Rated: PG-13
Summary: Spike leaves after "Dead Things," wanting nothing more than to get Buffy out of his head. Wesley's still an independent contractor after the events of "Loyalty." And the Slayer's still living in the land of denial.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters featured
below except for Nika. She's all mine. And I'm not making any money off
of her either, so please don't sue.
Part II: Reunions
"It's funny how/Even now/You still support me after all of the things that I've done/You're so good to me/Waiting patiently/And isn't it sad that you still have to ask if I care?/I never said I was perfect/But I can take you away/Walk on shells tonight/Can't do right tonight/ And you can't say a word/Cause I leap down your throat/So uptight am I/I never said I was perfect/But I can drive you home/I got down on myself/Working too hard/Driving myself to death/Trying to beat out the faults in my head/What a mess I've made/Sure we all make mistakes/But they see me so large that they think I'm immune/to the pain/I'm praying for a miracle/But I won't hold my breath/I never said I was perfect/But can you drive me home." ~Garbage, "Drive You Home"
Chapter 7: September 2002
Nika couldn't have said why she wasn't surprised when Spike turned up on her doorstep again. She felt close to him, in a way—the way you felt connected to someone after sharing body fluids and near death experiences. In her case, it was both at the same time.
She shouldn't have felt anything but antipathy for the vampire—first because of what he was, and second because he'd tried to kill her. Sort of. Really, she'd quite literally asked for it. But it wasn't about being friends, or replacing a dead husband, or losing yourself in a new lover. In the end, it was about understanding pain and recognizing scars. It was about understanding what it meant to lose everything that made you what you were, and still choosing to live.
So when Spike showed up on her doorstep, three nights after he had left, with a split lip and a black eye, Nika didn't say anything at all. You attempted small talk with people you didn't feel comfortable with, or that you didn't know well enough. Somehow, she knew this vampire better than she'd known her husband. She recognized him on a visceral level.
Spike wasn't sure what her response was going to be when he knocked on her door. He didn't know if she would slam it shut in his face or invite him in. He wasn't even sure why he was back here, except that he was tired and hurt. And he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, wondering if she hadn't found some other novel way to kill herself. The level of relief that flooded him, seeing her alive and well, was a surprise.
He had promised himself that he wasn't going to care about anyone ever again.
Neither one of them spoke as Spike followed her into the kitchen, the strong smell of alcohol hanging around him in a miasma. He sat down in one of her kitchen chairs, watching as she went to the cupboard above the stove, pulling out a large plastic container full of gauze, antibacterial solution, and band-aids.
She dabbed gently at the cut on his lip, cleaning off the blood. With gentle fingers, she tested the bruise around his eye, trying to make sure that no bones had been broken around the socket. "'m okay," he said suddenly into the silence, a response to her tender probing. "Vampire, you know? We heal quickly."
"It doesn't mean that there couldn't be damage to the eye," Nika replied. "How's your arm, and leg?"
"Fine. Same, really." Spike looked at her hopefully. "You wouldn't happen to have any alcohol would you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you had enough to drink already?"
"Takes a lot to do anything for me," Spike replied.
There was a long pause as they considered each other. "What brought you back?" Nika asked.
"Dunno," Spike said. Then he went for the truth. "You were nice to me."
"Is that so strange?"
It was a legitimate question. For all the heartache Nika had experienced, she'd never had a problem with people treating her badly. In her experience, other than with the vampires who had eaten her loved ones, most folks were generally nice. And really, she didn't blame the vampires. They might be evil, but it was like blaming a cat for killing mice. If you liked mice, you didn't keep a cat around. If you didn't want to be eaten, you were careful about who you invited in and carried a cross and stake. If you hunted vampires, you knew the risks you took.
It had taken her a while to come to that conclusion. Her nain had helped. After her parents were killed, Nika had understood that nain's stories about vampires weren't just fairy tales. The monsters that came out after dark were real, terribly, terribly real. But hatred, nain had always said, sapped your own strength, more than anything else. Anger, resolution, even pain, could make you strong, but hatred made you weaker.
Hating things that were only doing what they were meant to do, didn't do anybody any good. Nain had told her to save her anger for something that mattered, for true evil. True evil meant humans who disregarded everything they knew to be right to hurt innocents. That understanding might have been why Spike being a vampire didn't matter so much to her. The fact that Spike hadn't killed her meant much more.
