Secrets and Lies

I Remember


Giles sucked in a harsh breath when he found himself back in his back – his body from five years ago. He was momentarily stunned by the differences; there was less pain in his shoulder from the rotator cuff he had re-injured that final day on the Hellmouth, his knees ached less, and he was five pounds lighter. In the next second, he remembered the task at hand, but rather than stopping his slayer as she raced away from the group, he caught the leather-encased arm of her shadow, called out another name. “Spike!”

The blonde vampire turned to face Giles, confusion etched on his features at the urgent tone the watcher had cried his name with. “Yeah?” he asked in feigned nonchalance.

“T-this is very important, Spike,” Giles stated firmly. “Whatever happens tonight, whatever Buffy says to you… You mustn’t kiss her or… or touch her in any way, do you understand?”

“Listen, Watcher, I appreciate the concern – well, in point of fact, I don’t, but –” he wisely fell silent when Giles’ grip tightened on his arm.

“Listen to me, now. Listen. Not tonight, not now, not while she feels cold and empty, not when she wants to hurt and be hurt. You claim that you love her; prove it.”

The confusion in Spike’s eyes slowly became curiosity, and finally understanding. The watcher knew something the rest of them weren’t privy to, something that might change the course of their lives depending on whether or not he acted accordingly. He had never been known for being a thinker; he followed his blood, but the pleading expression in Giles’ eyes gave him pause.

“Don’t hit her,” he continued, “and for the love of God, never tell her that she came back wrong. It’s a miracle that she came back at all. Don’t fight her, Spike, and if she wants to hit you…”

“If she wants to hit me, she can soddin’ well hit me if that’s what she needs.”

“But it isn’t!” Giles protested. “Restrain her if you can, but never hit her back. Walk away if she refuses to calm down.”

“What happened, Watcher?” the vampire queried.

“Her life depends on it, Spike. That’s all I’m going to tell you. Well, that, and she needs someone to confide in, someone she can trust. Would you do anything for her?”

“I’d give my bloody unlife for her, you know that,” replied Spike, his fierce tone reflected in his eyes.

“Then show me,” he pleaded. “Show her the kind of man you can be. Show her that… that she’s more than just the slayer.”

His full lips held in a grim line, Spike nodded resolutely. Something, though he wasn’t certain what, had happened to the watcher. Perhaps he had seen into the future, a vision as Drusilla often did. Whatever it was, the vampire knew that he had to change his ways or Buffy would die again. The thought made his blood run truly cold rather than room temperature. “I will. Better let go of my arm now, I’ll see if I can catch her.”

Releasing Spike’s arm, Giles dragged a hand through his hair, hair that was more brown than the silver he had been forced to grow accustomed to. As the vampire turned away, he strode in Willow’s direction – he had to stop her from performing the spell that would cause her break-up with Tara. Then, he would put a stop to Warren, Jonathon, and Andrew’s game before it could be put fully into play. He was a man on a mission, and nothing would stop him.

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Spike found Buffy standing alone outside, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she shivered from the chill in the air. He had never seen her look so fragile, so diminished, and it made his undead heart clench in his chest. On impulse, he removed his duster and wrapped it around her shoulders.

The sudden sensation of warmth jarred the slayer from her thoughts, and she turned startled green eyes on the vampire. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come. She had expected some kind of glib remark, a reminder of what he had once said – that every slayer had a death wish. Instead, the lips that so often twisted in a smirk formed a solemn expression, one of concern. “Don’t pretend you care, Spike,” she baited him.

Surprising even himself, the vampire refused to take the bait. Instead, he shook his head and settled a hand on the center of her back. “C’mon, pet, I’ll walk you home.”

When the normally temperamental vampire remained grim and worried in his appearance, Buffy deflated, withdrew into her own mind as she started down the street. It was always so cold where she was. It was Hell.

Spike fell into step beside her, and after a long pause, he inquired, “Do you believe in fate? That everythin’ that happens… there’s a reason for it?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she retorted, bitterness dripping from her voice as blood dripped from an open wound.

Really, the vampire thought, the two weren’t so dissimilar. “When I said that every slayer has a death wish… I think part of it is that they want to know if this is the end. The want to know if there’s somethin’ other than this, and now you know.”

“And I lost it!” she cried dismally. “I was there, and I was so happy, and now I’m cold all the time, and everything is so different than when I left it. Things change so fast…”

“Believe me, pet, I know. It seems like it was only yesterday that the typewriter was the greatest invention in the world, and electricity seemed like magic. The world can change in a second, Buffy.”

Something in Spike’s words seemed to strike a chord with the slayer, for she calmed almost instantly and cradled her forehead in her hand. “You should know,” she said softly.

“They thought you were trapped in Glory’s Hell dimension, luv. Red, Glinda, the demon, and the whelp, they all did. W-we all did. They did it to save you,” he said firmly, as though his tone could somehow will her to believe it. “Bein’ here in this world, a world without you in it, it… that was Hell. For all of us, ‘specially the Bit.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore, Spike.”

The vampire stiffened – in more than one way – at the sultry tone on the slayer’s words, and he nearly forgot Giles’ warning when he noticed the way she was studying his lips. Drawing in an unneeded breath, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “‘S a good thing we’ve got you home, then,” he replied weakly. Ignoring her look of disappointed longing, he opened the door to her home. “Go on, in with you.”

Buffy, shocked beyond belief that Spike had ignored a blatant come-on, slipped the duster from her shoulders and offered it to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for this and… everything.”

A myriad of emotions flickered in his eyes, and he inclined his head. “Don’t mention it, pet. You’ve got the house to yourself for the moment, so you’d better get in a good dose of primal scream therapy while you can.”

“Primal… what?”

Laughing softly, the vampire explained, “John Lennon and Yoko Ono used to drive out to the middle of nowhere, get out of the car, and scream their bloody heads off. Said it was therapeutic. That, or you might try eatin’ somethin’ chocolate. Helps me.”

“You eat chocolate?!” the slayer asked in disbelief.

“Course! It’s not bloody normal not to like chocolate!”

A small but genuine smile touched Buffy’s lips, and she teased, “I thought you didn’t want to be normal, Spike.”

The slayer was teasing him. He would have had a heart attack if it had been physically possible. As it was, he merely gaped at her momentarily before gathering his resolve and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not normal, but chocolate is just one of those things, y’know? Go on, then. You look tired.”

“Good night, Spike, and I might try that scream thingy.”

“G’night, Buffy,” he answered as she closed the door. Seeing that the slayer was safe inside, he moved to his spot beneath the tree in the front yard, watching and listening for any sign that the Scoobies needed help.

As Buffy crawled into bed, a single thought came to the forefront of her mind. Since Sweet’s departure, never once had Spike called her ‘Slayer.’