Summary: Spike leaves after "Dead Things," wanting nothing more than to get Buffy out of his head. Wesley's still an independent contractor after the events of "Loyalty." And the Slayer's still living in the land of denial.
Author's Notes: I've always thought that Buffy got off way too lightly for the beating she gave Spike in "Dead Things." And we all know how wonderful S4 of Ats was. So this is my version of things. In my universe, Spike left Sunnydale, and there was never a plot to get Cordy to become some sort of vessel for Jasmine. She stops Connor from sending Angel to the bottom of the ocean, and they both admit to loving one another. And, because no one can have a perfect moment of happiness with a teenager running around the house, Angel doesn't lose his soul when he and Cordy finally consummate the relationship. Unfortunately, this leaves poor Wes still out in the cold because Angel can hold a grudge like no other.
Rating: PG-13
"You have to admit it was funny, Spike," Nika said, trying to get through the vampire's macho front. "I know I heard you laugh a couple times."
"I did no such thing," Spike replied indignantly, though with a small smile. "It was a bloody stupid movie, an' he was a complete ponce."
Nika laughed. "That was supposed to be part of his charm!" she protested.
"No one is charmed by a ponce," Spike replied, a hint of seriousness coming through his voice. "They get laughed at. Consistently."
She raised an eyebrow. "I found him charming." She gave him a naughty little smile. "In point of fact, I find you charming."
Spike's eyes widened. "Take that back! 'm not a ponce!"
"Oh, no?" Nika replied coyly. "Prove it then." She started running, giggling madly. Spike wasn't working too hard at catching her. They'd decided to go out to the movies together, not a date, just a night out. Nika had wanted some entertainment, and since Wesley didn't seem to be making any moves in her direction, she'd gone for the next best thing and asked her best friend.
Spike loved to see Nika happy and laughing like this. It was all too rare an occurrence to see her acting like a giddy school-girl. She was usually so calm and controlled. So he was happily engaged in her merry little game when pulled up short by a demon coming in front of him with a wooden pike.
"Nika!" he called. The vampire was rewarded in a few moments by her appearance, flanked by two more demons of the same species. One was chattering away at her in a language Spike didn't recognize, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. There was no way to get to her without being impaled. "What—"
The pike jabbed him in the chest, and Spike took a step back, away from Nika and the demons. "No, it's okay," she said, reaching out to grab the arm of the one threatening him. "He's a friend." They said something else, and she frowned, insisting, "No, really, it's okay."
She looked at Spike. "I need you to get Wesley. I can understand them a little, enough to know they want me to come with them and help deliver a baby, but I need his language expertise."
Spike sighed. The demon had put down his very long stake and was regarding him with suspicion. "Are you sure, luv? This lot doesn't look very friendly."
She shrugged. "They've been watching for me all evening, and then they saw a vampire chasing me. What would you think?"
"Then where are they takin' you, Sweet?" Spike asked. He took a step towards her, but the demon raised its pike again. They weren't a bad looking lot, if not very friendly. Mostly humanoid, with bluish skin and purple eyes. But they had Nika, and so Spike wasn't feeling very comfortable.
Nika grimaced. "I'm not really sure. But if you can get Wes here in the next thirty minutes, they'll wait for him. I hope."
He hesitated for another moment, and then took off.
Spike would have given anything for a cell phone as his feet pounded pavement and grass. In the face of more people and more traffic, he practically flew up the side of a building using the fire escape and went by roof-top the rest of the way. With his vampire speed, going full out, it took him fifteen minutes to reach the ex-Watcher's apartment. Too much time.
He pounded on the door of 105, waiting a few seconds, and then pounded frantically again. "Wesley! Open up!"
The door swung open to reveal a rumpled looking man in hastily thrown on jeans and a sweater. "What the bloody hell do you want, Spike? And will you keep it down? The neighbors will call the police otherwise."
"It's Nika," Spike said, ignoring his irritation, and moving on to the important topic. "We went to a show and got stopped on the way home. She says they want her to deliver a baby, but she doesn't speak the language an' if we don't get back there in—" He checked his watch. "—ten mintues now, they're gonna leave without you."
Wesley didn't hesitate once he understood the seriousness of the situation. Quickly pulling on a pair of shoes, he grabbed a jacket and an ax, and followed Spike out the door. They took his motorcycle, since Wesley couldn't move at vampire speed, and Spike was limping badly from the exertion.
It was a mark of Spike's worry over Nika that he didn't even protest the pink helmet. They made it to the park in ten minutes by virtue of some very scary driving by Wesley, but Nika and her demon escorts had already gone.
Both of them nearly tumbled off the bike in their haste to get to her. Spike took a deep whiff of air and homed in on the direction they had taken with little effort. "That way."
A hundred yards deeper into the park, and they spotted the little group. Spike called out to Nika, and the demons spun, weapons at the ready. Nika called out to both of them. "No, it's really okay." She looked at Wesley in relief. "Please tell me you know their language."
Wesley hesitated briefly, and then began speaking in the same odd click-clack language that the demons had been chattering on in earlier. The one with the pike replied quickly, brandishing his weapon and looking menacingly at Spike. The ex-Watcher nodded, and finally sighed. "Apparently, one of their seers told them to expect a healer tonight, and told them she would be with a vampire. A member of their clan is in childbirth, and it isn't going well."
Nika nodded. "That's what I thought. Are they going to let you come along?"
"I think they might, especially as I can speak the language. Spike is going to have to stay behind, however."
As Wesley had expected, his announcement was greeted with a vociferous protest from the vampire. "Not on your life, mate! 'm not lettin' them just take her like that."
"They promise not to harm her, Spike," Wesley explained patiently. "But the Lidraki don't like vampires, and they'd sooner stake you than let you see where they live. I'm sorry."
"Spike, really, it's okay," Nika assured him. "Wesley can stay with me. I'll be fine."
He let out a growl of frustration, his eyes sparking yellow. "Bloody hell," he muttered.
Wesley passed over the keys to his bike. "Take the motorcycle back to Nika's," he instructed. "That leg of yours is in no shape to be walking home right now. I'll make sure she gets back safely."
Spike hesitated, and then sighed. It was a mark of his trust for the other man that he acquiesced. There weren't many people that he trusted to look after those he cared about, but he trusted Wesley. The ex-Watcher would look after Nika and see her safely home, or he would die in the attempt. From the looks on the other demons' faces, they would make sure Spike was dust before they let him come one more step closer. "Meet you back there, then. Take care of her."
Wesley watched him stalk away, the effect only slightly muted by his limp. He could see the tension in the lines of Spike's shoulders, and relaxed as the Lidraki lowered their weapons and motioned for him to walk with them. Placing a supportive hand on Nika's elbow, he moved close to her. "Alright there, Nika?"
"I'm okay," she replied softly. "Though, I was a bit nervous until you showed up."
Wesley smiled. It felt good to be relied upon, to have a friend say she felt safer when he was near. "How did you know I would be able to speak their language?"
Nika smiled. "I didn't know there was a language you don't speak."
She was exaggerating, but not by much. Wesley's linguistic skills were outstanding to say the least. "There are a few," he replied, slightly embarrassed by the implied compliment. They walked along silently after that, the demons murmuring to each other softly, Wesley's hand at her elbow, then her back.
Nika felt the fear drain out of her. It was difficult to be afraid with Wesley walking so close, his unruffled competence radiating out of his lean form. Nika had always gotten the sense from him that there was little to worry about if he were taking care of matters. Really, that was why he and Spike made such good partners. The vampire's impulsiveness kept the ex-Watcher on his toes. Wesley's almost preternatural calm often got them out of trouble.
In a situation such as this one, Nika couldn't help but be grateful for his presence. She stole a glance at him, and he caught her eye, smiling in a reassuring manner. She moved just a little closer in response; they might have been lovers out for a walk. No gap could be seen between their bodies, and his hand pressed just a little more firmly at her back.
Eventually, they found themselves in front of a dilapidated old apartment building. The brick-work was crumbling, and there was grafitti in the front entrance, but the demons seemed to relax as soon as they entered. "It's the demon Projects," Nika murmured, and was rewarded by a quirk of Wesley's lips.
The demons led them up a set of rickety stairs to an apartment redolent with the scents of blood, herbs, and other matter that was best left unknown. A female Lidraki came up to them, chattering away. Wesley listened intently to her drawn-out explanation, finally turning to Nika. "She says that the mother did not perform the proper rituals in the last month, and that's why she's having problems with the birth." He hesitated slightly and then added, "She also says that the baby's father was not Lidraki, and it's having trouble fighting its way out of the birthsac."
"Where is she?" Nika asked, becoming all business. Wesley translated the question, and the female led them through a curtained doorway. There was a blue-skinned, pregnant Lidraki on a mattress that lay on the floor. The room was hardly what she could call clean, and certainly not the ideal place to give birth, but Nika knew she would have to work with what she was given.
She knelt down by the mother, wordlessly asking permission with her eyes. The demon nodded, and Nika felt along her abdomen, feeling the contractions rippling across the taut skin. It wasn't terribly different from a human mother, and Nika was oddly reassured by this. "Wesley, what do you know about these rituals?"
He had squatted down on his heels next to her, watching with an intensity that it seemed only Wesley and Spike could ever produce. "Not much, I'm afraid," he replied. "However, from what the woman said, Lidraki use the rituals to soften the placenta—for lack of a better term—as it is unusually tough. The rituals, whatever they might be, coupled with the outgrowths on the backs of their hands, help the baby fight its way out into the world."
Nika's face softened. "Poor kid. No rituals and a half-breed means that he's having trouble."
"Something like that," Wesley agreed. His eyes met hers. "What would you like me to do?" He looked so capable in that moment that Nika found herself more than a little bit in love with him. She had loved her husband, but he'd have turned green and run in a situation like this.
"Have you ever been present at a birth before?" she asked.
Pain flashed across his face, then he went stoic again. "I know a little bit about delivering a child, yes."
"You know a little bit about everything, don't you?" Her tone was amused, and Wesley looked up at her sharply, trying to decide if she were making fun of him. But her face was admiring, and he could tell she found his seemingly endless store of knowledge reassuring, rather than annoying.
He shrugged. "I try."
"Ask her if she'll bring clean, hot water and a sharp knife. Or maybe like a big knitting needle. If the birthsac needs to be broken, we're going to have to help the child out." Nika looked at the laboring Lidraki. "I don't know that we'll be in time to save the baby, but if we don't do something soon, we'll definitely lose the mother."
Wesley asked for what they needed, and the other demon left the room, leaving Nika to continue her examination. Over the next few hours as they both worked to deliver the unborn child, she found herself thankful for Wesley's presence. He fetched what she needed, translated her questions and reassurances, and comforted the mother tirelessly.
When she found herself with both hands busy and sweat dripping down her nose, he pulled a clean handkerchief from somewhere and wiped her face. At no point did he show an inclination to run, nor any kind of impatience.
Finally, Nika managed to guide a blue-skinned baby out into the warm air. Normally, that kind of color would have alarmed her, but as the child—obviously a male—began to scream, it seemed that he would survive. The baby was noticeably more human-looking than his mother, and Nika couldn't help but feel a pang. Danny had been a half-breed as well.
Wesley took the child from her, wrapping him in a blanket that the older female gave to him, placing him against his mother's breast. The whole time he was murmuring something in that click-clack language that she'd be willing to bet were assurances that her baby was large and healthy and remarkably attractive. There was awe and wonder and a hint of longing in his eyes that tugged at Nika's heart.
Now that the child was born, there were female Lidraki streaming into the room, hovering about the mother and beginning to chant and chatter, cleaning the mother and child and making both more comfortable.
The female Lidraki who had greeted them now ushered them out the door, chattering in what was obviously relief, pressing something into Nika's hands. She looked down at the present and saw a necklace that glinted with what was obviously precious stones and metals. "Oh, no, I can't," she protested, thinking of the squalid surroundings.
Wesley grasped her arm, stilling her words, smiling and speaking in the demon-language. He looked over at her intently. "The child you just saved was important to them, more important than what you hold. To refuse it would be a grave insult."
Nika nodded, closing her fingers around the necklace again. "Tell her thank you, then, Wesley."
He did so, the words tripping off his lips so easily it amazed her. Nika thought about the first time he had spoken to her in Welsh, the familiar words of her childhood flowing so readily. She thought perhaps that was the moment she first began to fall in love.
Wesley led her quickly out of the apartment building, and both of them could see the first fingers of dawn thrusting up into the sky. "I'll walk you home."
"I would hope so. You have to get your bike anyway, right?" Nika paused thoughtfully. "Maybe you should stay at my place today. You're tired. I'd hate for you to fall asleep on your way home."
