I Lost It
Money can't replace it
No memory can erase it
And I know I'm never gonna find
Another one to compare
-“I Lost
It”, Lucinda Williams
I slipped out
of the house onto the back porch and took a large breath of fresh air. Instead,
I got a chest full of cigarette smoke. Coughing loudly, I tried to breathe, and
a large hand patted me between the shoulder blades. "Sorry, Willow,"
Spike murmured.
"When did
you start smoking again?" I asked, sitting down on the stairs.
Spike shrugged
and sat next to me. "Little after Slayer saved me from the Big Bad. Not my
preferred method of relieving tension, but it'll do."
“What's your
preferred method?" I asked. He
turned and smiled, his teeth white in the dark. "Oh, right. Bitey
goodness."
He took a long
pull on his cigarette, the cherry flaring bright orange. "No, not killing,
Willow."
What else
would Spike- "Oh. Well, if it’s any consolation, no one's getting any.
It's like Girl Scout camp in there now, with the Potentials and Dawn and Anya
all staying here." I sighed. "They're braiding their hair and talking
about N'Sync. Even Anya."
Spike snorted.
"Oh, sing another song, love. I'm sharing a basement with Xander, Giles
and Andrew." He shook his head in disbelief.
"Well,
hopefully it won't be for too long," I said.
"Yes,
hopefully soon the world will end and none of us will see another day.” Spike
inhaled sharply, the length of his cigarette turning to a column of ash.
I looked at
him askance. "Positive thinking would be a good thing."
He tossed his
cigarette on to the lawn. "Not much to be positive about, pet. We don't
know a sodding thing about the First Evil, and it doesn't look like there's any
way of knowing."
"We have
the materials Giles brought from England," I reminded him. "That's
better than nothing."
"You and
I both know there's not a scrap there for us to work with," Spike said.
I considered
what I wanted to say. "Spike, there's something I've been thinking, but I
haven't really wanted to say anything."
He looked at
me, his eyes curious. "About the First Evil?"
I shook my
head. "About Giles." I took a deep breath. "I don't think he's
being completely honest with us."
"You
think he's holding back information?" Spike asked.
"What he
told us, about the Watchers’ headquarters being destroyed, I do believe
that," I said. "But all of the books that they had, there must have
been copies elsewhere. I did some research on the Internet, and for a secret
organization, they've had some pretty major leaks."
"You
think that you can find more information?" Spike asked.
"The
Watchers had auxiliary offices in Cairo, Johannesburg, Tokyo, Sydney and New
York," I explained. "Some of the buildings were listed on a website I
found. Very large buildings, possibly holding lots and lots of helpful
reference materials."
Spike stood up
and put his hand on the doorknob. "You've got to tell the Slayer about
this. We're all just sitting ducks here. This could be the break we need."
I put my hand
over his, and he turned to me with surprise. "Spike, Giles must know
there's more information out there. There's only one reason why he
wouldn't."
"You think
he wants us to all meet a searing apocalypsy death?" Spike said.
"C'mon, Willow, this is Giles we're talking about."
"I don't
think Giles is Giles," I explained, "any more than Cassie was really
Cassie, or Drusilla was really Drusilla."
Spike looked at
me thoughtfully. "If Giles isn't Giles-"
"Then we
have the First Evil, bringing all the Potentials left in the world to the one
place where they're assured of dying," I said.
Spike's mouth
compressed to a thin line. "We're taking this to Buffy. Now."
We walked into
the kitchen. There was a group of girls making brownies, the Finnish girl
arguing with the Potential from Baton Rouge over the proper conversion from
Fahrenheit to Celsius. In the living room, another group was filling containers
with holy water from one of the jugs Buffy had brought home from the Mission
earlier in the day. We went upstairs, and passed the open door to my room. Anya
and the three girls that were sharing my room were still braiding their hair,
using some plastic gadget Anya had bought from TV. Spike knocked on Buffy's
door. Inside, we heard Dawn’s high pitched yelling, Xander’s low rumbling and
the smooth, even tones of Buffy's voice. The debate inside continued, and Spike
knocked again, loud enough for the door to rattle. The voices ceased, and Buffy
opened the door. "What's wrong?" she said briskly, all business.
