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“Buffy, I understand your anger. Please believe me, we did what we – ”

“Spike’s alive,” she informed him, hoping to take his ‘for the sake of the greater good’ speech down a notch or two. She still couldn’t believe that Giles would go along with Wood’s plot for revenge; that he’d buy into a wounded man’s nearsighted logic. What really hurt was that he didn’t believe in her. Buffy trusted Spike, and Giles refused to accept that. “Wood failed.”

Giles raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t seem too disappointed with this information. “Well, that doesn’t change anything. What I told you is still true. You need to learn – ”

Whoa. She needed to learn from him? She was the one who’d been there the whole time, standing up to the evil that was trying to take them down. Buffy knew more about what they were about to face than he did and his supposed “wisdom” nearly cost her the strongest warrior she had. He’d almost cost her Spike.

Buffy glared at him, and never before could she remember him looking smaller. “No, I think you’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

After slowly closing the door in his face, Buffy regretted not slamming it, though only because that would’ve helped vent some of her frustration. Ha, frustration. Is that what you call it when you’ve lost all faith in the person who’s supposed to guide you?

Buffy paced back and forth along the length of her bed before sighing deeply and plopping down on the edge of the mattress. She was tired of being calm and collected. She was tired of always being in control of herself and of fighting for control of the Potentials.

She was just tired.

 

Buffy opened her eyes and stared at the glowing numbers of the alarm clock. It was almost five o’clock in the morning and she still hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. She had allowed herself a few moments of weakness and cried, mostly out of frustration, but the first few tears she’d shed to release the terror she’d felt when she realized that Spike might be dead. Spike was like her compass right now. Her smart-alec, sometimes manic and occasionally violent compass, but her compass nonetheless.

She’d wanted to hug him when she’d found him outside of Wood’s shed. But it was then that she realized that she’d never given Spike a hug, so instead she stood and marveled at how ridiculous her instinct had been. There was also Wood lying inside a room covered in crucifixes all slumped and bloody to distract her.

You’re not in love with him, she had to remind herself as a familiar feeling bubbled up inside of her. Buffy cared for Spike deeply, but with all their history she knew she could never truly love him. Or maybe it was because of their history that she was too afraid to allow herself to.

Buffy sat up and went to her closet to fetch a pair of slippers of the non-fuzzy variety. She needed to have a serious discussion with Spike and she didn’t think that would go over too well if he had little cow eyes staring up at him. Slipping into some silky blue house shoes and donning a robe, Buffy quietly exit her bedroom and tiptoed downstairs. The door to the basement creaked slightly when she opened it, breaking the almost overwhelming silence that seemed unnatural for a house filled with dozens of people.

It wasn’t until she reached the bottom step that she realized he was asleep. Buffy sighed, feeling stupid for expecting him to be awake at all hours. But hey, he was a creature of the night, so it wasn’t completely unreasonable for her to think he’d be up. She peered up the staircase and heaved another sigh, not wanting to go back to bed because she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Buffy hugged her robe tightly to herself and looked back at Spike’s sleeping form sprawled out on the cot. The thought of how much easier it would be for her to sleep if he were upstairs in bed with her entered her mind, but she forced it away. They didn’t have that anymore. Hell, they’d never really had that, not unless you counted passing out from post-coital exhaustion as sleeping in the same bed together. Which, logistically and everything, was true. But it wasn’t the same.

It took her a moment to realize that she’d walked across the basement floor and was now standing at the side of the cot, staring down at his sleeping face. Another strange thought entered her head, and Buffy wondered if it was due to the lack of sleep or all the other factors that should be driving her crazy.

You could see Spike’s soul when he slept.

There was something about the softness of his face during slumber that she’d never noticed before. When she’d seen him sleeping before, his features had always seemed to be set in mute boredom, as if sleep were a necessary chore that stole valuable time from his unlife. But now, sitting at his side on the edge of the cot and taking in his appearance, she saw something else. Innocence might not be the appropriate word, but troubled would be fitting. The latter seemed to become even more so as he shifted slightly and his eyebrows knit together. His head rolled to the side and Buffy observed that the burn on his face she’d noticed earlier was in the shape of a cross. It hit her then how hard it must be for him—and for Angel—to be ensouled yet still rejected by all that is holy. It made their quests for redemption seem fruitless, and Buffy couldn’t imagine what that felt like.

