated, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
"Yuck. Bad mental image."
"Maybe for you," he retorted, with a smile that was almost a smirk –
not quite, though. He paused before saying, "Really, Bit, if you want
some ice cream, you can go on down to the corner and get some." He
shrugged. "If you like."
She hesitated. There was a little convenience store on the corner, just
down the street from the house. She could walk there and back in twenty
minutes. Still, she was reluctant to leave Spike alone, even for a few
minutes.
Obviously, he knew that, and was uncomfortable with it. He didn't want
her to feel tied to this house – tied to him, as if he were an infant
or invalid that could not be left alone even for a matter of minutes.
"I'll be fine, Bit, it's just a few minutes. Go ahead," he insisted,
trying to cover up his ever-present anxiety at the thought of being
alone.
"Well," she hesitated. "Okay, I guess. Do you want something?"
"No, thanks, Bit," he shook his head.
Dawn frowned. That was another change she had noticed in her friend
since his return. Before, he had always eaten as much regular human
food as he had blood, as far as she could tell. She remembered being
surprised at first at how much he enjoyed it, although it was of
absolutely no value to him nutritionally speaking.
Since the rescue, she had not seen him eat a bite. She wondered if it
was just habit; after all, she thought with disgusted anger, certainly
Warren would have seen it as just a waste to indulge his slave's taste
for unnecessary human food.
At the very thought of Warren, she could feel her temper rising.
Carefully she forced it down, not wanting Spike to notice anything. She
had a feeling that in spite of the horrific cruelty he had suffered at
Warren's hands, he would still be against what she was planning to do;
and she did not want anything standing in the way of her plan to avenge
the terrible wrong that had been done to him.
Making sure he was comfortable on the couch, with the remote control
and a cup of blood within easy reach, she set out quickly for the
corner store, determined not to leave him any longer than necessary.
She had been gone for a matter of minutes when he felt the familiar
panic starting to set in.
His enhanced vampire hearing picked up tiny sounds throughout the
house, and every one startled him. His wild imagination began playing
tricks on him, inventing sounds where there were none, and inventing
sinister explanations for the imaginary sounds. Before ten minutes had
passed, he found himself struggling to his feet, feeling too vulnerable
sitting on the couch, from which it was so difficult for him to rise.
He moved in his slow, awkward pace toward the window, glancing
anxiously down the sidewalk to see if she was on her way back yet. The
calm, rational part of his brain reminded him that if there was an
actual threat, Dawn would be of little help in dealing with it. It
would actually be better if she was *not* there, to get hurt.
But most of his mind was still so consumed with insecurity and fear,
and the tormenting thoughts that plagued him in every quiet moment,
that he was simply desperate for her to return, and ease the
terrifying, painful loneliness.
From where he stood at the window, he heard the front door slowly open,
and turned toward it with relief, wondering even as he did how she had
made it up the steps to the door without being spotted by his watchful
eyes.
But it was not Dawn; it was Xander. He felt an oddly unsettled feeling
at the sight of the young man, who spared him only a single derisive,
hateful glance as he strode up the stairs, before Spike could let him
know that neither Buffy nor Dawn was home.
He wasn't sure he could have found the nerve to speak, anyway, under
the withering glare Xander had sent his way. He felt a sickeningly
familiar sensation at that look.
Different dark, bigger-than-him guy who despised him; same vicious
expression that told him wordlessly of his own worthlessness and the
bearer's desire to punish him for his very existence.
He desperately wished for Dawn to get back quickly.
Moments later, Xander reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Where is
everybody?" he asked, his mild tone not matching the terribly
intimidating, unmistakable hatred in his eyes.
Not meeting Xander's eyes, feeling unreasonably nervous and shaky,
Spike replied in a voice barely over a whisper, "B-Buffy's at work, and
Dawn went down the street to the store." Almost desperately, he added
as an afterthought, "Buffy's due in any minute now...if...if you want to
wait..." hoping that the lie would put off any thoughts Xander might have
had of taking advantage of the Slayer's absence to vent his personal
issues with him.
