Summary: Spoilers for "The Gift" and S6. Spike manages to save Dawn, but pays a terribly high price. Will he be able to find meaning in his suffering?
Author's Notes: The title and some of the philosophy behind this story comes from Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning, a must-read if you haven't already. In any case, it's basically about the importance of finding meaning in our suffering, since that's the only way we can avoid giving into despair. On a side-note, not everything in this story may be physically possible. But I didn't have Spike to experiment on, so you'll just have to take it as a plot device and leave it at that. As always, thanks and love to my beta, Heather.
Rating: PG-13
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Buffy sat on the back porch and sighed. She still couldn't believe she'd let him go. His hand had been on the doorknob, and she'd wanted so badly to ask him to stay, and she'd been silent, unable to say the words. Looking back, of course, she realized she'd trusted him. She'd left him alone with her little sister after the chip had come out, and he hadn't given her a scratch. Whether or not he would have been safe around the rest of the population, she could have asked him not to feed. And he would have promised, and then he would have kept that promise.
That was just Spike.
The bright spot in all of this was that he'd never promised not to come back. She'd offered him a deal, but there were no promises made. And he left his coat, which she was certain he would return for eventually.
Buffy looked up at the night sky, staring at the stars. Spike had been gone for over three months now, and the house was much quieter without him. It had been even more silent for the first three weeks when Dawn had stubbornly refused to speak to her. Her sister had come around after a while, mostly after Buffy had admitted that she missed him and wished she'd told him to stay. That confession had thawed Dawn out considerably; as long as her sister was also suffering, that was good enough.
But it didn't change the fact that they were both missing Spike horribly. And then she smiled into the darkness.
"Spike."
"Hello, Buffy." He stepped out of the shadows of the back yard into the light from the porch. His shirt and jeans were ragged, the duffel he still carried threadbare. Even his hair was scruffy, longer with the roots showing, giving his face a softer look, even as his haggard demeanor made him look older and harder.
"I was wondering when you would come back to town," she said, smiling.
"It was s'posed to be a surprise," he replied, taking another step forward. She noticed his left foot still dragged a bit. "An' I wasn't supposed to come back."
"You left your coat," she explained.
He put the duffel down on the grass. "Was wonderin' where I'd left it." There was a long silence, and then he said, "Won't stay long, Buffy. I just wanted to look in on you and the Bit."
Buffy froze. This was the way it could be, she realized. For years and years, he would wander around and return every so often to check up on her and Dawn and make sure they were fine. And then he would leave again, and it would go on, a different version of the same-old dance until he was dust or she was dead. And she could stop it, just like she could have prevented him from leaving in the first place.
"Do you want to come in for some hot chocolate? Or some blood? Or both?" she asked hopefully.
He hesitated. "Are you sure, luv? You might not want to invite me back into your house. I can stay out here."
She reached out and took his hand. "You were never uninvited, Spike."
He followed her into the house almost shyly. "Didn't know that I'd find you so welcoming, luv."
"I missed you," she replied simply. "Where did you go?"
"Africa."
"What's in Africa?"
"Demon bloke, grants wishes." He sat down on a stool. "Where's Dawn?"
"At a friend's, spending the night." Buffy glanced up from where she was pouring the blood into a mug. The blood she still kept for him. She thought he looked like he could use a good meal. "What did you wish for?"
"Doesn't really matter," he hedged. "Still evil and all that. Thought I'd stop by to see the Niblet and be on my way again. Promised her I would, you know."
She shook her head, handing him the mug. "First of all, I'd like to know what you wished for. Second, you're not leaving again."
"'m not?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "That really up to you, pet?"
Buffy glared at him. "It is if I lock you up in the basement until you agree not to leave."
"Point," he said with more than a hint of amusement. "Doesn't change the fact that the chip's out."
"I don't care," she said. "If I tell you not to eat people you won't. I knew that before you left and I was stupid and let you go anyway." Buffy swallowed and then came closer, running a gentle hand along his face and through his hair. "What did you wish for, Spike?"
"My soul." She greeted his pronouncement with silence, and then gave him a slow smile.
"How's that working out for you?" she asked.
He shrugged, a classic Spike gesture. "Some days are better than others. I wanted to stay with you, Buffy."
"And I want you to stay. Forever, if possible. That work for you?" Her eyes caressed his face, his mouth, his cheekbones.
He smiled. "I think I might be able to work that into my schedule, luv." There were no more words, only touching and kissing and heading up the stairs for a more intimate reunion. And they loved one another until the dawn came and they were both too exhausted to move. "I love you, you know," Buffy said conversationally.
"Because of the soul?" he asked, and it felt like the most important question ever asked.
"No, because you're you," she said, and felt his arms tighten around her.
"I never thought we'd be here," he admitted.
She sat up to look at him. "Neither did I, but now that we are, I'm not in a big hurry to leave."
"Then let's not." And they didn't leave her room for a very long time.
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