She reached towards him with her right hand and gently brushed her fingers against the smooth skin beneath the burn, hoping she wouldn’t wake him with her touch. Buffy liked him like this, stripped bare of all pretense and… well, everything. Spike did sleep nude, after all, something that Xander had discovered to his horror one afternoon when Spike had still been living in his apartment. It didn’t bother her, although not just because she’d already seen him naked… which actually made it more awkward because the last time she was with naked Spike they had been doing very different things. No, she liked the vulnerability it gave him, and she knew he’d hate that she reveled in what he saw as weakness. Without thinking she snaked her fingers through the hair above his ear, marveling at how soft it was when there wasn’t much gel in it. Buffy fought the urge to close her eyes and lie down on top of him, but at that moment she felt calm yet at the same time inexplicably sad.

She jerked her hand back when he stirred and opened his eyes, and at that moment his nudity became a slight issue, but she didn’t move away from him.

“Hey,” she said with a nervous smile as his blue eyes focused on her face. She wasn’t sure if he was angry with her or not, although he shouldn’t be. She certainly didn’t condone what Wood had tried to do earlier that night. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“You okay?” he asked groggily, leaning on his elbows and pushing up into a sitting position.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened. I didn’t think you’d be asleep.”

“Yeah, well, a good beating tends to wear one out. Though I wouldn’t necessarily call that a good beating compared to some of the blows you’ve dished out in the past.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spike’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For letting this happen.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward. “You think this was your fault?”

“No, but I should’ve seen what was going on. You didn’t deserve that.”

Spike bowed his head. “Dunno about that, pet. Killed his mum, didn’t I? While I don’t think that merits my dusty demise it does give him reason to hate me.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her eyes dropping to her lap.

“Stop saying that,” he replied firmly. He leaned forward so that she was forced to look at him. “You can’t control the universe, love.”

Buffy nodded, wishing that she could. It was amazing how she had so much control over what happened to the people in that house and yet she still felt completely helpless. Except now, sitting alone in the basement with a vampire who loved her. Spike made her feel safe, like nothing could beat her as long as she kept fighting. Spike gave her hope. He was her compass of hope. She couldn’t fight the small smile that crept onto her face as she heard those words in her brain.

“You okay?” Spike asked after watching the wheels turning in her head.

Buffy shrugged. “Can’t sleep is all. Haven’t really the past few weeks, but I’m okay. Besides, I came down here to see about you, and I think you’re trying to change the subject.”

Spike frowned. “Dunno how much I want to share, pet. Don’t think you’d like to hear how much I want your principal dead right now.”

“I think I got that memo when I saw him beaten to a bloody pulp,” she replied.

“Yeah, well he was the one who cornered me, wasn’t he?” Spike added defensively, sitting up a little straighter. “I know I’ve done wrong, but that’s not me anymore. I wish I could make up for everything I’ve done, but I can’t, and I’m not about to go and give up my bloody life for it either.”

Buffy blinked, slightly taken aback by his mini-tirade. “I know, Spike, but I didn’t come here to talk about Wood. I came down here…” She closed her eyes and sighed. All she’d known back in her bedroom when she decided to talk to Spike was that she needed to see him. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” she asked in a whisper, voicing her biggest concern of the night.

“Now why would I do that?” he asked curiously.

“I dunno. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you asked me to stay.”

Buffy’s heart leapt at his words, and she couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that. Instead she reached forward and lightly ran her finger over the burn on his cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“Ow!” He pulled away from her hand. “Well, yeah, if you touch it.”

Buffy returned the smile that he gave her. “Sorry. I guess… I guess I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Spike smiled in understanding and nodded. “I’ll live. Or not.”

 

Spike had expected her to leave after they’d reached that conclusion, but instead she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

“What happened, exactly?” she asked. “I know he tried to kill you, but how did he fight you at all? He’s a good fighter, but you’re stronger than him.”

Spike's frown was obviously not a big enough sign that he didn’t want to talk about his experience earlier that night. He shifted so that he mimicked her position with his back against the wall, making sure that he kept the sheet around his waist. “Wood used a bit o’ psychological warfare.”

Off her confused stare, Spike pointed to his head and started singing. “Early one mornin’…”

Buffy shot off the bed and was over on the other side of the basement faster than a flash of lightning. “Spike, what are you doing?” she asked furiously.

He smiled at her as she realized that the trigger hadn’t activated. Either that or she thought his sweet smile was about to turn all psychotic and fangy. “It’s alright, love. It doesn’t affect me anymore.”

“Are you sure?” she asked as she cautiously started inching back towards the cot.

“I finally sorted through some old issues of mine. Turns out it’s not good to keep stuff all bottled up and repressed.”

“Really?” she replied with a smile, noting his sarcasm as she sat beside him again.

“Yeah. So I plan to be completely honest with myself now, and you.” He turned to her and fixed her with a serious gaze that made her eyes widen in suspense. “So I should probably tell you that I might murder Willow’s little chit before the week’s end.”

Buffy laughed. “Kennedy? She can be a bit much.”