"Willow's
got a bit of intel that you need to hear," Spike said forcefully. Buffy
and I both looked at him with surprise. This was by far the most animated he'd
been since we'd saved him.
Buffy turned
to me. "What's the sitch, Will?"
"I'd like
to tell you in private.” She opened the door and Spike and I walked inside,
shutting the door behind us. I explained to her the same thing I'd said to
Spike.
Buffy frowned.
"But if what you're saying is true, then Giles is the First Evil."
She looked at us. “Wouldn’t we know?"
“I could never
tell the difference, the hallucinations,” Spike explained. “When the First
pretended to be you, I could hear your heart beating, smell your scent. Giles,
he seems real enough as well.”
“We’ll just
have to assume that he is guilty until proven innocent,” Buffy said grimly.
“Otherwise we’re all at risk.”
“Especially
Faith,” Xander said, his face concerned.
“What does
Faith have to do with anything?” I asked.
Buffy looked
away. “Giles is on his way to L.A. now,
to bring Faith back."
A cold feeling
of fear twisted in my gut. "Faith is coming here?"
Buffy nodded.
"It's the marshalling of the troops, Will. We need her."
"But
she's in prison!" I protested. "She’s a murderer!"
“Glass houses,
Wicca,” Spike said quietly, and I felt my face flush with embarrassment.
“Shut up,
psycho killer,” Xander snapped.
Buffy ignored
the sniping, as usual. "Faith’s been out on parole for a few months. She
was let out early for good behavior."
I laughed, a
cold brittle sound. "Good behavior? What, she’s cut back to only choking
people a little or maybe stabbing them just a tiny bit?”
"Apparently,
she's really changed," Xander said. "We have to give her the benefit
of the doubt." There was a look in his eyes, one that wasn't lost on me,
of all people.
"You just
want to get her into bed again," I snapped. "Even though she almost
killed you last time!"
"Xander
slept with Faith?" Dawn exclaimed. "Evil skanky ho bag Faith?"
"This is
not an appropriate topic of conversation with Dawn in the room," Buffy
reminded us.
"Oh, I
remember hearing about her," Spike said. “Dark hair, yay high-”
"I can’t
believe that you got with her!" Dawn exclaimed, looking at Xander with
indignation. “That is so gross.”
"Well,"
Xander said defensively. "It wasn't one of my finer moments-"
"Shut
up!" Buffy said loudly, and everyone did. She began to pace, her arms
folded. "Okay, here's what's going to happen. Willow, you and Spike go to
New York, and see if you can find any books that can help us fight the
First."
"I can't
go," Spike protested. "I have to stay here and help you train the
Potentials."
She shook her
head, still thinking. "I don't need you anymore, not with Faith
coming."
Spike's face
went blank as Xander looked at him with a smile. "So much for your
indispensable fighting skills," Xander cracked.
"What
about me?" I asked. "Don't you need me here?"
"You
can't use your magick anyway," Buffy said. "Finding the information
about the First is more important than anything else."
"Xander
can go with me, then," I argued. "You don't need him here,
either."
"You need
to take a strong fighter with you," Buffy explained. "I can't risk
the Bringers finding out what you're up to and going after you. They've been
killing Potentials and trained Watchers; you wouldn't stand a chance." She
smiled at Spike. "You are indispensable, Spike. I trusted you to take care
of Dawn, and now I'm trusting you to take care of Willow."
"I won't
let you down this time," Spike said intently.
"I
know," she said, her voice soft. She turned to me briskly, her tone hard
again. "You need to go as soon as possible. We're running out of
time."
I nodded and
turned to leave. "I'll call the airport, make reservations for us."
"Book my
ticket under William Wallace," Spike instructed.
"Like the
Braveheart guy?" I asked, laughing.
"Just
like," he said, rolling his eyes.
*******
Kennedy looked
at me curiously as I pulled down my suitcase and set it on the bed. “Going
somewhere?”
“Just a trip
out of town,” I said, pulling out the zippered pouches I used when I traveled.
Stuffing several pairs of panties in one, along with chemises and tights, I
crammed it full and zipped it tight.
