Confluents

Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Like I have to say this again. If I owned any of these characters, Spike and Buffy would have lived happily ever after, as would nearly everyone else.

Archive: Anywhere that already has my stuff. Anywhere else, just ask.

Summary: Set directly after the events of Same Time, Same Place. Buffy realizes that she's probably left Spike in the basement for too long and hauls him out. Her attempts to get the First to stop tormenting him don't go quite as planned, however. Then again, when do spells on the Hellmouth ever work right?

A/N: I may be a minority, but I thought the First was about the lamest villain ever. How do you fight something like that? It's impossible. And besides, it's philosophically and logically insupportable that you'd have the First Evil and not a First Good of some kind. I'd give you the logical argument, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm treating the First as the S3 episode Amends treated the First—like some ghost that could be chased away by some fast talk and the light of day. I'm ignoring the rest of S7 canon pretty much. Oh, and the title is taken from a Christina Rossetti poem I thought was appropriate.

Chapter 17: Finding Yourself

"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,/or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off./I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,/in secret, between the shadow and the soul...I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where./I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;/so I love you because I know no other way/than this: where I does not exist, nor you,/so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,/so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep." ~Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

"So where's the bleached wonder, Buf?" Xander asked. He was helping her put the finishing touches on her Christmas decorations, and the Slayer smiled slightly.

"Spike and Dawn went to finish their Christmas shopping," she replied lightly. "Dawn wanted to use his wheels."

Xander gave her a sharp look. "How are you these days, Buffy?"

His tone was gentle, reminding her of the boy she had loved like a brother. This was the Xander she had come to care about so deeply. He'd been hard to see these last couple years.

Buffy supposed he might say the same about her.

"I'm good," she said, trying to sound like it was the truth.

Xander knew her better than that. "Buffy..."

"I miss it, you know," she finally said, almost absently. "I mean, William's still there, so it's not like I miss him exactly. It was just—there wasn't any pain between us, Xan. He'd never tried to kill me, and I'd never hurt him. Things were good."

Xander sat back on his heels, giving her a compassionate look. "Buffy, that wasn't the reality of it."

"I know that," Buffy said quickly. "I do. It doesn't mean I don't miss it. We used to just be able to sit together, and now there's this really awkward space between us." She didn't tell him that Spike hadn't made love to her, figuring that was probably too much information for him.

Xander had found that he had a much harder time hating Spike after liking William. Besides, it was nice to have another guy around on a regular basis.

Plus, William had made Buffy happy. Xander had seen that much, and it had been a long time since his friend had truly been happy.

"Give it time," he finally advised. "Spike is obviously not going anywhere."

Buffy shook her head, unable to explain that it felt like he'd already left.

~~~~~

"What do you think?" Dawn asked, holding up a sweater. "Would Buffy like this?"

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. "Dunno, Bit."

She gave him a dirty look. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" he asked, knowing very well what she meant, but unwilling to play along.

Dawn wasn't willing to put up with it. "You know what. You and Buffy are both miserable, and it's getting really old."

Unlike his relationship with Buffy, Spike had slipped back into a comfortable friendship with Dawn. His time as William had done him no harm in her eyes. "It's complicated, Bit," he replied gruffly.

Dawn stopped dead in her tracks, grabbed his arm and hauled him over to an empty bench. "Stop it," she said, sounding really irritated. "I am not a child, Spike. I know what happened between the two of you, and I know about complicated. So don't patronize me with that kind of shit."

Spike very nearly reprimanded her for her language, and then he shut his mouth with a snap. Dawn had grown into a young woman in the last year. Circumstances had tried her, and she had come through with flair. A genuine smile touched his lips, the first one Dawn had seen in more than a week. "What?"

"You're all grown up," he murmured.

"Well, duh," Dawn replied, sounding pleased nonetheless. "Spike, what is it?"

Spike stared at his hands. "I don't know," he replied honestly. Having no idea why he was unburdening himself to a sixteen-year-old girl, Spike said, "I don't feel quite real, Dawn."

"Oh." Dawn stared at him unhappily, remembering what the First had taunted him with. She understood, and yet she wasn't sure how to fix it. Dawn tried to recall what she had done to make herself feel real, but she had the feeling that self-injury wasn't the way to go with Spike. "You're the most real person I've ever known."

Their eyes met, and in that one moment all the pain and anger between them was gone, as though it had never been. It was that summer all over again, when they were thick as thieves, when their bond was the only thing keeping them together.

Spike found that some of his burden had been lifted. "Ta, luv."

"Come on," Dawn commanded, rising. "We still have to finish our Christmas shopping."

He stood, the first glimmers of an idea beginning to take shape.