Spike considered her question, and finally said. "Yeah. For me, someone bein' nice is a bit of a new experience."
Nika shook her head, not really surprised, but at the same time she was. It was in the eyes, she realized. The eyes had been what drew her in, expressive eyes that screamed pain. His eyes were the kind that made women want to take him home, give him cookies and milk, and make certain he was going to be okay.
But maybe that was just Nika and her highly developed maternal instinct.
In spite of Spike's already slightly inebriated state, she went to the cupboard and pulled out the bottle of whiskey that Danny had saved for especially hard nights. Nika also grabbed the bottle of red wine she had been saving for their anniversary. They would have been married nine years in another month.
She handed the bottle to the vampire. "Do you need a glass?"
"No, not really," Spike replied. "Not unless you mind me drinkin' the whole thing."
Nika shrugged. "If you feel the need." She pulled out one of her seldom-used glasses, though she didn't think it mattered if she drank the whole bottle. It would be better than letting it go to waste, and there were usually only a few glasses anyway. (Perfect for sharing, getting a little tipsy, and then having anniversary sex.)
By unspoken agreement, they moved the party into the living room, each of them with their own bottle, and Nika with her glass. Spike took a couple of swallows, and she watched in fascination as his adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I didn't know vampires drank anything other than blood," she said suddenly.
He shrugged. "Alcohol's always nice, yeah? 'specially when you need to drown your sorrows or escape for a bit. An' I like people food too. Like those spicy buffalo wings."
Nika wanted to laugh, and she hadn't laughed for days. Something about the picture of a vampire, who was supposed to be a fierce hunter, drinking whiskey and eating spicy wings... It was an image that certainly didn't lead to fear. "What else do you like?"
Spike was just drunk enough to answer her questions without much caring about the answers he gave. There was something about being in this cozy little house with a woman he'd tried to drain a few nights previously that was so surreal, it was unbelievable. It was as though he were living a dream, and it actually felt a hell of a lot better than his nightmarish reality.
"Bloomin' onions," he replied, tipping back the bottle again as he thought. "Spicy curry, nachos, those sour cream an' onion chips. Hot chocolate with little marshmallows." Spike smiled suddenly, his face going soft, softer than it had been in a long time. "There was this woman, mum of—of a girl I knew. She made hot chocolate for me. Some of the best I'd ever had. She was a real lady, that one." Spike gave her a knowing look. "You remind me of her. She never treated me like a freak either."
"Why would I treat you like a freak?" Nika asked, honestly puzzled.
"I'm a vampire, or I used to be," he replied, thinking that was all the explanation he needed to give. When she simply shook her head, he continued. "I'm evil. I'm—I'm a thing, a monster. I'm what goes bump in the night."
She smiled at him. "You saved my life."
He was beginning to get angry. She wasn't reacting like she was supposed to. She was supposed to agree, to tell him that yes, he was an evil thing, and she had every right to hate him, to treat him like dirt. She was supposed to—"You're not—you're mental," he accused her. "I'm an evil vampire that tried to kill you." Exasperated, he said, "I could drain you now! 'm not your bloody friend!"
"Then why did you come back here?"
He had no answer to that question, realizing belatedly that he had risen from his seat on her threadbare couch, and that his bad leg was threatening to buckle under him. Slumping down, Spike stared at her. "You're one odd bint, you know that?"
Nika wasn't exactly offended. She was beginning to wonder if she wasn't off her rocker herself. Here she was, sharing a drink with a vampire whom she had meant to be her means of suicide. Shrugging, she said, "Probably. That doesn't make it a lie though. You could have killed me. You didn't."
"I'm still evil." It was said rebelliously, with something akin to a pout on his face, and then Nika did laugh. At his glare, she laughed harder, laughed until she cried, and tears poured down her face.
He was by her side in an instant, forgetting that it had been him she was laughing at, seeing only her tears. He hadn't minded tears, accompanied by a healthy dose of fear, when he was draining a girl. But seeing them on Nika's face now was a different story, and he moved to brush them away. "'s gonna be alright," he promised, not even knowing why he cared.
"Will it?" she asked, perfectly serious. It didn't strike her as odd that she was asking for reassurance from a vampire, nor did he seem to be a stranger to her.
Caught flat-footed by her question, he nodded. "Well, yeah. S'pose it will." Spike hesitated, moved his hand to shakily wipe the tears that lingered. "Pain—fades, after a while. You'll forget to think about him every minute of every day. It won't hurt so bad. You'll find some nice bloke who doesn't remind you of him, an' you'll start rememberin' without pain."
