Heroes

Note: Acknowledgments to Joss Whendon and the writers of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the Dialogue taken from the episodes "End of Days" and "Chosen".

*~*~*~*~*

 

"I've lived for sodding ever, Buffy. I've done everything ‑ done things with you I can't spell, but I've never been close to anyone, least of all, you, until last night. All I did was hold you, watch you sleep. And it was the best night of my life. So, yeah, I'm terrified."

 

The memory of those words settled around Buffy like a heavy cloak as she studied the burn pattern on her hand. It should hurt, but it didn’t. But she could clearly see an impression of fingers laying over the fine bones and veins of her skin. His fingers. His hand. Her palm was burnt to a light pink, and her own fingers revealed lines that must have been made by the tendons of his hand. He was gone, and he didn’t know. He didn’t know. She clenched her hand tightly, as if she could somehow feel him there in her hand again, and she closed her eyes, remembering.

 

When he’d told her he was terrified, she’d been surprised at his words. Spike couldn't have possibly meant he was afraid of her after what they'd shared while holding each other the previous night. 

 

***

 

"You don't have to be." She tried to make him understand with her eyes the feelings she didn't have words for.

 

"Were you there with me?" His question sounded like an entreaty.

 

She couldn't be anything less than truthful with him. "I was."

 

The words hung between them, soft, and yet powerful. He tilted his head in wonder, looking so much younger than his hundred and twenty whatever years. Buffy felt something inside of her break loose and catch in her throat. Suddenly, she was the one who was terrified.

 

"What does that mean?" He was pleading with her to tell him not what he wanted to hear, but to just tell him.  But she couldn’t.

 

"I don't know. Does it have to mean something?" She shut down, and hated herself for it.  What was the matter with her? Spike was offering her something that she wanted, and she refused to reach out and take it. Stupid Buffy. Couldn't she think of anything less lame than "I don't know, does it have to mean something?" 

 

"No. Not right now." 

 

She was stunned. Why hadn’t he seen through her? He always had before. That wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He was supposed to tell her she was off her nut. He should have been telling her what she was really feeling. That's what he did!  Instead he had backed off.

 

She tried salvage it. "Maybe when..."

 

"No."  He waved her words away. "Let's just leave it."

 

"Okay."  Why did she tell him it was okay? She didn't want to leave it.

 

"We'll go be heroes." He said the words and was out the door before she could make her non‑responsive body obey any of the things her brain told it to do.

 

She stared at the door.  She wanted to cry and call out for him. But she didn't.

 

***

 

Buffy stopped studying her hand and stared out of the dirty glass of the old school bus. Who’d ever heard of a victory lap in a big yellow behemoth? It was even lamer than trying to get away from the Knights of Beelzebub in a Winnebago. She emerged from her reverie long enough to take inventory of the others around her. Wood was hurt, but alive. Faith had gone all mother hen on him. Go figure. She should have known that the former juvenile delinquent would end up with the school principal. Several of the girls were missing. Amanda was gone. God, not Amanda. She’d seen her fall and known the girl was dead, but it was hard to accept. She had always reminded her of Dawn.

 

Dawn was okay. She was with Xander, who had the same numb expression that Buffy could feel on her own face. Giles was driving. Thankfully, he was also in one piece. That left Willow. Buffy craned her head around and spotted her red hair several seats back. Willow had been watching her, and rose from her place beside Kennedy. Buffy moved over as she sat down.

 

“Oh, hey, you burned your hand. Does it hurt?”

 

Buffy shook her head vacantly, but felt her eyes well up. “Yeah, it hurts.” They both knew she wasn’t referring to anything physical.

 

"Buffy, what is it?"

 

Willow had asked her the same question two days earlier – right after Spike had left the kitchen. Buffy looked at her with stricken eyes, and Willow enfolded her in her arms. Their last conversation had been so hopeful, and now the memory of it held nothing but pain.

 

***

 

“Buffy, what is it?”

 

How long had she been standing there with her mouth gaping open before Willow had come across her standing there looking at that door? Buffy felt numb and paralyzed, and so damned mad at herself.

 

"What's the matter with me, Will?"

 

"Aside from a little drool? Not anything that I can see." Willow gave her one of those crooked smiles that Buffy hadn't seen in what felt like years. "What are you doing out here?"

 

Buffy blinked. She wasn't going to cry. She was mortified enough without that. "I was talking to Spike," she finally managed.

 

"Oh, I haven't seen him since he went looking for you last night.” Willow paled, fully aware of her role in causing Buffy to leave, but she rushed on, “Where has he been all day?"

 

"I don’t know. He was…" Buffy fell silent, worrying her lip with her teeth before deciding to confess. "He was still at the house when I left there this morning."

 

"The house where you stayed last night?" Willow's lips pursed into an ooh of understanding. "You wanna talk about it?"

