Nemesis by Holly

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Part Nine: Just Cause

It felt so strange, dreading an impending discussion with her best friend. Feeling her heart constrict when she caught a glimpse of red hair trailing down the hallway. Not even one word had been shared and she already felt like she was trapped in a worst-case scenario. Like she was preparing herself for a confrontation with her greatest foe.

But she had to face Willow at some point. She had to get this burden off her chest. She needed advice in the worst of ways, and there was no where else to turn.

At least, that’s what she told herself all through her trek through the hallway as she approached Willow’s locker, where the redhead and Oz were talking casually.

Buffy cleared her throat, feeling awkward and intrusive. Even if she had been rather forward last night on the phone, with every step, she felt her nerves failing her. “Hey.”

The redhead glanced up and smiled weakly. “Hey,” she said, closing her locker.

More silence. Silence in a crowded hallway. Not of the good. When things threatened to grow uncomfortable, Oz shifted lightly and placed a tender kiss on Willow’s cheek. “I’m going to go meet Devon to discuss the new chords.”

“Dingo’s learned new chords over the weekend,” the redhead explained.

Buffy smiled and offered an encouraging nod. “Wow…that’s…that’s really…”

“It was momentous,” Oz agreed. “A whole world of sharps has opened for our perusal.” He smiled lightly when Willow giggled, turning to her with that never-ending affection that drove even the happiest couples to the furthest brink of envy. “I better mosey on to somewhere that’s else. Lunch?”

“Definite lunch.”

Then they were alone, and it was talking time.

The noise around them began to dwindle as students dimly realized that first period was due to begin shortly, leaving the void of quietude even further pronounced than usual. Buffy fidgeted for a long minute; not moving but unable to look her in the eye without twitching.

“We need to talk.”

Willow smiled weakly. “I gathered that. There are some things that—”

It was quite possibly grounds for the Worst Timing Ever Award. Xander’s trademark lateness had been expanding to nearly embarrassing proportions as graduation grew nearer, as had his penchant for cheesy excuses. Teachers in the school were almost as antsy as the students. Summer needed to arrive, and fast. Before Senioritis completely took over.

“Xander!”

“You know,” he gasped in greeting, keeling over to catch his breath as the impact of five-blocks-jogged caught up with him. “Cars are a funny thing. You wait for years to actually get the little card that says you can drive one, wait even further to get one that runs and could possibly make other people jealous, and still end up running for it when the damn thing doesn’t start five minutes before you’re supposed to be somewhere.”

“Battery?” Willow asked.

“I dunno. At this point, I’m willing to concede that Xander Harris will never own anything that doesn’t die within three weeks.” He frowned. “Kinda depressing. Anyway, what’s with the selective tardiness? You two finally taking a chapter out of my book?”

The redhead’s eyes widened comically as she realized the hall was vacant. She immediately shifted her backpack and flashed Buffy an apologetic glance. “Oh God. I have a test in English…and I’m all…ahhh! See you later, guys!”

She was gone the next minute—the picture of a human cannonball without the cannon.

Xander looked helplessly to Buffy. “I’m sensing an ill-timed intrusion. You two were about to potentially stop fighting, weren’t you?”

There was a long sigh. Nothing that couldn’t wait, she supposed.

Except that if she didn’t tell someone soon, she was going to burst. And odds were progressing slowly to that option. It didn’t look like she would be getting Willow’s opinion for at least another two hours.

Well, damn.

It wasn’t until the middle of her Chemistry class that Buffy realized that there had been something off about Willow’s behavior during their brief but significant run-in that morning: an almost desperate need to talk to her as well. She had seen it in her eyes and thought nothing of it—it was usual. Just as she went to the redhead for everything, she was accustomed to being the one that dished out advice and acted as the shoulder to cry on when sob-fests were of the essence. She had something to share; something to tell, and that drove her absolutely crazy with anticipation.

By the time the redhead approached, she was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice until Willow cleared her throat.