Wesley seemed to freeze, become terribly still under her fingers as though her suggestion were terribly improper for some reason. And then he relaxed slightly. "Alright. That's probably wise."
He seemed to have forgotten that there was no more danger, offering her the support of his arm as though she still needed it. Wesley could feel her warmth even through the double layer of shirt sleeve and jacket, smell her—a mixture of faint perfume and sweat. It wasn't unpleasant.
"So what were you and Spike doing when the Lidraki found you?" he asked quietly, striving for pleasant small talk and hopefully keeping the jealousy out of his voice.
"We went to see a movie," Nika replied with a smile, thinking of her and Spike's teasing on the way home. "It was one of those sappy romances; I made him take me."
Wesley smiled in return, but there was a hint of pain there. "That's good, that you have someone to take you to a show."
In spite of his efforts, Nika caught a hint of emotion in his tone that didn't belong there. "We didn't think you'd want to come, Wesley," she admitted. "You've both been so busy lately, I thought you could use an evening to yourself without the two of us around."
"I don't mind the two of you around," he admitted in a low voice, as though she'd dragged the confession out of him. "And—and I don't mind just..."
As he trailed off, Nika reached over and grabbed the hand that had been at her waist, giving it a squeeze. "When the bloody hell will you realize that we like having you around?" she demanded. "It's no chore to be with you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Whatever, or whoever, put that idiotic idea into your head ought to be shot."
His lips twitched in amusement at her vehemence. "Is that right?"
"That's absolutely right," Nika replied, a touch of anger still in her voice. "Wesley, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. And, just so you don't need to ask, Spike and I were not on a date tonight. We're very good friends, and that's it."
"But you and he..." Wesley stopped, not wanting to give away the fact that he'd actually asked the vampire what his relationship with Nika entailed.
Nika rolled her eyes. "Yes, we did, and it was a long time ago. It was just the one time, and it happened because we were both lonely and needed some comfort. I told you when we first met that's what Spike's relationship to me was. Misery and comfort."
"And then?" Wesley couldn't help but ask, a bit of bite in his tone.
She smiled. "And then we discovered that we didn't just understand each other, we also liked each other. Not unlike you and him. Or you and I."
Wesley recognized the kindness—and the truth—in her tone, but he wanted something more from her than that. He wanted to be more than understood and understanding, more than liked. He'd been slowly coming to care for Nika, but tonight had clinched it for him. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, but she was pretty, and brave, and compassionate. The way she had helped that Lidraki mother, even though she was a demon, even though Nika must have been frightened—Wesley was struck by it. By her heart, in every sense of the word.
After he had lost Fred, after she had chosen Gunn, Wesley had promised himself that he wouldn't go there again. He didn't want to fall in love. Lilah Morgan had been perfect for his needs—there was sex, but not enough true attraction to keep him. Perhaps eventually there might have been more, if either of them had been able to bend just a little, to move just a little closer together on their continuum of gray.
Nika was a bad bet, though. Wesley was absolutely certain that if he made a bid for her affections, he would find that she'd fallen for Spike. They had a closeness that he envied, a closeness that he could never hope to match.
As if reading his thoughts and the tension they engendered, Nika's arm slipped through his, holding on firmly. "I'm glad you were with me tonight, Wesley," she said softly, and again almost reading his thoughts, added, "And not just because you speak the language either."
She sighed. "You make me feel safe."
Wesley wondered if she understood what a precious gift those words were to him.
~~~~~
Spike was waiting inside for them, as the early morning light made it difficult for him to keep watch from the porch. He stood as they entered, watching the both of them with wary eyes, relief creeping in when he saw they were unharmed. He couldn't smell any human blood, and he felt the worry seep out of his bones. Wesley had kept her safe, as he'd promised.
"Get the little nipper all safely delivered then, Nika-luv?" Spike asked. He saw a tightening of Wesley's jaw when he used the endearment, and filed that observation away for future use.
She smiled at him. "It was a boy. Wesley was a huge help."
"More help than I would have been," Spike admitted cheerfully. "Don't know the least bit 'bout deliverin' babies. Good job he went with you then." He could be tactful when he wanted to be.
"See my payment?" she asked, holding out the necklace to him.
Spike, who was a near-expert at identifying and appraising treasure, whistled under his breath. "This is a fair treasure, Sweet. My guess, it's something along the lines of a family heirloom."
"They said the child was important, but not why," Wesley said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Spike threw him a worried look, and then took a closer look at the both of them. They were clearly tired and covered in birthing fluids and grime. "You both need to get cleaned up and get to bed." Turning to Wesley, he said, "You can use my shower, mate. Couch downstairs folds out."
Wesley blinked. He was still unused to these little gestures from Spike, the marks of caring that belied his often callous, brash attitude towards those around him. Every so often Spike would act more like a nursemaid than a vampire, and it shocked the hell out of him.
"I have some clothing you can borrow," Nika said, her words punctuated by a huge yawn. "I'll grab them for you, but then I'm going to take Spike's advice." She went into her bedroom, coming out a few moments later with a bundle of clothing, which she handed to Wesley. Much to his bemusement, she leaned up and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, cariad."
The ex-Watcher stood there for a long moment, not quite knowing how to respond to that. He felt Spike's hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the basement stairs. "Time for all good boys to be in bed," the vampire rumbled, obviously amused. "And next time, mate? Turn your head a bit. You'll catch her on the lips."
"I wonder how Spike is doing," Wesley said, thinking out loud. Nika cast him an amused look over the kitchen table. He was actually relaxing for once, reading a new adventure novel while Nika read her mail. She had laughed the first time she'd seen him with a non-research book. He never read quite what she would expect him to—usually mass-market paperbacks with spies and gadgets, or murder mysteries.
Her reserved ex-Watcher read blow-em-up books; Spike read poetry. It seemed an oxymoron, but Nika had long since realized that they were two sides of the same coin, her guys.
"You sound like a mother hen," she said. Wesley looked up sharply, trying to see whether she was teasing him. He could never tell any more. He'd so often been on the sharp side of someone's tongue, it was hard to know whether such joking was meant in good fun or not. Slowly, but surely, he was coming to be comfortable with Nika and Spike's good-natured snarking, but it was taking some time.
He smiled slightly, some of her humor reflecting in his eyes as well. "I suppose, but—"
"You worry," she finished for him. Nika gave him her special smile, the one reserved only for Wesley, though he hardly knew it yet. "We all worry about each other Wesley; it's what families do." She went back to her mail, saying as she did so, "I'm sure Spike's fine. From the letter Buffy sent him, she's hardly planning on harming him."
There was another long silence as they went back to their reading, the smells of the stew and fresh bread Nika had made filtering through the kitchen. It was a comfortable, domesticated scene, and if Wesley thought about it too hard, he could hardly believe that he was here.
Nika let slip a curse that had Wesley blinking and looking up. Even if he didn't speak Welsh, he would have known what she was saying just from her tone of voice. "Love?"
She looked up, surprised at the endearment, and not fully aware that she had spoken aloud. When she realized that she had, a light flush lit her cheeks. "Sorry, Wesley."
"Has something disturbed you?" he pressed.
Nika sighed. "Nain is coming to visit over Christmas."
Wesley might have understood her outburst if it had been his parents. He hadn't spoken to them since last Christmas, and was still debating over whether or not to call this year. On the other hand, he'd been under the impression that Nika and her grandmother got along quite well. "I thought you two were close."
She repeated her sigh. "We are. It's just that she has certain expectations which I haven't yet fulfilled, and she'll ask me why I haven't." Nika gave him a weak smile. "I'm the last, you see. Nain doesn't have any other children or grandchildren, and she's waiting for me to remarry and have babies."
"I see," Wesley said carefully, because he did. It wasn't just his utter failure as a Watcher that disappointed his father; it was also his failure to marry an appropriate woman and carry on the family name. Of course, by the time he'd been of an age to attempt such a feat, he was of no mind to do things the way his father had. Nor had he any intention of forcing his progeny into the Council, whatever their surname. "Do you want children?"
This time her smile was infinitely sad. "Yes. Ever since I was very little, I had three goals in life: to be a midwife like nain, to marry, and to have children. It might be silly and old-fashioned, but that's what I wanted. I managed the first two, but Danny and I wanted to wait for a few years before starting a family. When we tried to get pregnant, nothing happened."
Nika got up, moving around briskly, as though to dispel the memories. "We went to specialists, human and demon, and they all told us the same thing. Danny couldn't. Something to do with being a half-breed, you know?"
"So you couldn't have children," Wesley murmured, feeling a pang of sympathy.
"No, we couldn't," she replied, stirring the stew and checking on the bread, finally turning to look Wesley in the eye. "And since about a year after he died, nain's been asking when I was going to start dating again. She's kind enough, but I know what she wants from me. To be honest, I'd love to give it to her, for both our sakes."
Wesley stared at her. He wanted to ask if she'd ever consider a failed Watcher as husband and father material. Sitting in this kitchen, as he had so many times in the past, he almost believed it possible. Almost. "Would you—" He stopped, unwilling to put himself more at risk than he was already.
Nika looked at him with a searching gaze, her normally gentle eyes piercing. "Would I what, cariad?"
He shook his head, and she came to stand next to his chair, looking down into his troubled eyes. "What is it, Wesley?"
"I—I just thought we might—go out."
The hesitancy in his voice told Nika everything she needed to know. She could see both the longing and the fear. "Who was she, Wesley?"
"Who was who?" he asked hoarsely.
"Who was the woman who convinced you that you couldn't win? Who rejected you?" Nika stroked his face with a gentle hand, feeling the stubble like soft sandpaper. "Who made you think that I would say no?"
Wesley swallowed, hypnotized by her words and her gaze. "You and Spike—"
"Spike, as you will notice, is out with Buffy, and will forever be pining after her." She ran a gentle hand through his hair. "Spike and I are like very close friends, or siblings. I always wanted a brother, you know. Though that idea throws a certain 'ick-factor' on our brief affair, as Dawn might say. My feelings for you are on a different plane entirely." Nika sighed. "What was her name, Wesley? Let us once and for all exorcise this ghost you insist upon haunting you."
He blinked. "Her name—her name was Fred. I—She's with Gunn. After what happened, with Connor, she told me not to come back to the hotel."
Nika kissed him. It was the first time their lips had touched, the first time she had so openly declared her affection for him. Taking Spike's words to heart, she had decided that she would not wait on Wesley. When she pulled back from the kiss, she said quietly, but so intensely he could not doubt her, "She was daft. I choose you, Wesley. Just you."
At her words, Wesley could feel long-open wounds healing. She salved his heart with her declaration. No one had ever chosen him before; even the Council, making the decision to appoint him as Faith's Watcher, had bowed to his high marks and his father's pressure. No one had ever marked him as their own—except perhaps Virginia, and she had not realized the cost. She had left because of it.
Nika not only knew, she had already paid the price.
Something inside him cracked open, broke, released. For a spectacular moment he felt utterly free. He felt special. Wesley had never really felt special before.
He guided her face back down to his, taking his time. There was no hurry—she had chosen him. Wesley thought she tasted both sweet and bitter, and he could feel both her urgency and her patience. Her motto and its meaning flitted through his mind, and he understood that they had all the time in the world, and no time at all. This woman played for keeps, because it was the only way she knew.
And she had chosen him.
The buzzer on the oven went off, finally bringing them back to reality. Nika pulled back, resting her forehead against his ever-so-briefly as she went to pull the bread out of the oven. "Are you still hungry?" she teased, a light in her eyes.
Wesley smiled in turn, and his stomach growled, answering her question. They both laughed, and Nika suddenly looked shy. "Are you—I mean, if you don't want—"
"You're what I want," he replied quietly. Wesley wasn't sure if he was jumping in too quickly or not, but he went ahead anyway. "I've been in love with you since that night we delivered the baby."
Nika glared at him, going from sweet to angry in no time flat. "And you didn't say anything!"
"I wasn't sure you felt the same way," he explained, defensiveness creeping in. "I thought—you and Spike..."
Nika rolled her eyes. "I know you knew better than that," she replied. "Besides which, you could have died—"
She broke off, busying herself at the stove, and Wesley asked tentatively, "Are you certain you're okay with this, Danika? I know that what I do is dangerous..."
"What you do makes a difference," she said quietly. "What I do makes a difference too. I won't tell you that I don't worry, that I'm not scared nearly to death of losing you too, but I will not let that fear stop me from going forward. I fell in love with you, and part of you is your job."
"It's what I'm good at," he explained.
Nika turned to smile at him, her eyes joyful and sad all at the same time. "No, Wesley. You're good at a great many things. But this is what makes you happy, and I have no business denying you that." She placed a plate of freshly baked bread on the table, pausing to touch his shoulder. "Please promise you will not take any chances that are unnecessary. I understand the necessary ones, but..."