 

That was a good question. Talking. Not her strongest suit. She seemed to run into problems whenever she tried it – and when she didn’t. Buffy sighed, followed Willow over to the kitchen island and pulled up a stool. "There's really nothing to talk about, I guess."

 

"He found you last night, right? And he was with you... all night?"

 

"Yeah." Buffy traced a groove in the countertop with her fingernail.

 

"Whew! I'm glad you weren’t alone. I mean after what happened here that would have been not so good, and at least you and Spike got to make with the snugglies."

 

"Will, we did not get... snuggly!" Buffy lowered her voice, realizing that the house probably still harbored curious teenaged ears. "I mean, there was snuggling, but..."

 

"But?"

 

"He just held me." Buffy smiled softly, wistfully.

 

Willow looked confused again. "We are talking about Spike, right?"

 

"We're definitely talking about Spike."

 

"Wow, he really is different now. I mean after he... and then he... and with Anya..." Willow stopped. "I guess I wasn't having my best week back then either."

 

"None of us were," Buffy said. "But last night, Spike and I, we really connected. And tonight I couldn't even talk to him."

 

"What did you want to say?"

 

Buffy sighed in frustration. "That's just it. I don't know. But I should have been able to tell him something."

 

"Do you love him?"

 

Buffy studied Willow thoughtfully, a myriad of memories and emotions flooding through her. "The first person to ask me that was Tara."

 

Willow gasped, "Really?"

 

"Really," Buffy said softly. "And I wish I could answer the question, but I can't. I think that's why I let him go just now."

 

Willow reached across the table and squeezed Buffy's hand. "Don't take too long to make up your mind. You might not have tomorrow. Take it from me."

 

"Thanks, Willow. I will."

 

***

 

But she hadn’t. She’d taken too long to figure it out and had no one to blame but herself. She could have told him and managed to convince him before it was too late. Would it have mattered? Maybe not. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything at all. He’d still be gone, wouldn’t he? He’d still have marched into battle by her side and worn the prize she’d bestowed on him. Nothing would have stopped him from being where she needed him to be. So why did she feel like such a failure? She’d failed him. She’d failed them. She hadn’t really believed he would be the one who wouldn’t return. She had them all there with her now, her family. She had Dawn and Willow and Xander and Giles. But not Spike. She had nothing of him except the impression of his hand.

 

***

 

She’d really wanted to strangle him when she finally managed to catch up to him in the basement. Not that strangling would kill him or anything, but it might shut him up. He was ranting about tongues and vampire eyeballs and lifts in shoes. And when had he drawn that ridiculous picture? It didn't even look like Angel, except for maybe the hair.

 

So he'd been there, he'd seen them kissing, and now he was taking his frustrations out on the punching bag. He'd even ignored her joke about oil, though she wasn't exactly sure she was joking. The idea of the two of them tussling it out over her carried a certain amount of naughty appeal. He jolted her out of her daydream by asking for the trinket.

 

"The who‑kit?"

 

"The pretty necklace your sweetie‑bear gave you. The one with all the power. I believe it's mine now."

 

She wasn't about to let him call the shots after his little fit of machismo. No, he needed to squirm. "How do you figure?"

 

He gave her one of those looks that told her he wasn't conceding to her willfulness. "Someone with a soul, but more than human? Angel meant to wear it, that means I'm the qualified party." He held out his hand.

 

So he had seen them, and heard part of their conversation. Still, she clung stubbornly to her game. "It's volatile. We don't know..."

 

"You'll be needing someone strong to bear it, then. You planning on giving it to Andrew?"

 

Well, he had her there. And she'd been planning on springing it on him, making it a big surprise, building him up with an unplanned gift. Stupid vampire ‑ couldn't even let her give him something the right way. "Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a champion."

 

Spike's face fell. She realized he misunderstood what she was telling him. She looked at him meaningfully and moved toward him. She held out her hand and slid the amulet into his palm.  The look of wonder on his face melted something inside her, and she realized that she'd made an important decision, one that felt right. And it wasn't about who should wear the amulet.

 

"Been called a lot of things in my time." His voice was gruff with emotion.

 

Buffy said the first thing that came into her mind. "Faith still has my room."

 

Spike looked at her, shocked. "Well, you're not staying here! You can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk. You got Angel breath. I'm not gonna just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I've got my pride, you know."

 

Why did it always have to be so hard? She was finally figuring things out, things that she knew he wanted ‑ or thought he wanted, anyway. He'd been through so much over the past year, and the soul had made changes in him that others didn't see ‑ but she did. He was with her constantly, but it wasn’t like before with the stalking. There was an unspoken understanding between them. He was there because she wanted him there. Period. He was finding his way and not working the angles to get closer to her. He didn't believe he deserved her. He was beginning to feel out his own sense of worth and she intended to honor his need for space.

