Summary: Set directly after the events of Same Time, Same Place. Buffy realizes that she's probably left Spike in the basement for too long and hauls him out. Her attempts to get the First to stop tormenting him don't go quite as planned, however. Then again, when do spells on the Hellmouth ever work right?
Author's Notes: I may be a minority, but I thought the First was about the lamest villain ever. How do you fight something like that? It's impossible. And besides, it's philosophically and logically insupportable that you'd have the First Evil and not a First Good of some kind. I'd give you the logical argument, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm treating the First as the S3 episode Amends treated the First—like some ghost that could be chased away by some fast talk and the light of day. I'm ignoring the rest of S7 canon pretty much. Oh, and the title is taken from a Christina Rossetti poem I thought was appropriate.
Rating: PG-13
"My love, I returned from travel and sorrow/to your voice...I cannot give up your love, not without dying./So: play the waltz of the tranquil moon,/the barcarole, on the fluid guitar,/ till my head lolls, dreaming:/for all my life's sleeplessness has woven/this shelter in the grove where your hand lives and flies,/watching over the night of the sleeping traveler." ~Pablo Neruda, Sonnet LXXX
They heard the shouting in the kitchen. Buffy might have been concerned for Willow , but her friend was asking about finding something for Spike to wear. She was up the stairs in a flash, pounding on the bathroom door.
"Spike? What's going on in there?" She heard Spike's voice, but she couldn't make out the words. Apparently he'd gotten the shouting out of his system. "Spike? Are you decent? I'm coming in."
There was no response, and Buffy opened the door cautiously. "Spike?"
He was on the floor, in much the same posture she'd found him in the basement. "You're not real," Spike muttered. "You're not real. You're not real."
"Of course I'm real," Buffy said, but her tone was gentle. She knelt down next to him, placing a hand on his arm. "Spike, what's this all about?"
Her touch brought his eyes to hers. "Buffy?"
"That's right," she replied, pulling her hand away. "What's going on?"
Spike shook his head. "I promised not to tell."
"Who did you promise?"
"Them." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "They'll hurt me if I tell."
"No one's going to hurt you, Spike," Buffy replied, wanting to add that she would if he didn't tell her what was going on. He looked so completely wigged, however, that she didn't want to add to his distress. She had to say that the last thing she wanted right now was to be dealing with an insane vampire who was hearing voices. "Who were you talking to?"
"You." It was definitely not her, of that Buffy was certain. She was about to tell him that, when he added, "But you weren't real."
Buffy frowned. "Who else talks to you?"
"Dru," he admitted, shrinking down into himself a little further. "And Angelus. And the others."
She didn't have to ask what others; Buffy thought she knew. It was a familiar story. Spike was seeing and hearing things that no one else could—things that were tormenting him, driving him crazy. The Slayer had experienced this before.
"Okay, Spike," Buffy said quietly. "I want you to get cleaned up now." She stood to leave, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist. He dropped it just as quickly, as though her skin had burned him.
"Please, don't."
Buffy was torn. She was fairly certain that to stay with him was to invite trouble. On the other hand, he looked so desperate— "I can't stay with you."
"Please, just—talk to me?" Spike pleaded. "If you talk to me I can't hear them. Please?"
Buffy sighed and knelt beside him again, reaching out to touch his cheek gently. Instead of scuttling away from her touch, the vampire froze and then seemed to relax, closing his eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, and Buffy knew that she had done this.
She had broken him; therefore, she was responsible for putting him back together.
"Leave the door open," she instructed. "I'll be outside if you need me."
He nodded reluctantly, and Buffy withdrew, stepping into her bedroom, but leaving the door cracked behind her. She waited until she could hear the sound of the water running, and then she ran a hand over her face. It was no wonder Spike was a little crazy right now, and Buffy knew that she needed to attend to it immediately.
Otherwise, she'd have to talk yet another souled vampire out of offing himself.
~~~~~
"You want me to do what?" Willow squeaked.
Buffy sighed. "I want you to see if you can find a spell that would help protect Spike," she explained patiently. "If Spike's crazy because of the First, I want to be able to chase it off. It's not going to mess with him anymore."