"Do you think I'm anxious to leave you?" he replied, standing and pulling her into his arms. Wesley stood there for a moment, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his, her head buried in his shoulder, her arms around his waist. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Wesley asked wistfully after a few moments. "You could have anyone."
"Which is why I want you," she replied stubbornly. "Now, you need to eat." Nika grinned up at him. "If things go well, you'll need your energy later."
~~~~~
"You're what?" Spike asked, feeling as though he were choking on the words. "Who is he?" He thought he should have known. The demon in him had sensed the changes, but he'd refused to name them, lest by naming it he made it real. Buffy's implications were obvious. Whoever the father was, he'd left her on her own. Wanker.
Buffy raised an eyebrow, looking amused at the shadow of jealousy that flared in his blue eyes. She felt a thrill of joy as she realized that not only was it jealousy, but anger—anger that this unknown man had gotten her pregnant and left. "I'm not going to give you his name just so you can go rip his throat out."
He didn't bother to deny that the impulse had been there. "Why are you tellin' me this?"
"I don't know, Spike," Buffy admitted. "I just wanted you to know."
Spike stood abruptly, and she was suddenly frightened that he was going to run off again—leave and never come back. This time, she would have no reason for searching him out. "Let's walk."
Buffy didn't ask. She simply stood in one fluid motion and followed him out of the café. There was the flare of his lighter, and she could smell smoke as Spike lit a cigarette with practiced ease. Strolling along the street, Buffy had to keep biting her tongue. She wanted to beg, to demand, cajole and coax him into sharing his thoughts.
It was pointless, wrong even. She had lost any rights to him that night in the alley.
"Are you okay?" he asked eventually. His words floated out into the noise of L.A. after dark, and she could almost see them hanging in the light from the streetlamp.
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?" Spike repeated patiently. "Seein' the doc, gettin' all those pregnant-lady vitamins, all that."
Buffy frowned. How the hell did he know what a pregnant woman needed? "Spike, what do you know about being pregnant?" she asked, careful to keep all emotion out of her tone.
Apparently, she wasn't as successful as she might have liked to be, since she could see his lips quirk upward. "Nika's a midwife. 've picked up a bit, livin' with her."
"Oh." Buffy desperately wanted to know what his relationship with this Nika person entailed, but again, she hadn't the right. She was having another man's baby.
"We're not 'together,'" Spike said softly, reading her mind, the expression on her face, the stiffness of her posture. "Just friends, is all. Like me an' Dawn."
"Oh," Buffy said again, feeling incredibly lame for being unable to come up with something more interesting to say. "I'm so sorry, Spike," she whispered, suddenly drowning in regret. She couldn't seem to come up with anything else, circling around the night she'd hurt him like the moon around the earth. "God, I'm so sorry."
She stood in the circle of the streetlight, and Spike turned to see her rigid form. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. He was reminded suddenly, forcibly, of the night he'd come to kill her, shotgun in hand. It seemed that this night was a distant echo of that one.
Except that three years separated his humiliation in an alley and her tearful eyes this time, instead of mere hours. That, and he didn't need a weapon to kill her anymore.
Spike didn't allow himself to think about what he was doing. He'd gotten much better at comforting humans the past few years, gotten himself back into the habit of touching shoulders, speaking words with as much tact as truth. Now, ignoring the voice in his head that told him this was a bad idea, reminded him of where it would eventually lead, Spike took Buffy in his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his shoulder.
With her cradled gently in his embrace, her scent overwhelming his senses, Spike had no words for how he was feeling. Like he'd come home, maybe. Relieved. Angry that he was here again. Hopeful. Hopeless. When he felt her crying stop, Spike pulled back from her. "You alright, pet?"
It was perhaps the most innocuous of his nicknames for people. Spike used "pet" the way women from the south used "hon." He wasn't quite sure that Buffy got that, however.
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She still didn't carry around essentials like tissues, though she could be trusted not to leave the house without a stake. "Yeah, I think so. I'm sorry about that, Spike. It's these hormones, I think. I didn't want to cry on your shoulder."
This time he took her assertion the way she meant it. Of course, Buffy never meant to break down in front of anyone. He wondered if she'd shown as much of herself to her friends and Watcher as she had to him. "'s alright, really. What are you goin' to do?"
Buffy knew what he was asking, and thought that it was odd. Out of all the people she knew, all the people she had told her secret, he was the first to ask that question, other than Dawn. Everyone else had assumed she would get rid of the baby, or they had advised her to do so. Even Giles, though she could hear the anguish and gravity in his voice, had wondered aloud if it wouldn't be better to "take care of things now."
Oh, of course, they had all pledged to support her once she told them she was keeping the baby. The Scoobies were nothing if not loyal to their own. But the unspoken question had been there: how could she hope to care for a baby when she was the Slayer, and barely able to take care of herself?
Spike was still watching her with that stolid, wary expression that gave no hint as to his feelings on the matter. He might have been a statue for all the movement he made. "I'm keeping the baby," she replied, "but I don't know if it will work out. I'm the Slayer, Spike. I might not even be alive in a couple years. Sometimes I wonder if having a baby wouldn't be irresponsible."
Nika's face when she talked about having a child sprang to mind. "If this is what you want, luv, then you should do it. May not get another chance, an' you've got friends to help."
"Not like I used to," she murmured, sighing. "Seriously, though, I had no plans on getting your shirt soggy. I mean, here I was going to give you a nice apology, a short update, and then leave you to your regularly scheduled unlife."
Spike regarded her seriously. He had never been more unsure of what he wanted. "Is that what you wanted, Slayer? To come here and then leave again?"
"I have no clue." Buffy went to lean against the building, out of the light so that darkness mostly hid her face and form. "What do you want?"
"No soddin' clue." After a moment of silence, Spike added, "I can't leave Wes to his own devices though. We're partners."
"I understand," Buffy said, and she really did. Of course, there was a huge part of her that wanted Spike to go down on one knee and declare himself her willing slave, but that voice was largely silent these days. Maybe she was growing up after all.
Spike went on. "I can't go back to what we were." It was a flat statement, no room for argument or debate. Buffy had no intention of arguing, however. The last few weeks, thinking about what had gone on between the two of them, she had come to the conclusion that if Spike hadn't left, somebody would have ended up dead or dusted. He had been right to leave.
She hadn't the strength to say it.
"I can't either," she replied. "I don't—I'm not saying we 'go back' to anything."
"Then what?"
"What do you want?"
Spike laughed, and there was real humor in the sound. "You. I wanted to get over you, but never made it."
"Me neither," Buffy confessed, feeling an attack of honesty coming on. "I mean, I told myself it didn't matter, that you didn't matter, but it was a lie."
Spike smiled slightly, looking over at her through the darkness. "So where does that leave us, luv? I'm here in L.A., an' I'm not leavin'. You're there in Sunnydale, an' you're not leavin'. What's the point of even startin' somethin' we can't finish?"
"I don't know," Buffy replied, sighing. "I just—I don't know, Spike. And to be perfectly honest, I'm feeling kinda anti-man right now."
Now he did laugh, and it was a sound Buffy didn't think she'd ever heard from him. It was free and easy and oh, so natural. She wished she were the one that had released it. "Good thing for you 'm not a man, strictly speakin'." Spike grinned at her, and then offered his arm. "Why don't you walk home with me? You can meet Nika and Wes all proper-like." It was the reason he'd chosen this particular café, though he'd hardly dared hope that their meeting would go so well.
She smiled in return, almost shyly. "I'd like that. Dawn's told me so much about them, and I don't feel that I hardly know Wesley anymore. I just wasn't sure you'd actually want me to know where you lived."
Spike's smile softened, and he bent slightly to kiss her on the forehead in a kind of benediction. "Think I can trust you not to barge in at all hours," he murmured.
They walked next to each other, and this time Buffy found the silence easy. "What happened to your leg?" she asked after a while, feeling his hitching gait through the hand she'd placed on his arm.
"Chip. When I got it out, I mean." His eyes darkened with remembered days, wondering if he'd ever be able to really walk again. "Was a lot worse, once."
"Then I'm glad it's better," Buffy replied.
Spike hesitated, wanting to ask the question, but not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer. "Why'd you change your mind, Buffy? Why write that letter at all?"
Her grip tightened on his arm, as though to reassure herself that he was still there, that he wasn't running away. Everyone ran away. "Do you remember when I first came back, and I had all those nightmares?" she asked, a wistful note in her voice. At his nod, she continued. "You were the only one I could stand to be around. I told myself that it was wrong, that I should have wanted to be with my friends, but it wasn't. Wrong, I mean."
"'m not sure I understand," he said when she stopped.
Buffy smiled. "I don't know that I understand. I just—if I hadn't been uber-Bitch, you wouldn't have left."
Spike read between the lines, and he knew what she was saying. Everyone left, except Spike. He might have stayed, if she hadn't chased him off. Spike just couldn't believe that she was actually saying it, saying that she hadn't wanted him to leave. "Uber-Bitch, huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Buffy shot him a look. "And no comments. I can admit it."
They were on a residential street now, the small, neat houses lined up on a well-lit street. Buffy had forgotten places like this existed in L.A. Spike was looking thoughtful. "Dunno if this is a good idea," he said suddenly, pausing. At first he had wondered if it wasn't a bad plan because he had an inkling that they might be interrupting something between Nika and Wesley. Now, he was wondering because there was a black convertible parked in Nika's driveway, and he was fairly certain he knew whose car it was.
"That's Angel's car," Buffy said, confirming his suspicions. She looked over at Spike. "It's up to you," she said softly. "We don't have to go in if you don't want to."
"What are you going to tell him if we do go in?" Spike asked, a challenge in his voice. He was suddenly touchy again, and Buffy knew she could make or break their fledgling connection with the wrong response.
She shrugged. "First of all, it's none of his business where I am or what I'm doing. I'm not seeing Angel anymore. Second, I was out having a cup of coffee with you. That's what I'm going to tell him."
It wasn't everything he'd hoped for, but it was enough for Spike. It was more than she'd ever told her friends. "Alright. Let's make sure he's not givin' Wesley a hard time then."
Spike walked through the door, Buffy just behind him, to see Angel seated awkwardly on the couch. Wesley was standing in a corner of the room, as far away from the other occupants as he could get, and Nika was looking annoyed and uncomfortable. "What's goin' on, Wesley?" Spike asked, addressing the one person he was worried for. Angel wouldn't harm Nika, and she hadn't the emotional scars from the other vampire that Wesley did.
"Angel came to say hello," the ex-Watcher replied, his voice dull.
"Well, isn't that nice?" Spike smirked.
Angel's eye had caught Buffy. "Buffy? What are you doing here?"
"I was out with Spike," she said, not bothering to qualify their night out with any kind of explanation. "What's going on, Angel?"
He looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. "I just wanted to talk to Wes. Be sure he was—you know."
It was obvious to everyone in the room that whatever attempts at reconciliation had been made, they were over. With the presence of Spike and Buffy, all privacy was gone, and Angel was unwilling to make a public apology, not in front of Spike. "Maybe we could talk some other time," Angel suggested.
"If you'd like," Wesley replied, managing to sound indifferent to the idea.
If Angel was taken aback by the man's coolness, he gave no sign. "Buffy? Do you want a ride back to the hotel?"
"No, I think I'll hang here for a while," Buffy replied, sounding breezy and terribly unconcerned. Spike had to work to hide a smile; when the Slayer sounded that much like a dumb blonde, her brain was typically working over-time.
The big vampire hesitated, then nodded, mumbling a general good-bye before heading out the door. Wesley turned and looked at Nika as soon as he'd gone. "What did you do?"
"I bribed him," she replied, unrepentant. "I'm sorry, Wesley, but I told you, I don't want to lose you. If I can do anything to keep you safe, I will. This time, keeping you safe meant bribing Angel. Deal with it."
Spike was sensing tension in the room, and he started to back off towards the kitchen, motioning Buffy to come along with him. "Oh, it's quite alright, Spike," Wesley said irritably. "You needn't leave. I'm just going—"
"Where?" Nika asked. "Wesley—"
"Stop!" Spike didn't often give orders. Even when he was in control, he wasn't much on giving orders, preferring instead to let the chips fall where they might. Fists, fangs, and sod all else. But this situation was a little different. "Nika, what exactly did you do?"
"I anchored Angel's soul in return for him not coming after Wesley," she replied, still not sorry. "I was going to tell him, but we got—busy."
Spike could just imagine. "You really have a problem with that, Watcher?"
"No, of course not, it's just..." The man trailed off, coming over to sit down on the couch. Spike could see the self-righteousness drain out of him. "It's not Nika I'm upset with," he mumbled into his hands. "Angel interrupted us."
