Chapter 18
Buffy dressed for comfort. After all, she’d be sleeping in this stuff when she got back to the crypt. So she carefully tied on her jogging pants and picked an older t-shirt, one not noticeably stained, and completed the look with a pair of soft canvas sneakers. She might as well get Spike used to the unglamorousness of Buffy at bedtime. Not that he would be seeing her at bed time again for a while. No. Just that he should know what he might possibly be getting into.
As she pulled her hair up into a loose bun she spared a glance for the box sitting on the bed. Spike’s collection of Buffy-centric treasures, or at least what remained of it. With a sigh she approached it and lifted the lid to look at the contents. Her hand in reached inside, raking through photos and little scraps of paper covered in Spike’s handwriting. She reached for one of them, hesitating. It was his poetry; should she read it?
Well, really, it was written for her, so where was the harm. She pulled out a crinkled sample and smoothed it against her bedspread. Spike had pretty writing. Much prettier than hers, she thought with a grimace. The script flowed lightly along the page, smooth and strong and curly. Buffy’s eyes focused on the beginning of the short poem and she read, ‘In the darkness of my life I see her, bright and strong and swift./ She of beauty royal, muse divine? A woman with a gift./ Every line and feature holds her charm and grace/ With never a rift/ To mar her face./ She who lights my world, makes me soar, gives my spirit lift.’
She stared at the paper, touched by his words. Spike’s poetry had truly improved over the past one hundred years. But even if this little rhyme had been as rotten as the poems Spike wrote for Cecily, Buffy would have found it beautiful. Knowing the man and knowing his feelings, she couldn’t think anything else. Gently she folded the paper and put if back inside the box. Buffy covered it with its cardboard lid and slid it under her bed.
Quietly Buffy crept down the stairs and out the front door, unspeakably glad that it was she and not her watcher that had found the shrine and the poetry in it.
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The exterior lights at Giles’s apartment were on, as they always were when Buffy was expected. She stood on the front mat for a moment, trying to build up her courage. She raised a shaky hand and knocked twice on the oak. A moment later she heard her watcher’s voice call out a gruff, “It’s open.” Her hand landed on the knob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.
Buffy entered quickly and shut the door behind her. Once the light from the carriage lights outside was blocked, the interior of her watcher’s house seemed so dark. The only illumination in the downstairs came from the pendant lamps in the kitchen. Giles was sitting on one of his barstools, staring at the Formica countertop. Beside him sat an unopened bottle of scotch and an empty glass tumbler.
He’d changed out of his suit after leaving the crypt and his glasses were absent, but even in jeans and a button-up shirt there was something formal and cool about him. She might be a slayer, but there were times when Giles unnerved Buffy more than any demon. It was rarely deliberate, but that didn’t make him any less frightening. He became so intent, so quiet, so motionless that it felt like she was a specimen in a jar that he was examining. It terrified her that one day he might look at her in that way with disgust instead of anger or confusion as he sometimes did.
True, he wasn’t looking at her at the moment, but the way he wasn’t looking at her still managed to be intimidating. He hadn’t said another word, though she’d been standing there for almost five minutes. No polite offers of a cool beverage, no asking her to have a seat, and no little Gilesy half-smile. Buffy was at a loss. She crossed her arms over her chest and said in a quiet voice, “Hey Giles.”
“Buffy,” he replied evenly.
She took a few steps toward him, stopping beside the countertop three feet away from him. He didn’t attempt to make conversation, so Buffy felt obligated to fill the empty air, well aware that she was going to start babbling as badly as Willow if she didn’t get more than one word responses. “I got Spike to take the cure. He seemed better when I left. Then I stopped by my house and changed. Dawn and Mom were glad to hear that Spike’s okay. Dawn doesn’t want us to know, but she totally has a crush on him.”
She waited, but his only response was a nod. Maybe he’d answer a direct question. It would be rude not to, right? And Giles was never that rude, even if he was distant. With a swallow, she asked, “So did you and Xander get the Gargle – um, demon, taken care of?”
“Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik,” he stated automatically. His eyebrows rose and his head shook slightly. “No, actually. It seems that after Drusilla left the crypt, she decided to take it with her. Xander wasn’t certain whether or not he should stop her, so in the end she led the creature away by its chains, back into the woods.”
Buffy smiled momentarily. “She always did have strange taste in men.” For the first time, Giles looked at her. His expression reflected so many thoughts, but most of all she could see the irony he found in her statement and a certain, almost cruel, amusement. Disturbed, Buffy looked away. “S-so, anything special about this demon?”
When he replied it was as though he was reading from one of his musty books. “Nocturnal. Injects its victims with a neurotoxin that slowly induces a vegetative state. It tracks and eats them at its leisure.”
“So it thought Spike was dinner?” she asked.
“Most likely.”
Giles continued to stare at her, unblinking. Buffy was too tired to keep dancing around like this. She sighed. “Just say it, Giles. Tell me I’m insane.”
“Why would I say something like that?” Giles asked in a sardonic voice. He turned so that he leaned against the counter, propped up on his arm. “Tell me, Buffy, why I would have a reason to doubt your sanity.”
A deep breath filled Buffy’s lungs. This was it. With a fast exhale, she confessed, “Because I’m falling for Spike.”
There was a snort from her watcher as he lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “Yes, I can’t imagine how, with decisions like that, I might find you a bit off.”
Frustration and anger were building in Buffy. “This isn’t a joke, Giles.”
He barked out a short laugh. “I hope not. If it is, it’s bloody unfunny.” He let his hand fall and fought to keep his voice level as he answered her. “I had my suspicions that you were becoming so inclined, given your treatment of him when he woke from his coma. It seemed more than simple sympathy.”
“I promised I’d help him. I couldn’t do that without being kind,” was her defensive answer.
“Perhaps not.” He cleared his throat. “And yet I know that this morning, kindness was not a feeling you associated with Spike. Your contempt for him is legendary.”
“I despised him,” she agreed. “but I…things have changed.”
Giles leaned forward. “Because of Spike’s feelings for you?”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “You know about that?”
Giles nodded. “Yes, I’d surmised that much from Xander’s description of his attentions toward you.” His lips pursed and he looked back to his countertop, unseeing. “You’re an adult Buffy, one capable of making her own decisions. You’re intelligent, and strong, and I trust you with my life. With the lives of others.
“There are so many obvious objections I could make to this, Buffy. I will not insult you by reciting them, but-”
“You mean how he’s a vampire and I’m a slayer? That he could get my friends, or my family, killed? That he could betray me? That he’s evil? That he’s soulless?” Buffy asked. “Believe me Giles, I’ve thought of all that.”
“Well, have you thought that perhaps these new feelings are a lie?” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I could live with the possibility of mutual affection between yourself and Spike, as unworthy as he is. But I have difficulty believing this change of heart can be sincere, when you spent hours inside Spike’s mind, possibly being influenced without your knowledge by the illusion to which he fell prey!”
“It wasn’t an illusion.” Buffy murmured. “It was memories. Horrible memories. Spike was reliving the worst parts of his life, over and over and over, with me along for the ride. It wasn’t something he just imagined. It’s possible for the venom to make that happen, right?”
Giles mused for a moment. “The hallucinations are based on the thoughts of the prey at the time of infection. It’s the subject’s own mind that creates and maintains the delusion, so the realism would vary between victims. They provide their own cage.” He sighed. “The nature of the fantasy doesn’t mean that you weren’t affected by it.”
“I know love spells, Giles. I remember what it felt like to be engaged to Spike. This isn’t some magic curse.” Buffy shook her head. “I witnessed his life, Giles, and yes, that’s influenced me because it made me see things I’d been ignoring. That has nothing to do with spells or venom. I feel like I met the real Spike for the first time. And I liked him.”
“Memory is the most deceptive of guides,” Giles responded irritably. “Imperfect and subjective.”
Buffy shook her head. “Not these memories. They were real, vibrant.” She looked away for a moment. “Some of them were experiences I remember. His memories and mine match up perfectly. More perfectly than I’d like, sometimes.”