“Where are you
going?” she asked.
“New Orleans,”
I lied smoothly, recalling Buffy’s instructions to conceal our destination.
“We’ve got a lead on a Voudoun priestess who may have some concrete information
on the First Evil.”
“I could come
with you,” Kennedy offered.
“Afraid that
she’s stuck with me,” Spike said from the doorway.
Kennedy turned
and looked at me with surprise. “You’re taking him?”
I placed some
sweaters and skirts in my suitcase. “Buffy asked him to go with me.”
“Why?” the
Potential asked, her brow furrowed.
“To protect
her,” Spike explained.
“I could
protect you,” she offered. “Be your bodyguard.” She smiled at me flirtatiously,
her meaning clear.
“Fine by me,”
Spike said agreeably. “I’d be happy to
stay here.”
“Then I’m
going to go tell Buffy I’m going to go instead.” Kennedy slipped past Spike and
left the room.
I carefully
folded a few dresses and my winter coat into the case and locked it. “I really wish that you hadn’t done that,” I
said, irritation bubbling under the surface.
“Why not?” Spike
asked. “Cause we’re such good pals, you can’t imagine sharing the trip with
anybody else?”
“Because she
has a thing for me,” I said in a low voice, “and I don’t really need to be
dealing with the flirty banter when I’ve got serious research to do.”
“All work and
no lay makes one cranky Wicca,” Spike said. “She’s a good looking girl-”
“I don’t want another girl,” I snapped,
pulling my suitcase off the bed. It was heavy, and I let out an unflattering
grunt as I took the weight of it.
“Swung back
the other way again, pet?” Spike asked curiously, reaching out and taking the
suitcase easily.
“I swing no
way,” I said, pulling out my box of spell components from under the bed and
carefully placing them in the doctor’s bag that had belonged to my grandfather.
“I am swing free.”
Buffy appeared
in the doorway, arms crossed. “Spike is
going with you to New York, not a Potential that hasn’t even been trained. It’s
not negotiable.” She turned to Spike. “Xander’s coming to take you guys in just
a few minutes.”
We left the
room and headed down the stairs. In the dining room, I packed up my laptop in
its case, slipping some notebooks and a few books in the other pocket. Spike
and Buffy stood in the hallway, and she pulled down his duster from the
coat rack. They had a low, earnest
conversation, and he slipped it on. She
took his hand in hers and whispered to him quietly, her eyes boring into his.
Xander opened the front door, and Buffy
quickly dropped Spike’s hand.
“I got the
phones,” Xander announced. “Uncle Hal may have ripped me off, but they’re
activated and ready to go.” He handed two small silver phones to Buffy.
“They’re on the same family plan that you and I and Dawn are on, and these have
nationwide coverage. Guaranteed to work like a charm in the Big Apple.”
“Thanks,” said
Buffy, handing a phone to Spike and the other to me.
“We ready to
get this show on the road?” Xander asked, clapping his hands.
“I’m ready,” I
replied, closing my hand around the doctor’s bag. Xander took my laptop and carryon bag as Spike followed behind
with the suitcase.
“Call and
check in a few times a day,” Buffy called from the front door.
“Yes, Mom,” I
called back, looking over my shoulder. I saw Kennedy in the front window,
looking out at me.
Xander opened
his trunk and stowed my bags inside. “Aren’t you taking any baggage?” I asked
Spike.
He shrugged.
“Don’t need to bring anything.”
“Don’t you
need a change of clothes, or a toothbrush?” A thought occurred to me. “Or
blood? Don’t you need blood?”
He
shrugged. “I won’t need to feed until I
get there. “
We got into
the car and Xander drove through town. I sat next to him in the passenger seat,
Spike in the back. “Got you a present,” Xander said, handing me a small white
cardboard box. I opened it and looked inside.
Inside was a small cloisonné pentacle, in shades of black and gold, on a
thin chain. I looked at him quizzically. “Promise me you’ll wear it all the
time. I want to know that you’re safe, even in Spike gets all Exorcist vamp
again.”
