The smoke hung, almost tangible, in the air of the bar. Spike brushed
the ashes off of a stool and sat down. He pulled out a cigarette and lit
it, as a new song began on the jukebox.
He exhaled and saw her face hovering before him in the smoke. The
Slayer. He couldn't believe he was thinking about her. Again. She
plagued his every thought these days. Ever since their brief, but
essential, alliance, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind.
"It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long for you."
He had scarcely made it out of town before Dru had come to. Before he
had a chance to stop her, she had flung the door open and jumped from
the car. She was dust before she ever hit the pavement. He had been
lucky. He had burned his hand a bit closing the door, but had gotten off
light.
He knew he should miss Dru, but he didn't. Maybe it was because she had
been unfaithful to him in their last few months together. Maybe it was
because he had learned to live without her. Maybe he was too busy
thinking about the Slayer to notice Dru was gone. He didn't know and
didn't really care, either.
"It won't do
to stir a deep desire,
to fan a hidden fire
that can never burn true."
He had found himself in Sunnyvale when the car had run out of gas. He
had locked all the doors and double-checked the windows before climbing
over the seat and stretching out in the back. He had hoped to wake up
from the nightmare that had become his life, but he couldn't even fall
asleep.
He kept replaying the scene over and over in his mind. He saw the
Slayer unarmed and backed against the wall with Angelus standing above
her, sword in hand. Spike knew he should have helped her. She had
trusted him and he had left her to die.
He wasn't used to these feelings. He knew happiness. He knew rage. He
knew jealousy all too well, but these were new. Guilt. Remorse. Pity.
Mixed in there somewhere was admiration. He didn't know how, but she had
managed to win.
He had seen her earlier this evening at the bus depot. She had
purchased a ticket back to Sunnydale. He didn't even know that she had
left, yet he wasn't surprised to see her. Nothing about her surprised
him anymore. He had wanted to speak to her, but didn't know what to say.
She wasn't alone anyway, there was a girl with her. The taller girl
looked familiar to him, but he couldn't place her. She wasn't one of the
Slayer's usual companions. He followed them back to the tiny apartment
that Buffy now called home.
He watched them enter the building and had almost followed them in, but
he just couldn't bring himself to do so. He couldn't face anyone yet,
especially not the Slayer. It was too soon. Instead, he had come to this
bar, hoping to lose himself in the crowd and drown his sorrows in a
glass.
The bartender approached now, "What can I get you for?"
"Black and Tan, if you've got it," Spike answered, taking another drag
off of his cigarette.
"Comin' right up."
"I know your name,
I know your skin,
I know the way
these things begin;"
"Here you go," the bartender said, sliding his drink to him. He turned
to leave, but hesitated, saying, "It's probably none of my business, but
I have to ask--"
"Yes, it's a girl problem. No, it won't work out. No, you wouldn't
understand. If the drink comes along with brainless chatter, I'll take
my business elsewhere. Do I make myself clear, Mate?" Spike interrupted.
"Crystal," was his only reply.
Spike watched the short, balding man walk away. He knew that he had
been incredibly rude, but he just had no desire to spill his guts to a
complete stranger. He just wanted to be left alone. He stubbed his
cigarette out in the ashtray and took a swallow of his drink.
He thought of her again. She looked different earlier. Sadder. Wiser.
Prettier. He wondered what had brought her here. Hadn't her friends
cleared her name with the police? Angelus and Dru had really messed
things up good. One of her friends was dead, though Spike couldn't
honestly say he was sad about it. The dark girl--Kendra. Was that her
name? Anyhow, she was a slayer. Had Dru not killed her, she would have
probably killed them.
He felt sorry for the Slayer, his Slayer, Buffy. It must have been very
difficult for her. Possibly the only person that knew what it was like
to be the Chosen One--how had there been two???--had been killed. Poor
Buffy. One friend was dead, others injured, her Watcher had been
tortured, and she had been forced to tell her mother about vampires--oh,
how he had hated that git. He understood why Buffy had waited so long to
fill her in. Maybe that was it. He would have wagered almost anything
that was the reason she left. Her mother. Fireworks must have flown
after he left her house.
Poor Buffy. She must have had to kill Angelus, too. Even though he
wasn't the same guy she fell in love with, it couldn't have been easy.
Mortal emotions were like that. She probably blamed herself for him
losing his soul again. It must have been incredibly rough for her.
Slaying had to be hard enough, then factor in school, friends, family,
and a love life and you've got enough stress to crack a dam. He
understood why she had run away from it all.
She was going home, though. All the things unsaid between them would be
left that way. All the thoughts he had yet to convey to her would still
be with him, festering inside his head. It was for the best, though. He
knew it. He didn't know what would happen if he ever shared his feelings
with her. It was probably best he never found out. What if she still
hated him? He couldn't bear to look in her eyes and see the thinly
veiled hatred again.
"But I don't know
how I would live with myself,
what I'd forgive of myself
if you don't go."
Spike just wished that he could get her out of his mind. When he was
awake she was all he thought about. Even in slumber he wasn't safe. She
came to him in dreams. A loving, accepting Buffy. She held him and
cradled him, like he used to do for Dru. He kissed her and she loved
him. She didn't fight him, or pull away, when he fed from her.
"So goodbye,
sweet appetite,
no single bite
could satisfy..."
Tomorrow, while he dreamt of her in such tender moments, she would be
on her way back to Sunnydale. He would wake alone and hungry, wishing he
had stopped her from leaving. Wishing he had been nicer to her all
along. It wouldn't be easy to forget about her, but he had to. There was
no future there. He was a vampire, she was the Slayer.
As he sipped his drink, he began to think back to that night. He had
felt her heart race as the two of them walked along the streets of
Sunnydale. He had saw her cheeks flush when she caught him staring at
her. He had seen all the telltale signs of budding romance. Even when
she glared at him, there was a soft edge to it.
"I know your name,
I know your skin,
I know the way
these things begin;"
She was malleable, he knew it. He could change her mind. In time she
would accept him for what he was--crazy. She would never love him. He
was just lying to himself, imagining things that were never there. She
had looked to him for reassurance before she told her mother, though.
That one scared glance from her sad eyes had convinced him that she
didn't think of him as an enemy. Perhaps there was still hope for them
yet.
"But I don't know
how I would live with myself,
what I would give of myself
if you don't go."
He finished the last of his drink and stood up. Walking the length of
the bar he handed the bartender a ten dollar bill.
"Keep the change, Mate. I'm sorry about earlier. It's been a rough
decade," he offered, stepping out of the door and into the night.
He found himself in front of the building he had seen the Slayer and
her companion enter. Spike looked up and saw the back of her little,
blonde head in a window. He lit another cigarette and exhaled the smoke,
sighing wearily.
"Goodbye, Buffy," he said, turning to walk away, the song from the bar
still playing in his head.
"It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long for you."
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