Part 6
Unrequited love is a lot like water torture. It’s a steady drip-drip-drip of water on the middle of your forehead, soft enough to be harmless but hard enough to notice. Each encounter with the one you love feels like one of those drops, spaced just far enough apart to let you put your guard down, then DRIP, you see her beautiful face and feel that rejection so keenly once again.
You walk away from the encounter stunned and jolted, your insides whipped into a froth of confusion and pain, and you become determined to find a way to avoid these heart-wrenching emotions the next time you see her. You’re a strong individual; you can find a way to beat this. If she doesn’t want you, then by god, you can find a way to stop that drip and take away the torture and misery.
Then, just when you think you’ve fixed the leak, that you’ve found the one thing to patch it up so you won’t have to deal with those hurtful feelings anymore, there she is again. This time, drip has quickened, each drop stronger and more painful than you thought possible. The drops come harder and faster, suddenly running into a stream of water that blinds your eyes and courses hotly down your cheeks like tears.
Finally, there comes a point where you tilt your head back, open your mouth and pray to drown, giving in to the hopelessness and clinging to the only foreseeable means of escape.
***
Stalking the streets of L.A. really isn’t that much different than stalking the streets of Sunnydale. Sure, the asphalt is oilier, the air is smoggier, the nasties are nastier, but when push comes to shove, demons are still demons, and patrolling isn’t really all that different.
Buffy, despite the months that had passed since she’d become not the only Slayer but one of many, still felt that compulsion to patrol. She still felt the need to seek out evil and destroy it, no matter what city she was calling her home. L.A. had more than its share of bad guys, and Buffy was glad that she could do some good here. It took the edge off the gnawing emptiness in her gut to be able to kill something every now and then.
She’d put up a good front for Angel since she’d gotten here, but she was far from the relaxed, settled person she projected every day. She made out like she was happy she wasn’t the only Slayer anymore, that she could retire with ease and let someone else handle the inevitable apocalypses.
In reality, she longed for the days when black was black and white was white, when good was distinguishable from bad and she knew her mission in life. She’d only felt that clarity once since being resurrected three years ago, and that was the night before they fought the final battle with the First, the last night she’d spent in the strong, comforting arms of Spike.
If she’d admit it to herself, her heart was still branded with the touch, taste, and feel of Spike. She knew that she’d never really get over him. When she told him she loved him on the night he sacrificed himself for her cause, she had been surprised to realize that she meant it. He hadn’t believed her, and she hadn’t had time to insist, but she’d run up those stairs with the lead weight of remorse in her gut, dragging her down.
Ever since then, she’d walked around wondering if she had acknowledged that love sooner, would it have made a difference? She was haunted by dreams of him nearly every night, dreams in which she was able to save him, to love him, to beg his forgiveness for the harshness of her words and actions.
If only to be given a second chance.
But then again, she had. She’d been given a second chance with the former owner of her heart, and was content to be here in L.A., content to sleep in Angel’s spare room. Her heart beat rapidly as she anticipated the day they would stoke the flames of their old love into a bonfire. She even felt a little tingly at the thought of kissing him again, feeling his strong arms around her as they were finally free to explore their relationship in the fullest sense possible.
She always felt they’d been cheated the first time around, their first and only physical joining tainted by the return of Angelus. The memories of that night were still burned in her brain, the tenderness of Angel’s embrace, his soft words of love, his worshipful appreciation of her body and her innocence.
But even though she remembered that night fondly, and part of her wanted that again, she couldn’t help but feel that the time for rekindling that flame had passed. That she’d given her heart into the keeping of another, and giving it back to Angel would be a traitorous action to that one person who’d sacrificed everything for her, the one person she’d never given anything in return.
***
Hanging back a block or so, Spike’s dead heart swelled in his chest as he watched Buffy walk purposefully down a filthy alley near downtown L.A. His mind was racing, his thoughts running in ten thousand different directions as he geared himself up for this reunion. He still wanted her, so very badly, that he could hardly calm himself down enough to approach her. So much was riding on this. He had to find out for himself that she wanted Angel, not him.
