Buffy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud clicking noise coming from in front of her. She raised her tear-stained face (complete with running mascara) to see the last person she expected – Spike. She was too emotionally drained to notice the rifle he was holding.
Spike had done some thinking of his own on his way to the Summers’ home. His fists were closed tightly around the rifle he was planning to make full use of tonight. His jaw was clenched angrily, but he still managed to mutter, “Slayer’s gonna pay. I’ll show her who’s beneath who.” He knew he was close to his target when he begin picking up Buffy’s scent. The smell toyed with his emotions, inspiring hatred and lust, excitement and fear. He quickened his pace, desperate to end the hold the Slayer had on him. He had just stepped into the yard when he saw her. He was thanking the fates that his prey was already outside, no need to get anyone inside the house involved. His eyes narrowed as he felt the desire to kill wash over him, and he cocked his rifle.
For a moment, Buffy and Spike just looked at each other, neither one sure of what was happening.. “What do you want now?” asked Buffy. Spike saw the Slayer’s tears, causing his blinding rage to be replaced instantly with worry. “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than compassionate. Slightly confused, Buffy diverted her eyes from Spike, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Spike lowered his weapon, forgetting about his quest for revenge. He stood there for a moment, searching for some way to stop the Slayer’s pain. “Is there something I can do?” he asked. Buffy was startled by the sincerity in his voice. She had the sudden urge to unload her pain and fears, to tell Spike everything. Why? she thought, Why do I want to tell him and why does he care? So, Buffy just sat there, puzzling not only over her mother’s health issues, but also over this situation with Spike.
Spike stood there a while, hoping she would tell him how to help her, but Buffy didn’t say a word. He looked around, seemingly searching for some clue as to what to do next. He knew he couldn’t leave, not now that he knew there was something causing the Slayer so much pain. He decided the only thing he could do was be there for her, just in case she decided to let him in on her troubles. He laid his gun on the porch and sat down next to Buffy.
Buffy was even more confused now that Spike was sitting next to her, his eyes focused on her, trying to decipher the cause of her depression. Spike, not knowing what else to do, lifted his hand and placed in on the blade of her shoulder, gently patting her back. She felt oddly comforted by his touch. . . and this bothered her. Spike felt her shutter under him. He withdrew his hand and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs, and looking out into the yard. What am I doing? thought Spike, She doesn’t want me here. I disgust her, she can’t even stand for me to touch her, let alone tell me what’s going on. He was about to get up and leave, when he heard a soft whisper coming from Buffy. It was so quiet that he wouldn’t have heard her without his vampire hearing. All she said was, “It’s my mom.”
Buffy didn’t mean to say it, the words just crept out of her mouth. Then again, maybe she did mean to tell him. She knew Spike would leave if she didn’t give him something to work from, and she wanted him to stay. She hadn’t even wanted Spike to stop touching her, but he did stop. She didn’t mean to shutter, but it had happened involuntarily. Her body wanted him to comfort her, but her mind had taken over, telling her it was wrong that he was making her feel better, hence the shuttering.
Spike looked over at the Slayer, waiting to she if she would say anything more, but she sat in silence as if nothing had escaped her lips at all. Spike turned to her, running a hand over his bleached hair before attempting to speak to his Slayer. No, not MY Slayer, he thought as he closed his eyes, not yet at least. When Spike’s eyes reopened, he was surprised to see that Buffy had turned to face him. They stared at each other for a few minutes, neither one saying a word.
Spike was the first to break the silence, “I want to help. . . if you’ll let me.” Buffy managed a weak smile, then replied, “I can’t.” Spike turned his head to the side and scrunched his eyebrows together as if trying very hard to understand something, “You can’t? What do you mean?” Buffy diverted her gaze again, but this time gave an answer, “Help. I can’t let you help.” Spike looked even more confused as he said, “You bloody well can! Just talk to me, Buffy. Tell me what I can do.” Buffy looked up to the night sky, trying unsuccessfully to hold back fresh tears, “I wish it were a demon or magic, but it’s not. It’s medical. Something is hurting my mother, and it’s coming from inside her. I can’t do anything but watch,” then, turning back to Spike, “and neither can you.” Spike wanted desperately to wrap her in him arms and hold her until her pain melted away. And, although Buffy would never admit it to herself or anyone else, she wanted Spike to hold her.
Spike hated to see her like this, but he couldn’t bear to leave her either. Buffy had just turned her head away from Spike to stare at a spot on the ground, lost in thought. Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath, and attempted physical contact once more. He placed his hand on the middle of her back, almost cringing as he waited for her to scoot away from his touch. Buffy felt the gentle pressure of Spike’s hand, and let out a soft sigh. Buffy turned her body toward Spike, and he removed his hand, placing it on the porch between himself and Buffy. Spike opened his mouth to utter an apology, but before he could say anything, Buffy reached down and placed her hand on top of his. He looked down in awe as if to verify what his hand was feeling. When he returned his eyes to Buffy, she was smiling. “Spike. Thank you.” Buffy removed her hand, but only to briefly caress his cheek. Spike was stunned. If I had a heart, it would be beating out of control! he thought.
Buffy stood up and headed towards the backdoor, leaving Spike sitting on the porch in disbelief. As Buffy opened the door, Spike snapped out of it and leapt to his feet, “Buffy wait!” She turned around in the doorway to face him. Spike walked over to her until he was standing directly in front of her. He smiled sheepishly, “I just wanted to say, uh. . . you’re welcome.” They stood like that for a moment, face-to-face. There was no desire to throw a punch or let out a snide comment. They simply wanted to be near each other, to look into each other’s eyes and to know that it’s love staring back at them.
In a moment of bravery, Spike leaned his face close to Buffy’s, their lips so near that he could taste the warm breath escaping her mouth. She didn’t stop him, Buffy wanted to feel Spike’s lips on hers, remembering last year’s spell that led to the passionate kisses they shared. Spike happily noticed that she wasn’t pulling away, and he was going to be sure to take full advantage of the situation. . . until he realized he really would be taking advantage. He wanted desperately to smother her mouth with his, but not like this. Spike was willing to wait for the time to come that Buffy would want him because she loved him, not because she was trying to distract herself from the pain. Buffy’s eyes were closed in expectation of the meeting of their lips, but Spike didn’t move any closer. Instead, he straightened his posture and smiled as he said, “‘Night, luv.” When Buffy opened her eyes, Spike was already to the edge of her backyard, and was about to disappear from view. Buffy let out a frustrated sigh and whispered to herself, “Goodnight, William.”