They looked at each other for a long, lost minute.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Buffy bit her lip wearily. It was beyond odd attempting to make chitchat with the one person in the world who knew all her secrets. She felt like she needed to segue to her point even if they both already knew what it was she was going to talk about. Every opening statement crafted wittily in the back of her head vacated the premises at the threat of being used.

In the end, truth was irrevocably the most difficult thing to say.

When several minutes passed with accumulating awkwardness, Willow exhaled sharply and took the seat opposite her, lips pursed in thought.

Buffy sighed, exasperated. When had this become so difficult?

“When I overcrowded you,” Willow answered. “When you stopped talking to me.”

She blinked, then grinned. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Buffy asked with a small grin.

“Either that, or I’m getting really good.”

“Well, you are, according to Giles. More than you know.”

“Well,” Willow answered, her eyes drifting to her lap in time with her blush. “I think he’s exaggerating. I mean, floaty pencil. Not a big level. Not a big deratting-Amy level.”

“Will, you’ve only been practicing for…well, not even a year.” Buffy smiled warmly. This was good. This felt right. Talking on a level that she had missed more than she could have fathomed unaided. “And yeah, some of your spells go wonky, but wow! This is me impressed.”

The redhead laughed. “You must really be intent on this ‘making-up’ thing,” she observed. “The last time you and I talked magic, you were all worried about the potential ‘kablooey’ factor.”

A moment of respectful silence; the Slayer nodding, unable to keep her hands from shaking. There were things to be said. Big, serious things. Things that she could not avoid. And yet, the longer she waited, the more vivid the picture of Willow’s disappointment became. She didn’t think that she could stomach looking her friend in the eyes and seeing disgust.

And yet.

“Will…I’m sorry.” The words escaped her before she had time to consider. Time to back off. Once released, all would be better. She had to believe that. “God, I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry for—”

“I know. Really it’s—”

“No. Don’t.”

Willow blinked at the fierceness behind the command, though her eyes reflected a certain measure of understanding. That much served as reassurance.

Buffy sighed. “It’s not. Things have been…really sucky as of the late. And it’s my fault. I’ve been…” Her voice wandered with a sigh as she inwardly skimmed how to best approach the subject that had been robbing her nights of sleep for the past six weeks. This was really hard to say.

“It’ll get easier when you actually say it,” Willow said helpfully.

Buffy paused. “I said that last part out loud, didn’t I?”

“Kinda.”

“That’s two for two. I gotta stop doing that.”

“It happens. I know it’s overwhelming. You’ve been through so much. I—”

There was a vehement shake of the head. “It’s more than that, Will,” she said. “I’m so…I’m so afraid that you’re going to be just…disgusted with me. But God, I need to talk to someone. I can’t do this by myself anymore. I just…I can’t…”

Willow pursed her lips and leaned forward, regarding her friend carefully. “Whatever it is,” she said carefully, “I promise that I won’t judge you. You’re my friend, and…hey…we’ve all done things that we’re not proud of. I seem to remember a recent smooch-fest with Xander. It can’t be all that bad.”

Buffy arched a sardonic brow. “You wanna place a bet on that? In the land of screw-ups, I take the cake. I’m the massive cake-taker. I think I closed the entire bakery. I—”

“Stop. Just stop. You’re excusing yourself without…you’re making it worse. Just say it. You’ll feel better. I promise. But first you need to get it out.”

Buffy released a long breath and nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s about Spike.” If she had bothered to look up, she might have been surprised at the complete lack of surprise reflecting in her friend’s eyes. But she didn’t look up. “Promise you won’t hate me. I’ve been so alone and I can’t do it anymore. But…please. I—”

Willow sighed. “I can’t do anything until you tell me, Buff. And I wanna help. I really, really do. But I can’t say it for you. You have to get it out. Like I said, I won’t judge you. I won’t. I’m not Xander. I’m not Giles. I’m Willow.” She frowned. “As long as you’re not running off to Los Angeles. But since that happened, I’ve had time to think about your reasoning, and while I stand by the ‘you were wrong’ verdict, I can get why you thought there were no other optio—”

“I slept with Spike.”

