gryfndor_godess (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gryfndor_godess) wrote2011-02-22 10:13 am
gryfndor_godess) wrote2011-02-22 10:13 am
Fic: For Want of A Back Porch (Comic!Fic) (Alternate Ending)
Title: For Want of A Back Porch (Alternate Ending)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. 5,500 words. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV-Original Ending.
A/N: This alternate ending exists because I can't help thinking that after Spike's untimely death in "Chosen," Buffy wouldn't waste a second in telling him she loved him if she had a second chance. I posted my original ending because I love Dawn being bossy and proactive, but I also wanted to explore this second possibility where Buffy is proactive. The new stuff starts in the MIDDLE of this post, when Buffy and Spike wake up in the morning. The first half duplicates Part IV because I wanted each chapter to be able to stand on its own.
Part IV - Alternate Ending
August 19
Buffy jerked upright. For a second she thought she must have had a nightmare, and then the hammering sound came again. A flash of silver blond hair goaded her to her feet. A glance at the clock as she stumbled to the window showed it was close to four in the morning.
“What?” She tried not to sound cranky and failed. Even Slayer nighttime visiting hours had an end time.
“I found out what sort of potion Meltzer and Allie want to use on you,” blurted Spike.
His words were like icy water trickling down her back, waking her with a very unpleasant jolt.
She climbed out the window without further hesitation, forgetting that this was an excellent opportunity to cajole him into coming inside.
“What is it?”
Spike hesitated. That alone sent more chills crawling along her spine. Spike wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’m the Slayer, life is never pretty! What is it?”
“It’s a potion that changes your personality.”
Buffy stared at him as the foreboding in her stomach grew stronger. “To…what?”
“It evokes past insecurities, fears, and base desires,” said Spike flatly. “While simultaneously erasing common sense and impulse control.
The victim would essentially regress to being the worst kind of teenager. An impulsive, insecure, emotional wreck of a teenager.”
The words pounded in Buffy’s head for several seconds, the implications setting in, and then she almost knocked Spike over in her dash to the railing.
“What the- Buffy?” His annoyance transformed to concern in an instant. As she leaned over the railing, dry heaving, Spike moved to her side and tentatively touched her back. When she continued quivering, he began rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.
“It’s all right, love. We’re not going to let them do that to you.”
Buffy didn’t reply.
His hand moved upward to her hair. “Besides, as I recall, you were one hell of a teenager.”
Buffy jerked upright. She wished immediately she hadn’t because his hand dropped and he stepped back, looking chagrined.
“I wouldn’t be- I wouldn’t be myself. I’d be some twisted, horrible version-” She blinked back tears as the possibilities pounded her.
To resent her powers as much as she enjoyed them, always feeling like a freak.
To fear exposure again; the panic and betrayal she’d felt when her mother disavowed her.
To fear that those she loved- Dad, Angel, Mom, Giles- would leave her or stop loving her; that she’d be alone.
That she couldn’t love.
To feel dead inside. Again. To forget and ignore and hate and abuse-
-and Spike was looking at her so tenderly right now, while she could feel his flesh beneath her fists as she mocked his love, and she could see her sister neglected and abandoned, and her friends falling apart, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara-
-oh God, Anya Tara Anya Tara, she would fail them again-
“Buffy, Buffy, love, it’s all right-”
She wanted to agree because she hated to worry him, but as his voice shot through her all she could think was desire, and if she regressed the person she would most desire was-
No, no, no, never again, she didn’t want Angel anymore, she didn’t.
But the potion could make her want him, it could make her want him and need him and love him, the bastard, the horrible, murdering bastard.
“Let it out, love, but you have to breathe, Buffy, breathe.”
Spike was gripping her hand in his as he used his other to give her shoulders and hair feather light touches. She became aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks and off her chin. Her face felt soggy, and he looked like he might cry too, as though her breakdown was causing him physical pain. The pressure in her head and nose reached a pitch.
Buffy stepped forward, and as though he had been waiting all along for her to do so, Spike pulled her against him. She buried her face in his shoulder and let herself sob, while his arms encircled her.
“I don’t want to love him, I don’t want him, I don’t want to hurt anyone-“
“You won’t hurt anyone, Buffy. You won’t.”
“I’ll hurt my friends, I’ll hurt you-”
“Buffy-”
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
Silence for an instant, except for the sound of her crying, and then his arms squeezed her even more tightly.
“Oh, dearest…” His whisper was like a reverent sigh. It made Buffy shiver with sudden sharp, incongruous pleasure; made her think of exhalations of bliss after making love. Dearest. She was his dearest.
“You won’t hurt me, love. If you were poisoned, nothing you could do would hurt me.”
“How do you know?” she muttered into his duster.
“Because it wouldn’t be you.” She could feel the smile in his voice. “And nothing that poisoned Buffy could do would ever make me stop loving real Buffy.”
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as more tears forced their way out. She began convulsing again, shuddering against him.
Spike sank downward, pulling her with him. He leaned against the wall and hugged her to him, and Buffy let herself go.
“How did you find out?” Her voice was raspy after so many tears. Her head was a little clearer, though, and that was what mattered.
“Finally tracked down the Whedon clan that sold the potion to them. Not a very loyal bunch of demons, fortunately. They were willing to tell me Meltzer’s secret for the right price.”
“What’s the point do you think? If they want to kill me, there are much easier and faster ways to do it.”
“I don’t think…”
“Go on,” said Buffy, when he hesitated.
“I don’t think they want to kill you,” said Spike. His cheek rested on her head, which rested on his shoulder, and his voice reverberated down her spine. “They want to do-” He broke off, and Buffy knew he had been about to say ‘worse.’
“This sort of potion would…it would make you betray yourself.”
“Use me against myself,” murmured Buffy. She had guessed this but had wanted to hear him say it.
“Turn you into your own worst enemy. The potion is cruel in any case, but on most humans the effects might merely be inconvenient; maybe therapy could help the insecurities, I dunno. But Slayers have more…trauma to draw on.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Buffy. How many times did you hear ordinary people complain about having died? Even once?
“You could act recklessly, make stupid mistakes.”
Buffy knew that he was sugarcoating the situation. Try ‘fatal’ instead of ‘stupid.’
“I might turn on the people who love me,” she said grimly, and felt Spike’s breath in her hair as he exhaled.
“There’s that.”
“I might…trust…people I shouldn’t.”
“That too.”
“I might not trust anyone. I might be terrified and paranoid and confused-” Buffy closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. This thinking realistically thing was harder than she had anticipated.
“On the way over I kept wondering the same thing,” said Spike softly. “What was the point? There’s maliciousness, obviously. Maybe they want revenge because of the seed. But I think they’re also aiming for destruction. There are very few Slayers left who pose a significant threat to demons. There’s you, and there’s Faith. If they poisoned both of you, or even one of you, they could turn you against each other and bring what little remains of the Slayer system to shambles.”
