Dark Side of the Moon

by Jacque1in and Wendy, aka Archivesgrrl and Cobweb

 

Genre: Drama

Rating: PG-13, NC -17 version posted on fanfiction.net and Of Muses and Minions

Disclaimer:  All characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to

Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Summary:  This is an AU Season 6 fic. Each chapter is a self-contained

"episode," with the exception of the first two, which are linked (a two-parter). 

Notes: Spoilers through "The Gift." Thanks to Larissa for the awesome beta reading!

 

Episode 2: Second Chances, by Jacque1in

Buffy crumpled in a heap beside her sister. Dawn was the first to move among the shocked bunch, rushing to Buffy and throwing her arms around her, weeping with joy instead of the grief she had shown a moment before. "Buffy, you’re back, you’re here," she sobbed, trembling and still tearful. "I wished you back and you’re here! You’re here!"

Dawn rocked her sibling as she slowly began to calm her shaking breaths. Willow and Giles drew closer, kneeling down beside the two sisters. "Buffy?" Giles whispered. "Is it really you?"

Buffy looked up, her face wet and eyes red and swollen. "Giles..." A look of pain crossed her face as she looked around the room.

"Willow...Everyone...Everyone is here. I’m here. I’m really here." Another sob racked her body as she closed her eyes and began to rock again.

"Buffy, do – do you know how you came to be here?" Willow asked gently. "Was it magic? Did someone do a ritual?" Willow glanced first at Dawn, who paled beneath the teary splotches, but she shook her head negatively at Willow. A quick look at Spike revealed that he was standing, still but trembling, where he had been before the swirl of light had deposited Buffy among them. His face showed a mixture of shock, joy, and a hint of what looked like guilt. His eyes met Willow’s and she decided that the shock outweighed the guilt.

He hadn’t been expecting this.

"They threw me out of heaven."

Buffy’s voice sounded dry, as if the tears she had shed had drained all the moisture from her body.

"Threw you out?" Xander sounded confused. "Who threw you out? How?"

"The Powers That Be. They said I was needed back here. There’s some prophecy..." Buffy stopped and her eyes grew dull.

"So long as you’re home!" Dawn tried to pull her sister close again, beginning to smile at last. "I don’t care why, so long as you’re home. I missed you so much, Buffy! We all did."

Buffy looked down at Dawn and for the first time, there was a hint of something other than pain and hurt in her face. She gently kissed Dawn on her forehead, although she still looked sad and drawn.

"Well -- " said Anya. "Looks like Giles is going to need to write another long-winded report for the Council."

 

****

 

Buffy draped the scarf around her neck and began to knot it, but paused, staring in the mirror at the delicate webwork of scars that glinted silvery white a few inches under her right ear. She ran a finger tentatively over the bite marks left by the Master, Angel and Dracula, feeling the thread-like ropiness. "New life, but same old body, same old scars," she thought dryly. Briskly tying the knot in the scarf, she turned away from the mirror. Correction. Not a new life but the same old life. Same old life she had grown so weary of before the night she fought Glory: The never-ending battles. The never-ending Slaying. The never-ending choices that seemed too hard to make. Here she was again, back in full-Slay mode.

"Same old scars, inside and out," she thought wearily. Everyone had been so thrilled to see her when she suddenly appeared in the magic shop two weeks ago. Everyone had been nearly as shocked and disoriented as Buffy herself, but ecstatic at her return. When Buffy had crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap, her sister and friends had mistakenly thought her tears were shared feelings of relief and shock, not the frustration and exhaustion she had actually been experiencing.

" ‘Death was my gift,’ ’’ she thought bitterly. "Who knew that the Powers That Be would give it to me with one hand only to turn around and take it away afterwards? The gift that keeps on giving. Everyone gets the freedom of death but the Slayer." She snorted as she let the door slam on the way out of the house. She had a Scooby meeting to attend. More planning for more fighting for more deaths that weren’t hers. Yippee.

 

****

 

The bell over the door to the magic shop tinkled as Dawn entered.

"Is she here yet?" Dawn swung her backpack onto the counter at the Magic Box and peered towards the back of the store. "Is she in back training with Giles?"

