“He’s here because we need him.”
“The hell we do,” Xander threw in her face, furiously holding himself steady before he went and whipped the alfoil off the front windscreen and watched the pain in all their asses sizzle and hopefully dust into a million particles.
“If Glory finds us, he's the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn.” And in her mind, that’s all that mattered. Protecting her sister; protecting the world.
“Buffy, come on—“ Xander stood for them all, not seeing how they possibly needed Spike when he was nothing but a waste of space that they always made concessions for. He hated him, it was plain as day.
Buffy saw it and resented it. To her the constant attempts to shut Spike out—to relegate a strong, loyal soldier on her side to the darkest caves alone and lonely—was an attack at her authority. An affront to her strength. An inability to credit her with knowing how—and doing what was needed—to save all of them.
After everything, it was too much. They had no right to continually question her and the decisions she made. She needed Spike, and whether they agreed didn’t matter to her. Not now.
“Look, this isn't a discussion! He stays. Get over it.” And she left, had to get away to a place she didn’t have to look at their discontent and disbelief. To a place where she wouldn’t be expected to explain why the first thought she’d had to getting out of Sunnydale was to find Spike.
She felt guilty about it, sure. But Spike was a big boy; he’d put up with their scathing insults and obvious dislike for a while now. Even hers, despite his declarations of love. Despite his more frequent and surprising efforts to fight by her side, protecting her back and totally without stabbing her in it.
He’d kept Dawn’s identity a secret from Glory, and Buffy’s gratitude compelled her to mark his lips and start a simmering fire in her heart that she’d rather keep secret. Keep silent for fear of her friends’ animosity.
The door was obviously made of cardboard as Buffy could hear the silence after her departure and then Spike being Spike.
“Buckle up, kids. Daddy's puttin' the hammer down.”
He made her smile.
Only once the Winnebago lurched into motion did she look down and see the map clutched tightly in her hands and feel tears come to her eyes. She was now that thing Spike always said killed other slayers. Being alone looked all with the sensible and healthy, until you were. Stuck in the back of the dinosaur on wheels gave Buffy nothing but time—and peculiar eavesdropping skills.
She’d never known how funny Giles could be. Or how amusing it was the way he interacted with her vampire. Never paid attention until the moment that could be their last.
“We'd already be somewhere if Captain Slowpoke would give up the wheel.”
Buffy could even easily imagine the look of irritation that would be hardening Giles’s lips as he tried to ignore Spike.
“Hey! Gramps! Bloody step on it!”
“Step on what? I've driven tricycles with more power.” That was the Giles she knew.
God, she hated it when Spike was condescending and yet sexy as hell. Even that brought tears of hopelessness to her eyes and she brushed them away with Slayer speed, always on the alert for someone to have had enough and barge through her door to bug her some more.
Though she wished it would be Spike who sought her out.
She knew he wouldn’t. She knew that she’d put him off, pushed him out of her personal space enough that he would never take that first step toward her ever again.
Buffy had a bad feeling about this trip. About this apocalypse. It was a feeling that bade she hurry—toward what exactly she was still in the dark about. But when Spike was near, the urge to hug him seemed greater and stronger every day. The need to reconnect with his soft lips almost a desire she couldn’t control.
So maybe she knew time was running out in the age-old way it did for Slayers. Maybe this was her ending and Spike would go on to live for centuries beyond her—love others like he said he loved her. And she in the final countdown of her days would continue to hold him righteously at bay, experiencing nothing but cold, hard aloneness.
It scared her to think he would survive and one day forget who she was. Forget the tiny imprint she had on his existence. Not because she would someday be less than a footnote in Slayer history, but because she wanted to really mean something to him. Mean the thing he claimed her to be. Someone he loved.
Spike seemed like the kind of guy to never forget true love.
It didn’t seem like enough. She needed time to give him something. That crumb maybe, even if she wasn’t around any longer to offer the full cookie.
