Fic: Thousand Mile Wish, PG-13 (4/5)

Part IV: Learning

Spike wasn’t sure what to expect when Buffy led him to a bar he’d never seen before. He was even more confused when she paid the cover charge for the both of them. “Do you want something to drink?”

The music was loud enough that Buffy had to lean in to ask him without shouting, and Spike could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

He wanted her. After all this time, after what he’d nearly done, he still wanted her. Buffy still had a nearly instantaneous effect on him. “I can get it,” he replied.

She shook her head. “I’ve got some money,” she replied. “That’s part of what I have to tell you. Do you want anything?”

“Beer,” he finally replied. “Whatever they’ve got on tap is fine.”

“Why don’t you find us a table?” she suggested. “I’ll get the drinks.”

Spike found a table off in a corner, wondering what to expect. Wondering what the bloody hell he was doing here with her. It didn’t seem right somehow.

Buffy brought a bottle for both of them, and Spike found himself surprised that she knew to get a decent import. “Thanks,” he murmured as he took the bottle from her. He didn’t know whether to be touched that she got him the good stuff, or annoyed that she hadn’t listened to his order.

The feeling that hung between them was the sort that had been there at the best of times, when Spike had believed that everything would eventually work itself out. Eventually Buffy would realize how much he loved her, and maybe she wouldn’t love him back, but she’d at least accept his feelings for what they were worth.

He’d buggered that chance right and proper.

“So what’s this about you having money?” Spike asked when it appeared that the silence could go on forever if he didn’t speak.

Buffy began to tell him about the new social worker, her classes, the fact that her wanker of a father was helping them out. It was everything Spike had hoped for—Buffy was doing well, she and Dawn were getting along, they were happy.

Buffy was finally happy, and it had nothing to do with him.

Spike managed to keep his growing sense of despair off of his face as the Slayer went on. He should be content that Buffy had managed to do okay for herself, rather than be angry that it hadn’t been his doing. It just proved that he really wasn’t any good for her.

He should have left town sooner.

“It’s good that you’re doin’ so well, Buffy,” Spike finally said, hoping that he sounded sincere.

Buffy stared down at her bottle. The beer was gone, and she’d started peeling the label off. She was working very hard at avoiding Spike’s eyes. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t been the same without you around.”

“Apparently not,” he murmured. “Sounds like it’s been better.”

“My situation last year wasn’t your fault Spike,” Buffy said firmly. “I know I probably made you think that, or made you think I felt that way, but I was wrong.”

Spike could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What?”

“I was wrong.” Buffy sounded a little surer of herself this time around. “Things got bad, but we were both at fault.”

He blinked. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Buffy said clearly. “I mean, I don’t really know what our relationship will look like, or what it should look like, but I really want you to stay in town. I’ve missed you.”

Spike laughed bitterly. Trust Buffy to figure that out just when neither of them could do anything about it. “I’m sorry, Slayer, but that’s not for me to say. I made a deal, and now I’m stuck.”

“A deal for what?” Buffy demanded. “What reason do you have for leaving when you just got back?”

Spike decided to take the plunge and tell her. After all, Buffy did seem to be in a listening mood. He didn’t plan on telling her the whole truth, however, not when it would just make it harder on the two of them. It was obvious that Buffy did better when he wasn’t around. Once she got over him leaving, she’d be able to move on easily enough. “Got my soul,” he stated. “Deal was I got to come back here and see you again, but—well, it seems that me asking for it threw the world out of balance. They said it would cause an apocalypse. I didn’t want that.”

Spike could see the wheels turning in Buffy’s head as she put two and two together. For once, she actually came up with the right answer. “Why can’t you just give up your soul?” she asked. “You can live without it.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Spike said. “The soul’s permanent, Buffy. There’s only one way to get rid of it. Either I dust, or they take it, and I made the deal with them. They said it was the only way.”

Buffy shook her head. “No. There has to be another way. Who are these people, or demons, or whatever? I’ll stop them.”

“You can’t, Buffy.” Spike was touched by her concern, even though it was too little, too late. It seemed that she had some feeling for him after all. “Won’t risk you through my stupidity. You shouldn’t have to face an apocalypse just because I—” He stopped, not wanting to continue with that thought. “I just wanted to come back, make things right if I could.”

Buffy stared at the shredded remains of the label. “You just got back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spike watched as she struggled with what to say. He knew he had about a fifty-fifty chance. Either Buffy would decide to walk away now and write him off, or she’d refuse to believe that it was going to happen and act like nothing was wrong.

In a moment, he had her answer. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No,” she repeated. “I know you think that there’s nothing we can do, but we’ve dealt with impossible odds before. We’ll work something out.”

“Buffy,” Spike began, his voice gentle.

“Don’t,” she said stubbornly. “Don’t tell me that there’s nothing I can do.”

“There isn’t anything you can do,” Spike said, knowing that he was pushing his luck. He didn’t care. Buffy wasn’t listening to him again.

Of course, she was being incredibly nice to him, nicer than ever before. That was something.

“I’ll figure something out.” She fixed him with a fierce look. “Don’t argue.”

