29.
The Last Time
Spike strode quickly down the sidewalk, away
from the Slayer's house, away from the surreal clashing of his past and
present heartaches, with no thought for where he was actually headed –
he just needed to get *away*...away from the swirling, tumultuous
confusion that filled his mind and made his heart ache with a bitter
loneliness that had followed him for well over a hundred years.
Finally – only when his legs began to ache with the pace he was keeping
and a sense of weakness stole over him that was more emotional than
physical – he stopped, simply unable to go any farther at the moment.
His mind was spinning, his heart attacked by an ache that was changing
from purely emotional to become physical as well, and he could feel the
tears welling in his eyes, the hard knot building in his throat.
Without thought for where he was, how careless what he was doing could
prove to be, he simply sank to the ground on his knees, in the cemetery
he had somehow found his way to, and allowed the deep wrenching sobs
rising within him to overwhelm him, shaking his body with the depths of
sorrow and confusion and loss that he was feeling, some for recent
hurts – and some for injuries his heart had sustained a century ago,
that had never been allowed to heal.
After a few moments he realized vaguely that he was only a few feet
away from the haven of his own crypt – but it didn't seem to matter
anymore. After turning tail and running away like a bleedin' coward at
the Slayer's house, he had finally realized the truth of the matter. He
could walk away, refuse to face it, try his best to put it off – but it
was all to no avail.
It was impossible to flee what was inside him.
Buffy and her uncertainties and need for control that had led to his
devastation of a few months back – Cecily or Halfrek or whoever she
was, and her cruel rejection that had driven him into the clutches of
another, darker, more exotic beauty – that very beauty, who had claimed
his life, his soul, and his devotion for over a century, only to throw
it away like so much used up garbage the moment the notion took her to
look elsewhere for the comfort and affection he had offered her so
freely...
It was suddenly, overwhelmingly, all just too bloody much.
He was crying too hard, hurting too deeply, to be aware as the strange
demon crept up behind him, intent on taking advantage of this strange
stroke of luck, Spike's unusual state of discomfiture, to take out the
traitor, the Slayer's pet vampire, and earn himself some bragging
rights at the demon bars in the next few weeks.
Spike was not aware as the creature advanced on him slowly, not even
bothering to take any care to conceal his approach – not aware, as the
wooden spear in the creature's hand was drawn back for the killing blow...
...not aware, as it was silently wrenched from the monster's hand and run
through his own chest by the Slayer's powerful hand.
Only once the strong smell of the creature's blood, mingled with the
unmistakable scent of Buffy, reached his nostrils, did Spike realize
that he was no longer alone with his tears, as he had thought. He
looked up, turning slightly to see the Slayer moving slowly toward him,
a look of sorrow and compassion in her shining green eyes.
As she neared him, she tossed the bloodied spear to the ground, and his
eyes followed it, glancing then behind her at the fallen form of his
would-be attacker. His eyes widened as he realized just how near his
emotional breakdown had come to bringing about his death – and he could
not help but flash back to another such emotional breakdown, a hundred
years before, that *had* resulted in his death.
*Just goes to show,* he thought bitterly, as he raised wary, defensive
eyes to Buffy's face. *William's not dead at all. Bloody ponce is still
alive and well and mucking up my unlife!*
"You know," Buffy said softly, kneeling beside him and meeting his eyes
with a gently reproving, smile, "I've found you get a lot more mileage
out of these big dramatic emotional displays when there's actually
someone around to see them – someone who's *not* creeping up behind you
trying to kill you," she amended, glancing past him grimly at the still
form on the ground behind him.
"It's a lot safer, too," she added, her eyes becoming serious as they
met his again, and she raised a gentle hand to touch his cheek.
As he studied her expression, keeping his own carefully neutral – not
willing yet to give anything more away than he already had -- he found
that he was *not* surprised to see the concern, the underlying
protective anger in her eyes at his recklessness and the fate that had
almost befallen him.
As her thumb stroked a slow, soothing circle on his cheek, without
meaning to or even realizing that he was doing it, he found that he was
leaning into the touch of her hand, his eyes falling closed as he
swallowed back a fresh sob that rose unexpectedly in his throat, his
emotions further heightened by the tender sympathy she was showing him.
