Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 3

[thedeadlyhook]

This is the chapter that's gonna make everybody hate me. Please remember in reading it that I do have deep and abiding affection for both of these characters. Deep breath. (Edited to mention that I've edited the previous chapter to extend some of Buffy's thoughts, and also because I keep forgetting to put in a link to those parts, which is here.)



Chapter Three

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It actually took more than an hour in real time for Buffy to reach the appointed meeting spot. She got off the bus at the wrong stop and had to circle around on foot. Which wasn't exactly a cakewalk, either--the place he'd picked was on the far side of the Villa Borghese, acres and acres of open green space surrounded by a good old-fashioned high fence.

In the old days, she would have jumped the fence and done a sprint across the grounds, although that would have been on account of pursuing killer demons. Nowadays, she figured, better to stick to the streets.

After nearly forty-five minutes of walking and almost-jogging--for which she really hadn't worn the right shoes--she finally reached the right corner. It was a residential neighborhood; venerable old houses covered in ivy, drooping, bushy old trees and a roadway lined with expensive cars hidden under carefully draped tarps. She didn't spot Spike immediately, but finally caught sight of him waiting for her near a high garden wall, just out of the circle of light cast by a streetlamp.

"Hey you," she said, walking up to him briskly, straight across the middle of the empty street. The houses all around them were dark, residents sleeping. The main roadway was far enough that even the ceaseless Roman traffic couldn't reach them. Other than the soft noise of the wind, there was no sound.

Spike smiled at her approach, took his hands out of his pockets. Instinctively, she reached out for them, clasped his hands tight, threaded her fingers through his.

This was how they always met now. Hand in hand. It never failed to send a throb all the way through her, to touch him like that, in the way even a more intimate gesture wouldn't. No hug or kiss could possibly have the same meaning to her as having her hands in his.

It was a reminder of their last connection, their last moment together, and more. Hearts bathed in fire.

"Hey yourself." He smiled at her, eyes shaded. Faded blue jeans today, she noticed, and a chocolate suede car coat, his pale face somehow even more stark and dramatic against the new shorter hair. She was still getting used to the look--she'd never admit it, but she missed his outdated old style sometimes, even the crappy old battered leather duster--but for the most part, she liked it. He almost looked... younger, somehow, and more normal. Without the bright blond hair and the all-black clothes, he barely stood out in a crowd.

At first glance, you'd never guess there was anything special about him.

"Sorry I'm so late," she apologized. "It took forever on the bus, and of course, I got off at the wrong place. Were you waiting long?" Of course, it was nearly two hours since he'd called, so obviously he had. She flashed him a guilty smile.

"No worries," he said smoothly. "I figured, you were the one willing to come all the way out here. It's hardly a hardship on me, waiting around for a pretty girl." He flashed her a genuine smile, one of the type she'd been seeing a lot of lately--curled lips quirking up, fond amusement in his eyes.

She loved that look.

"Flattery'll get you everywhere," she replied, and let one of his hands fall so they could walk side by side. This was so natural, so comfortable. She wished they could have done something like this before. It almost felt like they had.

Only in Willow's spell, Buffy thought to herself, a private little smile touching her face. The why don't you just get married spell. That'd been back in the days when they'd wanted nothing more than to kill each other, and yet just a little magical push from Willow and they were necking like teenagers. Oh, and he'd proposed to her on bended knee. Boy, that had been a picture.

"Oh, and I know the perfect song for our first dance!" she'd said, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger as she balanced on his lap.

"What's that then, pet? 'Why Don't We Do It In the Road?'" He bounced her lightly, slipped a hand between her thighs.

"No," she giggled, and made a fake show of wriggling away from his hand with extremely pleasant results. "'Wind Beneath My Wings'."

"What, that soppy song about how you 'know I'm your hero?' I'm not going to dance to that pitiful noise. Consider yourself lucky I agreed to wear a monkey suit." He'd given her a scorching look, and pressed a fingertip into the point of her breast. She'd bit a lip to stifle a moan.

It was amazing, sometimes, the sorts of things your mind could dredge up.

They strolled along the dark street, from one pool of lamplight to the next.

"So how was your big demon meeting?" Buffy turned toward him, put on her best mildly interested face. "Anything you can tell, or is it all still with the hush-hush?"

"Can't tell you much of details. Can tell you it was right about as boring as you'd expect, hearing about the glory days from a bunch of demons whose last idea of a good time was the Inquisition." Spike sighed, let his head fall back in faux exhaustion. "Nothing more tedious than washed-up old evildoers, let me tell you. 'Oh, I started that witch hunt. Hundreds burned because of me. That revolution? Oh, yeah, that was me too.' Blah blah blah." He made a "talking" gesture with his free hand.

