Title: Detour Author: kindred Disclaimer: The BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and his associates. Rating: NC-17 Feedback: Yes Summary: Future fic. Vengeance, memory and the course of true love. 19. The door to the cell flew open. Buffy stood in the opening with a look of breathless anticipation on her face. Spike took off his earphones and stood for an easy stretch. Playtime had arrived. "You sure that Watcher of yours is British? He gave me a cup of something green that smelled like a perfume bottle and had the bloody nerve to call it tea!" Clearly the vampire had specific parameters for what constituted a proper cuppa. Buffy didn't pay attention to what Spike said. She launched straight into a breathless speech. "I don't know why you loved me. I never really thought too deeply about it." "What's that now?" "For the longest time I thought it was wrong and twisted, but you made me see the truth." "Should I be sitting for this?" If she was going down memory lane perhaps he should get comfortable. "There was plenty of bad stuff between us, Spike. Plenty. I was a bitch to you for a long, long time. There was an extended period of excessive bitchiness...with punching." "Really? Sounds fascinating." His tongue executed a lazy maneuver over the edge of his incisors. "It wasn't. I used you. I used your feelings to make me feel good, to make me feel something, to make me feel whole. I hurt you and it was wrong. I can't remember really apologizing for that before. I'm sorry I did that to you." "If it makes you feel better, I don't remember." "You need to know. When it was bad between us, it was really bad. I kept rationalizing my behavior so I could continue it. But that stopped and we found a way past the misery. You helped me change and I think I have. I'll always be grateful to you for that." There was something else she wasn't saying. Spike tilted his head, trying to decipher the feeling inside him. He knew he'd also behaved badly. "The one thing I valued most about our relationship was that it was equal. Not at first, but later it was. But this here with you locked up? It's not equal and it's not fair." Spike stepped toward her. "You hear me complaining?" His eyes were soft on her face, no longer empty and cold but full and blazing embers for her. An echo of another confrontation visited Buffy's mind: a blast ruined bed, the look of confusion on Spike's face and her steely determination to finally do the right thing. The right thing. "I loved you. I love you. I never stopped." Buffy closed the gap between them. Spike lightly caressed her cheek. "I hurt you, too. I can feel it." The shadows in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. It was a helpless feeling, not knowing what he'd done. "You-- That's--" Buffy hesitated and then found her strength once more. "I love you, that's what I remember." They'd put the hurt behind them and left it there. Spike taught her what it meant to be better than your worst act, because he was. His example let Buffy know it was possible to hold her chin up and look ahead. Because he could. "I can't give you what I don't remember. I don't remember saying the words but I feel you in here." Spike put his palm flat against his stomach and rubbed. "You're in my guts." Buffy nodded. "Mine too." She raised to her tiptoes and kissed him softly. "I love you." No trace of antagonism rose between them. Spike stood still and let her kiss him. He felt the truth of her words and the truth of her lips. A sweetheart's kiss blossomed between them, soft and unhurried. Eventually, she looked up at him with those hopeful, puppy eyes. "I asked Willow to remove the wards." "And that means?" "Would you like to come to our house?" Buffy almost hid her nervousness in a questioning smile. With freedom in the offing Spike felt a little different than he'd imagined. He meant something to this girl and suddenly he wanted it. He liked how he felt when she looked at him exactly the way she was looking at him now. He wanted that feeling to continue. "Yeah, I think I could do that." Buffy offered her hand and he took it and together they walked out of the room with the locked door. * Freedom is a funny thing. It comes with its own skewed perspective. Sunnydale after dark was the most beautiful vista he'd ever seen. The graffiti scrawled dumpsters and winking neon lights were dazzling. Even the oil stains coiling into brilliant kaleidoscopes of color in the crater of a small pothole were breathtaking. The hellmouth may have been sealed, but its presence still could be detected. A soft humming vibration trickled up Spike's legs from the pavement and pooled in his crotch. It gave him a few ideas. Outside the Magic Box Buffy stood quietly, waiting to see what Spike might do. He took a few, deep breaths to assess the territory. Two pairs of eyes twinkled an unspoken communication and then they were off, running through the night, playing a variation of tag at breakneck speed. Spike cornered Buffy near the vehicle shed in the Forest Glade Cemetery. She dodged his grasp but