"No, Giles is working on his report for the Watcher’s Council, and I haven’t seen Buffy yet today. And I have to say, it’s kind of nice to say that," Anya chirped from her post behind the cash register. "I’m really happy that Xander and I could finally stop living with you now that Buffy is back to take care of you. It’s good to have our own place again and not have that all that responsibility and inconvenience." Dawn raised an eyebrow as Anya cheerfully straightened bills in the money drawer.

"Not that we minded living with you at all, Dawnster," Xander chimed in quickly from a nearby table where he sat beside Willow, his face flushing. "We were more than happy to help out while things were getting ... settled. Although I think I could have done without the deja vu of having Spike as a housemate."

"Especially with his vampire hearing. We were barely having sex any more because Xander was even more worried about Spike hearing us than you, Dawn," Anya grumbled as Xander turned an even brighter shade of red.

"Ew, too much information!" Dawn rolled her eyes. "In that case, I guess I’d have to say I’m glad you guys moved back to your own place, too." Dawn unzipped a pouch on her backpack and began to search for something. "Anya, can I borrow some gift wrap and tape? I got a little something for Buffy and I wanted to wrap it to make it look nice. Please?" She pulled her hand out of the backpack pouch, carefully clutching something small enough to be hidden in her cupped fist.

"Ooooh, a surprise for Buffy? Can I see?" Willow wriggled in her seat beside Xander, pushing away the thick copy of Theories of Magickal Egregore that she had been reading. "Special occasion or just a -- a ‘I’m glad you’re alive, welcome back’ kind of gift?"

Dawn shrugged. "Mostly that, I guess. I just wanted to show her I missed her while she was ... gone." Dawn’s voice had trailed a bit and then firmed as she finished the sentence. She flattened out her palm and with a fingertip from the other hand poked gently at the pair of earrings nestled there. "What do you think? They’re ankhs. Egyptian symbols of resurrection and new life. I thought it was pretty cool and kind of appropriate. Given Buffy’s situation."

Tara, who had been browsing the bookshelves in the rune section, came over to join Xander, Willow and Anya as they gathered around Dawn and her gift. The earrings, shaped like crosses with a loop at the top, were made of gold and set with oval black onyx stones at the center where the arms and loop met. "Wow, Dawn," murmured Willow. "Are they real? They look ... expensive." She frowned a bit at the earrings and then up at the teenager, who shrugged again noncommittally.

"I had a little money saved," Dawn said nonchalantly. "I better get them wrapped up before she gets here." She pulled her hand away from the group and turned to the counter, looking pointedly at Anya to remind her to get the wrapping paper.

Tara, who had said nothing about the earrings, watched with a troubled look as Anya, Xander and Dawn concentrated on wrapping the gift. "Willow," she finally said softly enough that only her lover could hear, "where do you think she really got them?"

Willow startled. "Why, don’t you believe her?" she answered in an equally low tone so as to not be overheard.

Tara paused. "It’s just a feeling. The earrings themselves seem fine, no bad energies or anything, but I just had a weird moment where I felt there was something wrong about her having them. As if she didn’t come by them in a good way."

Willow glanced over to where Anya was helping Dawn put a final bit of ribbon on the small package. "Uh, should I ask? What do I say? ‘Hey, Dawnie, did you steal those from someplace?’ Tara, are you sure about what you felt?" Willow’s brow wrinkled in worry. "I don’t like being false accusation girl if we don’t have some kind of proof."

Tara shook her head, "I know, it was just an uneasy feeling. Definitely nothing concrete to go on. I guess...I guess we could just ignore it. Maybe it’s nothing. Just weird vibey stuff." She sighed. "It wasn’t a REALLY bad feeling or anything ... just a little teeny bad one."

Willow leaned over and gave her girlfriend a kiss on the forehead. "Well, we’ll let it go for now. Hey, and black onyx is a healing and balancing stone for Capricorns like Buffy! Dawn couldn’t have picked a better gift for someone newly resurrected!" Willow grinned a little nervously as Tara returned a subdued smile.

The bell over the shop door jingled again as Buffy came into the Magic Box, her stride businesslike and her mouth pinched into a rather forced smile. "Hi, all. Dawn, how was school?"