"Wow. Friday night at the demon rest home, huh. You poor, poor thing." She patted his hand. "I gotta say, though--this counts as fighting the good fight exactly how?"

"Bit hard to explain," he answered, and left it at that.

There wasn't much she could add to this, so she didn't. He'll tell me when he's ready. She just continued to hold his hand and they kept strolling, enjoying companionable silence.

After a few silent minutes, Buffy squinted at the sky. Even with the lights of the city confusing the issue, she could see that it had lightened to an ominous dark blue. "That would be the sunrise coming, huh?"

"Yeah, in about half an hour, maybe. Started to feel it in my bones a few minutes back."

"That doesn't give us much time at all."

"'Fraid not." He gave her hand a little squeeze. "Thanks anyway, though, for coming out. Needed to talk to you anyway."

"Well, maybe you can take me back to your mysterious lair and we can talk there."

Spike sighed. She'd made this a joking question, but in truth, she was getting really curious. He'd been very resistant about letting her know where he stayed. Always citing some kind of security issue.

"Can't do that, pet." Unsurprisingly, another amused smile. "Taking enough of a risk just seeing you."

"What kind of a risk? Being seen with a Slayer?" She brought her other hand up to encircle his arm. "Ooh, poor Spikey. Gonna ruin your Big Bad reputation," she teased.

He snorted, a near laugh. "Not hardly. Most of the demon underworld's already heard about you and me."

He said this so casually she almost didn't register it at first. When it did, shock brought her up short, stopped her dead in her tracks. Spike kept walking for another step or two, oblivious, until the link of their joined hands stretched taut, halted him as well. Standing still, he looked back over his shoulder at her, brows drawn in puzzlement.

That couldn't be what I thought he just said. "They what?" she coughed politely.

Oh, now he looked like he was getting it. His brows drew in more, lines etching across his forehead. "Well, I didn't tell them, so don't look at me," he said.

Oh. My. God.

"Demons know. About us," she repeated, still fighting the shock.

"Well, stories do tend to get out, Buffy," he said, sounding defensive. "Demons are chatty little buggers. They've got nothing better to do than kill things or trade tales. You won't find a bigger pack of gossips outside of a quilting bee. And stories about Slayers..." He winced, glanced away, face contorting.

"I might have told Clem," he muttered then, low. His foot scuffed the ground; he looked embarrassed, head down. She stared at him, at the motion, still in shock.

"Could be that's how the whole thing got started, don't know," he continued. "Maybe it's my fault. If so, then I'm sorry. Didn't mean to... well, I did tell him not to say anything, for what that's worth. Either way, it's a pretty well-known story by now." He lifted his head and swung around to face her. Guilt on his face. Possibly a little irritation there too. Buffy stood there, frowned. Her hand was still in his.

Not so long ago, this information would have horrified and infuriated her.

She took a deep breath, let it out.

"So what you're saying then--" she said slowly, drawing out the tension. "--is that your reputation is already ruined." She quirked her mouth into a very deliberate smile, and arched her eyebrow, felt pleasure blossom all the way through her as he caught on, slow grin forming on his face.

"Wouldn't say that," he said, and they began walking again, an easy motion once more, linked hands swinging. "Compliment, more like. Although I do defend your honor, just so you know," he added hurriedly. "Don't let them talk trash about you. Not in my earshot."

"Well that's... good to know," she agreed, although that part of it hadn't actually occurred to her as such. She supposed demons would trade filthy stories about her, come to think of it. She was the enemy, after all. Buffy? Oh, she's that Slayer who lets the vampires stake her. Got that fatal attraction. Digs on the undead. Likes her men cold. Boy, I'd like to get my tentacles into her. She shuddered, put the thought out of her mind.

"So point is, no big deal if someone sees us together." Spike was still talking. She refocused. 'Not gonna make anyone suspicious or anything. But you coming back to my place? That's out. Too dangerous."

"Dangerous? Slayer here, Spike, remember?" Okay, back on the original topic now. His place. She could be patient about this. Really she could. Although, she was starting to get a little pissed off with his whole elusive, sorry-can't-explain act. Frankly, it was about past time for him to spill. Way past.

"And you being the Slayer's enough to keep most demons from bothering you," he agreed. "Wouldn't hold for a minute if they thought you were involved, though. Not to mention how Ang--" Spike stopped, bit his lip. "Not gonna have the wrong sort tracking you home," he said then, trying a new tack. "You don't want to mess with this lot, Buffy, believe me. And I'm not gonna put you and Dawn in danger, that's final."

