Standing toe to toe, the Slayer and the demon stared into each others eyes, suddenly wordless.
Spike didn't want her dead. The knowledge kept revolving in Buffy's weary, amazed mind. Her mortal enemy couldn't kill her, didn't want to kill her.
The Slayer was standing before him, her psyche, for the moment, whole. With a swipe of his claws he could slice her open, with a twist of his fingers, he could snap her neck.
Yet, he didn't want her dead. Spike stared into the blue eyes and realized he wanted her to stay like this. He needed her to stay whole and sane...so he could do the same.
Gently Spike touched her shoulder and watched her eyes widen. "Do you want me to kill you, Buffy? Really, truly?"
Buffy swallowed hard and shook her head. "I don't want to die," she choked out, her arms sliding around her body to hug herself. "I just don't know how to live anymore."
"Why?"
Why...That was all it took, all it took to tear her apart, to make her explode. The question at the root of everything. Why didn't she know how to live anymore. The answer was there, buried so deep inside her. One word, one name, one love, one life.
Why. That simple question brought the emotions to the fore. Pain, longing, sorrow, fear, hatred, anger, they all swamped her and Buffy stood still, staring into Spike's dark eyes, knowing he was touching her, but not feeling him. She began to swallow hard, her eyes widening farther as the emotions swirled and pulled at her.
Opening her mouth, she tried to scream, then closed it again, no sound emerging.
Watching her very expressive eyes, realizing what was happening inside her, Spike kneaded her shoulder gently. "Let it out, luv. You have to let it out."
Before his eyes, Buffy turned white and flinched from his touch, horror twisting her face. He knew her reaction wasn't towards him, but wondered at the pang of hurt her rejection had caused.
Suddenly--surprising both of them--Buffy screamed and what she screamed was a name. "Angel."
She screamed until her throat was raw, her chest heaving, her sides sore from sobbing. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she whimpered his name before collapsing at Spike's feet.
Scooping the sobbing girl into his arms, Spike carried her to the couch and sat, cradling her as she cried.
After what seemed like an eternity to her, Buffy felt herself regaining control. The emotions she had bottled up inside her had finally exploded, but they hadn't destroyed her, as she had feared they might.
She was at a crossroads. She could either bottle the emotions back up, waiting for them to explode again, or she could face them, face what she had done and try to deal with it.
Neither option was very attractive, but Buffy was tired of not feeling, not caring, tired of a whole bunch of things.
Shifting awkwardly on Spike's lap, she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "You asked me why I stopped running," she began, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I was tired of running. Running kept my emotions alive. Once I stopped, I could force them down, concentrate on keeping myself physically alive. I know, that sounds strange. Most people run to keep from facing anything. I stopped. It was easier not to run anymore, just to settle."
Her voice drifted away and Spike glanced down to watch the tears leak slowly from her reddened eyes. She was hauntingly beautiful.
Shaking himself from his strange reverie, Spike asked a question which had been bothering him for some time. "Why did you run in the first place?" He almost expected her to shut down again, but all Buffy did was look at him with such pain in her eyes...that he knew. In that instant he understood.
"You were prepared to kill Angelus," he murmured, almost to himself. "You could have done that, to save the world, to save your mum and friends. But, it wasn't Angelus you sent to Hell...was it?"
One fresh tear slid from her eye, over her nose to drip onto her chin. "Angel," was all she could manage to say, before she closed her eyes and began to weep, quietly this time, clinging to him like a child to its mother.
Spike's mind reeled. How was that possible? How had Angel returned? How had his soul been returned? She had sent Angel to Hell to save the world. Soulboy. Her one great love.
No wonder she was such a wreck. Spike knew instantly that he couldn't have done that to Drusilla. Just knocking her out had wracked him with guilt for weeks.
Glancing down at Buffy, he realized she had slipped into sleep. Forcing the dark thoughts of Drusilla from his mind, refusing to acknowledge that he had issues as well, Spike rose to his feet and carried the sleeping Slayer into her bedroom. Laying her on the bed, he covered her up, then returned to the outer room to pace and think.
*****
Sometime before dawn, Buffy awakened, her head pounding, her mouth tasting like sawdust, her eyes sore. As she blinked into the gloom of her room, her memories returned and she lay still, waiting for the overwhelming need to repress to overcome her.
Nothing happened. As she remembered screaming Angel's name, a pang of pain went through her, but she found she could handle it. As she remembered their last kiss, sorrow flooded her, but she didn't try to bury it.
But with the sorrow came grief, and she buried her face in her pillow, crying again, for the first time crying for her loss. All these months, she hadn't allowed herself to grieve.
In the outer room, Spike heard her soft sobs and felt torn between letting her cry and going to her. Finally, the strange connection he felt towards her drew him to her room. Sitting down on the bed next to her, he turned on the lamp and watched her shoulders shake.
"Luv?" he asked hesitantly.
Swiping the tears from her eyes and hiccupping, Buffy sat up and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Spike knew instantly it was for comfort, not desire. Gently, he hugged her to him, drawing her head onto his shoulder.
"I killed him," she said dully. "I sent him to Hell. I had the sword, he was on his knees, I was ready to plunge it through him, when...when his soul returned. He looked up at me with such pain and confusion in his eyes and he said my name....And I knew. I knew it was my Angel back."
Gently Spike stroked her back, listening to her finally speak the cathartic words of truth.
"We embraced like we hadn't touched for decades and...we kissed. I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still hear him saying he loves me. But, I watched the portal opening behind him and knew I had no choice. He knew nothing. He remembered nothing after that night, the only night we had together...and I didn't have time to tell him." She sobbed once, deeply, her whole body shuddering.
"Go on," he encouraged softly.
Buffy took a deep breath and continued, forcing the words through teeth that wanted to clench shut and hold the damning truth back. "I told him to close his eyes. I kissed him one last time. And I thrust the sword into him, pinning him to that damn statue. The look of pain, of fear, of...betrayal on his face...I'll go to my grave remembering it." Her voice died away and she buried her hot face in his cool neck.
Spike stroked her back and shoulders, feeling her body finally relaxing after months of tension and suppressed emotions. Finally looking down, he saw that she was asleep again, a look of almost peace on her thin face. Gently laying her down, he glanced towards the window and felt the rising sun's pull on his own body.
Pulling his boots and belt off, Spike slid under the covers next to the Slayer and closed his eyes. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to sleep in the bathtub.
But, no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.
In her sleep, the Slayer curled trustingly against him and Spike smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist as he rolled onto his side and drifted to sleep.