Dawn tossed a glossy hank of hair over her shoulder and made a face. "Same old, same old. I’m starting to get used to finding my way around the high school, but it’s still the same group of dweebs from junior high, just in a new building."

"Well, it beats going to school in the burning ruins left behind by my graduating class, doesn’t it?" Dawn’s head snapped up at the sudden, sharp and bitter retort from Buffy.

"Hey, Buff, better crispy, burned-down high school than being eaten by a giant snake about to become pure demon, don’t ya think? Buildings are...are replaceable, but classmates aren’t," stuttered Willow, trying to break the sudden tension. "And I’m sure Dawnie isn’t likely to face another school-based apocalypse anytime soon. I think you – we – kind of skewed the statistical probabilities for that way off for her generation, even on a Hellmouth. Sort of like that theory that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Only, you know, science shows it is actually more likely to hit the same spot -- " Willow snapped her mouth shut, realizing that she was off into dangerous territory again.

Buffy didn’t reply, but simply stared rather stonily at the group gathered around the counter.

"Dawn, maybe you should give Buffy her present now. It might make her forget about the Mayor and the high school and all that burning and eating and the lightning strikes." Anya nodded her head so that her hair bounced as she nudged Dawn and gestured at the small gift lying beside the cash register.

"A present?" Buffy’s face softened in surprise, as Dawn picked up the small package and thrust it rather gracelessly at her.

"I thought it might cheer you up," Dawn muttered. "Sort of a ‘welcome back home’ present. Because I really did miss you."

Buffy opened the small package carefully and smiled in genuine pleasure as she looked at the earrings. "They’re beautiful, Dawn." Buffy pulled her sister to her in a warm hug. "Thank you. I’ll wear them proudly." She held her close for another moment and then said softly, "Sorry I was growly just now. I’m just -- " Buffy didn’t finish but shrugged helplessly, shaking her head. "Never mind. Okay, so where is Giles? Don’t we have a meeting scheduled? Dawn, you should get started on your homework."

"So much for a warm, sisterly moment," Dawn muttered as she took a notebook and text out of her backpack and settled at the table to work.

"My, aren’t we straight-to-business woman," said Xander, pulling out a chair opposite Dawn. "You know, Buff, no one would think badly of you if you kind of eased back into the Slaying gig rather than pushing yourself the way you have since you – you got back. We did have things pretty much under control for the four months you were gone. Between Willow’s spells, Spike’s sometimes frightening need to kill things and the rest of us pitching in, we didn’t do too badly at keeping the demony population under control. It’s not like you have to get right out there and slay because Sunnydale has gone to hell in a handbasket while you were gone."

Buffy shot Xander a chilly look and the last bit of warmth in the room evaporated. "The Powers That Be brought me back to do a job. Are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t do it? Wouldn’t that make my being here pretty pointless?"

Willow shifted uncomfortably at the renewed tension. "Xander is just trying to tell you not to feel obligated to try so hard, Buffy. I mean, you were, well, you know -- "

"Dead?" Buffy cocked her head. "You can say it, Will. I was dead. And in the afterlife. Enjoying it."

" – dead, and, and we were taking care of things while you were gone, so you don’t need to be so – so – Slayerholicy." Willow shrugged apologetically at the term. "It’s just that you seem to be so determined to go out every night and just slay those demons and stake those vamps like there’s no tomorrow and I think it’s been making you kind of – well -- "

"Bitchy," volunteered Anya from behind the cash register. "We all missed you Buffy, but you seem like you kind of got up on the wrong side of the afterlife since you came back."

Xander groaned quietly as Buffy’s eyes narrowed.

" – cranky. I was going to say ‘cranky,’ " Willow finished. "Buffy, we’re all happy to see you getting back to normal – whatever that is on the Hellmouth – but I just don’t think you need to take on the whole burden of Slaying as if you are the only one who can do it."

Buffy made an exasperated noise. "Hellooo, Will, Chosen One here! Sure, you guys always helped me before, but, still, slaying is MY job. MY role. It’s why I was brought back. To kill evil things. And fulfill prophecies."

"Yeah, we know, the whole Balance thing. But, Buffy, it’s not as if we’re facing an imminent apocalypse at the moment. Just the usual demon and vampire killing. Why can’t you just relax and enjoy that while you can? Well, as much as you can enjoy demon and vampire killing, I mean." Willow said awkwardly. "Why rush yourself?"