A knot of panic twisted in Buffy that had nothing to do with her own danger. “Faith! She used to be so screwed up she made me look perfect. If she regressed- she was all alone and miserable and unloved. She didn’t trust anyone. She used to hate me, she wanted me dead!” The idea of having to fight Faith again, after how far they had come, made Buffy want to scream. This wasn’t fair.
“You should let her know,” said Spike.
“Everyone has to know,” said Buffy. “And I do need to buy a hip flask.”
Spike smoothed his hand over her hair and didn’t say anything. Buffy’s thoughts began to wander.
“I wonder if I would forget everything,” she mused. “Something would have to happen for me to regress, forget the person I am.”
“I don’t think there’s memory loss per se, but yeah, I guess something would change. Maybe everything would get…blurry.”
“I mean, let’s say, for sake of argument, that the potion made me regress to wanting…Riley.” She seriously doubted that would happen, but it was better than bringing up Angel.
“Er. Okay…”
“I would have to somehow forget that we had a horrible break-up and he was kind of a jerk and we’re really not right for each other. Or else maybe I just wouldn’t care?”
“Kind of morbid thoughts, pet.”
Better to be prepared, Buffy thought. It was easier to face this head on, aloud; try to make sense of it. Otherwise the possibilities in her head would drive her crazy.
“What would you do if I did want Riley? This isn’t rhetorical.” She could easily picture Spike’s bemusement.
“I would…tell you he died. No Riley for Buffy.”
“Ooh, that might work. Failing that, remind me he’s married. Even as a teen I had an ethic about cheating. I think.”
“Will do.”
“Hmm…what would you do if I decided that Slaying had to be kept secret?”
“Show you Harmony on one of her bloody TV shows and bring out your competitive streak. You’d show her how to dance.”
For a brief, wonderful moment Buffy grinned.
“Personally I’m more worried about your fashion taste regressing.”
Buffy blinked; had she heard him right? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I knew you in high school and some of those outfits deserved their crumbly end in Sunnydale.”
“You-!” She pulled her head away to scowl at him. He was grinning impudently. “You’re not one to talk, Mr.-wore-the-same-outfit-for-thirty-years.”
“Call it sentimental value. I met a very fine, if ill-dressed woman wearing that outfit.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You are so full of it.” But mollified, she rested her head on his shoulder again.
She was trying to think of more scenarios, caught up in this strange game, when a more serious idea occurred to her that made her gag. If she weren’t so loathe to leave his embrace, she would have run to the railing again.
“What if I forget Dawn? I’ve only had her since I was 19! What if I stop loving her because I don’t know what it feels like to have a sister-!”
“Then Dawn will beat you over the head with a pillow until you come to your senses,” said Spike, with only a slight pause. “Besides, even if you didn’t think of her like a sister at first, you’d grow to love her. It’s impossible not to.”
Now that such a terrifying prospect had occurred to her, Buffy found it impossible to turn her brain off.
“What if I forget you? You were evil when I was a teenager! What if I forget we’re friends and I- I- what if I try to kill you again?”
Cowardly though she knew it was, Buffy was glad that she couldn’t see his face. She gripped his hand, which was wrapped around her middle, so that he couldn’t leave her.
When Spike spoke, he didn’t sound nearly as horrified as she felt. Perhaps, Buffy thought, feeling sick again, he had already thought of this. “Then I’d fight you off. You haven’t taken me yet.”
This was not comforting. It was such a casual response that the only thing Buffy could think to mumble in reply was, “Only ‘cause you got lucky.”
Spike pulled his head back a few inches to stare at her, his eyebrow quirked. She maintained her death grip on his hand and still had to resist the urge to yank him back.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, and she knew that in any other circumstances, he would have argued. “Then I’d charm you. Worked before.”
Buffy frowned. “Did not.”
“Really? Then all the times you let me go before the chip were just…mistakes?”
“They-” Buffy scowled.
Spike’s eyes danced. “Failing my fighting prowess and charm, I’d resort to the old stand-by. I am a soulful, harmless creature just trying to earn an honest living. I could give you references. I’m sure Dawn would oblige. Or Xander or Willow, should you not trust the nibblet.”
“That…might work,” Buffy conceded.
She was quiet for several minutes before she whispered, “What would you do if there were no antidote? Since there’s no magic…”
“We would never stop looking.” Spike’s voice was suddenly guttural. His arm tightened around her. “We’d search every Whedon clan in the world.”
“And if that didn’t work?” Buffy didn’t know why she was being such a masochist; only that she needed an answer.
“Then we would love you anyway,” said Spike. He pressed another kiss to her hair. “And we would do everything we could to help you learn to love us again too.”
All of a sudden the tears were coming again. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure why, except that it might have something to do with what she suspected it had cost Spike to use the word ‘us.’
Maybe a regressed Buffy wouldn’t be so scared of loving.
“I don’t want my head messed with,” she choked as tears dripped off her face. She remembered the euphoria she had felt with Angel, the irrepressible urge to- to mate with him- and the destruction it had caused, and she sobbed harder. “I’m so sick of forces making me do things that I shouldn’t- that I don’t want-” She gasped, hiccupped, and said brokenly. “I don’t want to lose my mind. It’s my mind.”
“I know, Buffy,” whispered Spike. “Love, I know.”
He did, didn’t he? The chip, the soul, the First. Of all her friends, Spike knew exactly what she was afraid of. He knew what it felt like to lose complete control, to be helpless in his own body.
The knowledge that he really did know, that he wasn’t just saying it to comfort her, eased some of her panic, if not her fear. She clung to him, and he rocked her, and she tried not to think anymore.
When a few minutes passed, and her quaking slowed, Spike murmured, “Do you want to go back inside to sleep, love? I should have called during the day to tell you. I’m sorry I woke you like this.”
“Don’t leave,” whispered Buffy, and curled one hand around his bicep.
“Will you just…hold me?”
He was already holding her. And there was no power on Earth that could make her let him go.
“I won’t, Buffy. Do you want to-”
She shook her head against his shoulder, and he lapsed into silence. She didn’t want the apartment. She didn’t want the reality of her sister and best friend next door and the possibility that she might betray them.
Buffy took several deep breaths, the way she did when she was meditating or about to begin a particularly hard exercise, and closed her eyes.
“Buffy? Buffy, wake up. It’s almost sunrise, pet.”
Buffy came to slowly, aware first of Spike’s voice, then of his face right near hers, the solidness of him surrounding her, and finally the balcony. Memories of what she’d learned a few hours before returned, and she made a face. Her cheeks still felt sticky from tears. She sat up slowly, wincing peremptorily in case her head pounded, and he shifted behind her.
“Sorry, love,” he murmured. “The sun-”
Buffy nodded and pushed herself to her feet. Spike stood more slowly, trying to suppress a grimace. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that while she had been quite comfy in his lap, he had been sitting on the hard metal grate for hours.
“You go inside and sleep some more.” Spike spoke gently and deliberately, as though to a small child.