Willow and Dawn exchanged looks, wondering if Buffy knew how that sounded. It reminded both of them of her adamant protection of Angel or Riley when she was dating them. Buffy really didn't like it when the bad guys messed with her boyfriend.
"I can look, Buffy, but I don't know if it'll do any good," Willow replied. "If the First can mess with Spike because he has a soul, the only way to prevent it would be to either get rid of the First or get rid of the soul."
Buffy shook her head. "We're not getting rid of the soul. Not that Spike needs one, but he wanted it, and he fought for it. I'm not taking that away from him."
"Okay," Willow said slowly. "I'll look, but—magic?" she asked. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet."
"We'll hope it doesn't come to that, Will," the Slayer said. "But I'm not going to bank on it." She glanced up the stairs, hearing the water shut off. "I'd better get back up there." Grabbing the mug of blood, she swept out of the kitchen.
Dawn raised an eyebrow. "I thought Buffy said she wasn't in love with Spike."
"She did say that," Willow answered thoughtfully.
Dawn turned to the witch. "You want some help with the research?"
"Yeah," Willow replied. "You can keep me on the straight and narrow." She hesitated. "I thought you were mad at Spike."
"I am," Dawn replied. "But just because I'm mad doesn't mean I won't help him." An unreadable emotion passed through her eyes. "I mean, he's in really bad shape."
Willow grimaced. "Yeah, he definitely is."
~~~~~
He could smell her, all over everything. Her scent was in the air, on the towel he'd wrapped around his waist, in the shampoo he'd used.
Spike clutched the towel more tightly, suddenly certain that this was a dream, a mirage. Sometimes he saw things that he knew weren't there, heard the voices of people long dead. This was all a part of the madness—there was no way Buffy would allow him into her house again.
A noise from behind had him whirling to face the new threat, only to see Buffy standing in front of him, a bundle of clothing in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. "Are you okay?"
The words stuck in his throat, and he could only nod. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. She was a figment of his imagination, and she would—"Spike?" Her hand was on his arm, and he stared at it, because the ghosts never touched him.
Buffy looked into wounded eyes and kept her hand on his arm. The clothes lay on the bed—an old pair of sweatpants that had always been too big for her and an old t-shirt. She would have to locate more of his things. Maybe Clem would know where they were.
His hair was wet and curly from the shower, and Buffy could feel the wire-taut muscle of his forearm under her hand. Spike was ready to run. "I want you to get dressed," she said quietly. "Can you do that for me?"
It took a moment for the words to register, and Spike shuddered beneath her touch. Why hadn't she staked him yet? He could understand her not dusting him if she wasn't real, but she was real. Why hadn't she killed him?
"You have a soul, Spike." Her words broke through the stasis, and he realized he'd spoken the question out loud. "Just—just get dressed, okay? And drink your blood. I've already got a bed set up for you in the basement."
She left him then, and Spike felt her absence terribly. He could identify what was real while she was there with him, touching him, speaking to him. There was a tone in her voice that it could never match.
Because he could do nothing else, Spike dressed in the clothing she had left for him and drank the blood she gave him, concentrating on those two tasks with everything he had. Then, feeling wearier than he ever had before, he descended the stairs, finding Buffy waiting for him. "Come on," she said. "You need to sleep."
When he didn't move right away, Buffy took him by the arm, her touch gentle. "Downstairs, Spike."
He followed her down the stairs, allowing himself to be led like a child. "They come when I sleep."
"Well, they're not allowed in my house," Buffy declared, ignoring the fact that Spike had seen an apparition just a short while before. "So you can go to sleep."
Spike wasn't sure he remembered what sleep felt like. What it felt like to drift away without a care in the world. When had he last slept—deeply and without dreaming? "Don't sleep anymore."
"You'll sleep here," Buffy declared, tugging him over to the bed and tucking him in as she would have a child. "Just close your eyes and lie still."
He did as he was told, feeling the brush of her hand over his hair as she left. Much to his surprise, Spike soon drifted off to sleep.
And he did not dream.
~~~~~
Buffy knew she probably should have gone on the hunt for the First and its minions immediately. She would have to check the Christmas tree lot where she'd first come upon the harbingers, not to mention checking the school basement again. She felt completely drained after getting Spike settled in the old cot, however, and all she wanted was to go to bed and sleep for a week.