"Isn't that something for me to worry about?"

"Not this time, love, sorry." He looked down at the ground. "I'll only be in Rome for a couple more days anyway, and you'll be safe after that."

He continued walking as he said this, as if it were nothing at all.

Buffy felt like something had suddenly hit her in the chest. Her feet kept moving forward only on sheer momentum.

"A couple more days... you're leaving?" Her own voice sounded like it was coming from someone else.

Surreally, he just nodded, eyes forward. "Demons I was sent here to tail, they'll be moving on soon. Found that out tonight. Wanted to let you know, before you called me some night, caught me on the road."

"Oh," she heard herself say faintly. "But then you'll be coming back. Right?"

"Sure. Sometime, anyway, odds are good," he said. "After all, most of the big demon dynasties are here in Europe. The ones who fancy themselves poncy royals, anyway. I mean the old timers, the real primal ones, they're all in Africa, but the clans, the ones that like to play dressup with the castles and the mumbo-jumbo? They love hobnobbing in Rome. Anyplace with the big religion. Jerusalem, Mecca, Constantinople. Fancy that sacrilege, you know? It's all a pose." There was nothing in his voice that indicated this was anything but a casual conversation topic. They might have been discussing the weather. Dinner and a movie.

Her feet were going numb in her shoes. She felt like she was tottering along balanced on blocks of ice. She forced herself to stop walking, tugged on his hand to make him stop too. They stood there, in a little pool of streetlight, looking at each other.

"You're leaving," she said again. It was still sinking in.

He tilted his head in that way he did, as if reading her. Seeing the motion sent a lance of nostalgia through her, a sensory memory that seemed to put her in a thousand places at once. I've been here before.

"No need to look at me like that, pet, it's not the end of the world," he told her softly, and he brought his free hand up to brush her cheek. "You've got my number. You can call me, anytime you want to talk."

Anytime you want to talk. "I can call you," she echoed, and oh, this conversation really was taking on the feel of a dream. A recurring nightmare, even, the kind you wake up from shivering in sweat-soaked sheets, and spend hours convincing yourself wasn't real.

Because the realization was hitting her, hard and horrible, that somehow, despite all her best intentions and careful overtures...

She had still somehow gotten this all wrong.

He hadn't believed her. In the Hellmouth. He hadn't believed her. No you don't. And he still didn't. He thought... oh god, he thought she was still just being kind, just humoring him, like he was just a good friend or something.

You'll never be friends. You'll fight and you'll shag and you'll--

She'd thought they'd been moving forward. Taking slow cautious steps, and... creating something new built something on respect and trust. Learning to just be with each other when there was nothing hanging over them, no judgments or pressure or looming threats.

They'd moved backwards instead. They weren't even standing still.

Buffy let out a long, slow breath and took hold of his other hand. Stood in front of him, face to face.

"Spike, I... I did this all wrong," she said then, speaking carefully, deliberately, trying hard to keep the devastation out of her voice. "I was just... so glad to see you, and I thought that--that I shouldn't rush you, rush into anything, so you'd know that... That I was just... here for you, like you were for me. When I came back."

She lifted her head then, and looked up at him with brimming eyes.

This wasn't what she'd wanted, not at all. She'd wanted to take her time, build a cushion of moments, of good times and good feelings to balance out the bad, not... coughing up some last-minute confession during a crisis or a desperate plea to keep him from leaving...

Can't always get what you want.

She composed her face, put everything she felt into one determined expression, searched for his eyes in the dim predawn light and spoke.

"Spike. I love you."

There was a brief pause.

"Love you too," he breathed.

His expression didn't even change.

And then the silence spun out, and his eyes were still on hers, still patient and open, and Buffy's own eyes widened with every passing beat of her heart as she waited, waited for him to say something else. Of course I love you too, pet, you know that. Bugger that job, whatever it is, of course I'll stay. I'm yours. I always will be. As long as you want me, I'll never go. There's nothing that could make me ever want to leave your side.

"You aren't staying, are you," she whispered. "You're still going to go."

"I am," he said, and it was like a stab straight into her heart. "Sorry, pet."

And with his words came the shock, tingling and icy, boiling up in her like acid, adrenaline hot. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, leaping like it wanted to escape.

"Sorry," she repeated.

"Got a job now. Been telling you about it. Kind of important, you know?"

This was a nightmare. A nightmare that kept happening. Over and over again. Her feet were in icy water in some dank tunnel, there was a sweaty workout smell in her nose from the training room mats, and she was running, running to catch up, and watching Angel walk away from her through smoke and fire...

This wasn't happening.

"Important," she repeated. "You have an important job."