“Tell Dawn and Xander about the potion. If you want me to come by later, I will. Ring me anytime, all right?”
Buffy nodded.
“We’re going to beat this, Buffy,” he said, and a warm smile lit his face, so earnest and caring that it was easy to believe him. Spike had survived all the attempts on his mind, after all. And had become an amazing man in spite- or because- of them. The most amazing man she knew, Buffy realized. The thought stirred something in her, and she knew there was a corollary just beyond her grasp.
“Dawn and Xander and Willow and I- we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”
Buffy smiled back. It was easier, with the sun about to peek over the horizon, to dismiss her fears from a few hours before. Yes the idea of the potion was terrifying. But she wasn’t stupid; she didn’t accept drinks from strangers.
And she wasn’t alone.
As Buffy looked at Spike, she knew that ‘thank you’ was inadequate for everything he had done for her. There should be different words to say to someone you loved.
A click seemed to sound in Buffy’s head, like the last piece of a puzzle being slotted into place.
She loved him.
Joy bloomed in Buffy, so strong it almost hurt.
She loved him. And Spike loved her. And it didn’t matter anymore that she was a bad luck charm when it came to love, because if there was even the slightest chance that she could lose her mind, then he had to know the truth before it was too late.
“Buffy?”
Spike was staring at her, half bemused, half concerned, and Buffy realized that her face did hurt because she was smiling so widely. She probably looked like the Buffybot.
“Spike, I- I-”
Paranoia suddenly assailed her, and Buffy felt her throat close up and her smile freeze.
What if he didn’t believe her? Buffy was painfully aware that she had given him reason enough in the past months to doubt any claims she made now. And what if he thought she was overcompensating because of the imminent danger, like Xander’s proposal to Anya during the apocalypse? It had occurred to Buffy the night of their fight, when she could still taste his tender kiss and was struggling not to cry herself to sleep, that his insecurities, so all consuming that last year in Sunnydale, must have faded if he could kiss her with such resolution.
They’d show up again in full force if overcompensation crossed his mind. Buffy knew so because it was how she would have felt if the situation were reversed- and Spike was the only person she’d ever met who was just as insecure, if not more so, than she was.
It made Buffy’s heart ache to know she could trigger such self-doubt in someone who used to trust her without reservation. She could visualize all too clearly Spike’s expression as the possibilities dawned on him: surprise- maybe hope- quickly replaced by doubt and disappointment; maybe anger. He would think she was deluding herself because she was scared. He’d close himself off to her like he had last spring. He wouldn’t believe her.
Again, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.
Despite the fact that she hadn’t finished her thought, Spike wasn’t even paying attention to her, Buffy realized. He kept glancing at the sky, for once not riveted on her every word.
The sun wouldn’t give her the time she needed to make him understand, to soothe his insecurities and then kiss him until she was blue in the face.
How odd was it that for once she didn’t doubt her own feelings at all and instead didn’t know how he would react?
For now, she should just say thank you. She couldn’t bear to hurt Spike again, for him to think for a second that she was toying with him. Simple gratitude would be easier on him, and then she could figure out how to tell him the rest- how to make him understand- at night, when she had all the time in the world.
“You’ve beaten them back. It’s for me to do the cleanup.”
Since when had she been able to count on having all the time in the world?
“I mean it. I gotta do this.”
She couldn’t count the number of times she had wished she had told him the truth- realized the truth- sooner. He had died without knowing, and she would never, ever get another chance to tell him, to make him believe-
“No you don’t.”
“I’ll come back after dark,” said Spike, and stepped toward the stairs.
“But thanks for saying it.”
“I love you!”
Spike froze.
For a split second his face showed confusion, as though he were verifying there was no one else on the balcony, and then for a full second, she saw something that looked like joy, and she dared to hope-
His eyes flared and dimmed. Buffy felt his unease like it was her own.
Panic knotted in her stomach. There was no going back now, and he had to understand.
Where were words when she needed them?
Buffy stepped toward him, one hand outstretched, her mind racing-
Screw words.
She kissed him.
She savored the feel of his lips again for barely three seconds before pulling back just enough to look him squarely in the eyes, which were quite wide, quite beautiful, and quite dumbstruck. Her palms cupped his cheeks.
“I love you,” said Buffy, as firmly as she knew how.
And then she kissed him again.
She pulled back.
“I love you.”
She kissed him.
“I love you.”
She kissed him.
“I lo-”
He flinched.
Buffy glanced at the bright blue sky as the sharp planes of Spike’s cheeks beneath her fingertips hardened with tension.
“Inside,” said Buffy. It was not a request.
She slid the window up and prodded the small of his back, forcing herself to remove her hands as they grazed his butt.
It was a helpful push. Totally helpful.
Buffy climbed through the window after him and slid it shut. Though she was gentle about it, very conscious of Dawn and Xander asleep next door, the quiet thud seemed to echo.
Buffy turned to face Spike, wondering if he could hear her excitement in her rapid heartbeat, and felt a burst of satisfaction through her nervousness. Now she had him to herself for the whole day.
Spike stared back at her. He looked a little dazed, but warring with the confusion in his eyes was awe. Buffy was sure of it.
Her lips curved, trembling, and her legs moved of their own accord. In an instant the two yards that separated them were gone, and Buffy had his hand in hers again. Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at her, and Buffy hoped he would speak. He was either hesitating, though, or for once he was as lost for words as she usually was. Buffy tried to ignore the resurgent twinge of paranoia as she lowered herself to the couch and gently tugged. He followed willingly, and Buffy turned so their knees bumped.
Their body language felt so right, so why did he look self-conscious? His gaze darted around the apartment instead of meeting hers, and though he opened his mouth several times, nothing came out.
Buffy decided to blame the couch. Sitting down and talking was so not their style. Heck, furniture wasn’t their style even when they were…weren’t talking.
Clearly she would just have to continue from where the sun had interrupted. Was she up to a kiss or ‘I love you’?
“You do?”
The question came before Buffy had made up her mind.
Spike was smiling. It was faint and a little incredulous, but it was there.
Buffy felt her own smile return. “Yes.”
Spike hesitated. “A few months ago…”
She took a deep breath and hoped that the past didn’t have sharp teeth, what with the whole coming back to bite her and all. “A few months ago I was scared of loving anyone because it always ends badly, and I was scared of loving you because- because-.”
She so did not want to bring up Angel. But she couldn’t let Spike think she had been scared of him either.
“Because of certain other- other people. It was irrational!” There. That was succinct and truthful and summed up just about everything related to Angel. “So I said I couldn’t. But I never said I didn’t. Love you, I mean. I do. And now I can.”
Buffy took it as a good sign that Spike was staring at her instead of avoiding her gaze. His head was cocked, and he was giving her that intent, absorbed look that used to piss her off with its nakedness and now made her heart flutter. She had never known anyone who knew how to pay attention the way Spike did. She tried to breathe evenly rather than hold her breath. It was his turn to speak, and surely he’d say something intuitive and loving and perfect, like he always did.