Even now, his gut clenched as he thought about Buffy back in the arms of his grandsire. He growled without even thinking about it, his hands becoming tight fists in his anger.
Cordelia was right: Angel wasn’t what Buffy needed. He was. And damn it, he wanted so badly to make her see that. But deep down, he knew it had to be her decision. He’d tried to force her once, and all that had brought him was several lifetimes of guilt.
Before he let himself get too engrossed in his volatile emotions, Spike hurriedly closed the distance between himself and the small blonde in front of him. Just as he was about to reveal his presence, two vampires jumped out from a cross alley and attacked her. Leaning against the building nearby, he watched her fight, his mouth turned up in a proud smile as Buffy reduced the fledglings to dust in a matter of minutes. She was music personified, her hands and feet moving gracefully with each punch and kick. He grinned at her wisecrack she delivered just before she plunged her stake into the heart of the second vampire.
Walking forward, his casual bearing hiding his ruffled nerves, Spike began to clap, the slap of his hands echoing like gunshots in the small alleyway. Buffy spun around, her stake at the ready, then swayed on her feet as she saw the apparition before her.
“I see you’ve still got your moves, Slayer,” Spike said with a small smile, coming to stand just feet in front of her. “Wouldn’t do for the Chosen One to get out of practice, now would it?”
“S-Spike?” She whispered, lowering her stake and shoving it into her pocket. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open as she gasped for breath in her surprise, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, god. Spike!”
Her cry was music to his ears as she rushed at him, jumping and throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. “How is this possible? You’re supposed to be dead!” she whispered in his ear. She held tightly, her toes barely brushing the ground. The torrent of emotions flowing through her was bowling her over, so much so that at first, she didn’t realize he wasn’t hugging her back.
Having her arms around him was just too much for Spike. He could smell Angel on her and it angered him. He could tell they hadn’t had sex, at least not recently, but the thought of her in Angel’s care made him so jealous he couldn’t see straight. He was desperate to get away from the scent.
After a moment of silence, she untangled her arms from around his neck and dropped to the ground, stepping back from him and searching his face in confusion. His expression was a neutral mask, not at all the loving welcome she’d imagined in her dreams
She spoke, her heart still pounding as she drank in the sight of him. She was desperate for answers, so desperate that she was willing to ignore his coldness for now.
“What happened to you?” she asked in a rush. “I thought the explosion at the Hellmouth killed you!”
He shrugged, still cautious and trying to control his anger over Angel’s interference. “That little necklace scorched me right through, but I came away from it a little better off. Made me able to walk in daylight, nearly invincible.”
She stared at him in shock as she digested this, still reeling at his nonchalant attitude. She knew him well enough to realize that it was a front, a mask covering his more painful emotions, but she didn’t know where they stemmed from, not yet.
“Why didn’t you find me?” she asked quietly.
“You were always saying you were better off without me, so I finally listened,” he said with a shrug. “’Sides, word is that you’re back with the Poof now, anyway.”
Gaping at him, Buffy didn’t know what to say. Just seeing him again brought back a flood of feelings she hadn’t begun to deal with, and now he wanted her to explain Angel? Obviously that was where his hang-up was coming from. It always came back to this. Her and Angel.
She decided to address his reasons for abandoning her first.
“My life was better with you in it, Spike, and you know it,” she admonished him. “And Angel,” she paused, searching for words. “Angel understands what I’m going through. He asked me to come here, and I needed to be with him.”
Spike’s heart splintered at her words. Even after what he’d done for her, how much he’d shown he loved her, she still didn’t want him. Yet he still clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she would chose him.
“I seem to remember you telling me you loved me,” Spike reminded her, trying not to sound too needy.
She smiled slightly at him. “And you didn’t believe me, did you?” she answered.
He shrugged. “You still said it, luv. And here I see that you’re all cozy with your ex, and I’m not even dust.”
“But I didn’t know that!” she said, exasperated.
“And now that you know I’m still around? Does it make any difference?” He sounded nonchalant, but inside, every muscle tensed in anticipation of her answer.
She was quiet all of a sudden. Too quiet. Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to find the words to say.
Spike stiffened as he saw her hesitate. That hesitation was the death knell to his hope, the silence rushing in his ears.