An expression almost like pain flitted over Buffy’s face, but was gone before anyone could notice.

"Right. No rushing." Buffy’s lips tightened and she sat down at the research table with the rest of the Scoobies. "So, in a non-rushy way, what did we find out about the funky demon that I saw last night on patrol? Because I’d really like to go out and kill it tonight. I may not get a second chance."

"Shades of Dead Boy Jr. Always gotta go for the whole kill-it-now thing," Xander muttered under his breath.

"Xander, I don’t tell you how to lay bricks and hammer nails into boards; please don’t tell me how to do my job." Buffy’s voice was as sharp as a piece of broken glass.

Tara looked anxiously at Willow, whose own brow was wrinkled in distress.

"Buffy, Xander wasn’t trying to tell you how to do your job," Willow finally said. "He’s just trying to make you understand that we can help you. We were doing fine this summer when you weren’t here. Not as good as a real Slayer, granted, but not too shabby. Just the sunshine spell alone helped us dust a whole bunch of vamps and that was stake-free –"

"Good, then you really don’t need me here, do you? You can all just take care of things without me. Willow, you and Tara can do your little sunshine spells and Xander and Anya can patrol between picking out china patterns and Giles can just keep his head buried in books and reports and Spike can – can just go on killing anything that moves. You don’t need me. So why the HELL am I here?" Buffy pushed herself angrily away from the table. "I’m not in the mood to sit here and talk, talk, talk about things when there’s a job I’m evidently SUPPOSED to be doing, even if you all were doing it fine without me. I’m going to go fulfill my destiny and kill something."

The bell over the Magic Box door jangled furiously as Buffy angrily exited the shop.

Dawn sat, staring at the twin ankhs lying on the table. Buffy had forgotten her earrings.

 

****

 

Spike lit a fresh smoke and leaned lightly against the bark of a tree, enjoying the combined scents of the burning tobacco and the autumn leaves rustling overhead. In the dark of the moonless night, the bright flare of the cigarette tip stood out like a beacon in the cemetery.

"Just hanging out, or are you trying to make sure all the demons can spot you from 100 yards away?"

Spike took another deep drag on his cigarette and carefully stilled his expression to avoid showing a reaction. "Slayer." If he had a beating heart, it would have been pounding like a trip hammer.

Twelve days. Twelve bloody days since he had packed his smaller, more portable belongings and left her house and she hadn’t been to see him. He could take a hint. He’d seen her patrolling, though. He’d made it his business to keep tabs on her at a distance, to make sure she was handling things okay. And waited to see if she would come to him.

She hadn’t.

He saw that she had a stake clutched in her right hand and he wondered if it was for him. After all, she hadn’t always been the most grateful of chits. While he knew the Scoobies had told her what he had done for Dawn – for all of them, for HER – while she was gone, he wouldn’t have been that surprised to find that she was angry at him for his failure to protect Dawn from Doc. Hell, he was still angry at himself. His royal fuck-up on that hell tower had cost Buffy her life, so far as he was concerned. If he couldn’t forgive himself, why should she?

Buffy stared at Spike as he stood, silent, the only motion the movement of the light from his cigarette as it moved from his lips to a midair point where he flicked his ash and back again.

"You know, you left a ton of stuff in my basement." Her voice was neutral.

Spike shrugged. "Well, didn’t seem the right time to be moving my things out. I can come get them tomorrow evening if you want. Early after sunset."

The dark silence stretched between them.

Everyone had told her what he had done while she was gone. How he had taken over patrolling with Willow. How he had stayed in the basement of her house, watching over Dawn during the long months of her absence. But what she remembered, what she dwelt on as she stood regarding him in the dark, was that he vanished so soon after she arrived. It had been a relief to her to find that Spike was the one watching out for Dawn’s safety and that he had taken over so much of the Slaying duty. But two days after her return, he was gone. She felt strangely bereft of some crucial piece of support and it added to the resentment already bubbling in her heart about being brought back.

"You hurt Dawn."