Spike could understand that feeling all too well. "Then we'll let you get back to it," he said. "I just thought I'd show Buffy my place." This was all said with a studied non-chalance that had the Slayer hiding a smile. That, and the thought of Wesley having a moment with anyone. She still remembered the horribly starched young Watcher who had screwed things up so badly. This Wesley, on the other hand, was slightly rumpled, stubbled, and could probably give Spike a run for his money on the attractiveness scale.
He was older, and more scarred, and obviously had just had old wounds reopened by Angel's presence. And the way Nika was looking at him, it was apparent that she was exactly what he needed right now. "It was good to see both of you again," she said, a little uncertainly.
Wesley glanced up at her, and Nika's eyes met hers for a moment. There was a flash of understanding, woman-to-woman, and Buffy nodded in response to the unspoken question. "You ought to come over sometime for dinner," Nika suggested softly. "It would be nice for all of us to reconnect."
"Sure, next time I'm in L.A." Buffy turned and followed Spike into the kitchen, looking back to see that Nika was now sitting next to Wesley on the couch, pulling him into her arms. She was taking care of him.
"'s down here," Spike explained, flipping the stairwell light on, waiting for Buffy to precede him down the stairs.
Whatever Buffy had expected, this wasn't it. That seemed to be the theme of the evening. Nothing was as she had thought. "This is nice, Spike." She tried to keep the surprise out of her tone, and apparently was successful, because he simply smiled.
"Nicer than the crypt for sure," he agreed. Spike hesitated. "If you want to stay, couch folds out."
Buffy wasn't sure that was a good idea. Was it moving to fast? Did it matter that whatever she might have said to him, she still wanted him? Standing in this basement apartment, with its neat décor and decent furnishings, she wondered if she'd ever really known him at all. Had Spike always been capable of this—living in an actual house, making friends, becoming a part of something? It drove home how much she might have missed out on.
"Can we talk?" she asked, suddenly uncertain. "I mean, can you just tell me what you've been doing? What demon did you fight last week? Do you like living here? Are you—" she faltered. "Are you happy?"
"Happy as I can be," Spike replied, answering her last question first. "An' we can talk, about whatever you like."
Buffy swallowed. "Then I want to talk about you." Taking a tentative step closer, she whispered, "I want to know who you are, because I'm not sure I recognize the man in front of me."
"That's because I'm a vampire," he replied, trying for humor.
She shook her head. "No, that's what I thought too. That's why I don't recognize the man that's with me now."
"I know I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man, and that's—" The words seemed to echo in the silence they had created.
Spike sank down onto the couch, waiting until Buffy sat down next to him. "It took me a few weeks to find a doctor who'd take the chip out," he began, telling her everything. And they talked all night.
Part III: Rapprochement
"Come to me now/Lay your hands over me/Even if it is a lie/Say it will be alright/And I shall believe/I'm broken in two/And I know you're on to me/That I only come home/When I'm so all alone/But I do believe/That not everything is gonna be the way/You think it ought to be/It seems like every time I try to make it right/It all comes down on me/Please say honestly you won't give up on me/And I shall believe/And I shall believe/Open the door/
And show me your face tonight/I know it's true/No one heals me like you/And you hold the key/Never again/would I turn away from you/I'm so heavy tonight/But your love is alright/
And I do believe." ~Sheryl Crow, "I Shall Believe"
"Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask." Spike looked over at his companion. They had borrowed Nika's car for this little outing, and were supposed to be staking out the warehouse across the way. While they were both keeping watch, the vampire could tell that Wesley's full attention wasn't on the job at hand. In fact, he had a pretty good idea of where the other man's head was and what question he wanted to ask. The temptation to play with him was overwhelming.
Spike never claimed not to be still a little evil.
"What are your feelings for Danika?" Wesley's retreat into formality told Spike all he needed to know about the ex-Watcher's feelings. Not to mention the fact that his heart-rate sped up and his breath caught every time he saw her, and he had a nasty habit of getting all stiff every time Spike showed her some affection, or vice versa.
The only thing restraining Spike from dragging Wesley along on an emotional wild goose chase was the fact that he knew Nika fancied the man—for whatever reason. She'd never forgive him if something he said made Wesley give up before the games had even begun. "I love her," Spike said sincerely. "But not the way you're comin' to."
Wesley looked over at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"
"You, ya git." Spike lifted an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. "You've been makin' moon eyes at Nika for months now."
He opened his mouth to refute it and found he couldn't. "You noticed?" he asked weakly.
Spike smirked. "Mate, 'm a vampire. Not hard to notice when a bloke's got it bad for a girl. An' in case you're wonderin', she fancies you."
Wesley shook his head. "But you and she—"
"Where are you gettin' that?" Spike demanded. "We've both told you how it is with us. We wouldn't lie to you 'bout somethin' like that."
Spike heard the other man sigh deeply. "It's just—" 'History,' Spike thought, mentally finishing the sentence. They all carried their own baggage, their own scars. Wesley was no exception to the rule. From what he'd let drop, and from the run-in they'd had with his old friends, Wesley was trying hard to outrun his own demons, and he wasn't always successful.
"She wouldn't want me," Wesley finally said. It was said as if it was the gospel truth, and Spike nearly winced. He'd been there, done that, and didn't want to go back.
The vampire sighed deeply. "Wesley, are you listenin' to me at all? Told you she fancied you."
Wesley shook his head. "Danika's not the type of woman who would 'fancy' a rogue demon hunter." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "She would want a man who could give her what she needs."
"And that would be me?" Spike asked incredulously. "Wesley, the woman wants to get married an' have babies. I can't give her that."
"And I can?" Wesley countered. "Spike, I doubt I'll make it to forty. Nika deserves someone who can give her more time than that."
Spike frowned. "Why don't you get out of this business, mate? Marry, settle down, have kiddies—all those things you humans are supposed to want."
Now Wesley's laughter was bitter. "All I ever wanted was to matter, to belong somewhere. I had it all, and then I threw it away."
Spike was tempted to smack him. The ex-Watcher was just being a stupid ponce now, but at the same time, Spike couldn't actually blame him. After all, you didn't see him going after Buffy, trying to make things right. "If I have anythin' to say about it, you're goin' to live to a ripe old age. So stop bein' such a git an' ask her out already."
Wesley turned his head to look out the windshield again. He was obviously not interested in continuing this discussion. Spike growled slightly. "Wesley—"
"Look." Spike's eyes went to where Wesley was pointing, and he saw a couple of the vampires they were looking for dragging in a meal. The two of them had been hired to clean up a warehouse before it was renovated. The entire district was being gutted in order to turn it into a series of clubs and restaurants.
The plan—Wesley's, of course—was to stake out the warehouse first to get an idea of how many vampires were nesting there. So far, they'd seen at least five, but there was a good chance of running into a lot more. Unfortunately, with the arrival of a human victim, the plan got scrapped, and they were duty-bound to go in.
Spike actually preferred it that way. Fists and fangs—nothing but the fight. Wesley wasn't going to be happy, however. "Guess it's plan B then, mate."
Wesley frowned, disgruntled. "I suppose. If we don't move quickly, all we'll find is a dead body."
"Just what I was thinkin'," Spike replied cheerfully. "Let's go." He followed Wesley towards the warehouse, noting with approval the crossbow and battle ax that he carried in either hand. The ex-Watcher would also have stakes in wrist-sheathes, so he was well-armed, and ready for whatever they might find. The vampire would never admit it, but Spike worried about Wesley, especially in situations such as this one.
It was entirely possible for either one of them to suffer a mortal wound any time they went into battle. Wesley, of course, was much more vulnerable than he was. Anything that might kill Spike—save for sunlight and holy water—would work on the human as well, as well as a number of other things. Spike honestly couldn't remember worrying about a comrade like he did Wesley. Buffy and Dawn were the only humans he had ever cared about, and they were different. (There was Nika, of course, but she didn't go into battle with him.)
Spike had never thought to find another man he would follow unquestioningly into a fight. After the Slayer, he'd never thought to find someone he trusted implicitly.
The first few minutes of the fight went well enough. There were a half dozen vampires in the large open room, and Wesley dusted two of them immediately with a couple well-placed crossbow bolts. Spike took the head off another one and sent the pointed end of the shaft through another's chest.
It should have been four down and two to go at that point, but another five vamps came from the catwalk that lined the walls above them. Four of them flanked Spike, and he grinned with the thrill of it. He spun the ax in his hands, showing off a little bit. "Come an' get it, boys," he invited.
They advanced on him, and at least two of them were older and a bit smarter about the fight than the ones he'd already dusted. That bit didn't faze him at all; in fact, Spike preferred his opponents to have a bit of bite to them. It wasn't any fun otherwise.
At one point Spike had nearly given up hope that he'd ever be able to fight like he used to. He was certain that having a bum leg made him somewhat less of a warrior. Fighting with Wesley had changed all that, since he was responsible for someone else besides himself, and someone else was responsible for him. Having someone to watch his back had freed him to rediscover the joy of the fight.
Up until now, he hadn't realized that having another person there could inspire terror as well.
Spike dusted his last vampire and turned to check on Wesley, only to find that the other man was down, hand pressed to his stomach. There was already a dark red stain spreading out from under his fingers, and the last vampire standing was going in for the kill, fangs bared.
He didn't even pause to think—the stake flew from his hand, piercing the vampire's heart and sending dust floating down over the fallen man. Spike spared a glance for the young man the vampires had grabbed. "Get out of here," he growled. When the boy stayed frozen, petrified by fear and uncertainty, Spike flashed some fang, yellow eyes glowing in the dim room. "Move. Now."
This time the boy didn't wait to be told twice, taking off as fast as he could, hand pressed over the wound in his neck. He was moving swiftly enough so that Spike knew he'd most likely be okay. He was more concerned for Wesley.
Spike knelt by his side, peering at the wound with an expert eye. "'s bad, Wesley," he said quietly. "We need to get you to the hospital."
"No hospital," Wesley replied hoarsely, but firmly.
Spike shook his head. "But you need—"
"No hospital," Wesley said, more strongly still. He pushed himself into a sitting position, grunting a little with the pain. "I'm sick to death of hospitals."
Spike sighed and chewed his lip briefly. "Fine. Nika then. Lucky for you she's a dab hand at this sort of thing. Not to mention the fact that we have the car tonight." Pulling off his leather jacket, he took his shirt off, applying pressure to the wound. Once Spike was certain that the man could keep up the pressure, he put his jacket back on over his t-shirt.
He lifted Wesley easily, supporting the other man's weight even as he guided the both of them out to the car. Making sure Wesley was safely buckled into the passenger side, Spike started up the car and headed for Nika's house.
It was a good thirty minutes before they got there, Wesley getting paler by the minute. Spike nearly turned the car around and headed for the hospital a couple times, but each time Wesley simply gritted his teeth a little more and insisted that he not even think about it. The vampire didn't question his insistence, though he did think it a little strange.
When they pulled up in front of Nika's house, Spike helped the ex-Watcher out, supporting him up to the door. He got Wesley inside and sat him on the couch, going over to Nika's bedroom door and knocking, a little of the urgency he was feeling coming through in the sound.
Her door opened immediately. She was in her pajamas with her hair loose over her shoulders, obviously getting ready for bed. One look at Spike's face was all she needed to know it was serious. "What is it?"
"Wesley. He's hurt." Spike leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he wouldn't go. Dunno why."
Nika followed him out the door, giving Wesley the once-over, and jerking her head at Spike. "Get him into my room. We'll work on him in there."
Spike hauled Wesley off the couch as gently as he could manage, supporting the other man into the bedroom and onto the bed. "Spike, get his jacket and shirt off, please," Nika called from the kitchen where she was digging out first aid supplies.
The vampire didn't even hesitate. He helped Wesley slip his jacket off, the human letting out a small groan of pain. Other than that Wesley wasn't making any noise, focusing most of his energies on staying conscious. "Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he got the ex-Watcher's shirt off, finally able to see the full extent of the wound.
The man was lucky that vampire had been trying for a slice. Spike didn't think he would have survived a stab wound to the gut. And only a few millimeters deeper and Wesley's insides would have been outside. Spike felt his own stomach clench; they had almost lost him.
He looked up as Nika entered the room, plastic tub in hand. Spike could see her blanch slightly, and he'd never seen her pale at the sight of an injury before. She came over to the bed, plastering a smile on her face. "Looks like you got yourself banged up pretty good, cariad."
"Wasn't fast enough," Wesley said, beginning to feel faint from pain and blood loss.
Nika smiled wryly. "Well, let that be a lesson to you then." As his eyes drooped shut, she gently tapped him on the cheek. "Sorry, Wesley. I need you to stay with me for a minute. Got something for you to drink first, then you can go to sleep, okay?"
Spike helped her support him as she poured her "special" tea down his throat, as much as possible. "Anything I can do?" he asked softly as Wesley slipped into unconsciousness.
