Chapter Text
“It’s over.”
She looked over the rubble that was once a decently well decorated crypt. Whatever Spike had been planning with the eggs had been incredibly stupid and she’d forgotten his lack of moral compass over the previous weeks. But she did feel guilty about ruining his home—even if the destruction had been the best option at the time, the lower part of the crypt had been her refuge from the harshness of post-resurrection reality. Spike had made efforts to make it cozy over the summer and had doubled his efforts when she’d started spending time there.
Now it was all rubble. The carpets, the bar cart, the surprisingly comfortable bed that she had fought falling asleep in after most post-patrol romps. All ruined and left in pieces under their feet.
“I’ve memorized this tune, love. Think I have the sheet music. Doesn’t change what you want.” Spike turned slowly toward her, tossing a piece of what looked like a warped LP to the side.
“I know that. I do want you,” she spoke softly. “Being with you…makes things...simpler. For a little while.”
His smirk barely reached his eyes. “I don’t call five hours straight a little while.”
She almost wanted to smirk back. Five hours straight definitely wasn’t a little while. But she’d come here with a mission in mind and couldn’t get distracted. No matter how tempting.
“I’m using you… I can’t love you. I’m just…being weak, and selfish…”
His body tensed as her words settled in. “Really not complaining here.”
“...and it’s killing me.”
He was silent at that. She’d shocked him. She could have gone through the various ways their relationship, if she could even call it that, was wrong, how it wasn’t actually fair to him. But he didn’t care about himself the way he cared for her, so a threat to Buffy herself was the only way he’d take notice.
“I’m sorry...William,” she said with a hint of finality. Embarrassingly it had taken her this long to see him as a person. And with that realization, she had to put an end to whatever this was. She had been using him, ignoring his emotions and needs, and it needed to stop. She couldn’t be this person anymore—someone who used someone else. She needed to actually live in this world, not keep hiding from it.
She started to walk away into the daylight, where he couldn’t follow.
“Look...I know things haven’t been great. But can we talk about this?” he called out from behind her. His voice carried a genuine plea that made her feel worse than she already did. She’d been hurting both of them for far too long.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said dismissively but she stopped walking to the door.
“There is. You want me—” he started to say before she cut him off.
“There needs to be more than want.” Buffy whipped around to face him and spoke quickly. “More than meetups in dark corners and fists.”
His jaw tightened and she saw him swallow his words.
“The only way you’d let me touch you was in the dark,” he argued with a mixture of anger and sadness.
She knew it was true—their tryst had thrived in the shadows, beneath the surface, where sunlight couldn’t reach. She’d clung to the undead because she couldn’t fully live, her grip on the dark as desperate as it was damning. The demon in him thrived in the abyss, and she could finally admit that part of her did too—a part she’d buried so deeply it had fractured under the strain.
Now, that part of her splintered like a shattered mirror, jagged edges twisting and slicing as they turned inward. Each shard reflected truths she’d refused to face, the shadows she’d tried to escape but carried inside her all along. They didn’t make her stronger; they carved her hollow, their cruel light exposing every flaw, every failure. The pieces demanded more, cutting deeper, until all that remained was a pile of broken fragments—gleaming, bitter, and beyond saving.
He approached her slowly, like how someone would approach a wounded animal. She wasn’t sure if he was going to try to soothe her or put her out of her misery. She wasn’t sure what she wanted.
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “I…I could do more than dark corners and fists…I could be good to you. If you let me.”
She wanted to lean into his touch, to accept the comfort he was offering. God, it was so tempting to believe they could be different from who they are—what they are. On rare moments when she’d zone out in the middle of the shift, she had entertained delusions of what ifs. What if her friends found out and it wasn’t horrible? What if Spike actually was changing for the better? What if she could separate her depression from her physical needs? What if she could be happy?
So she was tempted to lean into the what if he offered now. Instead she took a step back, her voice shaking. “Spike…this can’t be anything real. It isn’t.”
He held out his hand where she had been, as if clinging to a ghost, before slowly dropping it to his side.
“It could be real—” His frustration was apparent in every word. “Fine, you say you don’t want to use me? Then stop using me. Stop being ashamed of me—of us—of what you want. This doesn’t have to be wrong.”
“But it is wrong. You know that.” She held firm.
“From a natural order perspective perhaps—vampire and slayer, sure. But we’ve transcended that. We’re drawn to each other—we’ve always been. There’s something important here, Buffy.” He gestured between the two of them and she tried to ignore his shaking hand.