"How do you know?" Nika asked, and it didn't sound snotty, or doubtful, as though a vampire shouldn't—couldn't—know pain.
He shrugged uncomfortably. "I know. There—there was a girl. She died, more than a year ago now." Spike had almost been at that point, when they'd brought Buffy back. Or, at least, he'd been able to think that there might come a point when it didn't hurt quite as badly. He could see the possibility of it.
Spike had never considered that there might be ways to hurt worse.
"Tell me about the girl." It was a question and a statement and a plea all rolled into one. She said it as Dawn had asked for a story for at least one hundred of the 147 nights that Buffy had been gone. She meant, "Tell me something to make me forget for a while that I hurt so badly. Offer me an escape, and I will gladly take it."
It was a different, simpler method of escape than what he and Buffy had indulged in. Sex had had far deeper ramifications than he'd ever believed it could. As an evil vampire, you didn't think much about sex. It was pleasure, it was pain, and it had been both with Buffy.
What Spike hadn't figured on was the hole it left when he'd wanted it to mean so much more.
"Do you know about the Slayer?" he asked, returning to the couch, taking another drink. His words were just beginning to get slurred, and that was fine with him. He needed to be anesthetized for this.
Nika had finished her first glass of wine, and she poured herself another, suddenly not caring that the wine would go straight to her head. She was a light-weight. "She fights vampires."
"That's her," he agreed. "I killed two of 'em you know." Spike paused to see Nika's reaction, wondering if she'd flinch, or look at him in horror. Instead, she simply listened. He shrugged, and went on. "So I go to kill this one, only I can't."
Spike didn't want to go into the Angelus thing. Nor did he want to bring Dru into it. What he wanted was to tell the whole sordid tale of the Slayer and the Vampire to someone who might actually take his side for once. "So, long story made much shorter, we do the run around. I leave, come back, leave again. An' the last time I come back, the government sticks me with this chip in my head. Suddenly, I can't hunt, can't feed, can't bloody well even hit humans anymore. We strike a deal. Mostly, she doesn't kill me."
"And you fall in love with her." Nika considered that for a minute. After the second glass of wine, she was a little more willing to say what she was thinking. "You do realize how masochistic that was?"
Spike laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. I have some idea."
"What next?"
He told her everything, from his first confession of love, to chaining her up, to getting tortured back into her good graces by a Hellgod. About not saving her, and loving Dawn, and her friends bringing her back, and the sexcapades that brought down a house. Finally, Spike told her about the night in the alley, and what she'd said to make him leave.
Really, what she'd done. Sticks and stones and all that. It was her back to him that had screamed the loudest.
Spike was surprised when Nika came over and sat next to him on the couch, grabbing his right arm and beginning to knead the muscles. "Wha—What are you doin'?"
"You don't actually have any circulation, but this will still help with the numbness." Her skillful hands massaged each finger individually, and Spike could feel them tingle. It was more than he'd felt there since he'd gotten the chip out.
"Why?"
"Nain told me once that kindness is its own reward, and that cruelty, even toward those who have been unkind, will only destroy you." Nika paused in her movements to gather her thoughts. "You chose to stop killing humans for a girl who hurt you. You cared for her sister. You can use my kindness, I think. And I like taking care of people."
Spike shook his head. "'m evil, luv. Don't—don't think otherwise just because I didn't kill you."
"You were a good man once," Nika replied. "Or maybe I see what you could be. Or maybe I just don't give a damn about what you are." She looked at him, her eyes suddenly fierce. "You saved me the other night. So I don't care."
And she didn't. Spike could see it in her eyes. She really didn't care what he was, who he was. She was massaging the muscles in his leg now, her hands bringing to life nerves that he'd forgotten existed. He hissed in appreciation, staring at her in awe. "Nika..." It came out as a muffled groan, and it was the first time he'd used her name.
"Shh," she said. "What happened to you tonight?"
He attempted to shrug, but her ministrations were causing pins and needles to sprout up and down his leg and arm. "Got jumped." He winced as he felt a particularly sharp pain. "Demons aren't the kindest lot in the world."
"You're a target," Nika said softly. "Why don't you stay here?"
"Huh?" Spike stared at her.
Nika stopped her kneading. "You're in danger out there," she said quietly. "They hurt you, don't they?"