tripped on a section of tree root, falling backwards to the ground. Spike pounced upon her with a snarl that made her nipples vibrate. He took an appreciative peek down her blouse and then licked the pulse point on her neck. "Getting rusty, Slayer?" "Stop slobbering on me!" Buffy protested. "Ain't my fault you make my mouth water." "That was no fair! I tripped. I get a do-over." "A do-over? You're the bloody Slayer! Supposedly swift of foot and all that? Yeah, right. Bunch of bollocks if you ask me." "Hey!" Buffy wriggled under his grasp. "I appreciate your sexy squirming and all, love, but I know you're not even trying. Highly suspicious behavior, that. Makes me think you might like being pinned under old Spike. Is that it? You like me on top...holding you down? Come on, admit it." "I'm so going to kick your ass!" "You say the sweetest things, Slayer, but you'll have to catch me first." With that said he was off of her and gone in a flash. Buffy bounced to her feet and raced after him. She was going to catch him and pin him down and make him squirm and see how he liked that. The game went back and forth with both competitors enjoying the chase and relishing the capture. It was yet another version of foreplay that left them champing at the bit for something more. Eventually, Buffy found herself catching her breath behind the tree in her own front yard. From out of nowhere Spike attacked and tackled her. They came to a rolling stop in a heap near her porch steps. Buffy sat up astride him and looked at her house. "This is it, Spike. This is home." The easy, flirty feelings from their game drifted away. Spike stopped giggling and stared at the unassuming façade with a contemplative expression on his face. Buffy shifted off of him and stood up. Doubt settled into his mind and got comfortable. Stories were one thing, but inside that building was tangible proof of the life he had lived and the heroic vampire he had become. It was a sobering threshold. Any fantasy she'd had of him sweeping her off her feet ended when Spike walked through the front door. He wandered from room to room, neutrally acknowledging his books and video games. It was an anonymous two-story home among other anonymous two-story homes. Spike had lived in the fanciest hotels on the continent, in caves and grand estates and squalid crypts. This house was small town ordinary to be sure, but at least there was no knitted cardigan in sight. If there was any hint that he'd become Mr. Rogers, Spike was out the door. The walls fascinated and intimidated him. They held a gallery of framed pictures, snapshots from some other vampire's life. There was a tall young girl in a graduation cap and gown hugging him under a shady archway and what looked like a dinner party with the red headed witch he'd caught a few glimpses of, the Watcher and some grinning yob in a loud shirt and eye patch. There was a picture of the Slayer and a younger version of the graduate with another woman. Spike could see plainly that it was a family portrait, a mother and her daughters. Another photo pictured a flaming cake with the Slayer holding up a fire extinguisher. He was laughing in that one. He was smiling in most of them, or putting on an exaggerated scowl, or snuggling with the Slayer. There were lots of cheek to cheek candid shots with the slayer. They were family photos, loving and intimate. This had been his place, his family. He'd been happy here. The juxtaposition of his obvious contentment in those photos and his present state of simmering panic was surreal. He'd found something good, a place to belong. Why couldn't Drusilla have left him the hell alone? One picture frame propped up on a side table caught his attention. In it he stood next to Angelus. They were both dressed in fancy suits and had almost cordial expressions on their faces. On closer inspection Spike could have sworn he was giggling in the picture. "What's this one?" His tone remained neutral although curiosity and anxiety battled just beneath the surface. "That was a party." "And he came?" "He really is a friend." Spike wrinkled his brow, not ready to approach that possibility. Making friendly with Angelus was not something Spike wanted to think too deeply about. Instead, he changed the topic. "You made me wear a suit?" Spike looked at her with disdain. Her eyes clouded over again. It hurt him to see her like that. In pain. His Adam's apple jostled in response. "You looked so handsome in that suit. I couldn't take my eyes off you." She stepped to his side for a closer look. The memory of laughter rose in her mind. There was an album full of pictures from that day. This one deserved special status. "What was the occasion?" Buffy's throat thickened. "Us..." There was more to say but her voice faltered. Their happy life together seemed so far away. She struggled on. "It was a wonderful day." The words faded on her tongue. Again Spike took up another line of questioning. "And I live here?" "We do. This was my mom's house." "And Mother approves, does she?" Spike raised his eyebrow at that provocative