 

So she wouldn't force him. She'd done enough of that over the last year. "I understand," she said quietly. She turned to leave.

 

Before she’d taken more than a step, he jumped in front of her, blocking her exit. "Clearly you don't, cause the whole “having my pride” thing was just a smoke screen."

 

Buffy brightened and sighed in relief. Another band around her heart seemed to give way. "Oh, thank God."  So much for all that nobility she'd been hanging onto. He smiled back at her, softly and genuinely. She didn't think she'd ever seen that look on his face. He told her that he didn't know what he'd have done if she'd gone up those stairs. Didn't he understand? She was the one who would have been lost. She needed him.

 

She reached out and touched his face, warming its contours with her palm. He understood now, didn't he? He had to. She didn't have to say the words. Okay, what she'd told Angel was still true. She was still baking. But she knew where she wanted to be in the meantime. She'd chosen.

 

She slipped into his welcoming arms and rested her cheek against his still chest. He inclined his head toward the bed and she nodded her agreement. She sat down on the edge and removed her shoes and flimsy outer shirt, then scooched over to make room for him to lie down. She stretched out beside him and slid her hands over his arms and around his back. She'd show him. She didn't want him for just the physical satisfaction he could give her. She kissed him once, softly lingering over his mouth, letting him know that she didn't expect more. Then she pillowed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

Time passed slowly as Buffy tried to clear her mind and relax completely. Her thoughts kept swirling uneasily. Her victory over Caleb had felt wonderful, but now that the adrenaline had subsided, all she could do was search for a way to try to defeat the First ‑ and she had to admit that she really had no idea.

 

Spike had fallen into a quiet sleep with his arm resting lightly around her. He seemed to have a lot more confidence in her than she did. She traced his still, cool hand with her fingertips and wondered if she should wake him and let him provide the distraction she needed for her restless mind. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he rolled away, taking the comfort of his body with him. Okay, maybe not. Somehow, that step of physical intimacy seemed premature, despite her memories of all the things they'd done together in the past. It wasn't like there'd be any surprises. But this time, it had to be right. She really needed to talk to him ‑ and she would - as soon as she figured out what it was she needed to say. Right now it was more pressing to plan, to try to come up with something to stop the First. They were heroes. Stopping the bad guy was what they did.

 

She rose from the bed, giving up any hopes of rest, surrendering to her troubled thoughts. Where was the First now? What was its next move? As if mentally summoned, the source of all evil was suddenly standing beside her in the form of the man she'd killed earlier that day.

 

***

 

“Buffy, talk to me.”

 

Willow’s voice broke through her stupor. Buffy had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, lost in her memories. The sun was low on the horizon, and Xander had relieved Giles of his driving duties. She didn’t know where they were headed, and found that she didn’t really care.

 

She’d felt a surge of pride as they’d all stood looking at the big crater in the middle of California because they’d done the impossible. There were other Slayers now, lots and lots of other Slayers. She was freer than she’d ever been, except for those months in heaven. A fluttering of happiness enveloped her, but it was as fleeting as the light wind that had blown across her face.

 

She’d followed the others onto the bus, barely conscious of Giles’ hand against her back as she climbed the steps. He’d been concerned about the wound in her side, but it was healing with amazing speed, even for her. She supposed that was a nice side effect from Willow’s spell, instant healing for all but the most mortal of wounds. It didn’t explain the continued presence of the burn, however. For that, Buffy was glad. It was a mark she wanted to keep.

 

“There’s nothing to say, Will. We made it. We did the deed. We performed the task.”

 

“But we didn’t all make it.” The compassion in Willow’s voice was clear, and Buffy knew she understood.

 

Buffy looked at her hand and swallowed hard. “I know.”

 

“Buffy,” Willow was tentative, but she pushed on. “Last night… did you talk to him? Did you tell him?”

 

“I thought I did. I tried.” She turned and watched the last rays of sunlight glimmer up over the edge of the world and paint the sky orange and pink and deep red. “No.”

 

***

 

Buffy finished watching the sun descend behind the vacant houses. It was possibly her last sunset. She straightened, shifting her weight from the porch post. It was nighttime now and she really needed get some rest. They all needed it, but nobody seemed to be getting any. She walked into the house, taking stock of everyone. Oh, somebody was getting some sleep. Anya lay with her head on her arms, drooling on the dining room table. Leave it to Anya to be the exception. Giles and Xander and a few others were engrossed in that strange game that Andrew insisted on playing every night.

 

"Do you want to play?" Andrew asked her. "We could fit you in as a mystical warrior to help Giles. He's a smart man, but his gaming skills..." Andrew lowered his voice, as if Giles, who was closer to Andrew than Buffy was, wouldn't be able to hear him. "He's not so good at thinking outside the b‑o‑x."