“Why?”
Buffy blinked.
Okay, maybe that perfect-loving-intuition was on hold while the insecurities were visiting.
Why?
Why…did she love him?
That was…that was…okay, maybe it was a fair question; he deserved something substantive after all his declarations over the years.
“Why?” she repeated. “Because…”
Her cheeks warmed. Substantive was so not her strong suit.
Focus, Buffy. He deserves this.
“Because…because you’re kind. And brave. And smart and sexy. Really sexy. You’re strong. You’re the best fighter I know, besides me, and I love fighting with you- I mean fighting beside you, like partners, but also fighting against you, I guess, as long as it’s sparring and not, erm, trigger-induced fighting. It really, um, gets me going. But you can also be so, so gentle, and that’s a turn-on, too, I don’t just love the violence. You’re just- you’re all contradictory, and there’s no one like you.”
Spike looked a bit like he was choking. Buffy wasn’t sure if he was about to interrupt her or start crying, but she squeezed his hand to keep him silent in any case. Now that she had started, the right words- finally- kept coming.
“Because even though you’re strong, you’re not afraid to let me be stronger. You don’t try to coddle me or shield me. You’re willing to be my damsel in distress. But when I do need to be weak, you’re willing to be my hero too. And you are, you always know the right thing to say and how to share your strength.”
Buffy swallowed convulsively as she remembered the night in the abandoned house. If he didn’t start crying, she would.
“Because you love both parts of me, the Slayer and the girl, or maybe you don’t even see the difference. You just love me. Buffy. And you never expect me to be anything other than what I am. You never tell me I should have a normal life.
“Because you never gave up on me. On us. You kept fighting, even when you had no reason to, and when you did something stupid you fixed it or- or changed the game entirely.” Buffy took a shaky breath; there was definitely moisture in her eyes now, and damn but she couldn’t stop it. “Because you fought for your soul. Because you always come back.”
She smiled now through her tears. “Because you love my sister, and you liked my mom, and I think secretly, even though you’d never admit it, you like my friends too. Because you’re so weird compared to other vampires- even before your soul. You like human food and blooming onions. You like poetry. You like Passions. You don’t let silly things like the sun dictate your schedule. Because you make me laugh.”
The rush of words in her head was a trickle now, although she knew that if she wracked her brain she could come up with a thousand more reasons.
“And because you’re mine,” said Buffy quietly. “You’re mine.”
The sudden silence seemed louder than her voice had been. Buffy felt self-consciousness creeping over her, but for once she didn’t want to look away or fiddle with a stray thread on her pajama pants. She wanted to see his reaction more than she’d ever wanted to see anything before.
Spike seemed paralyzed by her words, as though she had put him in a trance. Tear tracks glistened on either side of his nose. He took several breaths but failed to speak. Every instinct in Buffy urged that she demand an answer- anything- but she clamped her lips shut. Spike’s fingers were intertwined with hers and squeezing tightly. He was there with her.
“I-” The word came out as a croak. Spike cleared his throat. Another tear slid down his cheek. He swiped at it impatiently with his free hand, and Buffy stifled a smile. She was sure that he were human, he would be red-faced.
“I…”
Actually, she kind of liked this look on him. It wasn’t a bad feeling to know she could reduce her garrulous, charismatic vampire to speechlessness with her words.
“I…I meant, why can you love me now.”
Why…can?
Not…why do?
Buffy mentally replayed their conversion. She heard the anvil whistling through the air as it dropped on her head.
“But I am,” said Spike quickly. He cleared his throat again and ducked his head almost shyly. “Yours. I’m yours. And- thank you.”
For a few seconds the silence was deafening again. Buffy could feel her face forming one of those expressions that used to make her mother tease, “Be careful or your face might freeze like that!”
“Why can?” she said in a dangerous tone.
His cheeks hollowed out as Spike sucked in a breath. “Yes.”
“Not why do?”
“No. But I like the answer.”
There was an impish glint in his eyes now. Kind of smug. Very Spike-like.
“You do, do you.”
“Very much.”
There was also elation in his eyes. Joy that she hadn’t seen in a- well, she didn’t know if she’d ever seen.
And there was love. So much love.
Buffy melted. She leaned forward and cupped his cheek again. “Good. And the ‘why can’ part? Because I can’t afford to be afraid of love anymore. I don’t want to be. And you need to know the truth in case anything happens.”
Spike’s gaze didn’t leave hers as he said carefully, “And after we get rid of Meltzer?”
Oh, there it was, a lingering smattering of insecurity. Buffy grinned at the response that flew to mind. “By then I assume we’ll be celebrating some sort of anniversary. One week, one month, six months…”
She waited a split second, just to see the beginning of his answering grin, before leaning forward to-
Buffy hesitated an inch from his lips. All right, so maybe he wasn’t the only insecure one.
“You believe me, right?” she whispered.
“Yes,” breathed Spike. He raised his hands to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. One hand slid into her hair. “God, yes, I believe you. How could I not after…”
“Good,” repeated Buffy, and was stunned by the amount of relief that rushed through her, even after all this time. They were finally getting things right.
“I love you.” Now that she had started, she felt no need to stop. She didn’t want to ever have trouble saying those words again.
“I love you, too,” said Spike. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his grin turned mischievous. “And thanks for finally saying it.”
She saw him suddenly in her memory, golden and burning. “No you don’t. But-”
“Oh! You-!”
She meant to smack his chest but somehow ended up tackling him instead, which was just as well since Spike was pulling her down, and then their lips were fused, and she wanted to pull off his duster and rip off his shirt and undo his flies all at the same time but she didn’t want to stop touching his cheeks and hair and neck and why didn’t she have more than two hands, and now they were rolling off the couch onto the floor (that was more like it), and Dawn and Xander might come into the living room at any minute, and Xander would look traumatized, and Spike would look smug, and Dawn would say ‘I told you so,’ and Buffy could hardly wait for any of it, except she could wait because right now, with Spike lips and Spike believing her and Spike, right now was perfect.
For the first time in a year, irrespective of Dawn’s couch or the balcony or the two-bedroom unit a floor below that she and Willow had signed the lease for yesterday, Buffy was exactly where she wanted to be.
The End (Alternatively)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, and I am making no money, etc., etc.
Summary: Buffy used to worry that she couldn’t love. After Twilight, she's afraid to love. But can she and Spike just be friends? Buffy, Spike, and their balcony, with a side of Dawn and Xander. 5,500 words. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV-Original Ending.
A/N: This alternate ending exists because I can't help thinking that after Spike's untimely death in "Chosen," Buffy wouldn't waste a second in telling him she loved him if she had a second chance. I posted my original ending because I love Dawn being bossy and proactive, but I also wanted to explore this second possibility where Buffy is proactive. The new stuff starts in the MIDDLE of this post, when Buffy and Spike wake up in the morning. The first half duplicates Part IV because I wanted each chapter to be able to stand on its own.