Spike frowned a little. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Like I been telling you. You feeling okay?"

"No," she said. "I'm so not." She actually did feel woozy.

His brows drew in tighter. "Wait... Buffy, did you think I was staying?"

"I..." She couldn't finish.

"Buffy. Love," he said patiently. "You're out of it now. Got yourself the normal life you've always wanted. No one's going to say you haven't earned that. Look happier than I've ever seen you, all bright and glowing..." He smiled, ruefully. "But that's your world, pet, not mine."

"My... world." The words were rising up in her throat, choking her.

"I mean, you're not the Slayer anymore. And you know, still a vampire here. You don't want all that dragged back into your brand-new life, do you, vampires and drinking blood and demons beating down your door?" He shook his head, squeezed her hands. "There isn't... a happily ever after for us, Buffy. You're done now. I'm not."

Buffy's mouth hung open then for a scant second. She closed it with a snap, and took a step back, let go of Spike's hands.

"And you decided all this exactly when?" she said through closed teeth. "Just now?"

"No, been thinking about it for awhile, actually." Lines appeared across his forehead; he looked a little puzzled. "Tried to tell you what was going on with me that first night, in fact, although I kinda got the impression you could've cared less."

Because I was happy. I was just so happy to see you, dammit! Buffy took a few rapid breaths to calm down.

"I had just found out you were back from the dead, Spike, give me a break." She rapped out the words, precise and cold. "I was just glad you were alive. I'd have studied harder if I knew there was going to be a pop quiz."

He frowned. "Well, I guess 'glad' isn't the same as 'interested' then."

She balled her hands into fists.

"Fine. Hey, then, let's review. You died. And then you came back. Which you didn't feel like telling me about, but whatever. Then you came here, where I see you, I welcome you, I tell you I love you... and then somehow you can tell just by looking at me that you know everything about how I feel, and that all of a sudden that's not good enough--"

"Buffy--"

"Shut up! You've had a year to prepare for this, Spike. You're... coming at me with all these assumptions while I've just had a week to... You don't get to just come in here and throw ultimatums at me! And while we're at it, why is the default setting in this picture always that Buffy screwed up?"

His brow drew in harder, he scowled. "Look, this isn't about you, love, it's about me."

"Right, it's about you not wanting me. Well, thanks for the heads-up all this week." Coldness was flooding through her, freezing her limbs. "Do I just... not push your buttons anymore because I stopped being the Slayer? Way to have a fetish, Spike."

His mouth dropped open. "Don't think you're one to talk, pet. Headed straight for the supernatural first chance you got, judging by the way you were shaking your ass on the dance floor with The Immortal."

"How did you know about th--" she sputtered. "You saw me with Romeo?"

"Oh, is that his real name? Bloody perfect. Saw you a few months ago, came to your place to see you with An--" Spike cut himself off, blew out a frustrated stream of air through his nose. "And you were too busy with your centuries-old morally ambiguous boy toy to even be arsed. Don't think you get talk to me about kink."

Okay, now she was really starting to get mad.

"Well, excuse me for going out with other people when I thought you were dead."

"Hey, go out with whoever you like, Buffy, it's your call. Probably plenty of guys lining up to be Ken to your Malibu Barbie now that you've moved on from saving the world to shopping for shoes."

What did he just say?

Buffy's voice reached lethal levels of icy calm. "I was a Slayer for seven years, Spike. I died to save the world. Twice. Don't you think I've--"

"Earned a rest? 'Course you have. Only just because you're not fighting the good fight anymore doesn't mean it doesn't still need doing."

"And that's what you're doing now? Fighting the good fight? With your--your business meetings with demons?"

"That's right." Pride in his face. "Got responsibilities now. Never thought I'd hear myself say that, but there it is. And it feels good, you know? Like I'm really doing something important."

"Yeah, right," Buffy snorted. "You're a regular champion of the people."

The words hadn't finished leaving her mouth before she regretted them. Felt the pain that slammed across his face like her own.

She rushed to take them back. "I-I didn't mean it like th--"

"No. You're right," he cut her off with a cold glare. "I'm not a hero. Don't need you to tell me that--already got that memo from Lord High Hair Gel. Only saved the world that one time, right? Don't have much in common with the likes of you and Angel and other selfless helpers of the helpless. But I can still do my part, and that's what I'm doing. Meanwhile, you've quit."

She stared at him.

"Don't you dare lecture me, William the Bloody. What, you think you're... better than me, just because you're still out there killing demons and I'm not?"

"This isn't the time for this conversation," Spike ground out.

"No, this is exactly the time for this conversation!" Buffy shouted.

...and then the sun broke over the horizon.