The small, orange dot of light halted near his face and she could smell the smoke as it drifted towards her on the cool night air. She was suddenly acutely aware of his lack of breath and his preternatural stillness. For once, he really might as well have been dead instead of full of that unlikely vitality she had always associated with him.

"She didn’t understand why you had to leave just because I came back," she continued.

The light began to move again. "Well, she’s fourteen, isn’t she? She wouldn’t ‘understand.’ " He snorted and took a deep drag of the cigarette.

"I’m twenty and I don’t think I understand." Buffy’s voice grew colder. "You made me a promise and I trusted you to keep it..." She quivered inside as she thought of how true that was. She had trusted him to be there for Dawn. And for her. But as soon as she came back, he’d disappeared. Left her by herself to bear all of the burdens alone when she still needed his help.

The ember of the cigarette arced sharply into the dirt, where Spike ground it into darkness with a violent twist of his boot. "Yeah, well, we both know about me and promises, don’t we?" he growled. "You knew what I was when I made that promise. Don’t tell me you’re all surprised now that I failed to keep it." His mind flashed to the moment he realized what his failure had cost him, what it had cost HER, and his mouth tightened.

Buffy stared at him for a moment, the hurt and frustration suddenly sharp and volcanic within her, and then her fist flew out through the darkness, landing near his mouth, cutting it open against his teeth and knocking him off center but not onto the ground.

Spike laughed bitterly and wiped at the blood seeping from between his lips. "Yeah, saw that coming," he muttered darkly. "Surprised if that’s all you give me, though. Come on, Buffy, I saw your face the two days before I left you and Nibblet alone. I saw the bitterness. The anger. There’s gotta be more in there. Give it to me, Buffy...you know you want to." He stepped closer to her, suddenly invading her personal space, close enough that she could smell the coppery tang of the blood on his face. He leaned over, intimately, and said sotto voce, "And baby, I want you to." He smirked at her, a strange, mocking smile that suddenly enraged her, and instantly her fists were flying towards him in the inky blackness, her feet kicking at him.

He laughed, a continuous high-pitched chuckle, as he defended himself with blocks, dodging a move here and there, but surprisingly often stepping into the punches in a way that seemed almost deliberate. She flailed at him with her limbs, beating at his face and his gut until he was finally on the ground, where he simply stopped moving and just lay there against the dark autumn earth, wheezing between laughs, his eyes closed.

"What’s so funny?" she finally spit out, standing over him, shaking with adrenaline.

"Nothing, pet. Nothing." The voice drifted up through the dark, sounding strangely choked. It almost sounded like a sob. Then, after he made a sound as if to clear his throat, she heard him say dryly, "Well, this puts us back on normal footing again, doesn’t it? You beating the hell out of me – seems like old times. Same old Slayer."

Buffy stared down at the darkness, where everything but Spike’s head and hands blended in against the grass. In the little bit she could see of the pale oval of his face in the dark, she detected the shadow of blood, trickling from his mouth and his nose. "Oh, god," she whispered. And she began to cry.

Spike lay on the ground, stunned as he heard her start to sob. As the cries grew more uncontrolled, almost hysterical, he leaned up on his elbow and frowned into the dark, his own despair and self-loathing forgotten. "Buffy?" He sought to see her more clearly, difficult without the light of the moon to aid him. He started as she crumpled down beside him into the cold grass, the noises she was making becoming laced with hiccups and keening.

"Buffy? Luv?" He rolled onto his knees, leaning towards her in the blackness. This unexpectedly fragile reaction was beginning to scare him. He had expected her to be angry, to want to hurt him, to relish hurting him the way he wanted to hurt himself for his failure, not this sudden, horrible display of what looked like grief. "Buffy, what’s wrong, pet? Why are you crying?"

Buffy had curled herself into a ball on the grass and was rocking back and forth on her knees, arms doubled around her waist as if holding herself together, making little animalistic noises that terrified Spike. He crept closer, finally, in desperation, reaching out to touch her shoulder. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away, but continued to rock and wail, letting his hand rest on her as her body pivoted back and forth in the dark. He could feel that she was shaking violently and she was still refusing to answer, just gulping and sobbing and making dreadful, wet-sounding gasps.

They were nothing compared to the moment she started to scream, though.

