Chapter 9

“Day 380: We lost another Slayer tonight. It had been a while, and it was my fault. I was the one who said it would be okay for Anna to go out with Jayna and Kerry. I should have sent someone more experienced. All three of them just arrived in the last couple of weeks, and I know better. I just didn’t think about it. I was too busy missing Spike. It’s been worse recently, and I have no idea why. Maybe Faith was right. Maybe it’s time to let go.” ~Excerpt from the diary of Buffy Summers

He ran from her, from the vision he’d seen—another bathroom, a different colored robe, and Buffy on the floor under him as he scrabbled at her chest like an animal. Real or not, it had hit them that perhaps Buffy felt something for him that was less than healthy.

Whenever it had happened, Spike knew he’d tried to rape her, and he remembered the words that had echoed in that small room: “Ask me again why I could never love you.”

But she had loved him.

Spike stopped on the moor and dropped to his knees. Buffy had told him a lot, but she hadn’t mentioned that—she hadn’t said that he’d tried to rape her, and how close he’d come to succeeding.

His words had hurt her; he’d seen that much. Spike hadn’t known what else to say, though. She clearly needed protection from him.

Staring at the ring on his hand, the thought occurred to him that all he would have to do was to take it off and stay out on the moor until sunrise. He would be gone, and Buffy would be free of him.

It might be for the best.

~~~~~

Buffy had taken her bath for lack of anything better to do. She’d run it, the water was hot and ready, and Spike was gone.

She decided that she didn’t care where he had run off to; he was the one who had left.

Buffy wasn’t sure how many more times she could do this. How many more times could she find Spike only to lose him again? She’d half-decided that when Spike returned, she would tell him that she was done. She would call Giles and ask for that transfer. She’d go anywhere there were demons to kill, and she would try to move on with her life.

Sleep remained elusive, and Buffy puttered around the cottage, trying to keep her mind off of Spike’s flight. She answered emails, cleaned up the bedroom, picked up Spike’s clothes from the floor, and scrubbed the dirty dishes that had piled up over the last couple of days.

Once that was done, the sun had risen and the morning was half over.

There was nothing else to be done, and although she knew that she probably needed to eat, Buffy had no appetite. For a moment, she closed her eyes, considering what a life without Spike would look like.

She couldn’t fathom it.

There was one thing she could think of to try—one final attempt to forge some kind of connection with Spike, driving home how much she needed him. If he could just understood that much, maybe he would decide that he needed her, too.

Buffy dressed, digging around in her suitcase for the small notebook she knew was in there. She heard footsteps behind her, and she rose to face him. “Please don’t say anything.”

“Alright.”

“I don’t know what you saw,” she said, rushing on. “But I know that whatever you remembered, it was totally out of context.” She shoved the notebook into his hands before she could change her mind.

“What’s this?”

“That is the truth about what the last sixteen months of my life were like without you. If you read that, and you decide that you don’t want to try, that we don’t have a connection—” Buffy took a deep breath. “Then I’ll call Giles and I’ll find another place to go.”

She turned and walked out of the room and decided to go for a walk. It would take him awhile to read it, and she didn’t want to be around while he did.

~~~~~

Spike wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, but he’d seen the look in Buffy’s eyes, and he knew he couldn’t refuse. His words had cut her deeply, and Spike didn’t want to hurt her.

He’d apparently done enough of that already.

Within the first few pages, Spike found that he was hooked. What he had in his hands were Buffy’s most intimate thoughts while he’d been gone, and he was astounded at the level of trust she’d shown by giving him the opportunity to read it.

There were moments he felt as though she were speaking directly to him, when the diary had become her substitute for his listening ear. There were other times when he knew that she would never have spoken the words aloud to anyone. What was clear was her loneliness, her fear for him, her near-despair.

She was convinced that he—Spike—was the one who kept her balanced, and kept her human, which was ironic, considering that he was a vampire.

The entries thinned out later, and when he reached the end, he read:

“Spike is back, and I know he has no memories of me or of what we were together, but I have to believe that we’ll make it through this, too. We’ve made it through everything else.”