Nika nodded, her lips tight. Now that she didn't have to pretend for Wesley's sake, the worry on her face was clear to see. "I need to disinfect the wound, and then I'll need you to help me hold it shut so I can stitch it up." Her gray eyes met his, and he could read the fear there. "Why didn't you take him to the hospital, Spike?"
Spike would have flushed in shame if vampires could. "I—he didn't want to go. Wasn't sure how bad it was, an' I thought you could take care of it."
"I can," she replied. "But next time I might not be able to. I'll talk to Wesley about this too, Spike, but I want you to promise me you'll follow your instincts next time. I don't care what Wesley Wyndam-Pryce thinks he wants."
Spike nodded, feeling chastened, and Nika reached over to put a hand on his wrist. "It's okay. I can take care of him, but I need you to go wash your hands really well."
While Nika waited for Spike to return, she started using the sterile gauze pads to mop up the wound. The bleeding was sluggish now as the clotting factor did its work. She used another of her nain's remedies to disinfect the wound. By that point, Spike was back in the room, clean hands held out tentatively in front of him.
"Good," Nika said, glancing over at him. "Now I need you to pinch here." With the vampire's help, she sewed up the long gash with tiny, precise stitches. After what seemed like hours, Nika finally trimmed the thread, spread a salve along the cut, then taped a sterile dressing over it. She raised her head to see Spike looking at her, exhaustion in his eyes. It always amazed her how much he seemed to care about those around him when it shouldn't have mattered at all that a man had almost died.
"Come on, Spike," she said gently, pulling him out of the room. Even though the vampire was covered in blood, he still wore his human guise, and Nika was impressed by his control. The bloodlust should have been unbearable. "You okay?"
He nodded. "'m sorry, Nika." His blue eyes were dark with residual fear and guilt. "I never meant to let 'im get hurt so bad. Wasn't supposed to go down that way."
"I know, sweetheart," she said, guiding him over to the couch and sitting down next to him. "It wasn't your fault, Spike."
She could see his jaw tense, a muscle jumping in an uneven rhythm. "Told him I wouldn't let anything happen to him." Spike stared at her. "Nika, 'm sorry. I wanted to keep him safe for you."
Nika bit her lip, letting the realization that she could have lost Wesley sink in. "Oh, Spike..."
"Shh," Spike said, drawing her into his arms, feeling her begin to tremble. He accepted his responsibility in the evening's events. He should have been more careful with Wesley. The ex-Watcher was more fragile than he'd even realized. He would have to watch more carefully in the future, because he'd meant what he said. Spike knew how Nika was beginning to feel about the man, and he vowed that she would not lose another person she loved.
"I don't think I can do this," Nika whispered into Spike's chest. "If I lost either one of you, I think it would kill me."
Spike ran his hand down her hair in a soothing motion. "No, it wouldn't," he contradicted. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, luv. You'd be alright in the end."
"Why is this always the way it is?" Nika asked, her voice dangerously close to tears. "Why do I always seem to lose the people I love?"
Spike murmured soft words of encouragement, meaningless phrases meant to comfort as she started to cry. "You're not goin' to lose either one of us," he promised. "I swear to you, I'll keep him safe if I have to stick him in the trunk next time."
"And what about you, Spike?" Nika demanded. "You're important to me too."
Spike shook his head. "I'm just a vampire, luv. Definitely expendable."
"You're not expendable," Nika said, sounding angry. "And you're not just anything. You got Wesley out alive tonight, Spike. That means a lot."
Spike smiled, but his eyes were dark with doubt. "I shouldn't have let him get hurt in the first place."
Nika pulled back. "You both know the risks you take every time you go out. It's as much his fault as yours, if you want to lay blame that badly." She touched his cheek fondly. "You should get cleaned up. Go watch TV or go to bed. I'll take care of Wesley."
"Come an' get me if you need me?"
"Of course." Nika watched him head for the basement, his posture a picture of tension. Spike took his self-imposed responsibilities so very seriously. She went back to her bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to Wesley's still form. Spike had seen what she hadn't wanted to admit, even to herself. She was beginning to fall head over heels for the ex-Watcher.
Nika reached out to stroke his cheek, running a hand over his hair. Ever since he had helped her deliver the Lidraki baby, she had found herself watching him every chance she got. It was odd. With Danny, it had very much been love at first sight, and their love had grown and changed as they had. With Wesley, it had been a slow progression until she couldn't quite say when it was she'd first started loving him. One day he had been her friend, and a man she admired. The next day she was watching him as a potential mate.
How she felt about him was unimportant, however. Nika wasn't sure she could deal with losing another lover. Up until this moment, she had half-thought to approach Wesley with her feelings if he didn't make a move, and now she wasn't so sure. She had to be certain she could live with losing him, live with the danger he was constantly putting himself in.
She had thought she would be angry with him for getting hurt, and she was—a little. More than anger, however, she found herself simply grateful that she would have more time with him, even if she didn't do anything with the opportunity.
Stretching out on the bed next to him, Nika moved closer, allowing herself to trace patterns on his bare chest. Tomorrow they would be back to business as usual. Tomorrow she would pretend that she wasn't falling in love with him. Tonight she would allow herself to fantasize that this might all be hers someday.
~~~~~
Wesley woke slowly, in an unfamiliar place, his head feeling fuzzy. For a brief moment he wondered if he hadn't had a few drinks too many with Spike and ended up on his couch.
The warm body next to him disabused him of that notion rather rapidly.
He shifted slightly, feeling the stitches in his stomach pull as he moved, and Wesley stifled a groan. Moving as carefully as possible, he turned to see Nika sleeping next to him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow where it wasn't hanging in her face. Hesitantly, he reached out to brush a strand away from her mouth. For a moment, Wesley allowed himself to revel in her beauty, but when her eyes fluttered open, he withdrew his hand, watching as she stirred slowly.
"Wesley? How are you feeling?" Nika asked, her voice still slurred from sleep, her gray eyes focusing on him with difficulty.
He managed a smile. "Better than I was last night, I believe." The events of the previous evening were beginning to come back to him. He remembered that Spike had been terribly worried for him, and had brought him back to Nika's place when he had refused to go to a hospital. In retrospect, the hospital would have been the wiser choice, but he was sick of spending days in hospital beds. After his last trip there, Wesley had sworn to himself that he'd have to be on the brink of death before going back.
Judging from the look in Nika's eyes this morning, that brink had been all too close.
Wesley made a decision in that moment. The words he'd spoken to Spike earlier, saying that he would most likely be dead before forty, had taken on an almost prophetic quality. It was highly unlikely that he would die in his own bed at a ripe old age. Even if Nika fancied him, as Spike had insisted, there was no way he could ask her to be with him. He couldn't put her through another loss. His passing would hurt her because she cared for him; that was her nature. He didn't have to ask her to love him though. Eventually she'd move on, find some man who was safer.
Wesley could see in her eyes the same look that had been in Virginia's before she had broken up with him. This time he would avoid that scene by not entering into the relationship in the first place. "I'm glad you could patch me up," he said lightly. "I hate hospitals."
Nika thought she had seen a flash of something in his eyes, as though he'd come to some sort of a conclusion. She wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure where to begin. The last man she had dated was Danny, and that had been nearly fifteen years before. She had no idea how to approach dating as a grown woman.
It didn't matter, she told herself firmly. It didn't matter because this relationship wasn't going anywhere. She had no desire to lose another lover to the arms of death. If Wesley wasn't in love with her, so much the better, since she wouldn't have to say no to him.
She honestly didn't think she could say no.
"You can stay here for as long as you need," she assured him, and then smiled wickedly, pushing aside the loneliness and fear and worry. Wesley was her very good friend, and that's what was important. "Of course, you may think the hospital was the lesser of two evils. They want you to leave as quickly as possible. I'm going to sit on you until you're better, if I have to."
Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them. Wesley knew she was pulling back slightly, and he understood. Nika knew he understood, and she was willing to pretend her love for him was of the platonic variety. For now they would both pretend, neither willing to risk the comfort of friendship for something greater.
~~~~~
Spike sat on his bed, still in his blood-covered clothing. He had almost lost Wesley tonight, and that sense of teetering on the brink brought back memories.
Memories he would have rather pretended didn't exist.
Failure was not a new companion, of course. There had been his failure as a human being in general, his failure as a vampire to be as evil as Angelus. He had failed to keep Drusilla and failed to kill his third Slayer. But right now he was remembering an early morning on a shaky tower, the sick realization that Doc was going to cut Dawn, and the utter despair when he realized that Buffy had paid for his mistake with her life.
Oh, Spike knew that Dawn hadn't blamed him. He didn't even think that Buffy had truly believed him to be responsible for her death, but he felt it all the same. If vampires weren't supposed to feel guilt, Spike couldn't put a name to this emotion that coursed through him, that had sent him the daydreams every day that she was gone—147 ways to make things right. He'd said the 148th day didn't count, but that wasn't precisely true, as he'd already thought of a new way to save her by the time he saw her coming down the stairs that night.
Tonight he felt the failure again, running over and over in his head how he might have prevented Wesley from getting hurt. Spike knew he should have stayed closer, shouldn't have gotten so caught up in the fight. These humans were so frail...
Of its own accord, his hand wandered over to the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out a thick stack of letters. Nika and Wesley knew about them—how could they not, when he was constantly crowing about Dawn't successes, like a proud older brother? They were his security blanket, though, and Spike was willing to bet that neither of his friends knew that there were days when only flimsy pieces of paper stood between him and despondency.
Spike still liked to hold on to the illusion that something remained of the Big Bad.
He pulled out the letter from the top of the pile, wanting to find some way to wash the taste of guilt and failure out of his mouth. Dawn had comforted him by her presence that infinitely long summer, just as he had comforted her with his. Now, over the distance, she comforted him with her words, though Spike was sure she didn't know it.
June 21, 2005
Hey Spike,
It's so cool, you're never going to believe it. I got in to UCLA! I know you told me not to worry about you, to go wherever I wanted, but they're practically paying me to go there, so I have a really good excuse. Plus, I'll be close to you again, and that will be nice.
My sister is driving me crazy. I think she believed I was going to stay in town for college and live at home to save money. Half the time she's totally absorbed in her own life and the other half of the time she's asking me if I wouldn't want to stay here instead. I really don't get her sometimes. I'm ready to be out of this town though, and this way I won't be completely alone in the big city.
That's about it. I've got to get to work. I need some new parts for the truck, so there will be no slacking. Love you,
Dawn
Spike swallowed as he put the letter away. He'd already responded, congratulating her on her scholarship, but he hadn't invited her to see him. He wasn't quite sure that it was a good idea. Thinking back, he could understand why Buffy didn't want Dawn to hang around him. He was a bad influence, and he was a vampire as well. On the other hand, he ached to see her again in a way that was unfamiliar.
Missing Dawn was a pain that held no regret, no real hurt. Save for that night on the tower, he'd done his best by her, and she by him. Their love was one of little complication or complexity. It might not be easily understood by others, but it was real.
Spike went backwards through the pile, reading the stack letter by letter, reminding himself that something good might come out of failure, that it didn't have to mean the end of things. And when he finally fell asleep, it was with a sheet of girlish stationary clutched tightly in his hand.
A/N: O bechod is translated "poor thing." Fy nghariad i is "my love."
Nika sat next to Wesley on the couch, feeling helpless in the wake of his emotions. He was usually so reserved that it was hard to know how to react now that he had let down his guard. "I'm sorry," she finally said, feeling unreasonably awkward. They had been so comfortable with one another earlier. "I should have told you about my visit to Angel. But then we got busy, and I just didn't think about it."
"I'm not angry at you," Wesley said quietly, his voice under tight control.
Nika took a chance and moved a little closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Okay. That's good, because you sure could have fooled me." After a lengthy pause, she asked, "Then what has you so upset, Wesley?"
"What am I supposed to do if Angel forgives me?"
The question was not what she was expecting, and she had no idea how to respond. Nika would have thought that Angel's forgiveness was what Wesley wanted, not something that made him angry. "I don't understand."
"What if he wants to pick up where we left off? Or he asks me to come back to work for him?" His voice sounded oddly muted, as though he was choking back tears. "What do I do then? It's not as though I could leave you or Spike, and they wouldn't—they wouldn't understand."
"What do you want to do?" She could feel him draw in a breath to answer, and she squeezed his shoulders, interrupting what he had been about to say. "Don't say what you think I want to hear, and don't worry about Spike for a minute. Just tell me what you want."
"Nothing," Wesley said, his voice harsh in the quiet of the room. "I want nothing from him."
Nika let her hands slip away as he stood, pacing—stalking—around the room. "I can't go back to the way things were. I can't—I trusted him."