For a minute, she didn’t know if Willow’s reaction was aimed at the revelation itself or the unexpected bluntness behind it. And then it didn’t matter. Her eyes had widened comically and her mouth was agape. “You whated with what?”

“Me. Spike. We did the wacky. We were trapped…and there was talking…and yelling, then smoochies. Massive, toe-curling smoochies. Then…”

Willow was staring at her. “And then you slept with him,” she said softly.

Was she was supposed to be this calm? Perhaps she was in shock. Buffy blinked but didn’t think to question it. Anything was better than disgusted yelling and a call for another intervention in the library. “Yeah.”

“You slept with Spike.”

“Geez, Will. Little louder next time. I don’t think they heard you in Cambodia.”

Willow’s eyes widened again in apology. “I’m sorry…I just…it’s Spike. As in you and Spike. Together. In the…oh, bad thought! Bad, bad thought.”

She released a low moan and looked down shamefully. “Kinda got that part.”

“I knew, you know. I knew you were all jumpy ‘cause of something that happened between you two.”

Buffy snorted. “Hell, I think the whole world knew. I just…I couldn’t…”

“I just…I guess I don’t get why. I thought Spike equaled hurl-worthy wiggins. Not smoochies. Not…more than smoochies.” Willow smiled a bit when she ducked her head in shame, but the look was gone when her eyes turned up again. “A-and what about Angel? Do you suddenly not like him anymore?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Buffy sighed and ignored the part of her heart that screamed in protest. The part that hated the thought of letting go. “I don’t think so. Oh God, please don’t judge me for this.”

“I’m not judging you. Hello with the not-judgyness of me. I wouldn’t…I can’t without knowing what happened.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone if she tried, nor could she stop the words from carelessly spilling from her mouth. “Well, there’s a shocker. When I came back from LA it was all your-fault this and your-fault that. And you guys had absolutely no idea what I had been going through.”

“That was different, Buffy,” Willow replied calmly. “That was different as in way. You bailed without even trying to let anyone in. I can understand the bail part. Really. When Oz and I…well, you know…I wanted to. I needed to just get away and stuff. Go bury my head under a rock. I can’t imagine how it was for you. But you not only bailed, you didn’t let anyone know where you ran off too. That’s where the guiltage came in. It wasn’t that you ran…it was that you ran and hoped that everything would fall magically into place with absolutely no repercussions of the negative variety.”

Buffy smiled weakly, even as her insides turned in the memory of it. Willow made good points; there were some things that she would never understand. That was the way it was. “And that differs from this, how?”

A moment’s thought at that. “You’re not really helping your case.”

“So it’s a case? This is case-worthy?”

“You tell me! You’re the one who’s getting snuggly with the undead…again! A-and not the safe…er…kind of dead. We remember that Spike is soulless, remember? And evil.” There was an odd look on her face that lent the Slayer pause. It was almost as though Willow’s spiel was more for herself than for any form of persuasion. That was more than unexpected. “And he’s tried to kill you about a bajillion times. And are we forgetting the bottle-in-face incident, ‘cause some of us are not ready to make with the forgiveness and pretend everything’s all honky dory!”

“What happened to not-judgy?”

That was all it took to melt Willow’s hostility. Her face fell a bit as though remembering herself, and she cleared her throat to dismiss any hints of impending discomfort. “I’m not judging you, Buffy,” she reiterated. “Really, I’m not with the judging. I just want to know why.”

Why? A dry chuckle reverberated through her tired body. “There’s the question of the hour.”

“Not to repeat myself, but I thought you loved Angel.”

“I did,” Buffy heard herself murmuring. “I did love him. More than…more than anything.”