“I don’t think
that’s necessary,” I said. “I appreciate you not getting me a cross, but-”
He gripped my
hand hard and I turned to look at him. “I don’t want to lose you, Willow. I
already came really close, and I just can’t do it again.” His jaw was set tightly, and I could see how
afraid he was for me. I fastened the clasp and slid the pentacle under my
shirt, and Xander’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
After a quiet
ride across town we arrived at the airport. Xander pulled up in front of the
departures terminal and pulled out the baggage from the trunk. Hugging me
tight, he whispered in my ear “Be careful.” I kissed his cheek and watched him
drive away.
“Which airline
are we going to?” Spike asked. He looked ridiculous, my carryon slung across
his chest, laptop bag over his shoulder, a suitcase in one hand and the
doctor’s bag in the other.
“Worldwide,” I
replied, and he turned and headed for the blue and yellow sign.
We stood in
line, and Spike set down the baggage and pulled a wallet from inside his
duster. “Let me see your license,” he said.
“I don’t have
one,” I said. “I just have a passport.” I held up my passport case. He opened
it, and looked at the picture. I’d originally gotten it for a French class trip
to Paris, the summer before sophomore year. He looked at it for a long time. “I
know it’s a really bad picture.”
Spike shook
his head. “No, it’s just that you look so sweet, and so innocent.” He said it
reverently, like those were things he cherished.
“Well, that
was two months before Buffy came to town,” I said. “Got a bunch of innocence
stripped away then, with the imminent death and monsters and all.”
He frowned.
“You were Dawn’s age, here?”
“A little
younger,” I replied.
“I feel bad
for all the Potentials,” Spike said. “Knowing there’s this horrible death out
there, coming for you. Childhood should be a happy time, not a breeding ground
for death and trauma.”
“I don’t have
any regrets,” I told him. “The girl in that picture, she was happier, but she
didn’t know what true love, or loyalty, or joy really meant.”
He handed me
back the passport. “Did you ever wish that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale,
ever resent her for taking away a normal life from you?”
“Nearly
everything in my life that ever meant anything was because of her,” I said.
“I’m grateful to her, for opening up the world to me.”
Spike nodded.
“It must feel good, to be free of regret.”
“I do have
regrets,” I said. “Every day of my life.”
He looked at
me. “How do-”
“Next,
please,” said the clerk, and we stepped up to the desk. After checking my bags, we walked towards
the waiting area for our flight.
“What were you
going to ask me about?” I said sitting in a seat in an empty row.
“How do you
live with the people you killed?” he asked quietly, sitting next to me. “How do
you set that aside and go through life?”
“Do you want
the shiny, happy, feel good answer I gave my friends, or do you want the
truth?”
“I want the
truth,” he said. “I need to hear the truth.”
“Will you
promise not to tell anyone?” I asked. “I really will stake you, if you do.”
“I promise,”
he said, covering his heart with his hand.
I pulled up
the sleeves of my blouse and turned my wrists outward. The scar on my left arm
trailed vertically from wrist to halfway up my elbow. The right one began at
the wrist but only made it a few inches before stopping abruptly. “The first
thing you do is try to destroy yourself. Not to make amends, or give back a
life for a life, just to make things easier for yourself. To stop the voices in
your head, telling you that you’re evil, you’re a killer. To make the
whispering go away, the ones that sound like the dead, the ones you made dead.
You put them in the grave yourself, and the least you can do is crawl in there
after them.”
Spike reached
out a finger and slowly traced the longer scar. “You would have bled out in
minutes.”
“Unless, of
course, there was a surveillance camera in the bathroom, and your librarian
turned back from brewing a cup of tea to see you starting on the second wrist.”
“I can’t
believe you would do anything so stupid,” Spike said. “Your friends would have
been devastated.”
“I know that
now,” I admitted. “But before, then, I thought it would be a relief. For
everyone.”
He looked at
me with sadness and pity. “And then, when the dying didn’t take, what did you do?”
“I lived,” I
said simply. “I can’t take away the things I’ve done. I can’t bring the dead
back to life. All I can do is just live my life, and make it mean something.”