"You're angry with him," she stated.
He whirled to face her, and she could tell that he was still trying to stay in control. Three years' worth of hurt and anger were bound to escape at some point, and Nika could tell Wesley was at the boiling point. "Yes!" Staring at her, he asked in a bare whisper, "But how can I be angry, after what I did to him... I deserved it."
She stayed silent, waiting, wanting to see if he would eventually open up to her on his own without her prying. Finally he spoke, more to himself than to her. "He was my friend. I trusted him with my life, and he tried to kill me. I was wrong. I betrayed him. But he didn't even ask—" Wesley looked up at Nika, his voice plaintive as he addressed himself to her. "Why didn't he ask? I never wanted to hurt him. I just wanted to protect him—and Connor. He was my friend."
"I know," she replied.
"I wanted to tell someone." Wesley continued his disjointed explanation. "I couldn't tell Angel though; he was acting so strangely. Cordelia was off with the Groosalug. And, of course, Gunn and Fred..." He nearly choked on the words. "I couldn't even look at them together. There was no one."
Nika looked at him, waiting for him to finish. "He didn't even ask me... I would have died for him. I hurt him so badly, and now I think I might hate him."
Now she stood, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the trembling of his body. "O bechod," she murmured. "Wesley, fy nghariad i. It's alright to be angry with him, with all of them. They were your family, and they left you. Family does not do such a thing." Pulling back, Nika took him by the hand and pulled him into her bedroom. "It's right to be angry when you're hurt. I'm angry with him for you."
"But what I did—" The protest was weak, but Wesley still felt it. What he had done left him no room to cast stones or lay blame. The rage he felt was irrational, and he had no idea how to exorcise it.
Nika lay a finger on his lips, stilling his words. "What you did hurt Angel," she agreed. "What he did, and what the others did, hurt you." She kissed him on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips, tasting his tears as they fell. "Personally, right now I'm really pissed off at him. He ruined what should have been a wonderful evening."
Wesley couldn't even manage a chuckle at her slightly outraged tone. He hadn't cried since he had been infected with Billy's blood. Even the loss of everything he'd ever held dear hadn't caused him to cry. If the truth were to be told, Wesley had so walled off his emotions that nothing had reached him. He'd been too busy trying to survive to allow himself to grieve. He half-wondered if seeing Fred with Gunn hadn't started the progression—not allowing himself to feel. And now he felt—
Nika's hands on his shoulders, arms, chest. Her light kisses dusting his skin. Wesley had wanted this so badly, and now all he could do was cry for what had been lost. She tugged his shoes off, pushing him to lay down on the bed, pillowing his head on her chest. "Shh," she comforted. "Cariad, we all have to grieve. So tonight you mourn for what was lost. Tomorrow is soon enough for exploring what is in front of us."
"I love you," he said hoarsely, allowing himself to take comfort in the fact that she clutched him tighter at his words.
"And I love you." She stroked his face. "Sleep, Wesley. I'll be here when you wake."
~~~~~
Nika stirred sleepily, slowly realizing that Wesley was having yet another nightmare. It had been a rough night for the both of them, as bad dreams had plagued the ex-Watcher, and consequently her as well.
The first couple of times he'd woken her with his tossing and turning, all the more frightening for his utter silence. From the look on his face, it was obvious that Wesley had been dreaming about being smothered. He wore the sort of expression one imagined drowning victims wearing just before they started swallowing water.
Both times Nika had shaken him awake and then had tightened her embrace. She knew without being told what he was dreaming about; he'd told her that Angel had tried to kill him with a pillow while he was in a hospital bed. It was no wonder he was dreaming about that particular incident again, given the cause of his emotional upheaval.
This time, however, Wesley was muttering something in his sleep—something about his father, and please, and let me out. Nika didn't know much about his parents, but she knew enough to sense the distance that was there. Occasionally Wesley would make a comment about his father, and the culmination of those comments was that Nika strongly hoped she never met the man. She'd be too tempted to lay a particularly vile hex on him.
Nika nudged Wesley, shifting him slightly off of her arm, which had gone to sleep. "Hey, cariad, wake up. Come on, Wesley. It's just a dream."
He still tossed, muttering, struggling with the demons he couldn't seem to outrun. "Ah, Wesley," Nika murmured. "What have they made of you, my love?"
Not even her voice seemed to calm him, and so she bent down and kissed him on the lips, deepening it slowly as he began to respond to her. They might have been Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty, except with the roles reversed.
Wesley's eyes blinked open slowly as he realized that the nightmare had ended, and the bright light of day was streaming into the room. "Danika?"
"Yes?" She smiled at him, satisfied to see that he looked better rested than his rather restless night would have predicted.
"Were you here all night?" Wesley frowned slightly, dimly recalling the nightmares and her constant presence. "Did I wake you?"
"Several times," Nika replied, smiling slightly to show she bore him no anger. "The waking up with you here was worth it, though."
"You stayed," he said, his voice holding a note of wonder.
"Wesley," she replied patiently, "you're in my bed. And I promised you I wouldn't leave." Her gray eyes glittered, and Wesley could sense a barely restrained anger—and behind that anger, a power. He forgot, sometimes, that she had her own skills, her own abilities. He might be a trifle better than an amateur magician with a little power, but her strength resided in her blood and training. "If I thought it would do you any good, I'd put a curse on both of them," she said, voicing her thoughts of earlier.
He shook his head. "Angel had reason," he said gently, recalling his earlier nightmares.
Nika looked disgruntled. "I'm not sure I care. I hate to see you in pain." She smiled sweetly at him. "So sue me. I'm biased."
Wesley chuckled. "That's actually nice to hear." He paused. "What time is it?"
"Late," she replied without looking at the clock. "I think it's after ten. I never sleep this late." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "And I don't think Spike's up yet. At least, I don't hear him."
"I hope he and Buffy had a good evening," Wesley said sincerely.
Nika pushed herself off the bed. "Only one way to find out." She smiled at him. "Why don't you take a shower, cariad? You'll probably want to get out of the clothes you slept in."
"Indeed," Wesley replied. "You don't happen to—"
"Your spare clothing's in the bottom drawer," Nika said. She ran a hand through her hair and wandered out into the kitchen to make the coffee. She was taking her first sip when Wesley came up behind her.
"Do you know where my shirt is?" he asked. Nika turned and felt the bolt of desire hit her somewhere below the stomach.
She shook her head. "You ruined the last one you left here, remember?"
"Do you have another I might borrow, then?" Wesley asked, frowning. He couldn't quite place the look on her face.
Nika gave him a saucy smile. "There's one of Spike's in the laundry room, but maybe you could just not wear a shirt?" she suggested. "I really wouldn't mind."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really." Their kiss this time was less sweet and more heated, heading rapidly for R-rated territory when they heard a throat being cleared. Wesley took his own sweet time pulling away from her, and looked back over at Spike.
"'bout bloody time," was the vampire's observation. "You got any of that coffee for Buffy?" he asked. "I'm goin' to see if I can't tempt her awake."
Wesley looked a little surprised. "Buffy stayed here last night?"
"Yeah," Spike said, trying to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. For all the sexcapades they'd engaged in, the last night just spent talking had been the best night he'd ever spent with the Slayer. By far. "We talked."
Nika and Wesley exchanged amused glances, and Spike realized he probably had a goofy smile on his face. "It was nice!"
"I'm sure it was," Nika assured him. "What comes next?"
Spike's smile faded. He honestly had no idea what happened next. He didn't even know what he wanted to happen now. "Dunno," he replied honestly. "We'll just have to see how it goes." The vampire grabbed his mug of coffee and disappeared down the stairs, leaving a slight pall behind him.
"I shouldn't have asked," Nika said regretfully.
"It'll be alright, love," Wesley replied. He took the mug of coffee that Nika held out to him and looked thoughtfully at the basement door. "It's just going to take some time."
~~~~~
Buffy entered the Hyperion around noon. She and Spike had talked for hours, until the sun came up, and then she'd caught a nap on his couch before leaving. Feeling lighter than she had in a long time, Buffy smiled. They had managed to re-establish the cautious connection that had been there soon after her resurrection. She could honestly say that she understood Spike a lot better now than she ever had before.
Her warm and fuzzy feelings towards the vampire probably had something to do with the fact that Spike had talked for at least half the time. Instead of listening to her problems, she'd listened to his. She found out what demons he'd killed lately, that he and Wesley shared a love for movies and Playstation, and that he wasn't seeing anyone.
That last had been a relief. Coupled with Nika's obvious attraction to Wesley, Buffy had realized that she might still have a shot with him. Not a great one, of course, but the Slayer had come to the conclusion that men were the oil to her water. It didn't matter how much she liked the guy; sooner or later he left, and she had no one to blame for it but herself.
Actually, come to think of it, she could blame every guy but Spike.
There wasn't anything in the world that could disturb her sense of well-being right now. At least, that's what she thought until she saw Angel barreling towards her. "Buffy! You're back." He frowned at her. "We were worried."
"I wasn't," Dawn said from her position behind the lobby counter. She and Connor were doing something on the computer, and she raised her head to give her sister a smile. "Good night?"
"It was great," Buffy replied. Not even Angel's disapproving gaze could change that. "How was yours?" She was completely ignoring her ex-boyfriend at this point, having no use for his over-protective-jealous routine.
Dawn grinned. "Good. Connor and I watched movies all night with a friend of mine. We just got back a little while ago."
Buffy didn't even blink. She and Dawn had talked about their plans for the evening, and Buffy didn't have a problem with overnight group activities. In fact, she was fairly well aware that she didn't have a right to have a problem with any of Dawn's activities. Her sister wasn't a minor any longer, and she was paying her own way through college. "That's good, Dawnie," she replied, realizing that part of Angel's discomfort stemmed from the fact that Connor was also out all night.
"Buffy, can I talk to you?" Angel looked upset, and Buffy bit back a sigh. She didn't want to have this conversation with him. Every time they did, someone ended up getting hurt. Last time they had a talk about her boyfriend, it was centered around Riley, and it hadn't ended well.
She nodded, knowing that she didn't have a way out of it at this point. Following him into his office, she sat down as he shut the door. "What's going on with Spike?" he asked, with no preamble.
"Spike and I are friends, Angel," Buffy replied evenly, determined not to give anything away.
Angel sat down behind his desk, the large expanse of wood separating them. It could have been the Grand Canyon as far as Buffy was concerned, she felt that far removed from him these days. "Spike is evil."
Buffy started laughing. She couldn't help it. She'd used that phrase for years, even after he'd begun to show signs of changing. Using it to rebuff every advance he made, that excuse had been a shield. It was the rationalization she'd given herself for using Spike and then hurting him. Evil things don't feel.
In reality, Spike did nothing but feel. She could see it now.
"You know, Angel," Buffy finally said, after she'd caught her breath. "Number one, Spike's not evil. Number two, I'm really hurt that you think I'd let him around Dawn if he were. If he were evil, he would have had her for lunch the summer I was dead." She didn't bother explaining about the chip. She wasn't in the mood.
Angel stared at her. "Buffy—"
"I'm not interested in talking about my relationship with Spike." Buffy's tone left no room for argument.
Angel hesitated and then sighed. "Fine, Buffy. That's your call. There's something else, though."
"What is it, Angel?" She had to work hard to modulate her voice so that it didn't come off as snappish as she felt. After all, Angel was sleeping with Cordelia, of all people. Granted, she'd changed, but still...people in glass houses, and all that.
"Is everything okay?" the vampire finally asked carefully. Angel had sensed something "off" about Buffy from the moment she'd first walked into the hotel, but he had no idea what it might be.
The Slayer sighed. Spike had told her last night that Angel probably sensed her pregnancy, even if he hadn't said anything about it. Of course, Spike hadn't said it quite like that, but Buffy had known what he meant. It was a friendly, yet unobtrusive, way of warning her that Angel would be asking some questions she might not want to answer.
"I'm pregnant," she admitted.
Angel's jaw dropped. "By Spike?"
Buffy stared. "What? No! What gave you that idea?"
"You—and he—with Connor..."
"My baby is not part of some prophecy," Buffy said firmly. She didn't actually know that for sure, but she'd have to kick someone's ass if it was true. Her kid was not going to have some grand destiny that left them dead. And someone should have warned her. If it was part of someone's grand design that she would get knocked up by a prick like Peter, they needed to have their idea of destiny rearranged. Preferably by her fist.
Angel looked doubtful, but he seemed to sense Buffy's mood, and he didn't argue. "Who's the father, Buffy?"
"He's not in the picture." That was only partially true, since she was supposed to meet Peter and sign the papers next week. True to his word, he had gotten a lawyer—she got to keep the baby, and he got to keep his money.
The look on Angel's face was oddly similar to the one on Spike's—like he wanted to find the guy and rip his throat out. "Who is he?"