Thoughts swam through her mind, holding her lethargic in the back of the vehicle until Dawn came in. Buffy found it hard to smile at her sister. Hard to engage with her life when she felt like she was just waiting for the fight to start up again.
In true Scooby jinxed fashion, it did. In the form of an arrow viciously cutting through the metal of the Winnebago. A look out the window revealed their pursuers, the return of the truly weird knights on horseback. It was time to rejoin the crowd out the front and make sure they outran them.
“Giles!”
“I see them.”
Spike jumped to his feet and Buffy saw the concern on his face and nearly wept.
“See who?”
She didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have time to risk what tiny slivers of her heart were left. Yet when a sword came through the roof, too close to her head, Spike caught it in his bare hands. He held it, the blade cutting through his skin and looking at her with a tinge of fear shading his blue eyes. Fear for her.
Fear that she couldn’t allow to mean anything as the futility of this fight made her desperate and rushed for time. It was Autopilot Buffy that took control, took what parts of her heart still thumped in outrage and turned it against their attackers. Turned her back into the Slayer and got them away.
But not without injury. Her first thought when the wheels tumbled—despite the gaping wound and dripping blood from Giles’ torso—was that there was too much sun. They were way out in the open with bright, shining sun all around and a very flammable vampire steaming under a blanket.
For the moments it took to find shelter, Buffy was just as terrified for the safety of her vamp as she was for Giles. When they got to the deserted servo, she almost sagged in relief that Spike wasn’t going up in flames. That his hands were shredded but he was there. She hadn’t lost him.
It started with his hands. Dawn showed the concern that was tearing Buffy apart—pointed out Spike’s sliced palms like Buffy had no idea how it had happened. And while outwardly she remained hard-hearted, while she tried to ignore the flutters of despair this situation was stirring up in her, she took his hands. Took in the nervous gentleness that was their contact. And it all began.
She saw such things—was given the gift of prophecy that scared her to death. She saw the suffering of his hands for years to come. Saw them sliced off by a demented Slayer. Buffy choked back the sobs—she’d known she wouldn’t live forever, but to know he would be around other slayers after she was gone…God, why did it hurt so much? She saw her hand aflame with his—confusion making her shake as he burned around her and she felt the soul he won to be worthy of her.
Oh God.
How did he dust in front of her but be around to lose his hands after she was gone?
The turmoil grew and built to such heights that Buffy could do nothing but push his hands away and coldly pronounce they’d heal—it was what they all knew would happen. It was no great vampire mystery. And yet she so wanted to hold him, kiss them better and sob into his chest. Beg him to let her rest and get her out of this hopelessness. Beg him to love her always after she was gone and forgotten by the rest of the world.
And then there was Giles, moaning and gasping for air as she chased her tail and scrambled for something to do to help. She should KNOW what to do. She was the Slayer and at the moment she wanted to just shut her eyes and forget she was anything. Wanted to be free to be nothing.
Even as her fingers dialled the number, she knew it was wrong. Spike’s wounded and jealous expression notwithstanding, she knew it was a mistake to bring in an outsider. But she couldn’t let Giles die. It was her duty to save life, even when it brought Hell down on all their heads.
Even when it sacrificed her sister to the arms of a hellgod.
That was the moment. The time she knew…and gave up. She lost everything by being alive, she failed everyone around her with her incompetent judgments and lack of knowledge. Her mother would kill her for losing Dawn, even though it felt inevitable. Her friends would be disgusted if they knew of the blackness of her heart—of her need to find refuge in Spike’s arms for just a moment before it was all gone. Terrified that he would blame her too and she couldn’t even have that. His arms and his love—because she’d failed.