It probably would have been easier to do her investigating if she had accepted the job at the school. Part time did not pay bills, however, and sticking with waitressing was pretty much the only option until she could start school again in the spring. Waiting tables sucked, but it was paradise compared to the Doublemeat.
Besides, something about the principal gave her the wiggins.
So Buffy followed her usual schedule, going to work and then going home to change before heading out on patrol.
The house was silent when she arrived, and for one panic-stricken moment Buffy thought that Spike had disappeared again. She would have to find him, drag him back, and chain him up so he couldn't get away.
It was the last thing she wanted to do.
The back porch was the last place she thought to check, but sure enough Spike was out there, pulling on a cigarette. "Hey."
"Hey."
The Slayer took a cautious step towards him and settled herself gingerly on the step. "You're looking better."
"Feel a little better."
There was no emotion in his voice. It was flat, expressionless, and it bothered her. Everything about Spike bothered her these days, Buffy realized. His presence made her feel as though her skin was too tight. "Spike—"
"'m sorry," he said, before she could go any further. "I know I tried before, to say it, but—"
"You weren't the only one there, Spike," Buffy admitted quietly. "I think we both screwed things up pretty much equally." She was quiet. "You're sounding a little saner tonight."
"Voices aren't as loud here," he replied. "It's easier." Spike stood. "I should go."
Someone— Willow or Dawn, probably—had washed the clothing he'd been wearing. Buffy caught the scent of fabric softener drifting past her nose. "Go where?" she asked, standing quickly.
"Dunno," Spike replied. "But I shouldn't be here. I thought—" He broke off, not completing the sentence. "I should go."
Buffy swallowed hard. "Spike, no. We don't know what's messing with you. If you leave—"
"I won't be a burden," he finished. "Never meant for that, you know."
"You're not a burden."
Spike's lips twisted into an expression that wasn't quite a smile. "Yeah, right. Thanks for the blood and kip, pet, but I'll be on my way."
The panic was there again. Buffy didn't want him to stay, and she didn't want him to go. "Wait," she demanded, a little desperately. "I think I know what's after you."
"Didn't start till I came back to Sunnydale," he replied. "Chances are if I leave, it'll leave me alone." Spike shrugged. "An' if not, I can be crazy somewhere else just as well as here."
He was going to make her say it, Buffy recognized. She was going to have to say the words. "I don't want you to leave."
Spike didn't reply, shrugging his shoulders against the tension. She didn't want him to go? Well, he didn't want to stay. This was more difficult than he thought it would be. Spike had honestly believed that she'd stake him before she gave him the chance to speak. He considered it just penance.
To his surprise, the Slayer wasn't cooperating.
"What if this thing causes some damage, Spike?" Buffy demanded. "What if it uses you? Let's at least try to get this figured out."
Spike hesitated and then nodded. "I can stay at my crypt until then."
"It's not there anymore."
He stiffened. "What are you talkin' about?"
"It's not there anymore," she repeated. "Clem—Clem told me. It got infested with a bunch of Rakka demons, and the only way to get rid of them is to—"
"Destroy their home," Spike muttered.
The tension hummed between them, and Buffy could feel his desire to flee like a tangible thing. "Clem said he got most of your things out. I thought I'd pick them up tonight while I was out on patrol."
"Fine," Spike said, sounding terribly reluctant. "I'll stay till we get this thing figured out then."
"Spike—" She hesitated, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to say it. She wanted to tell him that it was better when he was around, even if it wasn't easier. To tell him that she was glad he'd returned, even if it hurt. To say she was sorry for everything that had gone on.
Buffy was sorry that she'd used him, but she didn't know how to say it.
"Forget it," Spike said, reading some of that in her eyes and face. "My own soddin' fault."
She watched him go inside, and then pressed one hand to her forehead, resisting the urge to weep. Buffy hated that this was so damn hard.
~~~~~
Willow had been looking through her magic texts rather half-heartedly. It wasn't that she didn't want to help Spike; she really did. It was the actual doing of the magic that scared her, and most of the spells she had found were more than a little dangerous.
