Chapter 8

“Day 365: We’ve been here for a year now. It feels longer. Some days I can’t remember doing anything else; some days I wonder if everything before this was just a dream. If it wasn’t for the others—Faith and Wes and Vi and Audra—I think I would forget what it’s like to do anything but kill demons.” ~Excerpt from Buffy Summers’ diary

“Have you heard from them?”

Giles looked over at Miriam. “Who?”

Her expression suggested that he was being particularly dense. “Spike and Buffy.”

“They arrived safely and are settling in. Buffy is unlikely to tell me more than that, and she is quite capable of deciding when to come back on her own.” Giles leaned back in his seat. “Besides, there are quite a few places I’m currently trying to keep tabs on. The Cleveland Hellmouth is very active at present, demon activity in South America is holding steady, Africa is largely under control—thank goodness—and Davis is still playing the ass in Munich.”

“You’re forgetting the Brachen in London.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” Giles smiled. “The Brachen are doing quite well, and they should have no trouble getting our new Slayer out of China. Arless tells me that he knows someone who knows someone, or something to that effect. She’ll arrive within the week.”

Miriam raised her eyebrows. “Most impressive.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

Giles went back to his paperwork, fully aware that Miriam was still there, biding her time. He suspected that she wasn’t quite as sanguine about Buffy’s situation as she liked to pretend, and he could understand why. Although there truly wasn’t anything else she could have done, that fact didn’t necessarily change the way one felt after making a difficult decision that resulted in terrible consequences.

“Have you seen anything in the bowl?” he finally asked, pretending nonchalance and keeping his eyes on the desk.

“No. It’s been quite dark of late.”

Giles’ head shot up. “That can’t be good.”

Miriam pursed her lips. “It’s not as bad as you might think. It may simply mean that there are no truly pivotal events coming up.”

“Or?”

“Or it could mean that we cannot do anything to change what is coming.” Miriam sighed. “I wish I knew which it was.”

Giles couldn’t help but wish for the same.

~~~~~

Buffy finished writing her email to Faith and hit send. It sounded as though Angel Investigations, Inc. was almost getting more business than it could handle, and the Slayers were being kept busy. Faith’s off-handed comment about how she and Wesley had managed to take an evening off recently told Buffy that the other Slayer’s personal life was probably going better than hers was.

She tried not to be resentful of that fact; Faith deserved a little happiness.

Buffy sighed, glancing at the closed door of their bedroom. She’d used the morning to catch up on her correspondence, leaving Spike to sleep in. Since he had come to bed after she’d gone to sleep, Buffy suspected that he needed it.

He had been a little more comfortable in her presence over the last week, at least. They had spent a lot of time playing tourists—going to see historical sites, driving up to Keswick and hitting the clubs, even going to the theater.

Spike’s choices had been interesting; most of the selections he’d made had surprised Buffy. He had been the one to decide on the historical areas, but maybe that was because he didn’t remember and should have.

They were slowly getting to know one another again, and Buffy had discovered that she was grateful for it. A lot had happened to her in the last year, and sometimes she wondered if she was the same girl who had watched Spike go up in flames in Sunnydale.

So, maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t remember her.

“Anything interesting happen?”

Buffy turned to see him emerge from the bedroom, looking sleepy and rumpled. “No. Faith said that everyone in L.A. is still in one piece, Dawn informed me that Oliver is currently pissing her off, and Willow is tired of playing mediator.”

Spike frowned. “What are they fighting about?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “She’s just generally irritated with him. He doesn’t pick up his wet towels, he gets cranky when a patrol runs late, and he can be bossy. Willow informs me that while the part about the wet towels is true, Oliver is worried because demon activity is picking up and he thinks Dawn is taking too many chances.”

“Is she?”

Buffy shrugged. “How would I know? The only good thing about being this far away is that I can avoid the worry. I love my sister, but she hates it when people try to protect her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

“I’m the Slayer. There isn’t anyone who tries to protect me anymore. The last person who tried died.”

“Who was that?”

“Angel.”

“I didn’t try?”

“You watched my back. There’s a fine line, but you somehow managed to stay on the right side of it.”

Spike sprawled out on the couch, looking contented for once. “What are we doin’ today?”

“It’s your turn to pick.”

“Maybe we could go up to Keswick again. I liked that club, an’ I wouldn’t mind dancing with you again.”

Buffy nodded. “Sure. We can do that.”

“I meant to ask you.” Spike held up the crystal that had been her only source of hope during the long months in Los Angeles. “What is this?”

She swallowed. “Where did you find that?”

“You left it on the bedside table.”

Buffy had meant to put it back in her pocket, but clearly she’d forgotten. “It’s tied to your ring,” she finally admitted. “As long as it was glowing, I knew you were alive.”

“Then you don’t need it anymore.” She didn’t, but that didn’t mean she wanted to get rid of it. Her expression must have communicated that fact, because Spike rose, putting the crystal in her hand. “It’s still important to you,” he observed.

Buffy closed her fist around it. “Sort of a lucky charm.”

Spike’s long fingers closed around her hand, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m going to shower.”

She looked at the crystal again as soon as she heard the door close behind him. After a moment’s consideration, Buffy went into the bedroom and tucked it into her suitcase. Maybe it was time to try and move on.

Maybe she could still recapture something of the girl she’d once been.