He tried to calm himself. After all, this was only Xander. One of the
good guys. Buffy's friend. Xander might not like him, but surely he
wouldn't actually hurt him...would he?
Xander smiled, not at all a reassuring smile, at the obvious ploy.
"Actually..." he corrected quietly, his words loaded with hidden meaning,
"Buffy's not gonna be back for another hour or so." As he spoke he
stepped slowly closer to the increasingly frightened vampire, who
without even thinking about it took a step backward, cursing himself
for the display of weakness.
*You've displayed nothing else since you've been here, you pathetic
ponce,* he reminded himself harshly. *Why should now be any different?*
"Hey, relax," Xander went on, his voice still soft and even, and Spike
wondered why that was always so much more frightening than
out-of-control yelling and ranting. "I just wanna talk to you, Spike."
"Okay," he whispered miserably, helplessly, still looking at the floor,
as the boy neared him, and he took another couple of steps backward.
"W-what did you want to talk about?"
"You," Xander answered immediately. "And just what exactly you think
you're playing at here." His voice was harder now.
"I'm not," Spike argued quietly, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to..."
"Please," Xander scoffed with a soft laugh. "Like you're ever without
some ulterior motive when it comes to Buffy!" The disgusted accusation
in his voice made Spike feel ashamed.
"I'm not going to hurt her," he insisted, his voice low to disguise its
trembling, his back to the wall by now. "I wouldn't..."
"Don't you dare say that," Xander snapped coldly, fury and menace in
his voice, and Spike flinched, both at the threat in his voice and the
harsh reminder of his own guilt. "Don't play games with me, you sick
little freak! I know what you did, so don't even say you'd never hurt
her. We both know you have."
Overcome with shame, Spike whispered brokenly, "I know. I'm sorry. I
can't undo it or I would. But she...she's forgiven me, and I'll never..."
"She's forgiven you," Xander repeated in a skeptically mocking voice,
his clenched fists at his sides belying his calm voice. "Yeah, I wonder
what choice she feels like she has?" His voice softened to a cruel tone
as he added, "Kinda hard not to forgive someone this pathetic, don't
you think? Really convenient for you to suddenly be so helpless!"
A flash of anger joined the fear and shame in Spike's heart at the
unreasonable accusation. "You think I wanted this?" he asked in a
bitter whisper, meeting Xander's eyes for just a moment before the
intensity of malice in them made him drop his gaze again.
"No. I think you're using it," Xander replied coldly. "I think you're
nothing but a user, Spike, and you saw your chance to use this to your
advantage to get in good with Buffy again."
"No," he shook his head. "No, I didn't..."
"All you've ever wanted to do was be with her, and she made the mistake
of pitying you enough to give in. Then when she finally came to her
senses, you couldn't take it..."
Spike tried again, "It wasn't like that...I..."
"I know what it was *like*, Spike, don't try and give me your excuses
for why you did it..." Xander cut him off again.
Spike knew what he had done was terribly wrong, and the guilt of it
consumed him every day. Xander didn't seem to understand that at all;
he wanted to try to explain, although he knew there was no excuse for
what he had done, but Xander was determined not to let him get a word
in edgewise.
"If you'd just listen..." he said in a voice of quiet desperation.
"No, *I'm* doing the talking right now, you useless little waste of
space," Xander snarled, raising one of his fists between them and
opening it, revealing something in his hand. "And I really think
*you'd* better listen!"
Overwhelming panic flooded his every thought, in an almost physical
terror, as he jerked back instinctively against the wall, and time
seemed to stop for a moment as he took in the sight.
Xander held the control device for the chip in his hand.
"No...no," he whispered, shaking his head, holding his hands up
pleadingly in the small space between him and the larger boy. "Please..."
"Just shut up and listen to me," Xander bit out the words sharply
before going on in an even, measured voice. "Buffy's got a very good
heart, and she wouldn't even be Buffy if she didn't feel sorry for you
because of what happened. But her emotions are involved now...and that
makes her vulnerable."
"If you even *think* about trying to use that to your advantage...to get
to her...so help me I will make you pay for it, Spike. Do you understand
me?"