Spike sat back in his chair with a sigh. He knew that expression. No matter what he said, Buffy was going to insist on searching for answers that didn’t exist.

Well, they did exist, but there was no way Buffy was going to be willing to love something like him.

“I won’t argue.”

“Good.” Then her face changed. “You really got your soul for me?”

“Who else would I have gotten it for?” Spike replied, suddenly uncomfortable.

Buffy searched his face, meeting his eyes for the first time since they’d sat down. He dropped her gaze, unable to face the silent questions he found there—not when he remembered the shock and horror that had been present before he’d left Sunnydale.

The guilt was a bitch.

Spike felt a gentle touch on his cheek, and he allowed her to turn his face so she could meet his eyes again. “Oh, Spike,” she said. He didn’t quite recognize the emotion that echoed in her voice. “I’m sorry, too. We really messed things up.”

With a start Spike realized that he was seeing compassion. “It’s alright,” he replied hoarsely.

“No, it’s not,” Buffy replied. “But it will be. We’ll make it alright.”

~~~~~

When Spike woke the next evening, he wondered if the previous day’s events had been a dream. He and Buffy hadn’t been that easy together since right after her resurrection. In those days they could sit together for hours, and even the silences had been comfortable. That had all changed with a kiss. It wasn’t supposed to go that way.

Last night had been a revelation. Not only had Buffy bought him a drink, but they’d talked. Both of them—for hours. Last call had come, and Spike had walked her home. It had been everything he’d ever wanted.

Well, there was a part of him that wouldn’t have minded if they’d finished up in bed, but he was mostly content to enjoy her company.

Knowing that he only had three more weeks was a sobering thought, but maybe it was for the best. If he stuck around, and it got bad again, Spike would never be able to forgive himself.

He couldn’t help but think that it was the time limit that had Buffy being so nice to him in the first place, though. She was treating him with the kind of care you’d have for a dying person. Spike couldn’t decide whether to relish her kindness or be angry that it had taken a soul and an imminent trip to hell to bring it out of her.

“Spike?”

He sat up, the blanket he’d found dropping off of his shoulders. How the bloody hell had she found him?

“Spike? Are you decent?”

There was a part of him that wondered what she would do if he stayed silent. Would Buffy leave? Wouldn’t that be better? Maybe this was a mistake. He should—

“There you are.” She walked into the room, looking around the dilapidated interior. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

He tilted his head. “How’d you find me?”

“I had Willow do a locator spell,” Buffy replied. She had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know you said you had a few weeks, but what if those guys come after you sooner?”

“I’m not staying at your house,” Spike said bluntly.

She glared at him. “Did I ask you to? I just figured it would be better if I knew where you were staying.”

Spike reached for his boots. The old house wasn’t nearly as secure as the lower level of his crypt had been, which was why he didn’t dare undress to sleep. He’d rather have all his clothes on if someone was going to walk in and surprise him.

Someone like Buffy.

Spike concentrated on his laces, wondering what he was supposed to say to her. What did the Slayer mean by coming here? What did she want from him?

“I just wanted to be sure you were really here.”

Spike’s head shot up, and he wondered if he’d asked that last question out loud. He hadn’t thought so. “What?”

“Last night was the closest thing to a date I’ve had in—” Buffy paused to think, sinking to the floor gracefully as she did so. “—years, probably,” she finished. “It was nice.”

“Yeah, it was.” Spike stared down at his hands.

The silence stretched out awkwardly. Buffy finally cleared her throat. “Willow’s looking into this thing,” she said. “From what you said, they have to be some kind of soul-stealing demons, and there can’t be too many of those, right? Maybe we can find some way to stop them when they show up.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. Spike was afraid to look at her—afraid to see that look in her eyes. The one that spoke volumes about regretting her choice of companion for the previous evening.

“I promised the gang I’d go to the Bronze this evening,” Buffy said.

Spike nodded. “Right.”

“We haven’t had a lot of chances to hang out recently,” she explained. “Otherwise, we would be researching, but—”

“There’s no need, Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I know what I’ve gotten myself into. No more than I deserve.”

“Spike—”

He patted his pockets, desperately searching for his cigarettes. Spike needed a fag badly. “’s okay,” he muttered. “You’ve got places to be. I understand that. You should get goin’. They’ll be waiting for you.”

Buffy sighed, and he recognized the sound. It was invariably accompanied by an eye roll. “Would you please look at me, Spike?”

He didn’t want to, but Spike knew he was being a coward. He’d never backed down from Buffy in the past, even when her fists were flying. When he finally met her eyes, the Slayer was looking at him with an expression that could only be classified as a kind of amused frustration. “Do you want to go with me?”

Spike frowned. “Where?”

“To the Bronze. Duh.” Buffy shook her head. “Willow’s going to be there. Maybe if you can talk to her, it will shake something loose from that thick skull of yours.”

Spike couldn’t take offense at her words, not when Buffy sounded almost—fond of him? “If you want me there, Buffy.”

“We were supposed to patrol the other night,” she reminded him. “You still owe me.”

“Guess I do.” Spike lit a cigarette, trying not to show his confusion. “Yeah, okay.”

Buffy smiled. “Good. We can research and have fun at the same time.”

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/13223.html