“So, what? You sleep with Spike—”

“Willow!”

She plowed right through the interruption without batting an eye. “And your Angel-lovin’ is suddenly of the past?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“So it’s just a physical thing? You…” Willow managed to look sheepish for a minute as she surveyed her surroundings. “You did…that with Spike just because you and Angel are restricted from dancing to the tune of the funky monkey?”

“No! God, Will. I told you. This has nothing to do with Angel.”

“Funny. ‘Cause if Oz was boinking someone else, I’d think it has something to do with me.”

“I didn’t…” She paused. “There has been boinking? There has been Oz-induced boinking?”

Willow’s cheeks turned deep red and she looked away amidst her discomfort. “Really not what we’re here to discuss, Buff. Angel has to be a part of why you did…what you did…or else there would be no doing.”

“No. It’s more than—”

“Was it a mistake?”

“What?”

Willow arched a brow. “Did you wake up after having all the sex and go, ‘Holy figolies, what have I done?’ Did you wallow and get all defensy and bitchy out of self-disgust…or…” She glanced up expectantly at the issue of an open-ended sentence, but Buffy did not bite.

“Of course I felt bad about what happened!”

“But you would do it again.”

It was not a question. Questions implied the need for answers, and both already knew what hers would be. “Yes.”

“Are you…do you love Spike?”

“What?!” That reeled the Slayer back to herself. More effective than a cold shower. “No! God, no. Wills, I spent one night with him. One night where we had nothing better to do than—”

“The horizontal labamba?”

“Talk,” Buffy finished. “We talked. A lot. Played twenty questions. We…got to know each other. And then he started in on the reason that Dru left him. The real reason.”

Willow frowned. “Why Dru—”

“It was because of me.”

“I thought it was because she wanted to date a Chaos Demon.”

“Well, she apparently wanted the Chaos Demon ‘cause Spike wanted me.” The other girl’s eyes shot wide open, as though just then realizing something. Again, Buffy did not notice. “That was…he killed the vampire I was supposed to fight that night so he could prove to Dru that I meant nothing to him.”

“Didn’t work, huh?”

“A world of no.”

Willow nibbled on her lip as she processed the new information. “Then…okay. So Dru left him because of you. But he…is that why you…and he… Did his sudden case of feeling-having mean that you—”

“No!” That word was growing really popular. “It was more than that.”

That was it. Without warning, Willow’s patience finally ebbed beyond the breaking point, and the indifferent mask she was hiding behind fell away. “So, let me get this straight,” she barked. “It was more than a one night stand and less than a one-time thing that meant nothing to you. You feel bad for what happened, but you don’t regret it. You don’t love Angel but you’re still with him. And you slept with someone you claim to hate. That does not scream ‘happy camper’ in the relationship department. More over, you slept with someone who told you that he has feelings for you. I know Spike is…well…Spike…but you’ve seen how he can get when he’s all heartbroken and mopey. Again with the bottle-in-face!”

“I know! God!” Buffy finally crumpled, her face falling into her waiting hands as the tears finally showered down her face. It all came storming back. Every worry she had entertained. Every ill-conceived notion. The look of utter heartbreak on Spike’s face the night before. The spiteful disdain that had colored Angel’s eyes. The knowledge that she was responsible for both. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me! What I…I told him to come back, Will. I…he offered to leave forever, and I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I almost…and then last night…I…”

A little feigned ignorance never hurt anyone. All things considered, Willow had grown immeasurably talented at the whole ‘lying’ thing. “Spike’s in town?”

Buffy nodded pitifully. “I told him to come back because I needed time to think. I told him to go away and come back. And…God, the things I said. And I still don’t know what I…what he wants from me. And he’s a vampire! He’s the real thing! I can’t…but I can’t not. There’s definitely…every time I think about what happened, I just…I can’t believe that I didn’t make him stay here. He wasn’t Spike then. Or he was. To absolutely mutilate the cliché, he was the Spike that I guess no one else gets to see. He was…” She glanced to Willow, fully expecting disgust or disappointment at her full display of emotional trauma where a soulless thing was concerned, but all she received was calm understanding. It was times like this that made her suspect that she didn’t deserve friends. “He was sweet and loving and attentive and funny and…a vampire. He was still a vampire.”

