All quiet on the Buffy front. Made sense, didn’t it? They’d been all right when the endtimes called for it, but these weren’t endtimes anymore. People do all sorts of things when they think the world’s ending—thanks for saying—and when it turned out to be another one of those dodgy apocalypse attempts everything more or less went back to the way it’d been. Coming here tonight, running over half-weepy and strung out of sorts, well, that didn’t really go with how things were going, did it? It was something else. It wasn’t any thought. It was wake up and go. Bad dream. Where is she? Find her.
He couldn’t do it again. He knew it when she opened the door. There’d been a purpose last time—a sister needed lookin’ after while the rest of them beat the nasties back. Alette was cherry bras and thick mascara, a body that bent where he met, and he’d be a poor sot to say he didn’t go heels-up every time she bit her cheek. But he couldn’t get better without Buffy. Nobody else knew how to break the bread for him once his hands were tied. If the world had ended, Spike would have gone to Hell. Soul doesn’t mean a damn thing if you aren’t using it. He wanted to use it again. If she was gone, he was good as eternal torment.
Self-interest. That’s all. Self-interest and seven years’ sentimentality.
That’s all.She extended the invitation and he took it, though he didn’t need it. Nice feeling, after all that: not needing it. If you want to just hand them over the threshold, I’ll. Come in, Spike. Come in, Spike. Why shouldn’t he? She hadn’t locked him out since. Not even after—. Not even after that. ”Right, yeah. Lettin’ the mosquitoes through. Few too many bloodsuckers for your taste and mine, I’d say.” He closed the door behind him, and that was maybe the loudest sound since he’d quit all the hammering and shouting. Place sure was duller without Dawn around. And Joyce, bloody hell. All the Summers girls. Women. They were Summers women now.
Spike didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know what anyone did now, once they’d got this far. He wanted to ask for help, finally, finally. Would’ve done it before but he couldn’t move with Dawn’s ghost blinking at him from the corner. Burning matter of Judgment Day, anyway. Can’t baptise it all gone once the countdown starts. He wanted to say here, you offered last month and you offered last week and I wasn’t ready, now I am. He wanted to ask what had happened to her in those hours he’d just spent sleeping. He wanted to apologise for the sweater he’d stolen—didn’t know where that came from, so he shook it off.
“So what sort of stops did you have to pull out to keep our neighbourhood Gabriel at bay?” He took the lighter out now, compact silver and scratched up, and tugged a cigarette from its pack in the pocket opposite. ”I’m sure my invite to the debrief got lost in the post.” Spike wet his lips and stuck the filter in, but then he paused. A rare second thought to consideration had him look at her from under his brow for approval—no such luck, of course. Miss Prim didn’t mind tasting the smoke so long as it wasn’t coiling in her hallway. Fine. The flame flickered a few centimeters from the open tip. He slid his thumb off the plunger. He rolled his eyes just slight. He tucked the cigarette behind his ear.
Buffy watched Spike intently as he walked into the apartment, his closing of the door sounded like a slam in the nearly soundless room. She observed him scanning the room ever so subtly, perhaps looking for Dawn out of habit. Buffy still did it… He wouldn’t have had a way to know that Dawn was back. How could he? Up until a few moments ago he wasn’t even sure if Buffy was alive. She wondered how she’d break it to him. She had no idea how he’d react to the news, not with his mind in the state it was.
She really didn’t have any idea what to do with him at all. She knew how to handle him when he was a volatile beast and she’d believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself, but this was different. He didn’t want her help, not yet at least. He wasn’t in need of physical restraint as far as she could tell. He just wanted to know that she was alive, and now that he did, he probably just wanted to leave. If he was crying and distraught, she could comfort him but he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about that after all. He wanted to play it safe and sarcastic. At least she knew she could always count on Spike to be Spike. He even had that going for him when he was insane.
Buffy thought he’d quickly start to maneuver his way out, to ask what he needed and go. But instead he just let the silence hang between them for a few moments; he looked like he was just thinking. Thinking of what to say to her maybe, she couldn’t know though. She took the time to move over to the couch and sit down; she was unsurprisingly quite tired after such a hard night. She needed to speak though; it felt off just sitting silently there. They weren’t the kind who needed to talk constantly when they were together; it just felt like there was so much lingering unsaid between them that needed to come out into the open. As if on cue, Spike spoke. Of course he’d want to know how it could be the world hadn’t ended.
“So what sort of stops did you have to pull out to keep our neighborhood Gabriel at bay?” The million dollar question and one Buffy wasn’t completely sure she knew the answer to. What indeed… She’d have to tell her under informed side of the story yet again. Fortunately she’d learned a little more since talking to Dawn, Willow had helped her there. Buffy took in a deep breath so that she could get the facts out as quickly and efficiently as possible, but stopped with a hitch when she saw Spike taking out his lighter and cigarette to smoke. She understood why he did it at least. When disease couldn’t kill you, taking health precautions unnecessary. But Buffy was human, and second hand smoke could do about the same amount of damage to a mere mortal as simply smoking might do. She wouldn’t usually mind, but she had to remember that she was pregnant. No matter how far into the past she went, no matter how she pushed it to the back of her mind or the problems that piled up on top of it; it was still true. That was something she’d have to think about another day, there was no way she could handle that thought right now. But instead of going ahead, he realized her disapproval and stowed away the cigarette with a cheeky eye roll that she wondered if he knew she saw.
“There wasn’t a debriefing, Spike. Everything I know I found out on my own from Cameron and Willow.” She replied sharply. She didn’t want to seem like she was pissed, but Spike seemed to be taking his not knowing things as an insult. Which at this point didn’t really seem like a bad idea. Buffy had so many questions that had yet to be answered, and the amount of information she had on the topic was pitiful given the fact that she was the so called leader of the group. Hah, I’m really just a well of information. She motioned for him to sit down next to her on the couch, since Dawn was back she had to start being quiet at night. High school students slept at night time.
But there was a part of her, one she was choosing to ignore, that also wanted him to be near her because he made her feel safe. Waking up having traveled to the past made her remember those who’d really been there for her over the years and Spike was without a doubt one of those people. He’d stayed with her all night at what was debatably one of the lowest points in her life, and that wasn’t something she could just let go of. She trusted him. And she knew he could handle her at her darkest, so she told him everything. She didn’t wait to see if he’d sit down next to her, he’d do it if he wanted to. Instead she opened her mouth and it all came spilling out; she told him about the time travel, she told him about Dawn, she voiced the questions she hadn’t dared to ask anyone, and she told she was afraid to admit to even herself that she was thinking. If either of them wanted to do any good, Spike needed to know the entire truth; she didn’t stop until he did.
This Is A Test 