With jerky motions, he dragged his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one quickly, taking a drag to calm his nerves.
“Well, so that’s the way its going to be, eh?” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up into a mockery of a smile.
“Spike. . .” she said, trailing off. “Angel and I . . . I’ll always have feelings for him, but you and I—” She paused, still trying to find the words to tell him how much he still meant to her, how much she loved him, but they escaped her.
He didn’t let her finish. He was going to come out the winner here, damn it, and he was going to go out in a blaze of glory.
His voice was cold, almost accusing. “No, I get it. You can finally have him, just like you’ve always wanted. You’re precious, soul-having, broody vampire. I know I’ve always been dead last with you, Slayer. I was in love with you once, remember? You made sure I knew I never had a chance, so I guess it’s a good thing I got over that rot.”
Her air left her in a whoosh as if he’d punched her. ‘In love with you once’? As in not in love anymore? She felt a ripping sensation in her chest, suspiciously like that of a heart breaking.
His next words laid her out cold, emotionally speaking.
“It’s bloody wonderful that you’re with your Angel, ‘cause I’ve moved on too. Found me a woman that understands me, one with a body I could touch for eternity and enough fire to warm me until I explode.”
He flicked the ash from his cigarette on the ground and watched the glowing ember as it fell, refusing to meet her eyes as he lied through his teeth.
“Who is she?” Buffy whispered, her still unspoken declaration of love now choking her. She was both dying to hear his explanation and dreading it.
Finally, he looked at her, his eyes icier and more lifeless than she’d ever seen since he’d gained his soul. “Cordelia, my own little cheerleader. Beauty and fire, that one’s got. And lord, what she can do and say with that ripe mouth of hers. . .” he trailed off, a small smile of manufactured pride gracing his lips.
He looked off into the distance, as if he was already with Cordelia in spirit. “And you know what the best part is, Slayer?” he asked softly, the pain in his heart needing retribution, making him want to hurt her like he was hurting.
Buffy numbly shook her head. The thought of Cordelia in Spike’s arms tore her apart, any joy she had at finding Spike alive destroyed with his words.
He continued, his eyes boring into hers as he drove the spikes into her heart. “The best part is that she knows what its like to be tossed aside, ignored, and abused by you bleedin’ hero types. And because of that, she understands how to be loyal.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped as his implications struck home. Cordelia was loyal, but she wasn’t. Her arch rival, the girl she’d always envied, the woman who’d always gotten everything Buffy had ever wanted, was once again taking the one thing she needed to survive. Only Buffy didn’t realize it until it was too late. Spike had moved on, and she was left holding the pieces of her broken heart.
Finally, she found her voice again. “You’re living with her,” she said, a statement, not a question.
He nodded, throwing the remains of his cigarette on the ground and grinding it under his boot. “In Peaches’ old place, the Hyperion.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and she gathered the tattered remains of her pride.
“Well, I hope you’ll be happy with her, Spike.” She tried to come off as supportive, but her tone was tainted with bitter jealousy.
“Oh, I will be, Slayer,” he said, a self-confident smile on his lips. “I will be. See you around.”
With one last defiant look, he turned and strode away, desperate to escape.
Buffy watched him walk away, cut to the core, finally letting her tears fall. She was never more glad that she’d come to Angel than she was right then. At least he still loved her. At least she could run home to him, find solace in his arms, when she was denied the one person she knew she needed more than anyone else. Angel loved her, and she needed to put her feelings for Spike to rest where they belonged.
As he lengthened the distance between them, Spike hated himself a thousand times over. He just couldn’t stand to be there when she turned around and walked away from him, back into the arms of the one man he hated more than anyone else on earth. He’d just slammed the lid to his coffin, every lie he’d told becoming a nail driven in to seal it.
All he’d done was make things worse, and now he had another item to add to his long list of regrets relating to one Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.
***
Lost in the world of Dante’s Inferno, Angel was startled as the front door to his apartment slammed open and Buffy came rushing in, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Immediately, he set down the ancient book and stood up, pulling her to his chest and wrapping his strong arms around her.