Giles clenched then unclenched his hands. “That doesn’t mean seeing Spike is a good decision.”
“Please Giles. You said you trust my judgment.” She took a step nearer to her watcher. “I know him so well, Giles, better than you can imagine. I’ve seen him as a man and as a vampire. He’s had the most terrifying and painful experiences but somehow survived. He’s strong. He’s loyal. He loves so deeply-”
He cut her off. “Like Angel? Your supposed soul mate?”
She shook her head. “No. Angel was a stranger. I never knew him. Spike, I’ve seen at his very worst. He can be a good man.”
Giles stood and closed the short distance between them. “You said it yourself, Buffy. He’s a demon. No soul, just a chip. One day that microchip is likely to malfunction, and if his feelings for you falter-”
Adamant, Buffy declared, “That won’t happen. He loves me.”
“It’s still possible. What then?” Giles demanded.
She sighed. “Then I’ll kill him.”
“Do you hear yourself, Buffy?” he asked, disbelieving. “Is it rational to open yourself to this kind of pain?”
“No. Probably not. But I can’t ignore his feelings for me or mine for him. Yes, it could come to that, some day.” She stared at him, unblinking and adamant. “I was beginning to doubt I’d ever be able to get close to someone again. I will not lose this chance just because of what might happen someday in the future.”
“Buffy-”
“It hurt you when Jenny was killed,” Buffy stated.
He frowned, taken aback. With a slow nod, he acknowledged her observation. “Yes, it did.”
Her eyes flashed as she demanded, “Would you give up the time you had with her to avoid the pain?”
Giles shook his head and stammered, “T-that’s a different matter.”
Buffy blinked. “No it’s not.”
“Yes it is,” he insisted
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not!”
“Yes, it-” he broke off, staring for a moment at the carpet. The corners of his mouth ticked, and Buffy thought for a moment he was smiling. “You know, you can be rather stubborn.”
She huffed. “Maybe, but I’m not the only one.”
Her watcher sighed. “Have you told your mother about this?”
“Mm-hmm,” she affirmed. “Mom says we’re bound to have some terrible fights.”
“Yes, I would say that’s given,” Giles agreed. Another sigh. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”
Buffy shook her head.
Giles looked up, as though asking for patience. Resigned, he pleaded. “Will you at least promise me to be careful around Spike?”
“Don’t worry, Giles.”
“Little late for that, I’m afraid,” he countered, “with my daugh- slayer dating William the Bloody.”
“Well, we’re not actually dating yet. We have to talk about things.” Buffy smiled and wrapped her arms around her watcher’s waist. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
Giles brought his arms up to return her hug, pulling her against him. “Thank you.”
With a sniff, Buffy whispered. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but I-”
“Never. Disagreeing with me isn’t a crime. Some would probably call it a virtue.” Buffy laughed. “You’ll always have my approval, Buffy.” He patted her shoulder lightly. “Spike on the other hand…he’ll need to earn it. And I intend to make certain that he does.”
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Buffy knew when she entered the crypt that something was wrong. She could hear Spike’s cries from the upper level. She darted down the ladder in time to see Spike writhing on his mattress, face contorted in fear. Buffy ran forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, calling out loud, “Spike! Spike, wake up. It’s a dream, Spike.”
With a gasp his eyes opened. He saw her and grasped her arms for support as he panted, still panicked from his nightmare. “I’m here Spike,” she assured him. He nodded, calming slowly. His eyes stayed glued to her as though he expected her to disappear at any moment. Buffy gave him a small smile to reassure him. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”
He swallowed and in a rough, tired voice replied, “If you’re here out of pity, I’d rather you just go home. I couldn’t take it if you left tomorrow.” He hung his head, as though embarrassed by what he’d admitted. There was no bravado in him now, just an honest need to be near someone.
“I’m staying, Spike,” she said firmly. “I’m not leaving you.” She pushed him back down against the mattress and stroked his face gently. His hooded eyes closed, and after a few minutes his unnecessary breathing evened out.
Buffy lay down beside him.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks to Linda, my beta!
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