"Spike asked me the same question, and I gave him the same answer. You can't kill him, Angel." Buffy smiled. "I'll be fine."
"What about slaying?" Angel insisted. "Who's going to help you?"
Buffy looked uncertain for a brief second before managing to put on her happy face. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."
Angel regarded her seriously, deciding to put the Spike thing aside for the moment and move on to the truly important matters: Buffy and her safety. "How long before slaying is a problem?"
"Another few months," Buffy replied reluctantly, unsure of where he might be going with this line of questioning.
Angel nodded. "That's what I thought. What if I sent Connor to you for a while?"
Buffy's eyes widened. "Huh?"
"He's a good fighter," Angel explained patiently. "And a pretty good kid, if I do say so myself. Connor could take over patrol for you until the baby's born and you're ready to pick it up again."
"Shouldn't you check with him first?" Buffy asked, bemused.
Angel shrugged and then bellowed his son's name. Connor's head poked through the doorway moments later. "You called?"
"What would you think of going to Sunnydale for a while and taking over the slaying gig?"
Connor blinked. "What? Dad, if you're trying to get rid of me—"
Buffy could sense an imminent explosion and hastened to intervene. "I don't know if Dawn told you, but I'm pregnant," the Slayer explained. "Your dad thought you could help me patrol the Hellmouth when I can't."
Connor stared at the both of them, trying to figure out if they were telling the truth or if Angel was trying to get him out of town for some reason. Reading nothing but honesty in their eyes and faces, he shrugged, abruptly saying, "Okay. I've never seen a Hellmouth before."
"You don't want to," Buffy and Angel replied in tandem. Green eyes met hazel, and they shared a smile full of old memories of battles past. "Thanks, Connor," Buffy said, not taking her eyes off of Angel. She realized she and Angel were actually sharing resources, and the Slayer wondered if perhaps they hadn't finally made it past the worst of the bumps on their way to real friendship.
There was silence as the tension in the room disappeared, leaving nothing but camaraderie in its place. "Sure thing," Connor said, backing out of the room.
The boy went over to sit next to Dawn by the computer again. "What's up?" she asked.
"Not much," Connor replied, watching the computer as Dawn took her turn at the role playing game. "Dad just wanted me to help your sister out on patrol in Sunnydale."
Dawn smiled. "I'm glad," she said honestly. "I'll feel better knowing that you're with her."
Dawn wasn't sure exactly when things had changed. Her sister might be acting like pod-Buffy right now, but Dawn had every intention of taking advantage of it. In fact, she might just have to rethink staying in L.A. for the summer. For the first time in a long time, she thought she might actually have the family she wanted.
~~~~~
Buffy's hand strayed toward the phone for what had to be the fifth time that day. Even though she'd had to work, her mind had continually wandered to Spike, wondering what he was doing. And even though she knew he was probably sleeping—hello? Vampire—she wanted to call him. She wanted to hear his voice, and it had only been a few days.
Of course, now that she was home and getting ready to go out and patrol, she had nothing to distract her from thoughts of Spike. Three years of not even knowing where he was, and suddenly she couldn't get him out of her mind. It was as if missing Spike was a Pandora's box, and once opened, impossible to close again.
Taking a deep breath, the Slayer picked up the phone. If he was busy, she could just leave a voicemail. At least she'd hear him on the message. And if he wasn't busy, maybe he wouldn't mind talking for a while.
She put the phone down again.
Spike hadn't called her, and he hadn't asked her to call him. In fact, he'd given no sign at all that he wanted to see her again, even though he knew she was coming back down for part of Dawn's Christmas break. What if he'd gotten his closure, and didn't want to see her again? What if he was still angry with her? After all, she'd said she was sorry, but he'd never said he'd forgiven her. And he'd never answered her letter. Buffy had the sinking feeling that Spike would never have answered her letter; it was just dumb luck, running into each other at Caritas that night.
Buffy sighed. She should respect his privacy and not call then. That would be better. Give Spike his space, and wait for him to contact her.
Except, what if he was waiting for her to make a move?
Suddenly, Buffy was just pissed off, both at herself and the stupid vampire who was managing to tie her up in knots without even knowing it. She gave a frustrated growl, grabbed a stake and stalked out the door. She needed to kill something to clear her head.
Spike stripped off his shirt, revealing pale skin marked with livid scratches. He and Wesley had just had a profitable, though slightly painful, night of demon slaying, and now all he really wanted was a shower and a drink. Hopefully, he could distract himself from the goings-on upstairs.
It wasn't that he begrudged his friends their happiness; Wesley and Nika were clearly in the joyous exploratory stage of their relationship. It was, in fact, moving along quite nicely, propelled by a solid friendship. While they knew each other well, the physical aspect was all new.
Unfortunately for him, due to enhanced vampire senses, Spike could sense all their rapidly progressing physical exchanges. At least they hadn't gotten too noisy yet.
He sighed. If he had any idea what was going on with Buffy, he might be a little happier with their situation, but he didn't. The morning she had left, Spike hadn't wanted to ask if she wanted to see him again, and Buffy hadn't offered. The fear of rejection was too great to risk the question.
Days had gone by and she hadn't called. Spike knew she had his cell number, but he had no idea if she'd even get a hankering to talk to him. Maybe all she'd really wanted was closure, and that's what she'd gotten. Perhaps they'd see each other occasionally and talk as old friends might, with nothing more between them.
Spike gave his cell phone, tossed carelessly on the sofa, a longing glance. He could call her. He doubted she'd mind. On the other hand, he couldn't bear to hear the dismissive note in her voice again, the tone that told him she didn't care. There was no reason to stick his neck out for her; he had friends, a nice place to live—he didn't need Buffy.
That didn't mean he didn't still want her.
Scrubbing one hand over his face, Spike grabbed some clean clothing and headed for the shower. At least the noise of the water would help mask the sounds of the make-out session above him.
By the time he got out of the shower, having rather spitefully made certain he used all the hot water, the only thing Spike could hear were murmurs and slow heartbeats. He half-wondered if Wesley would be going home tonight, or if he'd stay. Spike plunked himself down on the sofa and turned on the TV, idly flipping channels. He'd just managed to find a suitably violent movie when his phone started ringing.
Not bothering to look at the caller I.D., Spike answered it. "Yeah."
"Spike?"
"Buffy?" He blinked. He hadn't really expected her to call.
There was a pause, and then, "Yeah, it's me. How are you?"
"Good," Spike said cautiously, muting the TV and settling into the couch. "You?"
"I'm good," she said. "I was going to call you earlier, but I thought I'd go on patrol first."
"'s okay. Not like I was in bed or anythin'. Find anything good on patrol?"
She laughed. "Not really. A few new vamps, and that's about it. It's been slow around here lately. What about you?"
Spike briefly told her about the job he and Wesley had been out on, and when she seemed interested, gave her a blow-by-blow account of the fight. Since it had involved several rather spectacular moves on his part, he wasn't above a little bragging. As the story wound down, he couldn't help wondering about the reason for her call. "Was there something you needed, Slayer?" he finally asked.
"Yes and no," Buffy said slowly. "I mean, I just wanted to talk to you."
"Oh," Spike said intelligently. That was new. Sort of. It was a lot more like it had been right after Buffy had come back from the dead. Only better. Maybe. Spike thought his head might explode from the bewilderment their relationship was causing him. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice." It was as close to saying she missed him as Buffy was willing to go. After all, she had only Dawn's word to go on that he missed her.
There was a silence as Buffy wondered whether she'd stepped across some invisible boundary. Spike was still trying to decrypt the meaning behind her statement. "'s good to hear your voice too, pet," he said, struggling to find some neutral ground that wouldn't betray his heart too badly. "But you said yes on the needin' something too, yeah?"
Buffy took a deep breath. She didn't want to use him. She'd promised herself that she wasn't going to go down that road, not again. "The guy—the father, you know—has some papers he wants me to sign. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming with me. If you're busy, or you don't want to, or something that's fine. I just thought it would be nice to have some moral support."
There wasn't anyone else who could go with her. Even though she didn't say it, Spike knew it was true since Dawn had said everybody else was out of town till Christmas. "Why me?" he asked warily.
"I—because it would be nice if you could be there," Buffy finally said, well aware that it wasn't the whole truth. "And because I'd kind of like to see you again."
Spike took a deep, unneeded breath. What was this? What did she want from him? And could he give it to her? "Do I get to kill him?"
He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. "No, Spike. It's just—he'll have his lawyer with him, and I don't—I don't want to be alone."
It wasn't precisely fear that he could hear in her voice. He wasn't sure what it was, though. "When are you s'posed to sign these papers?"
She sighed in relief. Buffy wanted an excuse to ask him up, to see him again. "It's Friday evening, around 6:30. I wanted to do it late enough in the day so if you could come down—you know." This time of the year, the sun sets early.
Spike smiled a little. She didn't want him frying, is what she was saying. But in order to get down there by the appointed hour, he would have to leave before sunset. "Be a bit hard to get up there while the sun's still up, luv," he reminded her. "All 've got is the bike."
"Oh. Well, you could come down before then," she suggested. "If you want to. That is, if you don't mind."
Spike wasn't sure he didn't mind. Yet their last meeting had been more than civil; it had been down-right friendly. She wanted him there for moral support, which meant she wasn't ashamed of being seen with him. Not with her wanker of an ex, at least. It would mean leaving tonight, so he could get there before dawn. A fact he reminded her of.
"I know," Buffy replied, and he could hear that she was torn. "If you don't want to, I'll be fine. But I would like to see you again sometime."
Spike paused, listening to the silence above him, thinking about it. Wesley didn't have any jobs on the line for the next couple days, as far as he knew. He could go now. "And then what?"
"I don't—"
"I come, an' then what?" Spike asked. "Your friends are comin' back in a few weeks. You gonna want to see me when they get into town?"
It was a fair question, and Buffy knew it. "If you're asking me if things change when they're here, the answer's no, Spike."
"Alright," he replied, making an impulsive decision. It wasn't like he was moving back to Sunnydale again, after all. He was going to go up, catch some shut-eye, and accompany Buffy on her errand. Then he would come back to L.A. "I'll see you in a few hours."
Spike grabbed his jacket and keys and came up the stairs, only to run into Wesley in the kitchen. "You not stayin'?" he asked, seeing that the other man also had his coat on.
"Probably best," Wesley said, looking a little embarrassed. "Neither of us are quite ready for that next step. If we're going to wait, I shouldn't stay here." He gave Spike a look. "You're going out?"
"Buffy called," Spike explained. "She wants some company when she sees that bloke's lawyer. 's tomorrow evening, after sunset."
"But you have to leave tonight," Wesley said in understanding. He hesitated, and then asked quietly, "Do you think this is wise, Spike?"
"Dunno," Spike replied quietly. "But she said she wanted to see me again, even if I didn't help her out with this. Said it was up to me." His eyes got a faraway look to them. "Won't lie to you, mate. 'd love it if she welcomed me with open arms an' begged me not to leave, but 's not goin' to happen."
"You don't know that," Wesley said, trying to be encouraging. "Perhaps she'll want you to stay."
"That's the thing," Spike said. "I'm not goin' to stay."
"I thought—"
Spike shook his head. "Not goin' there, Wesley. This is where my life is, with you an' Nika. Whatever my feelings for Buffy might be, an' whatever she might be feelin' right now, it doesn't change that."
"And if Buffy wants to come to L.A.?" Wesley asked knowingly.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "That'll be the day hell freezes over."
~~~~~
Spike reached the front door of 1630 Revello in a little under two hours by virtue of having pushed his bike to its limits. Parking the motorcycle in the driveway, he pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm, then grabbed his saddle bags and tossed them over his shoulder.
He wasn't a big fan of wearing a helmet, but as Wesley often reminded him, it was the law in California. And, since he wasn't eating people anymore, Spike didn't want to risk getting pulled over. Not being totally evil could seriously cut into your ability to flaunt the law.
The door swung open before he could knock, leaving him to face Buffy without the chance to compose himself. She was obviously ready to stay in for the evening, since she had a set of flannel pajamas on. Not saying anything, she backed off, stepping aside to let him enter. When he still hesitated, she said, "Your invitation is still good here, Spike."
He smiled, a little shyly, and stepped across the threshold. Oddly, it felt like the first time again, in a way. Or more like when she'd re-issued her invitation, the night she'd died (the second time). Spike hadn't overly appreciated being invited into her home when he'd teamed up with her to stop Angelus. It wasn't until he'd thrown it all away that he had realized what had been lost.
And wasn't that always the case? You never knew what you had until you'd lost it all.
"I hope you don't mind, but I got my old room ready for you," Buffy was saying. "I moved into mom's a while back. But there are blankets over the windows, so you should be okay."