~~~~~

There was something different about Buffy, Spike thought as he watched her dance with abandon. Gone was the edge of melancholy that had haunted her since he’d awoken next to her, replaced by a determined perkiness.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with her, to be honest, but he was enjoying himself.

Hands on her waist, he watched as she turned in his arms, her back to him now. The grinding of her hips had his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight, but he didn’t try to move away. Some of her attitude seemed to have infected him, and he ran his hands up her sides, feeling her ribs.

She was too thin, he thought. Worry and care had worn her down, and he wasn’t helping matters any. His mind’s stubborn refusal to remember anything more than brief flashes was frustrating to say the least.

Re-focusing on Buffy, Spike decided that none of that mattered right now.

The girl in his arms was a marvelous distraction; he lost himself in the sight of her blonde hair spilling down her back and his arms. He could smell her perfume and sweat, as well as the people gyrating around them.

Even that much faded away, however, as another flashback hit him like a freight train. Buffy was skewering him with a red hot poker over and over again as he hung by his wrists from the ceiling, making him dance in pain.

“Spike!”

He blinked, seeing Buffy standing in front of him, her hands gripping his forearms. “Buffy?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere pleasant. You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

Spike had money. Giles had explained that he’d still been drawing the same salary while he was gone—something about danger pay, although he didn’t really understand what was meant by that. All he knew was that he had enough to buy them both a drink now, and that was all he cared about at present.

He knew he should tell Buffy about what he’d seen, but Spike had told her about two other flashbacks in which she had starred as his tormentor, and he knew how much it hurt her to hear.

Spike knew her well enough to know that she hadn’t done any of those things.

Taking the two beers, Spike headed back through the crowd towards where he’d last seen Buffy. She was still dancing as though she hadn’t a care in the world, and he paused to admire her—although he certainly wasn’t the only one.

One of the men in the crowd approached her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Buffy smiled and shook her head, sidestepping him and continuing to dance by herself.

Spike was suddenly transported to another time, and another crowded club, watching her dance. Watching and knowing that he was going to kill her.

He shook off the memory and saw Buffy heading in his direction. The smile she gave him was both pleased and possessive. “Thanks.” She took one of the bottles from him. “Let’s find a quiet corner.”

“Don’t think one of those exists in this place.” Spike had to lean close and nearly shout to make himself heard.

“You might be surprised.” She took his hand to lead him through the crush. Spike held on tightly, not expecting her to lead him through a back hallway and out an exit. “This is about the only quiet corner there is.”

“We’ll have to pay the cover all over again.”

“We’re not going back in.” Buffy leaned up against the wall. “I saw the look on your face in there, Spike. You had another flashback.”

“The usual.” He concentrated on the bottle he held. “You don’t need to hear it.”

“Spike—”

“It hurts you to hear, and I know it wasn’t really you, so let’s not get into it.”

“You had another one.”

“Think it was of the first time I saw you. I wanted to kill you.”

“Well, you were evil then, so I’m not surprised.”

“If we do this, you have to know that I might never be him again.” Spike thought she deserved the warning. He liked her, and he was attracted to her, but he didn’t think it was the same. There was at least a chance that it never would be.

“I don’t care.”

Her eyes were enormous, luminous in the light of the street lamps that filtered into the alley, and Spike leaned in, drawn to her as iron to a lodestone. Her touch was familiar and not at the same time, and he moved tentatively, feeling his way.