Mostly dangerous for Spike. Willow hated to think what Buffy's reaction might be if she blew the vampire up.
There was one spell that looked relatively promising, but she didn't want to try anything unless absolutely necessary. On the other hand, it never hurt to be prepared, which was why she was in the Magic Box, fidgeting under Anya's watchful gaze.
She turned when the bell over the door jangled, thinking it might be Buffy. Instead, Xander was looking at her with raised eyebrows. "I thought you were off the magic, Will," he commented.
"Oh, I am," Willow replied. "This is sort of for Buffy. Just research, you know, trying to be prepared." She was fairly certain that she didn't want to explain the Spike situation to Xander, who had a tendency to be irrational any time a vampire was involved.
"Prepared for what?" Xander asked, immediately interested. "Is there an apocalypse on the horizon?"
"There's always an apocalypse on the horizon," Anya broke in with some asperity. "Like they'd need you for that, Xander. Unless they need donuts."
Willow hid a wince as Xander's face darkened. Anya's tongue could be as sharp as Cordelia's at times. "I do more than you," he replied heatedly.
"That's because I don't care anymore," she replied. "If this world goes to hell, it won't be much of an improvement, quite frankly."
Willow decided it was time to break things up. "There's no apocalypse," she said quickly. "It's just that Buffy thinks there might be something after Spike."
Mentioning the blond vampire was a mistake; Willow realized that as soon as the words left her mouth. Xander's face resembled a thundercloud. "We're helping Spike now?"
"He has a soul, Xander," Willow said reprovingly.
"We only have his word for it," Xander growled. "He could be lying so Buffy won't stake him."
Anya rolled her eyes, sighing loudly. "He's not lying, Xander. I knew Spike had a soul before Buffy did. It's obvious."
"If you're a demon," Xander retorted.
"That's right, Xander, I am a demon," Anya shot back. "Let's not forget why. Or do you need me to remind you?"
He frowned and then turned to face Willow again. "So why are we helping Spike again?"
"Something is tormenting him," the witch said. "Buffy thinks it might be the First, and she's worried that it's going to make Spike do something bad."
"Like kill someone?" Xander asked, sounding concerned for the first time.
"Like kill himself," Willow corrected him. Then, seeing his expression, she hastily added, "Or someone else. There's really no telling."
Xander stood processing that for a minute, reluctantly recalling Spike's complete freak-out after he'd hurt Ronnie-the-Giant-Worm. "You want some help?"
Willow blinked in surprise, and then smiled. "Yeah, actually that would be nice."
~~~~~
Dawn slipped into the house as quietly as she was able. Buffy was probably out on patrol, but Willow might be home, and she would really rather not explain where she'd been.
Telling people you were visiting your mother's grave in hopes of getting some sort of sign was a little weird, even for the Hellmouth.
The only conclusion she'd come to was that she was tired of people leaving, and she was glad Spike had come back. If Buffy was willing to forgive him for what he'd done, then Dawn would try to do the same.
Of course, she was going to make him suffer a little bit first. That was only fair.
He was standing in the kitchen. "Spike?"
"Dawn."
Spike's voice was even, and Dawn found herself wishing for the long summer days when he was the only one she could talk to. Then his voice had dripped with emotion—repressed grief and guilt and an endless love.
Sometimes Dawn wished Spike loved her as he loved Buffy. She could not help but think she'd feel safe as houses then.
"What are you doing?" He was just standing there, not moving, not even breathing, and it was beginning to freak her out a little.
There was a long silence, and then Spike turned to look at her, eyes glittering in the darkness. "Do you hear that?"
Dawn felt a chill run up her spine. "Hear what, Spike?"
"That's what I thought," he said calmly. Dawn would have felt better if he were yelling at her. A calm Spike was a frightening creature. "You need to leave now, Niblet."
She backed up a step, knowing without being told that something was very, very wrong. "Why?"
"Because I'm not in control right now." His face shifted, yellow eyes glowing, and Dawn could see him fighting it. "Run!"
She took to her heels, not bothering to look over her shoulder. She could hear the growls behind her, and then she heard him whistling a jaunty tune.
It was the song that scared her more than anything else.
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