"That's fine, luv," Spike replied. He knew it was late, and that she was probably ready to go to bed. "I'll just entertain m'self for a while, if that's alright. Not quite ready for sleep yet."
He hadn't even noticed that he'd used the endearment, though Buffy had. She didn't say anything about it though. There was a part of her that wanted to stay up with him, that wanted to ask if he really didn't mind coming. The part of her that was becoming a responsible adult knew she had work in the morning, and that it was already going to be hard enough to haul herself out of bed.
"Feel free," Buffy invited. "There are movies and stuff, if you want to plug a video in, and there's blood in the fridge if you're hungry."
Spike nodded, feeling ill at ease. He'd wanted this very thing so many times before. In fact, the vampire could say that at one point he would have given everything for the offer to stay the night. In a sense, the invitation to stay now meant more than the offer of sex would have. It meant more to him to stay in her house as her guest and her friend, than to stay there as her lover.
It didn't change the awkwardness, however. He still had no idea what she wanted from him.
Buffy seemed to feel it too, standing poised at the bottom of the stairs, prevaricating between going up and staying with him. Feeling that she needed to do something, she finally said, "I'm glad you could come, Spike."
A little of the tension dissipated, and he smiled at her. "My pleasure, Buffy."
As she climbed the stairs to go to bed, she realized why that smile had seemed so out of place on his face. It was so rare to see an expression on his face that wasn't smirking or leering or hurt.
At the door to her bedroom, she half-turned, thinking to go down. To explain again what had happened to her, to them. To apologize for dismissing all his potential. Her hand tightened on the knob. They could have been happy. She'd suspected the truth, but now she knew.
They could have been so good together.
Downstairs, Spike stood in the living room. He could hear Buffy's footsteps, hear her pause at the door to her room. Idly, he wondered what would happen if he went up to her. Not that he would; Spike had promised himself that he wouldn't fall into that trap again.
But he wondered—what it would be like to make love to her in her own bed, have her invite him in. He could still smell her, taste her, remember what it had been like. At least he knew what the sex was like. Making love to the Slayer, with her wanting it as much as he, had been something that happened only in his richest dreams. But he wondered—what it would be like to wake up with her by his side, to have a conversation without her running away.
He realized he had taken a longing step towards the stairs, and pulled himself back. It was over—that part of his unlife was done.
But he could have made it so good for her, if only she had let him.
~~~~~
Spike woke up late the next afternoon, just as Buffy was coming in from work. "Spike, you up?" she called up the stairs. "We've got to leave in an hour or so."
"I'm awake," he called. Standing and stretching, he opened the bedroom door to find Buffy in the hallway. "How was work?"
"Work," she replied with a rueful smile. "It's never all that exciting."
"'s too bad you can't do what Wesley an' I do for a livin'." Spike grinned at her. "It'd be right up your alley."
"That's one way to put it," Buffy agreed. "I'm going to get cleaned up, if you're hungry."
Spike nodded. "Yeah, 'm a bit peckish." As Buffy had promised, there was blood in the fridge for him. While he waited for his mug-full to heat up, he poked around in the cupboards, noticing with a sense of relief that they were better stocked than they had been a few years ago. There was more fresh stuff as well, indicating that Buffy might actually be cooking now.
As he stood, drinking his dinner and waiting for Buffy to come back down, Spike struggled with the sense of the fantastic. If someone had told him even a few weeks before that he would be standing in the Slayer's kitchen, drinking blood she'd bought for him, and waiting to go out with her, he would have told them they were off their nut.
Buffy came into the kitchen after he'd finished his meal. Spike was standing by the back door, looking out into the yard and the rapidly lengthening shadows. "What are you thinking of?"
"Nothin'." Spike turned to face her. "Just—how many times I'd been back there, 's all. How long it had been since the last time." He fiddled with his lighter. "Thought I might wait a few minutes and go have a smoke."
"You could have one on the way," Buffy suggested. "We have to leave soon anyway."
He nodded. "Might be better to wait then. 's not good to smoke 'round you right now." Spike hesitated, then asked the question that had been bugging him. "You want to tell me what signin' these papers is all about? Didn't think it took a contract to have a kid."
"You wouldn't think so, would you?" Buffy asked. Her eyes were shadowed with regret. Getting involved with Peter had been a phenomenally stupid decision on her part. "Peter doesn't want the baby, and I don't want him involved. It's a mutual and binding agreement so we both make sure we get what we want."
"And who wants what more?" Spike asked softly, smelling a rat. "Buffy—"
She shook her head. "I've done the uninvolved father thing, Spike. I would rather raise a child on my own and never have them know their dad, than have them disappointed every time he breaks a promise. Besides, I fought for custody over Dawn. I don't want to have the same problem with my own child."
Spike nodded slowly, understanding. "Makes sense. 's not like the kid's goin' to be hurtin' for people. Probably have more aunts and uncles than they know what to do with."
Buffy smiled in appreciation for his attempt at comfort. "I'm sure." She glanced over at the clock. "Come on. We should go."
The drive to the lawyer's office was made in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Spike had yet to acknowledge the jealousy he felt towards this man. He knew Buffy wasn't his girl; as she'd said herself, she would never be his girl. He still felt as though he had a sort of proprietary interest.
Buffy was his Slayer. He'd marked his territory the first time he'd seen her on the dance floor of the Bronze. His to kill; his to love. Never mind that she had refused to oblige him on both counts.
She cut the engine on her mom's old SUV and looked over at the vampire. "No matter what happens, you can't kill him," Buffy said forcefully.
"I'm on a strictly non-human diet right now," he reminded her, a trifle hurt that she thought he'd needed the warning.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Buffy said quietly. "I just want to sign the papers and get it over with. Okay, Spike?"
Spike tried to figure out what she wasn't telling him. "Sure, luv. If that's what you want." He followed her into the building, feeling a bit like a bodyguard, and he suddenly wondered when it was that the Slayer couldn't watch her own back.
The office was plush, and Spike could smell the money. Whoever this ponce was, he was capable of taking care of Buffy and the baby. He just didn't want to.
Spike knew which of the two men was her ex immediately. It had to be the guy that looked a bit like Angel. He wasn't sure whether to be angered or disgusted or even just a trifle amused by the resemblance. When the man opened his mouth to speak, Spike understood Buffy's caution not to kill him.
"So, I see you already found a replacement, huh, Buf? Didn't take you too long." Spike longed to wipe the smirk off of his face, but Buffy spoke before he could react.
"Spike's an old friend of the family, Peter," she replied, a touch of steel in her voice. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Why don't we all have a seat," the lawyer suggested smoothly, introducing himself as Mr. Banks. He pulled out the contract, two copies, and handed one to Buffy. "If you just want to initial and sign where I've marked, we'll be all through."
Buffy picked up the pen, ready to get it done, but Spike laid a gentle hand on hers. "Not just yet, Buffy. You should look over it first."
"It's just what we agreed on," Peter said impatiently, ready to go now that he'd failed to get a rise out of either his ex or her friend.
Spike gave him a hard look, reminding himself that eating the bugger wasn't an option. Plus, he probably wouldn't taste all that great anyway. "I think we'll read it just the same."
He skimmed quickly, picking up the various clauses without difficulty. Spike could tell when Buffy gave up, trusting him to catch anything out of the ordinary. As the man had said, it was what they agreed upon, but there were a few extra clauses that caught Spike's eye and made his borrowed blood boil.
Giving Buffy a tight nod to let her know that he hadn't found anything that should prevent her from signing, Spike watched as she initialed and signed. She gave a sigh of relief once she'd finished both copies, and Mr. Banks handed one to her. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Summers."
"Sure," Buffy replied, a little of her usual sarcasm in her voice. "It was good to see you, Peter. Hope it doesn't happen again any time soon."
Peter shrugged. "I'm moving—elsewhere. If you need to contact me, you can do it through my lawyer. Have fun with the brat, Buf."
Spike could picture himself tossing the man through the plate glass window behind him, but satisfied himself with letting out a low growl. Blue eyes met brown in a battle of wills, and it was Peter who looked away first, his face flushing. "You should be ashamed of yourself," Spike said softly. "You're no man."
He followed Buffy out the door, his anger burning like a bright flame, and he couldn't say with whom he was more upset: Peter or Buffy. "I'll drive," he said shortly, waiting until Buffy gave him the keys and sliding behind the wheel.
There was a moment of strained silence, and Buffy said quietly, "Thanks for not making a scene."
"Yeah." Spike put the key in the ignition, but didn't start it. "What the bloody hell did you ever see in that bastard?"
Buffy's jaw tightened. The question sounded more like an accusation, and the Slayer wasn't feeling all that thrilled with the circumstances herself. She felt a lot like she had right after the Parker fiasco—ashamed and used. "Spike—"
"Did you know he has plans? Prob'ly to run for office, given the stench of money and the clauses," Spike said angrily. "Part of that contract you just signed prohibits you from even acknowledging him as the father—ever. It's not just about money, Buffy, it's about his reputation. He's keepin' his clean an' treatin' you like garbage."
"It doesn't matter," Buffy said. "It's not like our relationship was ever built to last anyway."
"But you let him—"
"So what?" Buffy demanded. "I'm an adult, Spike. I can sleep with anybody I want to. I wanted to sleep with Peter. I did. End of story. So he's a bastard. He's not the first one I've ever slept with."
The silence that fell was deadly, the implications of Buffy's words clear to both of them She didn't hasten to correct his conclusions. "So you were just usin' him then, is that right? Just a good roll in the hay to make you feel?"
"Well, it's not like you were around to do the honors," Buffy shot back, angry at his words and the truth behind them. In actuality, she'd liked Peter, just as she'd liked Parker. They'd given her a snow job, and she'd fallen for it.
Spike's eyes blazed. "Shall I remind you why I left, Buffy?" He started the engine with a savage jerk of the keys. "I'll take you home."
The damage had been done again. Buffy wondered how it was that they always knew just what to say to hurt the most. Even when they were enemies, with no hint of anything softer between them, they had seen one another clearly enough to inflict damage. Buffy had known to go after Drusilla, what to say to tease and taunt. Spike had known just what truth to speak to cut to the quick.
He had spoken the truth tonight, and it had the peculiar echo of memory.
"Spike—"
"Forget it," he snarled. "I shouldn't have come."
"I'm sorry." The words hung suspended, and Buffy thought he might throw them back in her face. "It's just—I liked him a lot. I thought he was different."
Spike's knuckles turned white around the steering wheel as he fought himself, fought the demon within. Just because he didn't look at humans as a natural resource anymore didn't mean it was always easy. He finally let out a breath. "You hungry?"
"Starving," Buffy replied, not knowing quite where the vampire was going with that.
He didn't say anything, however, simply put the car in reverse and left the parking lot. A few minutes later, Spike pulled into the lot of one of the better restaurants in town. "Come on." Spike had a quick word with the hostess when they entered, and they were led back to a corner booth, well away from most of the other patrons.
"I shouldn't have said what I did." Spike met her eyes, the blue as dark as the night sky. "Don't like to see you hurt. An' I wanted to toss the arse-wipe out the window."
Buffy smiled. "Yeah, you and me both."
"He didn't know you were the Slayer, did he?"
"No." Buffy sighed. "None of them really knew. I didn't think they could handle it."
"How many—" Spike stopped himself. "No, don't answer that. 's not important." There was a pause. "What are you goin' to do now?"
Buffy shook her head. "Work until I can't, I guess. I haven't had the job for long enough to qualify for maternity leave. I'll either have to go back right away, or figure something else out. Giles is working on something with the Council for me."
"The Council of Wankers?" Spike asked with a raised brow. "Sure you want them in your life?"
"No, but apparently I'm one of the first Slayers ever to get pregnant. Most of the time we die before we're old enough to be out on our own. Giles thinks he might be able to strong-arm them into giving me a pension, or something like that." Buffy shrugged a little. "Giles thinks that the activity around the Hellmouth might be changing, dying down a little. If so, I might not even have to stay in Sunnydale."
"Where would you go?" Spike asked, fiddling with his silverware.
Buffy laughed a little. "I don't know. If you'd asked me a year ago, I would have said Europe, Africa, anywhere. I've never gotten the chance to go to a different country. We were supposed to as a family—before I got Called. After that, it wasn't an option." She looked down at the table, at Spike's hands, so strong. She remembered the feel of those hands with longing.
She remembered how safe she'd felt putting her sister's life into those hands. How safe she'd felt putting her own life there. Even after she had known the chip didn't work on her, Buffy had never feared that Spike would drain her dry.
She had believed in his love without even knowing she did so.
"And now," Buffy said, continuing, "there's not much I can do with a baby. Not for a while anyway. Did you know how expensive having a kid is?"
"I c