“The bite marks.”

Buffy instinctively reached for the aforementioned marks, relishing the slight shiver of excitement that sprouted across her skin in response to the contact. “He’s a vampire, Willow. I can’t…if not Angel then definitely not another vampire. Another vampire who—”

“If he wasn’t a vampire, Buff, what would you do?”

“What?”

“Spike’s a vamp, sure. He’s a scary, evil—”

“If you make another bottle-in-face reference, I’m going to—”

Willow smiled. “Yeah, well that’s pretty much my one Spike story. I gotta tell it as often as possible. Listen, I know it’s crazy. And yeah, the scenario wigs me out. But I know that if you…you had to have had your reasons. If Spike got…if you let Spike that close…then…”

“I have feelings for him, Willow.” It was barely a whisper, as though the notion itself was enough to push her over the proverbial edge. “And it’s gross and obscene, but real. I have feelings for someone that I…I can’t have feelings for. I can’t—”

“Already defied that logic.” She smiled softly. “Buffy, based on everything you’ve told me, the best I can tell you is to talk to him. Even if I can’t see the words ‘loving and sweet’ when I think of Spike, he…I guess it’s safe to say that you know him better than I do. Don’t go to him thinking that it’s wrong or what we’ll think. You don’t even know what you want yet. Maybe you’ll decide to not be with either of them. Who knows? But if you’re the one that did the asking for him to come back, then you at least owe him a civilized conversation.”

Buffy glanced down, unwilling to admit that her skin was numb with relief. There it was. It was over. Everything was out. She had spilled the beans to her best friend and they were still best friends. She wasn’t disgusted or disappointed…a little wigged, but that was to be expected. But it was over now. The burden gone. The pain of secrecy diminishing.

Why had she waited so long before confiding? Oh yeah. Idiocy.

“Thanks, Will,” the Slayer said truthfully. “I…I really don’t know how to—”

“Then don’t. I’m just glad we’re…I’m glad you told me.”

“Me, too. So with the gladness. I needed to get that out.”

“I could kinda tell.” Buffy smirked at that and Willow flashed an unrepentant grin. “So, you gonna go Spike-hunting tonight?”

More than anything.

Buffy nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. After I talk to Angel.”

He had been present for all of three minutes and could already tell that the art of poofter-watching hadn’t grown any more interesting than it was two months earlier. And yet, here he was. Watching through eyes half-hooded with envy as his grandsire went about the mansion, satisfying any odd quirks or time-consuming rituals to make sunset come quicker. If Spike hadn’t been utterly convinced that Angel was the dullest vampire on the planet before, he most certainly was now. The big git could lull a rock to sleep.

The very fact that his jealousy had led him to a day full of spying on the wanker had him beyond annoyed with himself. He knew it was pathetic. He knew that if the Slayer happened by and sensed him near, he would be dust in two seconds flat. But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t draw away. The Witch had juiced him with hope the night before. Spike was convinced that such had been the furthest thing from her intention, but she’d made no move to retract it. The truth was there in all its glory, and he relished. Whatever Buffy wanted him to believe was a lie.

He just had to see it for himself.

Unfortunately, that meant watching Angel. The only vampire that could not rival the company of a lamppost. It was beyond amazing, in Spike’s expertise, that a firebird like Buffy could tolerate the dolt at all. His day was occupied with reading, brooding, doing that wankerish Tae Bo, and more brooding. He slept a bit, leaving his childe to congratulate himself in his ability not to stake the ponce during times of vulnerability. No, no. The Slayer wouldn’t like that. A century and a sodding half of hating Angel, and he schooled himself to patience based on what the Slayer would want.