“Flight 371
for Los Angeles now boarding at gate three,” a crisp voice announced. We walked
to the gate and waited our turn, walked down the stairs and stepped out onto
the tarmac. My heart began to thud as we climbed the metal steps, entering the
body of the small, cramped plane.
We took our
seats and buckled in. The seats were small and close together and I was crushed
between the window and Spike’s leg and arm. I open my carryon and pulled a pack
of gum, a box of apple juice and an airsickness bag and placed them in the
seatback pocket in front of me. “You
can have some gum if you want to,” I offered, and Spike took a piece.
The stewardess ran through the safety
instructions and then we taxied down the runway. I shoved a couple of pieces of
Juicy Fruit in my mouth and began to chew vigorously. The plane lifted off and
the pressure in my ears began to build. I chewed faster but the pain began,
sharp agony in both ears. I chewed vigorously, willing my ears to pop so that
the pain could end. I tried to pull down within myself and use my magick, but
there was nothing to draw from, no earth to pull energy from. The attempt to
use it left me in worse pain than before, and the pain built up more and more
sharply, accompanied by a wave of nausea.
I grabbed for
an airsickness bag and puked, retching so hard that I saw stars. I did it again
and again, bending in half with the force of it, the seatbelt cutting into my
waist. Finally I could breathe again. I folded over the top of the bag and
stuck it in the back of my seat. Leaning back into the seat, I closed my eyes,
and felt a cardboard box slip into my hand.
“Here’s your
juice,” Spike said softly.
I sipped
slowly, the warm juice running down my throat. When the box was empty, I opened
my eyes. Spike was looking at me worriedly. “This always happens,” I reassured
him. “It’s the change in air pressure- it makes my ears hurt and then I throw
up.”
“Can’t you
take any medicine?” he asked.
I shook my
head. “It just comes back up.” I closed my eyes and leaned back. “It’s much
worse in these little planes; it’s going to hurt until we get to LA. But
hopefully I won’t throw up again.”
I was wrong. A
few minutes later, I was puking again, the acidic tang of the apple juice
burning my throat. I finished and Spike took the bag from me and shoved it at a
passing flight attendant. “Will your head hurt less if you lie down?”
“There isn’t
anywhere to lie down,” I said petulantly. I knew I sounded pathetic, but I was
in too much pain to care.
“Here,” Spike
said. He unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed up the armrest between our seats.
“Lie down.”
I didn’t
really want to lie down on Spike, but I also didn’t want to puke again. Slowly,
I leaned over and put my head in his lap, resting my cheek against his thigh. I
curled up into a ball, my feet pressed against the wall of the cabin.
His pants
smelled strongly of fabric softener, which was unexpected, and it made me
smile. “Something funny?” he asked.
“Your pants
smell very girly.”
He snorted.
“Yeah, well you smell like something much less floral, so I wouldn’t throw
stones.”
“I smell all
vomitey?” I asked.
“You smell
like puke and sweat and fear.”
“I’m sorry.
I’m just so sick.” I closed my eyes.
“Shouldn’t
kick you when you’re down,” Spike said, gently patting my shoulder. “You
feeling any better?”
“A little,” I
said.
“You want me
to rub your neck?” he offered.
“Okay,” I
said.
He gently
brushed my hair aside and pressed his thumbs on the sides of my neck, sliding
up and down. It was very, very relaxing, and my muscles loosened. He massaged
my skin with his fingers, strongly and smoothly working out every knot until I
was peaceful. As his hands kneaded my flesh, I fell asleep.
*********
“Time to get
up,” Spike said. He lifted me up into a sitting position as I opened my eyes
and yawned, and my ears popped loudly. My hearing sharpened, everything becoming
louder. “We’re in L.A,” he said. “Got to put your belt on for landing.”
I buckled my
belt and we descended into Los Angeles.
Soon we were in the international departures terminal, getting boarding
passes for the next flight. “Want to get a bite to eat?” Spike asked. “We’ve
got an hour to kill.”
“I don’t think
I should,” I said.
He frowned and
looked around. “Follow me,” he said. I followed him as he went into a gift
shop. “My friend gets sick on airplanes,” he said. “Throws up, pain in her noggin.
Got anything that can help her?”
“We have
Dramamine,” the clerk said, pointing.