The sound echoed through the cemetery and made his demon blood run cold. It rose, louder and shriller, until he thought her throat would rupture from the strain of it. And it didn’t sound as if she ever intended to stop.

Spike knelt beside her, cold with terror and a sudden rush of helplessness that echoed that moment when he had failed her. What the hell had he done to her? Damned game-playing, damned pride, damned inability to tell her honestly that he hated that he had failed her, that he was ashamed of himself for it, that he couldn’t blame her if she hated him for getting her killed by failing to protect Dawn. That he wanted her to pound him into the ground for having disappointed her.

"Buffy, please stop. Please stop. Baby, you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t do this to yourself. You don’t need to do this to yourself," he coaxed. Somewhere beyond the fear, he suddenly realized that a screaming and hysterical Slayer was at risk if they were not alone in the cemetery. "Buffy!" He said more sharply. "Slayer, stop it. You’re going to get us both killed if you don’t quiet down!" He winced with guilt and a slight twinge of pain from his head as he grabbed her shoulder and shook it roughly.

At this, the shrieking suddenly mutated into laughter, which was possibly more terrifying to hear, although it was less likely to attract attention than the previous caterwauling. "Damn it, Slayer! What’s so bleeding funny?" Spike grated, not sure whether to be relieved that the screaming had stopped or unnerved at the way it had.

"That’s – that’s what I want," Buffy gasped out, pulling away from his hand and slipping onto the grass on her back. Her laughter died down to chuckles as he stared down at her in horror.

"What the hell do you mean, ‘That’s what I want’?" he hissed. "To get killed?"

"You told me. Don’t you remember?" Buffy’s mouth twitched as if she were trying to avoid smiling at the irony. "Slayers have a death wish, Spike. Eventually we want to die." Her voice grew quieter and more serious. "I wanted it that night when I jumped, you know. I didn’t do it just to save Dawn. I did it to save myself. I was ready. I couldn’t take it any more."

He stared at her. "Take what? Life?"

She nodded at him solemnly in the dark, resting quietly now with her hair coming loose in strands around her head and fanning out in stray bits on the grass. "This life. Slaying. I couldn’t do it any more, Spike. You were right." Her voice drifted off.

"Oh, god." Spike closed his eyes. If he had blamed himself for her death before, it was nothing to what he felt at this moment. She had taken his words, his game-playing, his attempt to push her into reacting to him and used it as the rationale to essentially commit suicide. He really WAS to blame for her death, more directly than he had ever imagined. He felt sick and wondered what the Slayer would think if he suddenly puked beside her on the grass.

"But they made me come back, Spike." Her voice sounded earnest and tired now. "The Powers That Be don’t care whether I am tired or overwhelmed or whether I can take it. I have to be here. There’s a prophecy. And prophecies must be fulfilled, you know." She had opened her eyes and was staring up at the stars quietly, almost thoughtfully.

"What bleeding prophecy?" Spike finally asked when she just laid there, her breath beginning to slow.

"Between the Two Lights and the Two Darks

The Slayer who is not one

Shall restore the balance

With love."

"Uh-HUH," Spike grunted at her recitation. "Any idea what it means? Or is that a bugger-all silly question, given the Powers That Be?" He damn well hated prophecies and their cryptic predictions. They made his head hurt. Sensing that the worst of the hysteria was over, he lay back on the cool grass beside Buffy, staring up at the moonless night.

"It means I had to come back to slay," Buffy answered wearily. "And I’m tired of slaying, Spike."

Spike frowned and glanced over at her. He could just barely see the paleness of her hair in the dark. "Uh, Slayer...For someone who is tired of slaying, can I ask why you’ve been doing so bloody much of it lately, then?"

Buffy turned her eyes from the stars for the first time in several moments and looked in Spike’s direction. "What?"

"Well, I probably shouldn’t admit this – seeing as you’re likely to stake me for stalking you or somethin’ – but I’ve been kind of keeping an eye on you on your patrols." He paused to see how she reacted, but she said nothing and didn’t flinch as if tempted to reach for the stake that had fallen to the ground near her when the upset had started. Feeling reasonably secure he wasn’t about to be dusted for that admission, Spike continued. "Luv, you’ve been going at it since you came back like nothing else mattered. I’ve seen you, prowling for hours, making kill after kill after kill every night, like you couldn’t get enough. More than me and Will did all summer, no matter what she says about her soddin’ ball of sunshine trick." He snorted a bit. "If you don’t want to Slay, then what’s that about?"