Something was definitely wrong with that picture.

It wasn’t just that. Oh no. That would be too simple. Every action done since leaving this hellhole of a town had been executed with the mindset of What Would Buffy Do? On occasion he had managed to break free from that line of destructive thought, but never the easy way. He wondered briefly if Buffy would be more bothered by murder or infidelity. Not that he had anything to be faithful to, of course. She had made that perfectly clear.

And even so, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t screamed her name when trying to drown out her memory with faceless floozies, thus defeating the purpose of trying to forget her.

The day continued with all its tedium. Spike was almost certain that Angel sensed someone was near, but the elder vampire never bothered to investigate. That was annoying. True, things would get ugly if Spike was caught, but at least it would be interesting.

Nothing happened for a long, long time. Not until an unfamiliar scent lit up the walkway. He didn’t actually see her enter, but the effect could not be missed. And he knew—he knew without question, reason, need of proof that he was looking at the face of the new slayer.

At that, Spike’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. There was something off about her. Something very off. She was a spitfire, no doubt. She carried herself with confidence that he could appreciate, even if she was trying to come off as meek and lost. No, this was a girl on a mission. He could feel power rolling off her.

And yet, there was something in her eyes that made him uneasy, and it took him two seconds to decide what it was. He knew well that vengeance-tainted visage. That passionate need to destroy beings of light. The girl was out to hurt Buffy. She was there intentionally to hurt Buffy, and that was enough to make him hate her. A low, protective growl flustered a bit in his throat, and he didn’t allow himself to stop and consider the connotations. He was too forgone down that pathway to stop now.

If this bird harmed the Slayer—his Slayer in any way…

Spike quirked a curious brow as the scene unfolded. The raven-haired bird was approaching Angel. Now, that he could approve of. Stupid chit could mess with the ponce all she liked, especially since he appeared less than enthusiastic about her arrival.

And again, he digressed. There was something there.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,” Spike murmured, reaching for his cigarettes. He had gone all day without a fag and it was beginning to take its toll. “Something wicked this way comes.”

At first, Angel appeared more thunderstruck than anything to respond to the sudden presence of his uninvited guest. With a long blink and a dutiful nod, the acknowledgement, “Faith,” rolled off his lips.

Faith. Spike all but snorted. Interesting name for a slayer.

The girl took that as all the initiative she needed. “Hey,” she greeted. “Sorry to bust in all uninvited.”

“What do you want?”

The trade grew wearisome after that, but Spike wasn’t interested in their words. Oh, no. Body language spoke for so much more than anything verbal could hope to accomplish. That didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. He picked up a mention of Buffy’s name and regarded his grandsire with a wide smirk when he flinched and turned away. The underlying implication was enough to make any regular bloke break out into a happy dance.

It was very apparent that Angel wasn’t interested in discussing Buffy, though the other girl seemed to want to chat him up a bit. Talking about how she was out of line with all the presumptions she made and that whatever problems they were going through were none of her business. When he grew antagonistic and she realized that she was losing him, she immediately switched gears and began on some long-winded spiel concerning how she was sorry for something else she had done the previous night. The display was sickeningly staged, and Spike found himself frustrated at Angel for not reading through it. Rather, the wanker’s resolution weakened on the spot and he apologized for his hostile behavior, treading down some martyrdom path of righteousness about how he understood whatever it was that she was going through, and that he wanted to trust her.

It wasn’t until Angel’s hands found Faith’s shoulders and she twisted in his embrace that things changed.

The next flash of events was so brash and unexpected that Spike briefly entertained that he had lost his wits. Whatever the Slayer had planned, he had not expected this. The word “chump” escaped her lips. There was a quick splash of pig’s blood and a snarl of accusative vampiric fury.

A snarl that did not stop the chanting.

Then yelling. Then…

Spike’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, thunderstruck. “Oh bollocks,” he muttered. “Now this is interesting.”

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