Spike walked
over to it and took down a box. “I’ve tried Dramamine before,” I said. “But
like I told you, I just puke it up. It doesn’t seem to work.”
There were
packages of wristbands and earplugs hanging next to it. “Helps fight motion
sickness,” Spike read. ““Did you try the wristbands?”
“No I
haven’t,” I said, grabbing one set of each. “It’s worth a shot.”
I wandered
over to the magazine rack and pulled out a spiral bound crossword puzzle book
and a book of trivia questions. “Do you want a magazine or something?” I asked
Spike, and he picked out a paperback novel and a tin of cinnamon mints.
I dumped our
stack of purchases on the counter and paid for them, and we headed out into the
concourse. I spotted a trashcan and
stood next to it. “I hope these things work,” I said, ripping open the package
of wristbands, discarding the cardboard, and putting them on.
“Worst thing
than can happen is I’ll have to watch you chunder and then have you sleep on me
again.”
I blushed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. You
make a fairly decent blanket.” Spike grinned at me, and I smiled back. “Let’s
get something to eat.”
We walked
along the concourse, passing people of all types, families, businessmen,
tourists chattering in a dozen languages. “This is all rubbish,” Spike
commented, seeing the fast food offerings. “Eat any of this grease, you’re
guaranteed to get sick, motion sickness or not.”
“I’m kind of
off the fast food thing, since the Doublemeat experience,” I said.
We passed a
coffee shop, and Spike abruptly grabbed my shoulder and turned around. “Here we
go.”
“Coffee?” I
asked.
“Nope,
something better,” he said. “Go sit down, lunch is on me.” I watched as he
spoke to the clerk, and he returned with an orange, a cup of yogurt, and a
coffee. “Here you are.”
“I don’t like
yogurt,” I informed him.
“It’s got
cultures in it, it’ll soothe your stomach,” he said. He opened the yogurt and
stuck the spoon in it, handing it to me.
“I’d rather
eat the orange,” I said.
He shook his
head. “The orange is mine.” He stuck his thumbs in the peel and pulled, leaning
down to take a whiff. “That smell, I never tire of it. God, I love oranges.”
“Me too.”
Thinking of a conversation that I’d once had with Tara, I smiled.
“Something
funny about oranges?” he asked.
“Tara and I,
after the first time we were together,” I said. “She asked me if it was
different, being with a woman. I meant to say it was apples and oranges, you
know, comparing them, but instead I said oranges and lemons.”
Spike laughed.
“So men are all lemons, huh?”
I laughed,
coughing on a mouthful of yogurt.
“Yeah, you’re all lemons.”
“I think it’s
pretty close-minded of you to dismiss one half of the world’s population, based
on Wolf Boy alone,” he said.
I shrugged.
“Men all look sweet and sunny and happy on the surface. But you peel back the
skin and there’s a whole bitter layer there, and if you get past it, there’s
just more bitterness. Women, they’re like oranges. You get past the bitter
part, and there’s nothing but sweetness.”
“But that’s
based on one woman alone,” Spike replied. “I don’t think you’re qualified to
judge, pet.” He broke the orange apart, carefully separating each section.
“All I know is
that Oz brought me misery, and Tara joy,” I said. “It seems simple enough to
me.”
“Then why
don’t you want another woman then?” Spike asked. “You’ve got a very fine
looking woman sniffing around you, and you don’t want to give her a go.”
“I had
perfection,” I said. “I don’t want less than that, and without Tara, I’ll never
have it again.” A wave of longing for her swept over me, and I blinked away
tears.
“I’m sorry you
lost her,” Spike said. “She was a sweet person, the kindest I ever knew.”
“She annoyed
the hell out of you, Spike,” I reminded him.
Spike nodded.
“Yes, she did. Sometimes you don’t really appreciate what you have, until it’s
gone.” Looking maudlin, he sipped at his coffee.
“You talking
about Buffy?” I asked him.
He looked
surprised. “No. I meant Dawn.”
She absolutely
loathed Spike now. “Well, she’s pretty
justified in hating you. You tried to rape her sister.”
“That I did,”
he said quietly. “Can’t say that I blame her.”