Spike nodded, trembling uncontrollably, on the verge of breaking down,
fighting it with everything in him, as his old thought patterns came
instinctively to the forefront. *Do as he says...don't make him any
angrier...answer immediately...* "Y-yes," he whispered. "Yes, I
understand...please..."
"Good. I mean it, Spike. If you do anything to hurt her or..."
Suddenly, Xander's words were cut off, and the oppressing nearness of
his deliberately intimidating bulk was unexpectedly relieved.
Spike dared to look up just in time to see Dawn's hand, which had
pulled Xander away from him a moment before, dart out in a furious slap
across the much larger boy's face.
Xander took a step back, stunned not by the physical force of the blow
itself so much as by the fact that it had been delivered, and by whom,
dropping the device onto the floor in his surprise.
"How dare you, you...you *bastard*!" Dawn's voice was low with rage, as
she glared at the young man she had at one time adored, raining several
more furious blows on his chest and stomach. "Get away from him!" There
was pure menace in her voice, and Spike knew that if she had had a
weapon in her hand, Xander would have been dead.
"Dawnie," Xander began, his voice carefully calm in an attempt to
appease her, reaching out his hands for her, to try to stop her
furious, if futile, assault. "It's not what it looks like. I wasn't
going to..."
"Shut up!" she interrupted him, her voice nearly a shriek of
uncontrolled fury as she flailed at him with her fists. "Don't touch
me! You – you *monster*! How could you..."
"Dawnie," he tried desperately.
At just that moment, the front door opened again, and all three of them
froze, looking toward the door.
Buffy was home.
She was absolutely stunned upon walking through the front door by the
sight that greeted her. No one moved or spoke for a moment as she took
in the scene before her.
Xander, only mere remnants of the rage he had displayed minutes before
still visible under the defensive demeanor he now held. Dawn, facing
him in outraged fury, an accusing, hateful look on her face. Spike, his
back to the wall, trembling and very badly shaken, barely daring even
to look up at her as she entered.
The control device, lying on the floor a few feet from the tense
stand-off between her sister and her friend.
Her eyes widened as terrible understanding slowly came upon her, and
she raised her wide, horrified eyes from the device on the floor to the
face of the man she had called her friend.
"Xander," she whispered, shaking her head slowly in hurt disbelief.
"Buffy," Xander quickly broke in, taking a few hesitant steps toward
her. "I know what this looks like, and I promise I wasn't going to hurt
him! I swear! I just wanted to..."
"Get out."
He stopped, stunned by the low, incredibly dangerous tone in which the
words were spoken. The righteous rage he saw slowly building in Buffy's
eyes was an expression he had only seen there before in the moments
right before she slew some vile, evil thing.
"Buffy," he whispered pleadingly. "Buffy, please..."
"I said get out," she repeated, in a voice of seething fury, barely
restrained, forcing the trembling words out slowly, "I don't even know
who you are. You're not welcome here, Xander."
His eyes widened, stricken, as the impact of what was happening, what
he had *caused* to happen, hit him. He wanted to plead with her, to try
to explain, but knew that it would be useless at this point. Slowly,
feeling a cold numbness starting to creep over him, he headed for the
door without another word.
When he was gone, Buffy looked down at the device on the floor in a
sort of shock for a moment, still not believing what had happened.
Then, suddenly, she went into action, going quickly to Spike and
putting her arms around him without hesitation, pulling him close to
her in a tight, protective embrace, one hand around his waist and the
other cradling his head.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God, Baby, are you all right?"
He nodded, breaking down now in the safety of her arms, clinging to her
with his own, giving way to desperate, gasping sobs. "H-he...he didn't,"
he began, trying to reassure her, though he was still nearly out of his
mind with fear himself. She could feel his body trembling violently
against hers, could feel the weakness overwhelming him from the terror
and intense emotion of the incident, moments before his legs gave out
under him.
Carefully, she went down to the floor with him, holding him in her
arms, sobbing with him. "Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry he did
that to you!" she whispered. After a few moments, she remembered her
sister, wondered how she was handling all of this, and looked up in
concern.