His fingers traced the words, and Spike swallowed. Her belief in him was humbling, and he knew that if he did nothing else, if he remembered nothing else, he would remember this.

She loved him, she had given up everything to search for him, and he had no choice but to honor that sacrifice.

The brief knock on the door startled him. “Yeah?”

Buffy poked her head in. “I think I’m going to make a sandwich. Are you hungry?”

He was, he realized. He hadn’t thought about eating all day, too caught up in Buffy’s journal. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Sure.”

She turned to go, but Spike called her back. “Buffy.”

“Yeah?” Her expression indicated that she was bracing herself for the worst.

“About earlier—” He hesitated, not knowing how to explain. “I tried to rape you, didn’t I?”

Buffy’s eyes closed, her pain evident. “Yes, you did, but then you went to get your soul. I wasn’t exactly a saint either.”

“What I did—”

“Was horrible and wrong, and I didn’t deserve it.” Buffy cut him off. “But you don’t understand, Spike. Everything—everything we did, everything we’ve ever been to each other, has a context. Just know that we worked through it. You apologized, and I forgave you.”

He glanced down at the diary. “Yeah. I think I got that.”

“I’m going to get our food ready.”

If Buffy was right, if they had survived so much together, then he couldn’t quit now.

~~~~~

Buffy had reconsidered interrupting Spike as soon as she’d knocked, but she’d been hungry, and she didn’t think that Spike had eaten since the night before. Now that she knew what sort of flashback he’d had, she could understand his words from earlier in the day. Hell, she probably would have thought that their relationship was a bad idea had their positions been reversed.

She was too busy thinking to pay attention to where the knife was going while slicing the tomato for her sandwich, and she cried out as it sliced her finger.

If she hadn’t been a Slayer, Buffy knew she would have needed stitches. Even with her speedy healing, it was going to take some time for it to stop bleeding, and she held her hand over the sink.

“Buffy? You alright?”

“I cut myself,” she admitted. “I think there’s some first aid supplies in my bag.”

“Let me see.” Spike strode forward, seizing her bleeding hand in his. She felt him stiffen and saw his eyes flash gold as the sight and smell of her blood hit him hard. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, dropping her hand.

Buffy suddenly remembered being in the basement of the house in Sunnydale, with newly risen vampires holding her in place as Spike approached her. The First’s control over him had seemed complete—until he’d tasted her blood. That small taste had brought him back to himself, had brought him back to her.

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, extending her bleeding hand to him. “It’s just going to go to waste otherwise.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said hoarsely.

“I do. Please, Spike. I want you to.”

Buffy had no idea what she was doing. This could either be the stupidest move she’d ever made, or the smartest. Either way, it was a gamble.

She watched him hesitate for one brief moment before his control broke. He reached for her hand again, but slowly this time, and she felt him tremble as he touched her. With exquisite tenderness, Spike lifted her bleeding finger to his mouth.

His tongue caressed the wound, and his eyes closed in obvious pleasure. When he began sucking, drawing out all the blood he could, Buffy shuddered, feeling it right down to her toes. He had always been able to get her off, and she felt the building orgasm.

Spike didn’t even seem to notice. He took what he could, then took a shaky step back. “I’d better get the first aid things.”

“Spike—”

He looked at her, and she saw a flash of recognition in his eyes. A slight frown furrowed his brow, and she could see confusion. “Buffy…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, convulsing on the floor. “Shit,” Buffy hissed, forgetting her bleeding finger as she dropped to the floor next to him. She pulled him into her lap, holding his shaking form tightly. “Spike, don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare do this to me.”

She had no idea what was going on or what could possibly be causing this. It was almost like the chip was firing again, but that was gone. She’d watched the army doctors take it out herself. Buffy pleaded with him to be okay, to not leave her again. She thought that the diary had done the trick, that she’d gotten through to him.

She’d thought—

He stilled abruptly, but didn’t regain consciousness, and Buffy stroked his cheek. “Come on, Spike. Come back to me.”

Buffy pulled her hand away as though she’d been burned. His skin was warm.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, gently moving him so that he was laying flat. There was color in his cheeks that had never been there before, and now that she was looking for it, she noticed the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

With no small amount of trepidation, Buffy put her hand over his heart and felt the thud-thud of his beating heart.

Her eyes wide, she watched as he began to stir and felt panic. Buffy hadn’t mentioned the Shanshu prophecy to him, and she had no idea how he was going to take being human. Unlike Angel, Spike had been quite happy as a vampire. She doubted he’d see this as a reward, which Angel undoubtedly would have.

Spike groaned, putting a hand to his head. “Bloody hell. That sodding hurts.” His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Buffy. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?”

“What are you doing here?” he repeated. “I thought—” Spike stopped cold. “Wait a minute. We’re not in L.A.”

Buffy shook her head, unable to speak.

“We’re…” He sat up slowly, and Buffy knew that he remembered everything then. He remembered everything. Spike’s blue eyes were soft with memories and sorrow. “Oh, luv.”

Spike pulled her into his arms, and they held one another for a very long time.