"A bit," Spike admitted, almost sulky. "They—other demons—don't much like vampires. An' they aren't particularly nice to half-crippled ones, either."
"So stay here," she suggested. "It's safe. The basement's not too bad."
"No, it's not," he agreed quietly. "After—after what I tried to do, an' your husband though—"
"I asked you to, and it wasn't you who bit him," Nika said.
Spike reached out and caressed her face, a tender gesture that ended up being more friendly than anything else. "You'd do that for me?"
"Let's just say I owe you one," Nika replied. "After all, it was you sinking your fangs into my throat that convinced me I wanted to live."
~~~~~
It was only a matter of time after that before their relationship turned physical; they both knew it. After all, they were two attractive adults, living in close quarters, who were of age and who had a need for physical comfort. (Well, Nika thought of herself as relatively attractive. Spike, on the other hand, was drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn't blind.)
They spent several months trying to get their bearings around one another. Nika made a point of giving her vampire tenant all the privacy he needed, not going into the basement unless she was invited. Spike came and went as he pleased, partly just to prove that he could, partly to find out what Nika would say when he disappeared for a couple days. Even when he reappeared after being out for several nights in a row, looking like something the cat dragged in, she said nothing. Simply got out her first aid kit and cleaned him up. On nights, or days, when they were both there and awake, she helped him exercise his leg and arm. After a few weeks, there was a noticeable improvement in both mobility and feeling.
What Spike appreciated most was how she treated him. It might not have seemed like much to someone else, but she never brought up the fact that he was a vampire, except when she asked him if he wanted her to pick up blood. She knocked before she came down to the basement. When he didn't rinse his mug out, she teased him about being a slob, and then asked him politely to clean up his messes. He might have been just another person to her, and for that reason, more than any other, he began to find her beautiful.
It was edging on towards December when Spike noticed that Nika was getting a little more depressed. She didn't come down to visit him, and when she did see him, she didn't say much. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, and even the midwife duties that she pulled weren't cheering her up. Normally, Nika came home quite jazzed after delivering a baby, but not anymore.
Spike wasn't sure what to do, or what to say to her. He wanted to comfort her, to find out what was wrong, but he wasn't sure how. If Nika had been Buffy, he would have taken her patrolling and let her kill something. Or he would have riled her up until she took her frustrations out on him. Neither option would really work for this particular woman, however.
After several nights of thinking about it, Spike finally went and knocked on Nika's bedroom door. He knew she'd be getting ready for bed but wouldn't be asleep just yet. "Nika-luv?"
He waited for her to open the door. She frowned at him slightly. "Spike? Is something wrong?"
"I was goin' to ask you that," he replied. Spike hesitated. "I—look, I don't want to pry, but you've been a bit—down, I guess. Is—is everythin' alright?"
"I'm fine, Spike," Nika replied firmly, though not unkindly.
He ducked his head. "Yeah, right. I was just worried 'bout you, 's all." Spike started to limp away, and was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Wait, Spike." Nika waited for him to turn and look at her. "Come in."
It was the first time Spike had entered her bedroom since the night she'd asked him to kill her. Their movements were a mirror of that scene, as he sat on the bed next to her. Nika was freshly scrubbed, her face free of makeup, wearing a tanktop and a pair of medical scrubs. For once, her hair was out of its braid, and hung in waves around her shoulders. Spike was hard-pressed not to touch it. He had always loved women's hair—the smell, the texture, the way the light played over the richness of color.
"Christmas is coming up," Nika finally said quietly.
Spike frowned, trying to understand. "'m not sure I understand, luv."
"This is the first Christmas I'll be alone."
Comprehension dawned, as Spike got what she was saying. As a rule, vampires didn't care much about holidays. When you were undead and immortal, the traditional markers of the passage of time didn't mean a lot. But Spike could remember vaguely what it had been like to spend the first Christmas without his father. There had been a pall that hung over the house, despite everyone's attempt at being cheerful.
Tentatively, Spike put an arm around her shoulders, ready to withdraw if she pulled away. To his surprise, she leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder. "I miss him so much," she whispered. He watched the tears drip down her cheeks, and used his other hand to wipe them away.
"I know," he replied. "I know."
She looked up at him, her wide gray eyes moist and red. Nika was not one of those girls who could cry and still look beautiful. But even with blotchy skin and a red nose, Spike felt drawn to her—wanted to protect her, as she'd protected him. He had full range of motion back in his right hand now, and he knew it was thanks to her.