She collapsed and imagined his hands.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He shouldn’t have been shocked. Should have expected the Slayer to barge into his home and demand his help to leave Sunnydale and protect Dawn. He’d made it his job after all. Made it his business to keep the littlest Summers alive and in one piece. Shown Buffy herself that he cared and could, would help whenever she needed him. It was the shimmer of something else in Buffy’s eyes that had him jumping to his feet and taking her to find the getaway car. He’d wanted the Porsche. She wanted to save her friends. Guess he couldn’t fault her on that. It was the capacity of her heart that made him fall in love with her in the first place. That and her strength.
He could see the moment she lost that strength, and fear turned her into a girl. She thought she was weak by leaving. That taking her friends and leaving hell behind was cowardly. Spike wanted to hold her so badly, he hurt. Wanted to tell her that staying behind to be slaughtered wouldn’t make her a hero. That staying alive would.
He followed wherever she led, and he was willing to bet she didn’t even see the miniscule crumbs he bent over to pick up along the way. They fell into his open and eager hands one by one: the shaky smile she offered when he agreed to help, the caryard he’d taken her to and the giggle she’d unexpectedly released when he pulled out the foil for the windows and the goggles he wore. The way she glanced at him with her heart in her eyes for the jerky trip to pick up her friends.
She’d made it to the back table by the time he pulled up, the vehicle finally stopping with a jolt. The biggest crumb came with her anger at how they wanted to dismiss him, and when she’d disappeared behind a closed door and he could sense how upset she was, he wanted nothing more than to beat them all black and blue for having so little faith. In their friend. In the Slayer. They questioned her every move, and it pissed him off.
The cumulative effect of that cookie was still pretty meagre, and that was the only thing holding him back. He was still left feeling that uncertainty that it was all in his head. That wishful thinking made his eyes sharper on fantasy than he could have ever imagined.
So, he drove. Swapped the trouble with the Watcher when they decided it was time and found himself amongst those more accepting of him. Embraced the easiness of being around Dawn and a muddled Glinda that he even adopted their bloody stupid speech with next to no thought. No biggie. What the bloody hell was he on? Still, he didn’t think any of them—but especially the little witch he had a soft spot for—was really up for the fight, so he let the smoke raise from his hand, cupped it away from view, and let the pathetic words slide.
He’d approved of her decision to leave. He didn’t see it as running so much as taking a strategic step away. They needed to regroup. Here was a foe the Watcher’s know-it-all books hadn’t offered a solution to—gave them no bleeding clue how to vanquish this Big Bad. That in itself made Spike nervous. Sure, Adam wasn’t so much one for the books either, but the solutions were there. This time, they were flying not only by the seat of their pants, but with bare bums waving in the air as well.
He’d never minded the draft, but this lot were frosty. And when the medieval brigade appeared out of nowhere, he realised how abused his hands always seemed to be. Cut to pretty ribbons, but at least the blade had missed the distracted bint’s gorgeous head.
The look of gratitude—though short and barely noticeable—was just a little bit more of his cake. It was right cruel, is what it was. All these tiny hints that she might want more, even though she’d kicked him down enough times for him to get the real and bloody message. He was beneath her, wasn’t he? So what was with the softness and the inclusion like she wanted him there for more than just back-up?
When the Winnebago rolled, Spike had changed his mind about the wisdom of running. He wasn’t hurt much in the crash—only his pride was dented. Would have lost a few coolness points doing the hurdy gurdy in front of this lot. Especially as he was diving for the Nibblet to cushion the tumble.
He hadn’t been able to see the Slayer once the bus had stopped sliding. He’d been kind of busy trying to rush to somewhere cold and dark—somewhere he wasn’t going to burst into flames for trying to be the good bloke. The Watcher bleeding like a stuck pig didn’t help him keep his cool one little bit, either. Still, finding shelter and getting the tosser on the bench with his wonky, julietted hands helped to soothe the demon within a tad. Just enough for him to help barricade the door and really concentrate on Buffy’s quick and brutal appraisal of his hands. Hands he’d used to once again save her life. Hands that itched to just cup her face in an impossible time out and hold her still for a gentle kiss of love.