Part IV - Alternate Ending
August 19
Buffy jerked upright. For a second she thought she must have had a nightmare, and then the hammering sound came again. A flash of silver blond hair goaded her to her feet. A glance at the clock as she stumbled to the window showed it was close to four in the morning.
“What?” She tried not to sound cranky and failed. Even Slayer nighttime visiting hours had an end time.
“I found out what sort of potion Meltzer and Allie want to use on you,” blurted Spike.
His words were like icy water trickling down her back, waking her with a very unpleasant jolt.
She climbed out the window without further hesitation, forgetting that this was an excellent opportunity to cajole him into coming inside.
“What is it?”
Spike hesitated. That alone sent more chills crawling along her spine. Spike wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’m the Slayer, life is never pretty! What is it?”
“It’s a potion that changes your personality.”
Buffy stared at him as the foreboding in her stomach grew stronger. “To…what?”
“It evokes past insecurities, fears, and base desires,” said Spike flatly. “While simultaneously erasing common sense and impulse control.
The victim would essentially regress to being the worst kind of teenager. An impulsive, insecure, emotional wreck of a teenager.”
The words pounded in Buffy’s head for several seconds, the implications setting in, and then she almost knocked Spike over in her dash to the railing.
“What the- Buffy?” His annoyance transformed to concern in an instant. As she leaned over the railing, dry heaving, Spike moved to her side and tentatively touched her back. When she continued quivering, he began rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.
“It’s all right, love. We’re not going to let them do that to you.”
Buffy didn’t reply.
His hand moved upward to her hair. “Besides, as I recall, you were one hell of a teenager.”
Buffy jerked upright. She wished immediately she hadn’t because his hand dropped and he stepped back, looking chagrined.
“I wouldn’t be- I wouldn’t be myself. I’d be some twisted, horrible version-” She blinked back tears as the possibilities pounded her.
To resent her powers as much as she enjoyed them, always feeling like a freak.
To fear exposure again; the panic and betrayal she’d felt when her mother disavowed her.
To fear that those she loved- Dad, Angel, Mom, Giles- would leave her or stop loving her; that she’d be alone.
That she couldn’t love.
To feel dead inside. Again. To forget and ignore and hate and abuse-
-and Spike was looking at her so tenderly right now, while she could feel his flesh beneath her fists as she mocked his love, and she could see her sister neglected and abandoned, and her friends falling apart, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara-
-oh God, Anya Tara Anya Tara, she would fail them again-
“Buffy, Buffy, love, it’s all right-”
She wanted to agree because she hated to worry him, but as his voice shot through her all she could think was desire, and if she regressed the person she would most desire was-
No, no, no, never again, she didn’t want Angel anymore, she didn’t.
But the potion could make her want him, it could make her want him and need him and love him, the bastard, the horrible, murdering bastard.
“Let it out, love, but you have to breathe, Buffy, breathe.”
Spike was gripping her hand in his as he used his other to give her shoulders and hair feather light touches. She became aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks and off her chin. Her face felt soggy, and he looked like he might cry too, as though her breakdown was causing him physical pain. The pressure in her head and nose reached a pitch.
Buffy stepped forward, and as though he had been waiting all along for her to do so, Spike pulled her against him. She buried her face in his shoulder and let herself sob, while his arms encircled her.
“I don’t want to love him, I don’t want him, I don’t want to hurt anyone-“
“You won’t hurt anyone, Buffy. You won’t.”
“I’ll hurt my friends, I’ll hurt you-”
“Buffy-”
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
Silence for an instant, except for the sound of her crying, and then his arms squeezed her even more tightly.
“Oh, dearest…” His whisper was like a reverent sigh. It made Buffy shiver with sudden sharp, incongruous pleasure; made her think of exhalations of bliss after making love. Dearest. She was his dearest.
“You won’t hurt me, love. If you were poisoned, nothing you could do would hurt me.”
“How do you know?” she muttered into his duster.
“Because it wouldn’t be you.” She could feel the smile in his voice. “And nothing that poisoned Buffy could do would ever make me stop loving real Buffy.”
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as more tears forced their way out. She began convulsing again, shuddering against him.
Spike sank downward, pulling her with him. He leaned against the wall and hugged her to him, and Buffy let herself go.
* * *
“How did you find out?” Her voice was raspy after so many tears. Her head was a little clearer, though, and that was what mattered.
“Finally tracked down the Whedon clan that sold the potion to them. Not a very loyal bunch of demons, fortunately. They were willing to tell me Meltzer’s secret for the right price.”
“What’s the point do you think? If they want to kill me, there are much easier and faster ways to do it.”
“I don’t think…”
“Go on,” said Buffy, when he hesitated.
“I don’t think they want to kill you,” said Spike. His cheek rested on her head, which rested on his shoulder, and his voice reverberated down her spine. “They want to do-” He broke off, and Buffy knew he had been about to say ‘worse.’
“This sort of potion would…it would make you betray yourself.”
“Use me against myself,” murmured Buffy. She had guessed this but had wanted to hear him say it.
“Turn you into your own worst enemy. The potion is cruel in any case, but on most humans the effects might merely be inconvenient; maybe therapy could help the insecurities, I dunno. But Slayers have more…trauma to draw on.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Buffy. How many times did you hear ordinary people complain about having died? Even once?
“You could act recklessly, make stupid mistakes.”
Buffy knew that he was sugarcoating the situation. Try ‘fatal’ instead of ‘stupid.’
“I might turn on the people who love me,” she said grimly, and felt Spike’s breath in her hair as he exhaled.
“There’s that.”
“I might…trust…people I shouldn’t.”
“That too.”
“I might not trust anyone. I might be terrified and paranoid and confused-” Buffy closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. This thinking realistically thing was harder than she had anticipated.
“On the way over I kept wondering the same thing,” said Spike softly. “What was the point? There’s maliciousness, obviously. Maybe they want revenge because of the seed. But I think they’re also aiming for destruction. There are very few Slayers left who pose a significant threat to demons. There’s you, and there’s Faith. If they poisoned both of you, or even one of you, they could turn you against each other and bring what little remains of the Slayer system to shambles.”
A knot of panic twisted in Buffy that had nothing to do with her own danger. “Faith! She used to be so screwed up she made me look perfect. If she regressed- she was all alone and miserable and unloved. She didn’t trust anyone. She used to hate me, she wanted me dead!” The idea of having to fight Faith again, after how far they had come, made Buffy want to scream. This wasn’t fair.
“You should let her know,” said Spike.
“Everyone has to know,” said Buffy. “And I do need to buy a hip flask.”
Spike smoothed his hand over her hair and didn’t say anything. Buffy’s thoughts began to wander.
“I wonder if I would forget everything,” she mused. “Something would have to happen for me to regress, forget the person I am.”