Buffy lay on the cool grass, feeling strangely peaceful after the earlier tumult. Maybe what they said about releasing your emotions was true. Or maybe she was just comfortably numb. But here she was, suddenly struck by the fact that she was having a heart-to-heart with Spike of all people. And she felt like telling him what she had been afraid to say to the others. She knew he could handle it.

"Because it’s all I’m good at," she whispered. "I’m a great Slayer, Spike. And, much as I hate it for killing off the humanity in me, it’s the only thing I have left. It’s what
The Powers brought me back to do. To slay. To save the world. To be all that and a bag of chips in the killing department."

"Oh, bollocks!" Spike blurted, half-sitting up abruptly. "What the hell do you mean, ‘It’s all I’m good at’? What a fucking load of rubbish, Buffy."

"Oh, come on, Spike. You know it’s true. You’ve said as much yourself in the past." Buffy leaned up onto an arm as well, shaking her head at him in the dark. "You’ve seen how my relationships implode. My own friends couldn’t tell me from a freaking robot, for god’s sake!" She threw herself back against the ground and closed her eyes again. "I’m just not a people person any more. Slaying took that out of me," she said sadly. "I should just go with it. Do my job. Not focus on the rest of it. All that emotional, people-y stuff."

"Oh, you mean all that emotional, people-y stuff that makes up life?" Spike sounded angry. "Look here, Summers. I did not spend the last four months of my existence watching over the Nibblet and sticking to Will’s color-coded slaying schedule and watching Xander and his demon making googly eyes at one another over breakfast just to have you come back and tell me that the last you thing you said to Dawn before jumping to your death was wrong. Goddammit, do NOT take that away from me!" Spike sat up fully, slammed a fist into the grass and ripped up a clod of turf and flung it angrily into the night. "So you’ve dated some right ponces. What does it matter? You’ve still got your precious Scoobies and Dawn. Are you trying to tell me that they don’t matter to you?"

"Of course they matter!" Buffy burst out. "Too much, Spike. That’s the problem." She was beginning to tear up again, but her tears this time were quieter, softer. "I died for Dawn because I loved her and – and all of you. You guys were the world to me and I did what I needed to do. I loved, I gave, I forgave, and I jumped. And I thought it would finally be over. All the hurt. All the failure. All the struggle." She was weeping softly again and brushing her hands against her eyes repeatedly to keep the tears from streaming down her face. "And I was rewarded. I was with Mom. Things were good. Peaceful. And I accepted that that was it for me and finally was letting go all the – the hurt of being alive." She sniffled thickly. "And they took it all away in an instant. Told me that I wasn’t done. Basically, that what I had done wasn’t good enough. I feel like it’s just never enough, Spike. So I guess I have to try harder this time. They’ve given me a second chance to do it right. Maybe next time, they’ll let me stay."

Spike plucked another clump of grass up and tossed it, his anger at her having transferred to the high and mighty Powers That Fuck With You who had obviously mucked up his Slayer’s emotional well-being with their give-and-take-away games. He sighed heavily and turned to her. "Buffy," he began hesitantly, "The Powers That Be are a bunch of wankers. You know that. But it doesn’t make sense to me that they would send you back with this prophecy about balance and love and what-all and then expect you to – to stop lovin’ people." He ran his hand through his hair and sighed again. "You know how I once said that bit about every Slayer having a death wish?" His voice was rough. He didn’t want to have to remind her, but it needed to be said for her sake, so he plunged onwards. Sod his regret and humiliation. "Luv, I also told you that it was your ties to the world that kept you from giving up. It’s still true, Buffy. You have so much love in you. I know it’s there. That’s what makes you a great Slayer. Not all the fighting and kicking and killing. It’s that you really care enough to keep fighting. You have a personal stake in it."

She was listening to him quietly now, her tears beginning to dry on her face, just studying him in the dark as if something were beginning to make sense to her.