Buffy took his reaction as permission, and slid in closer to him,
wrapping her free arm firmly around his waist and drawing him in closer
to her, as her hand at his cheek rose to run slowly through his tousled
blonde curls.
She knew what the rules were – knew that she was breaking them – but
somehow, she knew that in this moment, that was what she *had* to do.
"I thought I told you to let me go," Spike said in a hoarse, weary
voice without anger or accusation, a part of him still intent on not
giving in to her – not yet.
However, he reminded himself with a certain level of self-derision, the
fact that he was utterly unresisting, leaning into her embrace, resting
his head on her shoulder, even as he protested her very presence with
his words, probably served to make those words a bit less convincing.
"You did," she acknowledged calmly with a nod, before adding firmly,
"But I saw how upset you were – and I was afraid something like this
might happen." She paused, before declaring softly, "I'm *glad* I
didn't listen to you."
She gently shifted away from him a bit, forcing him to raise his head
and reluctantly look at her. "Don't ever do anything like that again –
okay?"
He stared at her for a moment, trying – really trying – to muster up
some genuine defiance and some of his trademark snarky wit, to remind
her that he was not yet agreeing to anything.
He couldn't even come close to managing it – not tonight.
"Okay," he agreed softly, lowering his head again to her shoulder.
His mind kept warning him away from allowing this to happen – kept
reminding him that this was how he had gotten into this mess in the
first place...but deep down, his heart knew that there was no risk here.
His acceptance of her comfort was every bit as instinctive and natural,
in this moment, as her offering it, in spite of the rules he had set,
had been.
They sat there together in silence for a few moments, Buffy simply
holding him close to her, running a soothing pattern through his hair
with her fingertips, his arms gently returning her embrace, without the
restraint or caution that had marked all of their communication lately,
as he allowed himself to draw strength from her, and gradually regained
control of his emotions.
Buffy didn't dare make a sound, or even move too much, for fear of
somehow startling him back to his senses, and shattering this perfect
moment. Her heart soared with hope as she simply relished the closeness
that Spike was allowing – that he had not allowed in so long.
God, it felt like forever!
"I love you, Buffy."
She felt her heart do a funny little flip that was a combination of joy
at his softly whispered admission – and regret at the desolate
acceptance she heard in his voice – as if loving her was a dreadful
sentence that he was forever doomed to carry out.
Perhaps, in some part of his mind -- it was.
"I try to stop," he went on softly, his treacherous eyes buried against
her shoulder, where he knew that they could not betray the depth of his
emotion. "I know I should – know it's gonna bloody kill me one day –
but I can't stop loving you, Buffy, no matter how hard I try!"
"Please," she whispered earnestly, tears streaking her face as she
pulled him desperately closer to her, rocking slightly without really
meaning to in a comforting motion, though she really wasn't sure which
of them she was trying to comfort. The icy tendrils of fear slowly
wound their way around her heart at his words – fear of losing him,
again.
"Please *don't* try!" she pleaded, her whisper breaking over the
poignant words.
He did not reply, simply clung to her, holding her to him desperately,
as if she was his lifeline – but they both knew that she was not.
She was the water in which he was drowning.
After a moment, she pulled away slightly, turning toward him and
earnestly seeking his downcast, tearful gaze. "Spike," she whispered,
gently tipping his head up in an attempt to get him to meet her eyes.
"You don't have to stop loving me to stop hurting. I promise you, Spike
– if you'll just give me the chance..."
He shook his head slowly, pulling away, albeit reluctantly, from her
gentle hands. "Love hurts, Buffy," he whispered with a dark finality of
resignation to his soft, quiet voice. "I know it now; there's no
getting around that for me. When it comes to me and my bloody miserable
existence – love is pain."
"Well of course it is," she replied without hesitation, her hand rising
to touch his face, her intense, piercing gaze drawing his eyes back up
to hers, "if you just give and give and give all you've got and never
get it back!"
He had no answer for those unexpectedly insightful words, so he simply
looked down at the ground between them, thinking through what she had
just said, allowing it to sink in.