~~~~~

"Happy Hanukkah, Red," Spike said softly as he entered the kitchen.

Willow glanced over at him in surprise and then gave him a wry little smile. "Hanukkah was a couple of weeks ago, Spike."

He shrugged. "I know, but I wasn't sure what holiday you were celebratin' this year. Yule's a couple days from now."

Willow was touched that Spike had even gone to the trouble of finding out when those holidays were. She shrugged in response to his unspoken question. "I celebrate with my friends and family," she replied. "The actual date doesn't matter nearly as much."

"Yeah," he murmured.

Willow peered at him. Spike looked almost—shy. It was an expression she recalled seeing on William's face, but never on Spike's. Or perhaps it had been there, and she hadn't been looking. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No," he said quickly. "I was just—uh, getting some blood."

Willow supposed that one really nice thing about having Spike back was that they didn't have to make sure he ate.

"Do you miss him?" Spike asked out of the blue.

Willow blinked, trying to figure out who he was talking about. "Do I miss who?"

"William."

"Spike, you're William." Willow frowned, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "Or William was you. That's sort of like trying to figure out which came first, the chicken or the egg."

Amusement lit his eyes. "S'pose that's one way of puttin' it."

"What's this about?" Willow asked quietly, touching his arm.

Spike shrugged. "'s just, you were—" He broke off abruptly. "Forget it."

"I'm still your friend, if that's what you're asking," Willow said quietly. When Spike didn't reply right away, she continued. "I know that we didn't treat you very well after Buffy came back. Is that what you're worried about?"

He was silent for so long Willow thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he said hoarsely, "It was easier, you know, bein' William. Harder too, I guess, but mostly easier."

Willow hadn't really thought about it like that. She imagined that the lack of memory would be like her suddenly forgetting that she had killed a man and nearly destroyed the world in the process. It would be like regaining your innocence, only to lose it again. She reached for his hand, much as she'd reached for William's. "I think I get that."

Spike looked over at her, his eyes grateful for her understanding. "'m not sure what to do," he admitted.

Willow smiled. "Just be Spike. It's all she wants, you know."

He didn't say that he wasn't sure who that was any longer.

~~~~~

Spike stood next to the window in Buffy's room, looking out into the darkness. The Slayer had gone out on patrol, and he was waiting patiently.

He wondered when he'd learned patience.

The house was silent. Dawn and Willow were asleep; Spike could hear their slow heartbeats, and knew that they slept deeply and dreamlessly. Leaning against the windowsill, Spike wondered what his next move ought to be. He had found a place here, in this house, but he had been William then, and now he was someone different.

Spike wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He remembered his time as William as a person remembers a dream. It had been strangely perfect, and he knew that Buffy had been happy.

William had made her happy.

It was nearly impossible to describe what regaining his memories had been like, which is why he hadn't tried. He had simply opened his eyes and been Spike again—the same vampire who had nearly raped the woman he loved. The one who had failed to save her.

The one she'd used.

That was the worst of it. The peace they had found for a brief few weeks had largely been a lie. It had been easier when he didn't remember, when Buffy could pretend to forget, and now every hurtful word and action stood between them again. This time, however, it was worse, because they both knew how good it might have been.

There was a piece of him that wondered if he shouldn't leave. Spike had thought he might before they had done the spell. Once he was lucid enough to think at all, he had believed it would be better that way. Maybe it would still be better, but he was a selfish git, and he didn't want to go.

Even if it would be better if he left, Spike wanted to stay. He never had been one for giving up.

"Spike."

Her quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts, and Spike turned to meet her gaze. "How was patrol?"

"Good," she replied. "Pretty quiet, actually."

"That's good."

It was, perhaps, the lamest conversation in the history of the world, and they both smiled at the same time. "We're really pathetic," Buffy commented.

"Yeah, s'pose we are." Spike's eyes were unfathomable. The Slayer wondered why he was in her bedroom, because he'd retreated to the basement after his memories had returned.

Then she realized that he was wearing the clothes she'd purchased for him, not the usual black-on-black he'd been wearing for the last week and a half. "Why are you here, Spike?" she asked, her tone taking the sting out of her words.

He hesitated, and then replied quietly, "I thought you might want your Christmas present early."

Buffy froze, stiffening in surprise. "You—"

"Assumin' that's what you still want for Christmas," he rambled on, suddenly terribly unsure of himself. "I wouldn't—we don't need—"

Buffy stopped him with a kiss. "I think we do."

It was slow. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Buttons were undone one by one, care was taken as each garment was removed. They were both shaking—although from desire or fear, neither could say.

This time they were making love with the truth laying stark between them.

At one point, Spike stopped, his breathing harsh and ragged, though unnecessary. He seemed poised between staying and leaving, and Buffy knew that if he left now it would be the end. This was the moment of truth when they chose between taking the easy way out and going forward, even though that would be harder.

But when had things ever been easy?

"It's okay," she said quietly. "Please, Spike, stay."

"I can't give you what you want," he said, a little desperately.

Buffy shook her head. "No, but you can give me what I need."

"I can't do this again."

She knew without being told what he was referring to. "You won't have to. I love you."

It was enough. It was all he'd ever wanted.