"Could be that the Powers know what I told you, luv. That you are strong because of those ties, because of that love between you and everyone else and not the slaying at all. Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to bring into balance in this prophecy. Love and slaying." Spike shrugged and shook his head. "Hell, I don’t know. But you can’t keep beating yourself up and shutting people out, pet.  You’re not supposed to be alone in this. I’m sure of it. Sod the prophecy and sod the Powers as well. Love is what makes life worth living. I know that even if I’m dead." He chuckled wryly and was surprised when she answered with a soft giggle herself.

"Spike?" she finally said softly after they had fallen silent for several moments. "Why did you leave our house?"

He sat silently for a moment. "Couldn’t stand you looking at me like that. Like you hated me for failing to protect Dawn from Doc. For breaking my promise to you."

Buffy frowned in the dark at him. "Huh? Spike, what the hell are you talking about? You risked your life and nearly got killed trying to protect Dawn. How can you think I blame you for that?"

Spike looked at her in disbelief. "Buffy, if I hadn’t failed, the ritual wouldn’t have started, the portal wouldn’t have opened, and there would have been no need for you to fucking DIE. How can you not blame me? It was my fault you died!"

"No, it was MY choice. Even if the Powers That Be took it away from me afterwards." Buffy snorted with disgust. 

"Spike, if you want to feel guilty, fine. But you’re feeling guilt for the wrong thing," Buffy said. "I was grateful for what you did for Dawn that night. I was grateful for what you did all summer." She sighed and then continued softly. "I wasn’t mad at you when I came back, Spike. I was mad at life. At living. Although, I did get mad when you left. I guess – " She hesitated. "I guess I was relying on you to be there for us and it pissed me off when you suddenly weren’t. I felt -- abandoned."

"Abandoned? I didn’t think you needed me around. Hell, didn’t think you WANTED me around."

"Just because I looked all grumpy? When did that stop you before? You’re supposed to be the – the pain in the ass that refuses to leave. No matter what I say or do." Buffy’s complaint sounded forlorn and almost wistful.

"Well, Slayer, last time I tried to force my attentions on you, you told me you wanted me off the planet. Figured I’d better get while the getting’s good this time. Didn’t fancy being the first thing you staked in your new lease on life."

"I’ve been off the planet, Spike. Much too nice for the likes of you. Think I’ll have to hold off on making that threat again for a while."

Spike smiled a little. Back to their old bantering. This was good.

He started as Buffy’s hand, warm and soft, suddenly brushed against his pale wrist.

Her fingers pressed lightly against him, and he stilled in surprise. "Spike? I’m sorry."

"For what, pet?" He frowned in confusion.

"Beating the hell out of you before."

He grunted dismissively. "Piffle, Slayer, I was asking for it. Damn near literally. Kind of enjoyed it, actually." He smirked a bit.

"Uh, Spike, too much information there. Ew, much?" Her hand slapped playfully at his wrist before vanishing back into the dark. He could see her as she rose from the ground in the dark, brushing at her clothes. "Look at me. I look like I went rolling around on the ground."

"Better on it than in it," Spike muttered. " ‘Sides, I kind of like the muddy slacks bit. I can help brush ‘em off if you like." He smirked and waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Don’t make me hit you again. Then I’d have to start the apologizing thing again and we’d have to do all the forgiveness all over and it could just get...weird."

"Slayer."

She looked at him expectantly.

"So, are we good, then? For now, I mean? You forgive me? I forgive you? We forgive ourselves?" He looked into her face solemnly.

"Yeah, Spike. We’re good." She smiled at him with a small smile. "Gotta work on the self-forgiveness thing myself but, hey, it’s a start." They started to walk through the cemetery side by side.

"Yeah. Know the feeling." Spike buried his hands in his duster pockets. "Wanna go kill something?"

Buffy paused and looked up at him. "No, actually, I think I’ve done enough killing lately. I actually think I might go home and spend some quality time with my sister."

"Well, don’t let her talk you into playing that damn "Life" game. Little Bit cheats," Spike grumbled.

"Oh, and I don’t suppose spending four months hanging out with you had any influence on that..."

They walked through the cemetery under the unseen shadow of the new moon.

End Episode 2

 

Continue to Part 3  

Back to Authors G-L

Back to Fan Fiction