Dawn stood still, staring in fury at the door where Xander had
disappeared.
Gently Buffy took her hand, drawing her attention to where she was most
truly needed at the moment. Dawn slowly drew near to them, going to her
knees beside Spike on the side opposite Buffy, wrapping her arms around
him, so that he was surrounded by the warm safety of their embrace.
When she felt the tremors begin to fade away, Buffy gently pulled back
a little, searching his eyes anxiously, as she ran a gentle hand across
his cheek, wiping away his tears.
"Buffy," he whispered, relief and pain mingled in his voice as he met
her eyes. "I thought...I thought he was going to..." He couldn't finish,
his breath stolen by the painful memories assailing him, brought back
afresh by Xander's thoughtlessly cruel actions.
"I know," she whispered, "it's ok...he's gone. And he's not coming back."
Dawn glared down at the hated controller, on the floor a few feet from
them. "The stupid chip," she muttered. "I wish..." She stopped suddenly,
shaking her head a little, and Buffy glanced at her, puzzled.
"What? What do you wish?"
"I don't wish anything," Dawn said firmly. "It's just if it wasn't
for..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, staring at the
device on the floor.
Cautiously, slowly, Buffy reached over and picked it up in her hand,
looking at it solemnly. "I shouldn't have kept it," she said softly.
"You didn't have a choice," Dawn pointed out, frowning. "You've got to
keep it. Otherwise someone might...." Again she stopped, realizing that
what she was about to say could happen had indeed happened, that night.
Buffy shook her head. "No. I don't have any business keeping it," she
said decisively. Her eyes rose from the device in her hand to Spike's
wide, startlingly blue eyes, raised in uncertainty to meet hers.
Holding his gaze, reaching with her other hand to take his and hold it
out, she said softly but surely, "No one has any right to have this but
you, Spike. No one but you should ever have that much control over your
life," and she placed the item in his hand, closing it carefully around
it.
He stared down at it for a moment, stunned and uncomprehending. The
very concept of the thing being in *his* possession, under his control,
had never occurred to him. He had simply become so accustomed to having
someone else dominating him, controlling him, that he had never thought
of anyone but Buffy keeping the device, once he had come back here.
His eyes rose back to hers, full of so much powerful emotion that it
took her breath away. *God, he's beautiful!* she thought, her heartbeat
quickening.
And in that moment, some small, indefinable something changed, as Buffy
relinquished the life or death power she had unconsciously held over
him, always preventing him from seeing himself as her equal. Dawn
sensed it, and quietly rose, excusing herself to her room, leaving them
in the moment that had suddenly became intensely intimate.
As his eyes held hers, for once without a thought of backing down, she
read the many feelings there that he held for her. Intense gratitude
for the incredible power she had just placed in his hands, relief and
joy that she had even found him to begin with – and so much more than
that.
"Buffy," he whispered, and she knew what he was going to say before he
went on. "I – I lo..." His voice faltered, hesitating over the words he
had not dared to say since he had been back, though he had felt them
every moment.
He had no right to say them, he was sure. Not after...
"I love you," she whispered suddenly, earnestly, her hands on either
side of his face drawing him closer to her, her lips inches from his,
telling him more with the look in her eyes than with the words he had
longed to hear for so long.
He shook his head, the greater part of him that still felt worthless
and ashamed unwilling to accept it as truth, but her firm but gentle
hands stopped him, as she went on, speaking the words that she knew to
be true, "I always did. You were right, Spike. I loved you before. I
was just too afraid to admit it. But I love you. I really love you,
Spike. So much."
"B-buffy," he gasped out, in a tearful whisper, his hands cluching at
her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder, unable to face her and
speak the words at the same time. "Oh, I love you so much, Buffy!"
Her lips fell tenderly on his face again and again, in feather-light,
gentle kisses, speaking of the love she had just admitted, and after a
moment, reassured by her gently insistent affection, he tentatively
raised his head to meet her kiss.
And for the first time, if only for a few moments, he really believed
that he was going to be all right.