~~~~~

Christmas was a subdued affair, although it was quite a bit more cheerful than it had been the year before. Xander and Anya were both there, making the first tentative advances towards a relationship of some sort. Buffy had the sense that neither of them were quite sure what they wanted from the other, but they were at least trying to find out.

Willow was more at peace than she had been in a long time, and it showed. Buffy was happy for her, relieved to see a little of the old Willow returning. Dawn was almost perky, contemplating her first big date with Mike, causing Buffy to remember what that first crush had been like, both innocent and tentative.

Spike seemed to be regaining a little of his equilibrium. Buffy had seen how touched he was at the gifts he'd been given. The soul had seemed to strip away a few of the masks he had often worn, and Buffy could tell how his open pleasure had affected the others. Even Xander found little to complain about where it concerned Spike these days.

Buffy heard the back door open, and she felt him without turning around. "Hey."

"Hey, pet."

She turned. Spike was wearing blue jeans and one of his black t-shirts in a melding of old and new. "Did everyone leave?"

"Yeah, finally," he said, some of his old humor creeping into his voice and eyes. Spike was silent for a moment and then said, "'m sorry your Watcher couldn't make it, Buffy."

Buffy briefly considered brushing off the comment, as though Giles not coming wasn't a big deal, but that would be a lie. She wished that he had been able to make it. "I wish he was here," she said frankly.

Something in Spike's face softened, changed. Buffy rarely allowed him to play the role of the strong one. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, in an intimate gesture she'd rarely allowed in the past. Now, she leaned into him, resting her head back against his shoulder.

They stood there like that, not speaking. Spike allowed the peace of the moment to sink into his soul. For the first time since returning from Africa, he believed that it might work. That this might be where he belonged. That he might discover who he was. "I think this might work."

Buffy felt a weight lift from her shoulders with the knowledge that Spike wasn't going anywhere. She touched the hand that rested on her shoulder. "I know it will."

They kissed then, in the darkness, under the moon, and the night was full of promise.

As rivers seek the sea,
Much more deep than they,
So my soul seeks thee
Far away;
As running rivers moan
On their course alone,
So I moan
Left alone.

As the delicate rose
To the sun's sweet strength
Doth herself unclose,
Breadth and length;
So spreads my heart to thee
Unveiled utterly,
I to thee
Utterly.

As morning dew exhales
Sunwards pure and free
So my spirit fails
After thee.
As dew leaves not a trace
On the green earth's face; I, no trace
On thy face.

Its goal the river knows,
Dewdrops find a way,
Sunlight cheers the rose
In her day:
Shall I, lone sorrow past,
Find thee at the last?
Sorrow past,
Thee at last?

~Christina Rossetti, "Confluents"