Buffy sighed at the feel of his embrace, reassuring herself that this was where she belonged. She drank in his scent, staunchly ignoring the twinge of pain as she noted the absence of cigarettes and leather.
“What happened, Buffy?” Angel asked, concerned for her well being. It wasn’t often that he saw the strong young woman so upset over anything, and it was worrisome to see her in this state.
“Just hold me Angel, please?” she whispered, her breath warm against his chest. Her breath hitched as she surrendered to the pain, her hot tears soaking the front of his shirt and burning his cool skin. They stood like that for several moments, Buffy crying silently as Angel stroked her back, his chin resting on her head.
Finally, he pulled back from her and tilted her face up to him, running a finger across her cheek and wiping away her tears. Softly, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, tasting the salt of her tears. She leaned into him, opening her mouth for him, and his tongue swooped in, exploring the familiar space and reveling in the taste. She brought back so many memories, so many of them good. It was soft and warm and comforting, but something was missing.
Buffy took solace in the familiarity of the kiss, studiously blocking out the memories of another, the passionate, breath stealing kisses that she’d come to crave only when it was too late.
As their lips brushed each other, in the back of both of their minds came the stark, unsettling realization that something was absent: the fire of their old relationship was gone, leaving a cold pile of ashes in its place.
Both Angel and Buffy quashed the unpleasant discovery and pulled apart, forcing themselves to enjoy the warmth of the kiss instead of dwelling on the lack of fire.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked softly, knowing that she needed to talk it out.
“I saw Spike,” she said, her lip trembling. “He isn’t dead like I thought, Angel, and . . .” she trailed off, not wanting to reveal the intensity of her feelings to him, even though her behavior told him how upset she was.
Immediately, Angel felt guilty. He knew, after their conversation in the graveyard a few months ago, that Buffy had strong feelings for Spike and would want to know he was still among the undead. But his own anger and animosity towards Spike had prevented him from telling her anything. He should have prepared her, but he hadn’t. He should have warned her, but he didn’t. And now he was left to clean up the emotional mess he could have prevented.
“It bothered you to see him?” he prompted, not wanting to talk about Spike but knowing there was no other way to calm her down.
She sighed, trying not to cry again. “Yeah, it bothered me. And then to find out that he’s with Cordelia now. . . it was just too much to take in at once, you know?”
Her glistening eyes searched his, and Angel felt like he’d been sucker punched. Spike with Cordelia? In what universe was THAT a possibility? The thought of it was ludicrous.
“Spike’s not with Cordelia,” he said emphatically. “He can’t be.”
“Oh, he is,” Buffy said bitterly, biting her lip as she remembered the painful conversation. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he implied major kissage, if not more. He said he’s living with her at your old hotel.”
Buffy had no idea that her words had just driven a hot poker through Angel’s gut; his outward expression gave away none of his feelings. But the thought of Spike’s hands on Cordelia was enough to make Angel livid. Spike was so wrong for her. He didn’t deserve her.
Controlling his raging emotions, Angel reminded himself once again of his reasons for being here, his reason for having this woman in his arms. Buffy was his key to happiness. But it didn’t mean he had to let his friends make huge mistakes. Cordelia was out of her mind if she wanted Spike.
“Don’t think about him, Buffy. He’s not worth your time. You’re with me. You belong with me. We’ve always wanted this, and we have the rest of our lives to love each other. I don’t want Spike to ruin this chance we have at happiness.”
She looked up at him sadly, trying to take his words to heart, but they sounded like hollow promises to her ears. “You’re right Angel, I just need some time.”
Pulling away from him, she turned to go to her room. Stopping at the entrance of the hallway, she turned back to him. “Thanks, Angel, for everything.”
Forcing a smile, he nodded. “You’re welcome, Buffy. Sweet dreams.”
She turned and disappeared down the darkened hallway, and it wasn’t until he heard the click of her door shutting that he let his features give way to the rage that was flowing inside of him. He refused to explore the reason why, but he needed to kill something. Now. Only the sound and smell of death could soothe his demon tonight.
He shrugged on his coat and stalked off into the night. Maybe he could find a blonde vampire to stake. That would help a whole helluva lot.