So it was a thank you kiss that he offered. A mixture of thank you, and you're beautiful, and you've been kind to me, and I'm sorry you're hurting. When Nika kissed him back, it was the same—loneliness, hurt, pleasure that he was there, attraction.
The kiss went on for much longer than either of them intended, and Spike slid his hand under her tanktop. He pulled back to let her breathe, and his eyes asked a question.
Nika nodded, knowing what he was asking. She didn't normally engage in casual sex, but she wanted to be held again. Danny had been the one to awaken her body all those years ago, and she craved the utter freedom that came from letting yourself go, from a complete surrender to instincts as old as humankind.
It was the same; it was different. It was spectacular—it was a disappointment. If either of them had thought that making love would suddenly make everything click, causing them to realize that they had moved on, healed, been made whole, they were seriously mistaken. When it was all over, Spike held Nika to him, half propped up in the bed, her hair spread across his chest. He could feel the change in the room, and knew she was about to run. Well, tell him to get out. It was her room—her house—after all.
"Spike—" Nika felt him tense.
"'s alright," he said quietly. "You don't have to say it."
She was quiet. "Actually, I wanted to know if we were still friends."
"Huh?" He moved her hair so that he could see her face better. "Nika—"
She shook her head at him. "Spike, we both know that we haven't moved on yet. I wish I could say that I have. I wish—"
Spike considered her words, finally nodding in acknowledgement. She was right. He was still in love with Buffy. "We could try, you know."
"It wouldn't be fair to either one of us," Nika replied. "You know that. I love you, I just don't love you." She reached up and grabbed one of his hands, the right one, and began to massage it, as she had so many times before. "I don't want this to ruin things. It doesn't have to, does it?"
Spike frowned. "Why would it?"
"I don't know," she said. "I mean, you're the only guy—Danny was my first, you know."
Spike smiled, feeling almost honored. He was glad now that he'd gone for the soft and slow approach, rather than the hard and fast the Slayer usually preferred. The softness had been new for him. This talking afterwards was a bit new as well. Buffy usually ran off, and it had been bloody difficult to have a real conversation with Dru at any point in time.
"I won't ask you to compare," Spike said, with a little smile, "but was it okay?"
She returned the smile. "More than okay. If sex were all it was, I don't think I'd have a problem, but my heart isn't mine to give yet."
"No." There was a long pause, and then Spike tried to extricate himself from Nika and the bedsheets. "I should go, luv."
"Stay," she replied, hanging onto his hand, as though for dear life. "Just stay here. I want to be held tonight. I don't want to feel alone."
With his free hand, Spike touched her hair, reveling in the silky texture. "You won't be alone," he assured her. "We'll do Christmas together. Won't be the same, I know, but it'll be somethin'. I'll stick around, an' we'll—we'll do whatever you want."
"Okay," Nika agreed, slipping down into sleep moments later.
Spike watched the easy rise and fall of her chest, and wondered at it. It had never been like that with Buffy. There had been no battle for dominance, no fighting for control. She hadn't once given the impression that she was pretending she were with her dead husband. Even though Spike had been the one trying to offer comfort, it was Nika who had comforted him.
This was what it was like, he realized. This was what he wanted. Spike didn't mind the rough and tumble, but he wanted tenderness also. They might have decided not to become lovers, but he didn't think they would stop being friends.
Nika's tenderness, her acceptance, her utter trust as she lay sleeping in the arms of a vampire who could drain her in a moment's time: it was a feast. And now that Spike had glimpsed what a feast might be, he would never again be able to settle for the crumbs.
Buffy had thrown him scraps, like you might throw the dog under the table. Nika gave him everything she had to offer, even though it was only friendship. Suddenly, Spike realized that he would probably never stop loving Buffy, but that didn't mean he couldn't live without her. Here was another girl who could use his services, and give him the good return. Dawn had given him what she could, as had Joyce. They had all given him something—kindness, trust, love.
Spike wouldn't live without those things again, even if it meant he would never be with Buffy. Getting his rocks back didn't mean feeding off humans, or killing everything in sight. It meant being his own man, deciding what he needed, and not settling for less.
Right now it meant staying with this woman. Later, maybe it would mean something else. Spike smiled. He didn't have to get over the Slayer. All he had to do was learn to exist in a reality where she wasn't the center of his universe. And suddenly it seemed easier than it ever had before.