"Spike," she whispered in a tender voice full of compassion and
affection, one hand on his arm drawing him in nearer, the other coming
to rest under his chin, tipping his head up slightly so that her wide,
upturned eyes could search his with a deep, honest look of regret and
tenderness.
Once he finally, reluctantly, met her gaze, she went on softly, in a
voice of sorrow and compassion.
"She rejected you – didn't she? You loved her – and she rejected you,"
Buffy guessed at the nature of his connection to Anya's friend, now the
*other* ex-vengeance demon.
There was a stunned sort of disbelief in her voice, as if her mind
could barely comprehend the concept that the gorgeous, flawless
creature with such a loving, generous heart could have been nothing but
passed over time and again by all those he had sought to love.
The fact that she herself had passed over him for so long was a bitter
irony that they both tried not to think about at the moment.
The silent sob that left his lips, as he lowered his head, caught off
guard by the simple, painful truth of her words, was all the response
that she needed to know that her assumption had been correct. No one
had ever cherished this incredible creature, ever loved him and made
him feel worthy, *deserving* of the love that he longed for, and gave
so freely.
If he would only let her – she wanted to change that forever.
"Spike – you are *so incredible*," she spoke in a soft, slightly awed
voice, as she edged nearer to him, her arm resting gently around his
waist, though not insisting on drawing him nearer, not attempting to
push him to meet her eyes again. His emotions were too raw, too deep
and painful, to allow him to make himself that vulnerable at the moment
– and she would not attempt to force him.
"She must have been out of her mind -- *I* must have been..." Buffy's
voice trailed off, and she shook her head slowly. "You're the most
amazing, strong, beautiful *man* I have ever known, Spike," she told
him in a soft, certain voice, speaking clearly and emphatically,
wanting to leave no room for doubt in his mind.
"The way you love – so completely – with everything you have to give –
Spike, it's amazing. *You're* amazing. And the fact that in your whole
life, no one has ever made you feel that way – that way that only you
have *ever* made me feel..."
Her words broke off again – but he did not fill the silence with an
objection, did not in any way indicate that she was wrong.
Because, as much as both of them would have liked to believe that she
was -- she wasn't.
Tenderly, Buffy tipped his chin up again, his lips nearly brushing hers
as she did, they were sitting so near to each other. His clear blue
eyes, vulnerable and uncertain, searched hers for the security he
needed, as she tried to tell him without words how deeply she meant
what she was saying.
"It's a crime, Spike. An unspeakable shame – that no one's ever
appreciated the – the wonderful person that you are," she whispered,
holding his gaze firmly, the intensity in her eyes not allowing him to
look away. She was quiet for a moment, staring into his eyes intently,
before adding in an earnest, emphatic voice of yearning that took his
breath away,
"I *want* to. I want to show you, Spike – the way that you *should* be
loved – what you deserve. The fact that love doesn't have to hurt. If
you'll only let me – please – let me show you, Spike..."
His fearful blue eyes focused on hers in uncertainty and wonder,
desperately longing to believe her – scared to death of what might
happen if he did.
"I – I want that, Buffy – I want you to," he whispered, an aching need
in his hushed, trembling voice. "I want *you* -- so much – but..."
He broke her gaze, his breath catching in his throat, as he shook his
head, unable to both continue, and keep control of his emotions, at the
same time.
"You're scared," she finished for him, nodding in solemn understanding,
her hand gently caressing his cheek as she tried to coax his gaze back
up to hers. "I know – and it's my fault..."
"Not – just yours," he admitted in a soft, lost sort of voice, not
raising his eyes to hers. "Every – every bloody time..."
Again he found that he could not finish, shaking his head as he
swallowed back a sob of hurt and confusion, loss and rejection. Deep in
his wounded, broken heart, he wondered desperately why no one he had
loved and sought after over the past century and a half had *ever* seen
fit to love him in return.
What was so ugly and wrong about him, that he was so thoroughly
unlovable?
"Spike," she urged him gently, her hands moving to his waist to draw
him nearer to her, "let me be the *last* time. Let me love you, Spike.
You've shown me what it means to love someone – to really love them..."
She paused, waiting, until he drew hesitant, tearful eyes up to hers
again, shining with a light of barely birthed hope as she finished in a
voice of quiet intensity.