thought. Buffy spoke plainly. "My mom died, but she did like you. Yes, I think she would have approved." "The girl in the graduation gown?" "That's my sister Dawn. She's at university back east." She wanted to touch him. It was a bit much to take in all at once. "Are you hungry? I can warm up some blood." Spike stood stiffly, his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do or what to say. It was a weird sensation to a being accustomed to weird sensations. What did she expect of him? He stared at his boots. "Spike?" "I'm okay." Specifically, he wasn't hungry. But okay? Not even close. "Well, I'm getting a soda." Buffy had to do something to break the tension. "Why don't you turn on the television and see what's on?" She turned her back and walked into the kitchen, needing a few moments to herself to find some emotional equilibrium; gripping the refrigerator door handle would have to suffice. She stood quietly, half expecting to hear the front door slam. Instead, Buffy heard the television switch on. The innocuous blast of jumbled sounds filled her ears as Spike flipped through the channels. Some things didn't change. She returned and saw him standing in front of the set mindlessly flipping. He looked ill at ease in a room he did not know. "There's a sofa if you want to sit." Buffy gestured with her hand. This was going to be hard. "Been sitting a lot lately." He looked at the expression on her face. Cautious. Anticipating something. Too agitated to even think about not paying attention to the television, Spike shut it off and tossed the remote on the coffee table. "Well, we could--" His body bristled. "This isn't me, Slayer." His apprehension bubbled to the surface. Buffy could see the discomfort in his posture. He stood with his weight on one leg, trying to diminish his presence. "The bloke in these pictures. That's not me." "Yes, he is." "Slayer, I don't belong here." "Yes, you do." "And I'm no bloody hero--" "You are." He was in no mood to be convinced. "Listen to me! I'm a bad man, a monster! Have fangs, will travel? That sound familiar? You don't want this in your house," his face shifted ominously. "In your life." "You won't scare me away." Buffy put down her drink and stood her ground. "I know who you are, who you were and who you can be. I used to think I was strong, but you showed me strength. You helped me be better than I was. You showed me what was possible; that life didn't have to be all bad. You helped me hold on to what matters." She put her hand on his arm. "Spike, you made me a believer." "Don't--" Spike tried to shrink away but she wouldn't let him. "You've already done it. You were that hero. You are that hero. It can't be erased. Not by Drusilla, not by anyone." "But I'm evil." His voice cracked with frustration instead of conviction. "That's what I'm supposed to be." He knew that role intimately and he was good at it. Okay, he wasn't Angelus material, but it was what he knew. His volume dropped. "I wouldn't know how to be good, even if I wanted to...which I don't." Buffy saw confusion in Spike's yellow eyes. He didn't feel particularly evil anymore but he didn't feel good either. He felt uncertain and that terrified him. "There's nothing you have to do, Spike." Buffy spoke softly, trying to reassure him. She wasn't going to push. "Just be yourself. Do what feels right." "Be myself?" What the hell did that mean now? He chewed on his lower lip and gripped her shoulders tightly. It was a half hearted attempt at a menacing posture. "If I was truly myself Slayer, you'd be dead. Dead and drained. I should be hunting, howling, stalking prey. You shouldn't turn your back on me. I'm a vampire." He recited his creed dutifully but it came across almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Truth be told, he could use a bottle of whiskey and a little wallowing time. Instead, he hardened his voice, ready to attack. "I do what I want. I take what I want. What I-- I want--" His hand moved surely to the back of her neck, holding her in place for his kiss. She felt the demon's face melt into his smooth human form. His lips moved over hers in an agitated state; urgent hunger mixed with loneliness. Buffy returned his attentions with equal measure. Spike broke free of her lips and held her face steady in his hands. "You..." he whispered and drew his cheek slowly across hers. Spike threaded his fingers through her hair. It was a losing battle; he could feel it inside. What he wanted, what he needed, it was all right here; not somewhere out there around the next corner or beyond the next town, but here in the sad eyes of this strangely beautiful girl. He found himself anew in the last place he'd ever have thought to look, in the eyes of his enemy. "You feel right." Spike mumbled into the curve if her throat. It was the truth. She was the only thing that made sense in all of this, the only thing that felt right. Buffy clutched at his shoulders, molding herself to the hard contours of his frame. She managed to speak between heady gasps of pleasure. "Bedroom...upstairs..." tbc...