~~~~~

This wasn’t the first time he’d lost all memory of his past, only to regain it in a flash, and Spike wasn’t sure which occasion had been worst. The first time, of course, he’d lost the faint connection he’d forged with Buffy—Joan.

This time, he found himself with Buffy, with the knowledge that her love for him was absolute, but with a beating heart.

Although, oddly enough, his senses hadn’t been dulled.

“Okay, yeah…Yeah. Are you sure?”

Spike watched as Buffy paced the length of the living room. She’d made an emergency call to Wesley, wanting all the information he had on the Shanshu prophecy. Spike could tell that Buffy was feeling guilty for not telling him about it before it happened, but he thought it was probably for the best.

He’d had quite enough to deal with before.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the couch, counting up the casualties in his head. Buffy’s diary had given him the names—Angel, Cordelia, and Slayers both familiar and not—but not the emotions.

Spike supposed that Drusilla was out there somewhere, but he still felt adrift. He and Angel might not have been friends, but they had been family.

“Are you okay?” Her tone was hesitant, as though he would break if she pressed too hard.

“I’m fine, luv. Just—thinkin’ about Angel, actually.”

“Do you remember it? Did you see it?”

He could see the thirst for knowledge; she wanted to know everything that he had seen apart from her. “Caught a glimpse. It was a mess in that alley,” Spike admitted. “There was so much goin’ on, an’ too many demons to count.”

She swallowed. “And after?”

Spike felt his insides twist and go cold. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Buffy gave a quick, jerky nod and looked away. “It’s okay. I understand.”

He didn’t think she did. “Buffy, they wanted to break me, an’ the best way to do that was to make me think you’d turned on me, but I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it was all lies.”

Pulling her close, Spike rested his chin on the top of her head as she moved closer. “We’re gonna be okay, luv. I promise.”

She pulled back to kiss him gently. “Wes wants us to come to L.A.”

“Wants to see the Shanshu for himself, huh?”

“Something like that. He thought Angel was going to get it.”

Spike chuckled. “He’d have loved it.”

“And you don’t.”

He stared at her. “You tryin’ to say something?”

“I just—I know how much you loved…” Buffy stopped. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“What makes you think you would?” Spike sighed. “Look, Buffy, maybe I could have gone on bein’ a vampire quite happily, but I’m not goin’ to complain. I’m alive, in a very real sense, an’ I’ve got you.” Something occurred to him, something he’d said to Riley. “Are you okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Spike wasn’t sure how to put it without pissing her off. “I once said that you needed a little monster in your man.”

“And maybe you were right,” Buffy replied, her expression unreadable. “But right now all I need is you.”

Her hands were everywhere, and Spike realized that he felt her warmth in a new way. His now-beating heart was racing, his skin felt hot and almost too tight. It was like every nerve ending was on fire, and when Buffy unbuttoned his jeans, it was all he could do not to jump the gun.

A coy smile played across her lips, and she left a trail of kisses down his neck, nipping gently right over his pulse point.

The gesture ripped a groan from him, and he moved quickly to regain control. For all his difficulty controlling his newly awoken body, Spike could feel the old strength in his muscles, and he gave thanks to whatever or whomever had arranged that little trick.

At least this way he was still a match for Buffy.