“I don’t think there’s memory loss per se, but yeah, I guess something would change. Maybe everything would get…blurry.”
“I mean, let’s say, for sake of argument, that the potion made me regress to wanting…Riley.” She seriously doubted that would happen, but it was better than bringing up Angel.
“Er. Okay…”
“I would have to somehow forget that we had a horrible break-up and he was kind of a jerk and we’re really not right for each other. Or else maybe I just wouldn’t care?”
“Kind of morbid thoughts, pet.”
Better to be prepared, Buffy thought. It was easier to face this head on, aloud; try to make sense of it. Otherwise the possibilities in her head would drive her crazy.
“What would you do if I did want Riley? This isn’t rhetorical.” She could easily picture Spike’s bemusement.
“I would…tell you he died. No Riley for Buffy.”
“Ooh, that might work. Failing that, remind me he’s married. Even as a teen I had an ethic about cheating. I think.”
“Will do.”
“Hmm…what would you do if I decided that Slaying had to be kept secret?”
“Show you Harmony on one of her bloody TV shows and bring out your competitive streak. You’d show her how to dance.”
For a brief, wonderful moment Buffy grinned.
“Personally I’m more worried about your fashion taste regressing.”
Buffy blinked; had she heard him right? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I knew you in high school and some of those outfits deserved their crumbly end in Sunnydale.”
“You-!” She pulled her head away to scowl at him. He was grinning impudently. “You’re not one to talk, Mr.-wore-the-same-outfit-for-thirty-years.”
“Call it sentimental value. I met a very fine, if ill-dressed woman wearing that outfit.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You are so full of it.” But mollified, she rested her head on his shoulder again.
She was trying to think of more scenarios, caught up in this strange game, when a more serious idea occurred to her that made her gag. If she weren’t so loathe to leave his embrace, she would have run to the railing again.
“What if I forget Dawn? I’ve only had her since I was 19! What if I stop loving her because I don’t know what it feels like to have a sister-!”
“Then Dawn will beat you over the head with a pillow until you come to your senses,” said Spike, with only a slight pause. “Besides, even if you didn’t think of her like a sister at first, you’d grow to love her. It’s impossible not to.”
Now that such a terrifying prospect had occurred to her, Buffy found it impossible to turn her brain off.
“What if I forget you? You were evil when I was a teenager! What if I forget we’re friends and I- I- what if I try to kill you again?”
Cowardly though she knew it was, Buffy was glad that she couldn’t see his face. She gripped his hand, which was wrapped around her middle, so that he couldn’t leave her.
When Spike spoke, he didn’t sound nearly as horrified as she felt. Perhaps, Buffy thought, feeling sick again, he had already thought of this. “Then I’d fight you off. You haven’t taken me yet.”
This was not comforting. It was such a casual response that the only thing Buffy could think to mumble in reply was, “Only ‘cause you got lucky.”
Spike pulled his head back a few inches to stare at her, his eyebrow quirked. She maintained her death grip on his hand and still had to resist the urge to yank him back.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, and she knew that in any other circumstances, he would have argued. “Then I’d charm you. Worked before.”
Buffy frowned. “Did not.”
“Really? Then all the times you let me go before the chip were just…mistakes?”
“They-” Buffy scowled.
Spike’s eyes danced. “Failing my fighting prowess and charm, I’d resort to the old stand-by. I am a soulful, harmless creature just trying to earn an honest living. I could give you references. I’m sure Dawn would oblige. Or Xander or Willow, should you not trust the nibblet.”
“That…might work,” Buffy conceded.
She was quiet for several minutes before she whispered, “What would you do if there were no antidote? Since there’s no magic…”
“We would never stop looking.” Spike’s voice was suddenly guttural. His arm tightened around her. “We’d search every Whedon clan in the world.”
“And if that didn’t work?” Buffy didn’t know why she was being such a masochist; only that she needed an answer.
“Then we would love you anyway,” said Spike. He pressed another kiss to her hair. “And we would do everything we could to help you learn to love us again too.”
All of a sudden the tears were coming again. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure why, except that it might have something to do with what she suspected it had cost Spike to use the word ‘us.’
Maybe a regressed Buffy wouldn’t be so scared of loving.
“I don’t want my head messed with,” she choked as tears dripped off her face. She remembered the euphoria she had felt with Angel, the irrepressible urge to- to mate with him- and the destruction it had caused, and she sobbed harder. “I’m so sick of forces making me do things that I shouldn’t- that I don’t want-” She gasped, hiccupped, and said brokenly. “I don’t want to lose my mind. It’s my mind.”
“I know, Buffy,” whispered Spike. “Love, I know.”
He did, didn’t he? The chip, the soul, the First. Of all her friends, Spike knew exactly what she was afraid of. He knew what it felt like to lose complete control, to be helpless in his own body.
The knowledge that he really did know, that he wasn’t just saying it to comfort her, eased some of her panic, if not her fear. She clung to him, and he rocked her, and she tried not to think anymore.
When a few minutes passed, and her quaking slowed, Spike murmured, “Do you want to go back inside to sleep, love? I should have called during the day to tell you. I’m sorry I woke you like this.”
“Don’t leave,” whispered Buffy, and curled one hand around his bicep.
“Will you just…hold me?”
He was already holding her. And there was no power on Earth that could make her let him go.
“I won’t, Buffy. Do you want to-”
She shook her head against his shoulder, and he lapsed into silence. She didn’t want the apartment. She didn’t want the reality of her sister and best friend next door and the possibility that she might betray them.
Buffy took several deep breaths, the way she did when she was meditating or about to begin a particularly hard exercise, and closed her eyes.
* * *
“Buffy? Buffy, wake up. It’s almost sunrise, pet.”
Buffy came to slowly, aware first of Spike’s voice, then of his face right near hers, the solidness of him surrounding her, and finally the balcony. Memories of what she’d learned a few hours before returned, and she made a face. Her cheeks still felt sticky from tears. She sat up slowly, wincing peremptorily in case her head pounded, and he shifted behind her.
“Sorry, love,” he murmured. “The sun-”
Buffy nodded and pushed herself to her feet. Spike stood more slowly, trying to suppress a grimace. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that while she had been quite comfy in his lap, he had been sitting on the hard metal grate for hours.
“You go inside and sleep some more.” Spike spoke gently and deliberately, as though to a small child.
“Tell Dawn and Xander about the potion. If you want me to come by later, I will. Ring me anytime, all right?”
Buffy nodded.
“We’re going to beat this, Buffy,” he said, and a warm smile lit his face, so earnest and caring that it was easy to believe him. Spike had survived all the attempts on his mind, after all. And had become an amazing man in spite- or because- of them. The most amazing man she knew, Buffy realized. The thought stirred something in her, and she knew there was a corollary just beyond her grasp.
“Dawn and Xander and Willow and I- we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”
Buffy smiled back. It was easier, with the sun about to peek over the horizon, to dismiss her fears from a few hours before. Yes the idea of the potion was terrifying. But she wasn’t stupid; she didn’t accept drinks from strangers.