“I don’t hate
you,” I said. “I don’t even blame you, not after Buffy told me the whole situation.
She told Xander and Dawn too.”
“So why don’t
you think I’m a horrible rapist like they do?” he said.
“I did worse
to Tara than you did to Buffy. I really did rape Tara.”
He looked at
me quizzically. “I don’t understand.”
“I wiped her
memory, and then had sex with her,” I told him. “She would never have
consented, if I hadn’t done it. I forced my will upon her, because I loved her
and I needed her. The same thing that you did to Buffy, only Tara couldn’t
fight back.”
He looked at
me for a long moment. “And she forgave you?”
I nodded. “And
we started over again, and if it could happen to us, then it could happen for
you and Buffy.”
Spike finished
his coffee. “We should go.”
“Did I say
something wrong?” I asked, standing up and throwing out my empty yogurt cup.
He shook his
head. “Not at all.”
He was quiet
as we walked to our gate. The flight had begun to board, and we filed through
the line and walked down the tunnel to our plane. We stepped on, and Spike
showed the stewardess his boarding pass. She smiled at him, her teeth gleaming
white. “You’re right here with me in first class, Mr. Wallace.”
He nodded and
followed her to our seats. Once again, I was the window seat and Spike took the
aisle. I stowed my bag under the seat in front of me as Spike balled up his
duster and shoved it in the overhead compartment.
“I figured
we’d be shoved back in steerage,” Spike commented as he sat down.
“I put the
tickets on my Am Ex,” I replied.
He looked at
me quizzically. “Thought none of you lot had any money, other than Harris.”
“I don’t,” I
explained. “My parents do.”
He stared at
me for a moment. “Then why didn’t you pitch in, help out Buffy when she was
broke?”
I bristled at
his confrontational tone. “I pay half the bills, just like I’ve done since I
moved in.”
“Oh,” he
replied.
“Why did you
think I didn’t?” I asked. “Is that what you all think, that I’m just sponging
off of her?”
Spike
shrugged. “All the to do over money last year, seemed like Buffy was in it on
her own.”
“Giles, Xander
and I all gave her money,” I told him. “We tried to help her out.”
“I tried to,”
he said. “She wouldn’t take it from me.” Something flashed across his face, and
he turned away.
I was
surprised that he’d offered, but not that she’d turned it down. “It’s different
taking money from someone that you’re in a relationship with,” I explained.
“Tara and I had the same arguments, but she did take money from me, because she
didn’t have any choice. Her dad cut her off after he came to Sunnydale, and she
only had a tiny annuity from her mom’s life insurance.”
“Buffy had
nothing either. But she flipped burgers, rather than take a dime from me.” His
voice was cool and distant, and all I could see was the back of his head, the
smooth paleness of his neck against his black shirt.
He was in so
much pain, as much as I was. “I’m sorry she hurt you,” I said, touching his
shoulder. “I know how much you love her.”
He got up
abruptly and walked down the aisle. I
sighed, knowing that I’d most likely said exactly the wrong thing. I pulled out
my gum and the crossword puzzle book from my carryon. I was trying to figure
out the missing word when Spike tapped me on the shoulder. “We’re getting ready
to take off.”
Gingerly I put
in the earplugs and stuck some gum in my mouth. I closed my eyes as we took
off, my hands gripping the wrist rest. After endless minutes of waiting for
pain and nausea to kick in, Spike reached over and unbuckled my seat belt.
I took out the
earplugs. “How do you feel? You want to lie down?” Spike pulled a pillow from
under the seat and looked at me expectantly.
I wanted to
lie back down in his lap, and close my eyes, and let him comfort me. No one had
touched me since Tara died, and it felt like cool water after a long walk in
summer. But I had no right to seek solace in anyone, not after what I’d done.
“I feel just fine,” I said brightly.
“Glad your
little Wonder Woman bracelets worked for you,” he said with a smile, and then
he leaned over and retrieved his new book, flipping to the beginning.
I pulled my
iPod from my carryon and turned on some Saint-Saens, focusing my attention on
the crossword puzzle. “Pinocchio, at times,” I read. Four letters down.
-TBC-