 

"I can spell box, you overgrown hobbit!"

 

"Hey, Tolkien. Cool!"

 

Buffy laughed softly. "Glad to see you guys are honing your skills for the big battle in the morning. I'm going to bed."

 

"Watch out going up the stairs," Xander warned. "Some of the girls might have left their weapons..."

 

"Not to worry," Buffy stopped him. "That's not where I'm going. See you in the morning." She turned, headed toward the basement door.

 

“Um, Buffy?” Giles called after her.

 

She stopped and turned, expecting to hear a statement about the inappropriateness of her destination. She didn’t care. She’d made up her mind. But the world was topsy-turvy, and Giles had something else on his mind.

 

“Do you know for certain what that amulet will do? I haven’t been able to find any references about it, and we don’t know if Spike…”

 

“Spike is the right person to wear it. He won’t let me down.”

 

“N-no, of course not. Good night Buffy.”

 

“Good night, Giles.”

 

***

 

They were lying together, wrapped around each other, contentment holding them inside a sweet fantasy of wellbeing. Buffy had thought that she and Spike couldn't experience anything new together, but she had been wrong ‑ so wrong. This was new, this trusting, happy afterglow. There was no antagonism and no bitterness. There was definitely no inclination to flee.

 

Spike kissed her hair.  She smiled and snuggled closer to him. "Hmm. That was nice."

 

"Yeah."

 

"I think we should talk about where we go from here, because..."

 

"You don't have to say anything, Buffy."

 

"I don't?" She pulled back to look at his expression. "You're telling me this? The guy who always wants to chat things out?"

 

"Things change," he said. There was a bleakness about him that she didn't understand.

 

"What do you mean? I know you've changed. I have too. That's why..."

 

"That's why you don't need to make me any pretty speeches. I know what we have and I'm okay with that."

 

She was confused. "If you know how I feel, why are you…?"

 

He shook his head, and pressed his lips together in that way of his, "Look, we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow ‑ who's going to walk away, if any of us."

 

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."

 

"Let's just be here together tonight. Tomorrow we'll go out there and we'll do the hero thing. If we make it, then it's a new start. If we don't, I've had this, and that's everything to me."

 

Buffy fell silent and nodded and tried to understand what he was telling her. Maybe he didn't want to carry the weight of her feelings for him into the battle along with everything else. She could understand that. She knew they wouldn't all make it out, and he had to know that she might even die again. So she wouldn't think about it, and she wouldn't talk about it. Instead she rolled on top of him and kissed him deeply, twining her fingers through his and showing him the things he didn't want her to say.

 

There was always tomorrow.

 

***

 

Buffy sat alone.  She had sent Willow back to Kennedy. She’d tried to help and Buffy loved her for it, but what could she do? Willow hadn’t been down in that hole with them. She hadn’t seen the death and destruction. Nor the light, beaming like the sun, shining from the disintegrating body of her lover.

 

She had stood facing him, knowing that they'd won. It had happened, just as she’d planned. But losing him was something she’d never let herself imagine.

 

***

 

Spike was glowing. He'd always used that word to describe her, but this time he was the one consumed by light. He told her about being able to feel his soul, and words couldn't describe the power she saw. She begged him to leave with her. He was still alive and they could go ‑‑ but he wouldn't. He wanted to stay and finish the job. For her.

 

So she did what she'd done the night before, and twined her fingers through his and wondered at the flame that erupted from their combined flesh. She would tell him now.  He couldn't stop her and he had to know.

 

"I love you."

 

"No you don't, but thanks for saying it."

 

What? She couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of his words. He didn’t believe her. All she could do was stare at him in wonder as the ground shook and the walls fell all around them.  And then he was yelling at her to go ‑‑ to leave him there. He pushed her away and suddenly she was running, pounding away as the Hellmouth threatened to swallow her. She could hear his laughter and knew that this was what he wanted. He was saving the world for her, and if her sister weren’t reason enough to get out, she’d do it because it was what he wanted her to do.

 

So she ran, jumping from building to building – running faster than she ever had in her life. She caught up with the bus, her adrenaline and heart pumping from her flight to safety. She’d made it and she was happy about that, wasn’t she? She was with her friends and Dawn and had everything she’d always said she wanted.

 

But then, she’d noticed her hand – his hand. His hand in hers. That was what she wanted. That was the future she wanted to embrace, but except for the burn, it was gone. And he hadn’t even believed it. He’d told her once that she had to go on living, so that one of them was living. But she felt hollow and lonely.

 

She stood. She’d been sitting for hours. She’d go to Dawn and they would decide where they wanted to go from here.

 

Buffy wanted to care. Maybe one day she would.

 

 

~End~