And she wasn’t alone.
As Buffy looked at Spike, she knew that ‘thank you’ was inadequate for everything he had done for her. There should be different words to say to someone you loved.
A click seemed to sound in Buffy’s head, like the last piece of a puzzle being slotted into place.
She loved him.
Joy bloomed in Buffy, so strong it almost hurt.
She loved him. And Spike loved her. And it didn’t matter anymore that she was a bad luck charm when it came to love, because if there was even the slightest chance that she could lose her mind, then he had to know the truth before it was too late.
“Buffy?”
Spike was staring at her, half bemused, half concerned, and Buffy realized that her face did hurt because she was smiling so widely. She probably looked like the Buffybot.
“Spike, I- I-”
Paranoia suddenly assailed her, and Buffy felt her throat close up and her smile freeze.
What if he didn’t believe her? Buffy was painfully aware that she had given him reason enough in the past months to doubt any claims she made now. And what if he thought she was overcompensating because of the imminent danger, like Xander’s proposal to Anya during the apocalypse? It had occurred to Buffy the night of their fight, when she could still taste his tender kiss and was struggling not to cry herself to sleep, that his insecurities, so all consuming that last year in Sunnydale, must have faded if he could kiss her with such resolution.
They’d show up again in full force if overcompensation crossed his mind. Buffy knew so because it was how she would have felt if the situation were reversed- and Spike was the only person she’d ever met who was just as insecure, if not more so, than she was.
It made Buffy’s heart ache to know she could trigger such self-doubt in someone who used to trust her without reservation. She could visualize all too clearly Spike’s expression as the possibilities dawned on him: surprise- maybe hope- quickly replaced by doubt and disappointment; maybe anger. He would think she was deluding herself because she was scared. He’d close himself off to her like he had last spring. He wouldn’t believe her.
Again, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.
Despite the fact that she hadn’t finished her thought, Spike wasn’t even paying attention to her, Buffy realized. He kept glancing at the sky, for once not riveted on her every word.
The sun wouldn’t give her the time she needed to make him understand, to soothe his insecurities and then kiss him until she was blue in the face.
How odd was it that for once she didn’t doubt her own feelings at all and instead didn’t know how he would react?
For now, she should just say thank you. She couldn’t bear to hurt Spike again, for him to think for a second that she was toying with him. Simple gratitude would be easier on him, and then she could figure out how to tell him the rest- how to make him understand- at night, when she had all the time in the world.
“You’ve beaten them back. It’s for me to do the cleanup.”
Since when had she been able to count on having all the time in the world?
“I mean it. I gotta do this.”
She couldn’t count the number of times she had wished she had told him the truth- realized the truth- sooner. He had died without knowing, and she would never, ever get another chance to tell him, to make him believe-
“No you don’t.”
“I’ll come back after dark,” said Spike, and stepped toward the stairs.
“But thanks for saying it.”
“I love you!”
Spike froze.
For a split second his face showed confusion, as though he were verifying there was no one else on the balcony, and then for a full second, she saw something that looked like joy, and she dared to hope-
His eyes flared and dimmed. Buffy felt his unease like it was her own.
Panic knotted in her stomach. There was no going back now, and he had to understand.
Where were words when she needed them?
Buffy stepped toward him, one hand outstretched, her mind racing-
Screw words.
She kissed him.
She savored the feel of his lips again for barely three seconds before pulling back just enough to look him squarely in the eyes, which were quite wide, quite beautiful, and quite dumbstruck. Her palms cupped his cheeks.
“I love you,” said Buffy, as firmly as she knew how.
And then she kissed him again.
She pulled back.
“I love you.”
She kissed him.
“I love you.”
She kissed him.
“I lo-”
He flinched.
Buffy glanced at the bright blue sky as the sharp planes of Spike’s cheeks beneath her fingertips hardened with tension.
“Inside,” said Buffy. It was not a request.
She slid the window up and prodded the small of his back, forcing herself to remove her hands as they grazed his butt.
It was a helpful push. Totally helpful.
Buffy climbed through the window after him and slid it shut. Though she was gentle about it, very conscious of Dawn and Xander asleep next door, the quiet thud seemed to echo.
Buffy turned to face Spike, wondering if he could hear her excitement in her rapid heartbeat, and felt a burst of satisfaction through her nervousness. Now she had him to herself for the whole day.
Spike stared back at her. He looked a little dazed, but warring with the confusion in his eyes was awe. Buffy was sure of it.
Her lips curved, trembling, and her legs moved of their own accord. In an instant the two yards that separated them were gone, and Buffy had his hand in hers again. Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at her, and Buffy hoped he would speak. He was either hesitating, though, or for once he was as lost for words as she usually was. Buffy tried to ignore the resurgent twinge of paranoia as she lowered herself to the couch and gently tugged. He followed willingly, and Buffy turned so their knees bumped.
Their body language felt so right, so why did he look self-conscious? His gaze darted around the apartment instead of meeting hers, and though he opened his mouth several times, nothing came out.
Buffy decided to blame the couch. Sitting down and talking was so not their style. Heck, furniture wasn’t their style even when they were…weren’t talking.
Clearly she would just have to continue from where the sun had interrupted. Was she up to a kiss or ‘I love you’?
“You do?”
The question came before Buffy had made up her mind.
Spike was smiling. It was faint and a little incredulous, but it was there.
Buffy felt her own smile return. “Yes.”
Spike hesitated. “A few months ago…”
She took a deep breath and hoped that the past didn’t have sharp teeth, what with the whole coming back to bite her and all. “A few months ago I was scared of loving anyone because it always ends badly, and I was scared of loving you because- because-.”
She so did not want to bring up Angel. But she couldn’t let Spike think she had been scared of him either.
“Because of certain other- other people. It was irrational!” There. That was succinct and truthful and summed up just about everything related to Angel. “So I said I couldn’t. But I never said I didn’t. Love you, I mean. I do. And now I can.”
Buffy took it as a good sign that Spike was staring at her instead of avoiding her gaze. His head was cocked, and he was giving her that intent, absorbed look that used to piss her off with its nakedness and now made her heart flutter. She had never known anyone who knew how to pay attention the way Spike did. She tried to breathe evenly rather than hold her breath. It was his turn to speak, and surely he’d say something intuitive and loving and perfect, like he always did.
“Why?”
Buffy blinked.
Okay, maybe that perfect-loving-intuition was on hold while the insecurities were visiting.
Why?
Why…did she love him?
That was…that was…okay, maybe it was a fair question; he deserved something substantive after all his declarations over the years.
“Why?” she repeated. “Because…”
Her cheeks warmed. Substantive was so not her strong suit.
Focus, Buffy. He deserves this.