Pulling back, Spike met her eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Can we do that again?”

His lips touched hers again, more decisively this time. Her hands gripped his shoulders, then moved down his arms. Her caress sent a shudder of desire through him.

Everything she did, every touch, lit a new fire. For a moment, he remembered another alley, another kiss, just as passionate, but then even that was gone.

Even if he didn’t remember her, it was clear to him at that moment that she was in his blood, under his skin, and he would never be rid of her. Whether or not he had ever had a choice, Spike didn’t know, but he had none now. Call it destiny, call it fate, but he knew that Buffy was everything to him.

He finally surrendered to the inevitable.

~~~~~

Buffy knew it was a miracle that they’d even made it back to their rented cottage. They’d had sex in stranger places than an alley outside a club, but in a way, this would be their first time, and Buffy didn’t want this to be just another quickie in an alley.

She wanted a bed; she wanted him to make love to her, as she’d learned to let him do. Buffy wanted sex to forge a connection that had been missing since the day she’d found him.

At first, she had thought that’s exactly what it was going to be. After the first, tentative kiss, Spike had dived in, giving it his all in a way that was entirely familiar. If there was any awkwardness, she ignored it in favor of focusing on the familiarity and the pleasure filling her body.

The silence on the way back to the cottage felt comfortable, the distance between them reduced to something manageable. Spike drove—apparently that skill set was very much like fighting, and so it hadn’t taken him long at all to remember, or relearn. Buffy couldn’t help but stare at his hands on the steering wheel and think about what it would feel like to have them on her.

It had been entirely too long since she’d had sex, and she’d been fantasizing about this for months—or years. It might have been years at this point.

Later, she would wonder if that’s what had happened. Had she built it up so much in her mind that there was no way reality could possibly fulfill her expectations? Or was it simply because it was so much like the first time for Spike?

Where once he’d known her body as well as his own, now he was exploring as if for the first time. Instead of coming together like two long-time lovers, he acted as a stranger to her form.

Buffy supposed that it was only to be expected—not only did Spike not remember having sex with her, he didn’t remember having sex with anyone else either. Although he clearly wasn’t a complete novice in the bedroom, he was certainly not up to the expert level that Buffy remembered so fondly.

In the end, he left her satisfied, but hardly fulfilled.

Buffy lay there, next to his sleeping form, trying to fight the tears that threatened, wondering if this was going to be impossible after all. Maybe she had moved too fast, pushed him too hard. Maybe she shouldn’t have expected everything to be okay after less than a month, but this was Spike.

Granted, he’d been crazy in the basement for quite awhile, but she’d left him down there; Buffy was doing everything she could, everything she could think of, and she didn’t know that it was going to be enough.

If not for him, then for her. Buffy wasn’t sure if she could ever give up on the memory of what they’d had, or if the loss would forever haunt her, leaving her incapable of happiness.

Not wanting to disturb him, Buffy disentangled herself from the covers and reached for the robe hanging from the bedpost. She drew it around herself and padded to the bathroom. It was probably either too late or too early to draw a bath, but she’d shot her sleep schedule all to hell years ago, and Buffy hadn’t quite gotten sick of bubble baths yet.

Sixteen months in a war zone with limited hot water tended to make a person appreciate all sorts of things.

She was waiting for the tub to fill up when she heard a knock on the door. “Come on in, Spike.”

“You okay?” he asked, poking his head inside.

Buffy forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, sorry if I woke you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

He stepped inside. “Something I can do to help?”

She straightened. “No, not really.” For a moment, she considered asking him to join her, but decided that she’d rather have the alone time. Turning, she reached for soap and her razor. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

He was silent, and she turned to face him once again, thinking that she’d offended him somehow. “Spike?”

His expression was hard, and he shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

Buffy blinked. “What? What did you—”

“Is this good for either of us? Waiting for something that might never happen, trying to find a connection that doesn’t exist anymore?”

She felt as though he’d sucker punched her. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He took a step backwards. “I’m gonna go. I need some air.”

Spike was gone before she could call him back and try to find out what he’d seen. Buffy had no idea what had just happened, but she didn’t believe he’d meant it, not when she suspected he’d just had another flashback.

What had he seen? What sin of theirs was coming back to haunt them now?