"Let me show *you* -- what it is to be *loved*, Spike. Please – please
let me..."
It sounded like a beautiful dream – an impossibility. At this point in
his life, he could hardly imagine that it could be. But she was looking
at him with such simple honesty, such tenderness and compassion in her
soft, emerald eyes.
God, how he wanted it to be true!
"Buffy," he interrupted her, his eyes wide and stricken with fear and
hope mingled together. "If you – if I let you in – if you – hurt me
again..." He shook his head, unable to bring himself to finish. "It would
– I couldn't..."
"I won't," she assured him gently, a promise in her eyes. "Spike, I
*won't*. I'm not just – setting you up to fall again. I *love* you –
and I'm *not* gonna let you down again. I promise, Spike. Please –
please just give me a chance..."
As the words fell from her lips, slowly and clearly, emphasizing each
one to be sure that he understood how completely she meant them, Spike
found his attention gradually becoming torn between the beautiful,
hope-inspiring words she was speaking – and the flawless lips that were
speaking them.
It had been so bloody long since he had kissed those lips.
The words slowly trailed off as she realized where he was looking –
leaving his attention suddenly undivided.
He could feel it – his need for her, the connection they shared –
drawing him in, consuming him, leaving him with little choice but to
give in to the beauty of surrender to those soft, warm, inviting lips,
inches from his own. The enticement of her tender, heart-felt words –
the desperate desire to accept them – the tantalizing temptation of her
nearness – it was all swiftly becoming too much to resist.
Even as he felt himself edging nearer to her, his body moving almost of
its own accord, he felt a sense of panic creeping into him. Once he did
this – took this step – he knew there would be no turning back. He had
been without her for so long, longing and alone – once he had allowed
himself to taste her kiss again, he knew that he would have placed his
heart at her mercy once more, would be incapable of escaping again.
"Buffy," he whispered in a tremulous, pleading voice, his hands finding
her arms, shaking as he tried – failed – to make himself push her back.
"Buffy – please..."
He could hear her heartbeat quicken, racing in time with her rising
desire, as her gentle hands pulled him in closer. If he had actually
been trying to escape, he could not have broken her grip.
But if he had actually been trying to escape – she would have let him
go.
"Spike," she whispered, his name coming out in a desperate, broken
gasp, "Please -- *trust me*..."
He wanted to – oh, how he wanted to!
"I love you," she whispered, leaning in closer, her lips parted and
pleading. "I love you, Spike...*please*..."
In that instant, time seemed to freeze for the blonde vampire, poised
on the edge between trust and doubt, wanting so desperately to accept
that what she was offering him was real and genuine – terrified that he
would do so, only to find that it was not.
He had a choice.
He could surrender to the familiar, long-missed heat of her embrace,
the siren's call that would lead him to either the bliss she promised,
*real* love like he had never before experienced – or to the doom of
the eventual rejection that seemed to be his fate, no matter how
desperately he tried to hold onto the one that he loved.
Or, he could refuse her pleas, stay away from her, where he knew it was
safe, away from the fire – but cold and empty and lonely – and never
know the heat of her passion again. If he made that choice, she could
never again break his heart – but he would never know if she had ever
intended to – ever would have.
"Let me give you this, Spike," Buffy whispered imploringly, breathless
with her longing for him, her eyes closed as she leaned forward and
rested her head against his. "Please – I want to give you --
*everything* -- *myself*, Spike. Please let me love you...let me..."
The heat of her love, her passion, so real and sincere and intense,
called to him – and he could not deny her, regardless of the danger to
his often-wounded heart. The creature of love and passion that he was
could not resign himself to an existence without the one his heart
burned for – and the man who loved her so deeply could not reject her –
not when she was here before him, begging him simply to accept her love.
When the Slayer reacted to his subtle, barely visible cues, and leaned
forward, unable to resist any longer, boldly moving in to claim his
mouth with her own, the allure of what she had promised, something that
had never been his before – real, genuine love – drew him to accept the
advance, and then return her kiss – tentatively at first – and then,
fervently.
Whether to the bliss she had promised, or to his own destruction, only
time would tell for sure – as Spike surrendered to the flames.