Still, he clung to those crumbs like they would be the saviour of his existence. Allowing himself just a small dream that after this, after it all she might come to him for something more than back-up or information.
Until she called the doctor and Spike was left wounded and hurt. She was a rollercoaster, and he knew he needed to jump off that ride before she killed him. Being filled with the doom and gloom, though, wasn’t really the solution, and apparently she didn’t appreciate him going all pessimistic while she was trying to fight a war both inside and outside the building.
They had the chief, all tied up and willing to talk about the brutal realities of Dawn’s purpose. Spike could see the difficulty—the thought of killing to save the world not something his conscience would have balked at so far in the past. But this was his Nibblet, and no matter what happened with the fallout, he could never forget the way she looked when she was in pain or feeling guilty about him getting tortured in her name. As much as the wanker made sense, Spike wanted to skin him.
Still, it was useful information to know that this hellbitch didn’t always stay in control. That her human façade could be taken down if they only knew who it was.
Finding out was what sent his world all to fuck.
She invited the wolf right into the pen of lambs. Gave him clemency and opened the bloody doors for him to waltz in with his fake smiles and soft pouffy hair. Pretty clever trick for sure, making it impossible for humans to remember the switch. But he had this bloke’s number now, and he had more reason to chop him into pieces than just pure jealousy. Even if the pain of never coming first almost blocked out the danger until the hellbitch took off with Dawn and there wasn’t a thing that they could do to stop her.
Dawn was gone. In his head he knew it. In his heart he hung onto hope. That’s what Buffy did. Gave people hope and rescued the innocent. He had no expectation that this time would be any different—that she’d be even more glorious in rescuing her sister.
Until she collapsed in front of him and his entire being was flooded with fear.
Not that he showed it. Not in front of her friends who were falling apart fast enough for all of them. So, with their hero out of it for the moment, it was up to Spike. Up to him to point them in the right direction and get them out of this pit of doom and back to good ole Sunnyhell.
As he watched her, worried about what she was doing sinking into her own head when her sister and the world needed saving, he wanted to hit her. Wanted to jolt her back to consciousness and get them all back to normal. Even if normal was her hating him.
Instead, he gathered her into his arms, shielded her from the others as he kissed her tearstained cheek and carried her out to the car. The others followed him out slowly, dazed. Giles was improving and sat in the back, nursing Anya as Willow attempted to control a frantic Tara. Spike had been set to drive, but when he went to put down the Slayer, she wouldn’t let go. Winding her arms around his neck hard, she became him as she sank further into depression and cried silently into his neck. He nodded at Harris to be chauffer and then sat back to plan.
They needed this girl. They needed a strong and guided Buffy, leading them to life and light.
He believed she would come back. A hero like the Slayer couldn’t leave the fate of the world, her sister or her friends up to good old fashioned bum luck now, could she.
Was he selfish to hope that with her return there wouldn’t be the withdrawal of his crumbs?
Yeah, it was selfish. He did the evil demon well, having had over a century’s practise. He could be generous in heart to those he cared about, but tipping that tide to perpetual goodness often got him buggered up.
For this moment he held her, let her cry into his neck and attempted to remember every little thing about her. Her smell, her shape, the way her tears tasted in sorrow. He loved her and there was simply nothing he could do to prevent destiny. Her death. His transformation from knowing her.
He wanted to hold her through everything, but unscheduled coma-like evasion aside, he knew she didn’t need him like that. Found it difficult to believe she could need him at all. Didn’t stop him from hoping. Or wanting to be there for her during the little moments—the ones where she succumbed to being human and needing a little something to get her through.
Nothing was stopping him when they got back. Nothing could hold him back from insuring his little family would be protected. For now that was enough. Whatever help he could be—whether emotional support or muscle, she was his light and she would always guide him.
Whatever happened, he would always be hers.
He just hoped she knew, wherever she was, and didn’t stake him for it.
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!