“Because…because you’re kind. And brave. And smart and sexy. Really sexy. You’re strong. You’re the best fighter I know, besides me, and I love fighting with you- I mean fighting beside you, like partners, but also fighting against you, I guess, as long as it’s sparring and not, erm, trigger-induced fighting. It really, um, gets me going. But you can also be so, so gentle, and that’s a turn-on, too, I don’t just love the violence. You’re just- you’re all contradictory, and there’s no one like you.”
Spike looked a bit like he was choking. Buffy wasn’t sure if he was about to interrupt her or start crying, but she squeezed his hand to keep him silent in any case. Now that she had started, the right words- finally- kept coming.
“Because even though you’re strong, you’re not afraid to let me be stronger. You don’t try to coddle me or shield me. You’re willing to be my damsel in distress. But when I do need to be weak, you’re willing to be my hero too. And you are, you always know the right thing to say and how to share your strength.”
Buffy swallowed convulsively as she remembered the night in the abandoned house. If he didn’t start crying, she would.
“Because you love both parts of me, the Slayer and the girl, or maybe you don’t even see the difference. You just love me. Buffy. And you never expect me to be anything other than what I am. You never tell me I should have a normal life.
“Because you never gave up on me. On us. You kept fighting, even when you had no reason to, and when you did something stupid you fixed it or- or changed the game entirely.” Buffy took a shaky breath; there was definitely moisture in her eyes now, and damn but she couldn’t stop it. “Because you fought for your soul. Because you always come back.”
She smiled now through her tears. “Because you love my sister, and you liked my mom, and I think secretly, even though you’d never admit it, you like my friends too. Because you’re so weird compared to other vampires- even before your soul. You like human food and blooming onions. You like poetry. You like Passions. You don’t let silly things like the sun dictate your schedule. Because you make me laugh.”
The rush of words in her head was a trickle now, although she knew that if she wracked her brain she could come up with a thousand more reasons.
“And because you’re mine,” said Buffy quietly. “You’re mine.”
The sudden silence seemed louder than her voice had been. Buffy felt self-consciousness creeping over her, but for once she didn’t want to look away or fiddle with a stray thread on her pajama pants. She wanted to see his reaction more than she’d ever wanted to see anything before.
Spike seemed paralyzed by her words, as though she had put him in a trance. Tear tracks glistened on either side of his nose. He took several breaths but failed to speak. Every instinct in Buffy urged that she demand an answer- anything- but she clamped her lips shut. Spike’s fingers were intertwined with hers and squeezing tightly. He was there with her.
“I-” The word came out as a croak. Spike cleared his throat. Another tear slid down his cheek. He swiped at it impatiently with his free hand, and Buffy stifled a smile. She was sure that he were human, he would be red-faced.
“I…”
Actually, she kind of liked this look on him. It wasn’t a bad feeling to know she could reduce her garrulous, charismatic vampire to speechlessness with her words.
“I…I meant, why can you love me now.”
Why…can?
Not…why do?
Buffy mentally replayed their conversion. She heard the anvil whistling through the air as it dropped on her head.
“But I am,” said Spike quickly. He cleared his throat again and ducked his head almost shyly. “Yours. I’m yours. And- thank you.”
For a few seconds the silence was deafening again. Buffy could feel her face forming one of those expressions that used to make her mother tease, “Be careful or your face might freeze like that!”
“Why can?” she said in a dangerous tone.
His cheeks hollowed out as Spike sucked in a breath. “Yes.”
“Not why do?”
“No. But I like the answer.”
There was an impish glint in his eyes now. Kind of smug. Very Spike-like.
“You do, do you.”
“Very much.”
There was also elation in his eyes. Joy that she hadn’t seen in a- well, she didn’t know if she’d ever seen.
And there was love. So much love.
Buffy melted. She leaned forward and cupped his cheek again. “Good. And the ‘why can’ part? Because I can’t afford to be afraid of love anymore. I don’t want to be. And you need to know the truth in case anything happens.”
Spike’s gaze didn’t leave hers as he said carefully, “And after we get rid of Meltzer?”
Oh, there it was, a lingering smattering of insecurity. Buffy grinned at the response that flew to mind. “By then I assume we’ll be celebrating some sort of anniversary. One week, one month, six months…”
She waited a split second, just to see the beginning of his answering grin, before leaning forward to-
Buffy hesitated an inch from his lips. All right, so maybe he wasn’t the only insecure one.
“You believe me, right?” she whispered.
“Yes,” breathed Spike. He raised his hands to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. One hand slid into her hair. “God, yes, I believe you. How could I not after…”
“Good,” repeated Buffy, and was stunned by the amount of relief that rushed through her, even after all this time. They were finally getting things right.
“I love you.” Now that she had started, she felt no need to stop. She didn’t want to ever have trouble saying those words again.
“I love you, too,” said Spike. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his grin turned mischievous. “And thanks for finally saying it.”
She saw him suddenly in her memory, golden and burning. “No you don’t. But-”
“Oh! You-!”
She meant to smack his chest but somehow ended up tackling him instead, which was just as well since Spike was pulling her down, and then their lips were fused, and she wanted to pull off his duster and rip off his shirt and undo his flies all at the same time but she didn’t want to stop touching his cheeks and hair and neck and why didn’t she have more than two hands, and now they were rolling off the couch onto the floor (that was more like it), and Dawn and Xander might come into the living room at any minute, and Xander would look traumatized, and Spike would look smug, and Dawn would say ‘I told you so,’ and Buffy could hardly wait for any of it, except she could wait because right now, with Spike lips and Spike believing her and Spike, right now was perfect.
For the first time in a year, irrespective of Dawn’s couch or the balcony or the two-bedroom unit a floor below that she and Willow had signed the lease for yesterday, Buffy was exactly where she wanted to be.
The End (Alternatively)
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I definitely prefer the alternate ending to the first one. I think it fits better from both a writing and a reading perspective. The angst built up throughout the fic, and having a "happy" ending feels more like you're taking the reader through an emotional roller coaster that has some ups instead of just really scary downs. Also, I find that, as a reader, a lighter ending helps to release all the tension, leaving me feeling more exhilarated as opposed to exhausted. However, both are very well written.
In fact, it seems that everything I've read so far has been terribly good. You either have a natural talent for writing or have worked hard to develop the skill. Perhaps a little of both. I know that you don't know me from No Name Dusty Vamp #2, but everyone who does know me knows that I don't give compliments lightly. When I do, I am sincere.
And, now, I'll end this comment before it turns into a short story of its own. :-P
ETA: I lied. One more thing: I think the alternate ending also fits more because it keeps the focus on Spike and Buffy instead of turning to Dawn. Also, it feels like Buffy grows more by finally sharing her feelings. Okay, really done now. :-P
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Thank you. I've been writing original fiction since I was eight and hope to be published someday, so this really, really means a lot to me. <3
Thank you again, and I'm so pleased you enjoyed the fic!
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Again, great fic! Thanks so much for sharing!
-naughtynyx88
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(Anonymous) 2014-03-02 06:27 am (UTC)(link)