“See, I get she and Red are together an’ all, but that doesn’t make it right for her to butt in like she’s one of us.” He instantly paled at his words. “I mean, like she’s part of… oh, bollocks.”

“Spike,” Buffy said soothingly. “You are one of us.”

Spike’s eyes filled with such gratitude that Buffy couldn’t help but stare into them. He smiled.

“No I’m not. Can’t really count myself as one of you when I’m not all human and helpless, can I?”

“Hey, I am not helpless. And Willow is anything but.”

“Well, I was mainly thinking of Xander.”

Buffy laughed and playfully punched his shoulder. “Spike.”

His smile broadened and a little chuckle escaped his throat. He enjoyed this air of playfulness between them. It wasn’t something they often shared.

They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, both enjoying the other’s silent company. It wasn’t long before Buffy spoke again.

“This is really good,” she started, though from her lengthy pause Spike guessed that she wasn’t going to elaborate further.

“What is?”

“Your trigger’s been deactivated. No more crazy Spike.”

He leaned towards her ominously. “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Buffy smiled but shook her head. “You’re not crazy, Spike. Well, maybe a little, but in a tolerable way. Sometimes.”

Spike couldn’t help but grin throughout her teasing, but his smile faded once she asked her next question.

“So, what did it? How did you make the trigger stop working?”

“Don’t really want to talk about that, Slayer.”

“I thought it wasn’t good to keep things all bottled up and repressed?”

Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, realizing that he wasn’t going to get out of this one. “It was my mum.”

Buffy nodded. “I figured as much, since you told us about the song.”

“Yeah. She said some pretty nasty stuff to me before she died.”

“How did she die?”

Spike stared at her. Obviously she didn’t mind that she was pushing. “I killed her,” he replied softly.

“Oh.”

“Guess you can’t be too surprised,” Spike replied, noting the lack of the emotion in her tone. “Angel did kill his whole family after he’d been turned.”

“Angelus,” Buffy corrected. Spike scowled.

“Don’t really see the difference, pet. Same person, yeah? It’s not like Angel is trapped inside Angelus. More the other way around.”

“Angelus and Angel are completely different,” she pointed out.

Spike sighed and reached beside him for a pack of smokes that had been resting on the shelves by his cot. All this Angel talk was leaving him in serious need of nicotine. “Gee, wish I had a name for my alter-ego. Oh wait, I don’t have one.”

Buffy grinned impishly. “I could call you Spike-ulus.”

He hoped the glare he sent her way would guarantee that she never do that. He lit his cigarette and took a drag.

“Hmm,” she continued thoughtfully, unfazed by his searing glare. “What’s the Latin word for ‘Spike?”

“Oh, bollocks,” he muttered, shaking his head as smoke passed through his lips.

“Bollocks, huh?” Buffy replied with a grin.

Spike looked at her in surprise. He’d never heard her say ‘bollocks’ before. He couldn’t help but smile. It was kind of cute.

“So, it was just your mom, then?” Buffy asked, getting back to the not so pleasant topic.

“Yep.”

“It’s weird to think about you having a mom. I mean, everybody’s had one, sure, but you don’t think about vampires running around in diapers wailing ‘mommy!”

“Please tell me you haven’t done that.”

Buffy giggled and gave him an enigmatic look. God, she was beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly.

“For?”

“For cheering me up.”

“Same to you. Let’s hope it lasts ‘til morning.”

Buffy groaned. “It’s not far off.”

Spike took her hand in his and lifted it off of the mattress, helping her to her feet. “Get some sleep, love.”

She squeezed his hand before letting go. “I’ll try.”

He watched her walk up the stairs. As soon as the door closed behind her his smile faded. Spike took another drag from his cigarette and then watched as the smoke faded into the darkness. Their conversation had been light-hearted, mostly, and thinking of some of their exchanges made him chuckle, something he rarely did these days. He cherished the time they spent together, but being so close to her reminded him that he could never have her. Not really.

Spike put his cigarette out in the ashtray Dawn had claimed was a Christmas present for him. She’d hoped it would mean he’d only smoke in the basement, but he was ever the rebel.

Spike touched the burn on his face, trying to feel the shape of the cross under his fingertips but the welts had gone down. Despite the example his Grandsire had set, there was no Spike and Spike-ulus. Spike had come to realize during the long nights he spent alone in the basement that he’d been an anomaly among vampires. He believed even after being turned that part of his soul had remained intact. Maybe not his soul, but his humanity had lingered. How else could he explain his reaction to his mother’s stinging words? How else could he explain his entire existence?

You are one of us, she’d said. In a way, he silently agreed, still touching the burn on his face.

“In a way.”

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