“I…want you. I won’t deny it. But this is destroying me.” Her resolve was slipping and her reasonings alongside it.
“If I make you happy….or what was the word you said…simpler. If I make things simpler, then let me keep doing that. What’s wrong with that? You deserve to get what you want, for things to be...simpler,” he said softly but confidently.
His eyes were clear and she could feel the softness inside of him that she’d gotten glimpses of over the years but had tried to ignore. A hint of something that could be the makings of a good man if such a thing was even possible. She’d ignored the softness, punished him for it even, and he’d buried it even further down with the skill of someone who’d been doing it for decades. But he’d slip every so often, and now it was on full display.
She had arrived at the crypt with The Plan. This wasn’t The Plan. She didn’t think he’d provide her with logical and convincing arguments. She thought he’d fight her, probably try to seduce her. She’d even entertained the idea of how she could end things with him after having sex with him just one last time. But here she was, running out of decent points to counteract his with and he was staring at her like a heartbroken man. A man she almost wanted to reach out to.
Could he be right? Was she simply avoiding what she wanted? She didn’t know. Sometimes the things you want can be bad for you, they can destroy you. She could be like an addict, and Spike was her drug. Or was it the darkness that was the drug and Spike just happened to be her sort-of-friend who also dealt with his own battle? Was there a way for them to exist that wasn’t destructive? She had her doubts. Everything post-death was painful and hard, why would this be any different?
She didn’t know what to say so she just continued to stare at him. She knew that the fact she hadn’t turned and run out into the sun was only encouraging him. She was basically holding a sign telling him that he was saying something that resonated. But he was a desperate man—heartbroken and risking it all. And she couldn’t convince herself to turn her back on him.
Neither her feet nor her lips moved, and he took both as encouragement to continue.
“If I’m really not what you want, then leave.” He gestured to the door and she didn’t move an inch. “Buffy, love, there’s nothing wrong with desire, with feeling good. You’re just punishing yourself for what?”
“I can’t live in the dark,” she said as her eyes welled with unshed tears. “It’s killing me. I won’t make it.”
He stepped closer but didn’t reach for her. “Thought the dark was the only way you’d take me. It’s where I’ve lived for over a century. But god, you’re sunlight incarnate and I’d be a fool to think you’d ever thrive without it.”
His words felt like a soft caress and wrapped her in warmth.
“A real chance is all I’m asking,” he continued.
She flashed back to a year ago when he begged for a crumb as they stood in this same spot. God, had it only been a year? She’d given him more than a crumb, she’d given him her body time and time again. But now he was asking once again for something she wasn’t sure she could offer.
“If you want the light, I can do the light. Well, not literally, but I can get a thick blanket…” he joked. She briefly smiled.
“It’s more complicated than that…” she said, but her voice started wavering, like she was actually agreeing with some of his points.
“Everything to do with you is always complicated–and I’m not running.” He reached back out to push a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t take a step back this time. “What can I do for you to see me?”
“I can’t love you.” She wasn’t sure if that was an issue with him or her. Probably both.
He sighed and dropped his hand again.
He nodded. “Fine. Okay. You can’t love me,” he uttered resignedly. “I don’t know if that’s because it’s me or because I’m a demon–not sure if I want to know…”
Buffy went to say something but he cut her off. “But you didn’t love the soldier boy either. And you still gave him a fair shot,” he accused her, staring directly at her. He was challenging her to disagree with him.
She looked away, shaking her head. Ignoring his challenge. “I don’t see how we can do this differently. We are who we are. We haven’t even had a real conversation in months.”
“Let’s try then. Try something different…” He paused as if he was working through a multitude of options of what different could look like for them. Finally he spoke in rushed tones. “Let me take you out.”
“What?” Of all the situations she’d thought through, all of Spike’s excuses and sweet talkings, she hadn’t thought this up. Spike was asking her out.
“You heard me. Let me take you out. A date.” A boylike grin appeared on his face and she tried to ignore how adorable it was. It had been so long since she’d seen him smile so innocently—as if a demon could be innocent—but he somehow pulled it off.
“We don’t do dates. That’s for…dating people.”
“Come on, we’ll get the hell out of this town. Not far mind you, but far enough away that it’s different. Some place above ground even.”
She closed her eyes and knew her next words were a mistake. They were not part of The Plan and instead they were going to drag out this freakshow. But something in Spike’s eyes, the nervous glee, made her feel like the girl who hadn’t crawled out of her own grave. Like the girl who used to be asked out by boys and would say yes and actually go out on dates with them.
“Okay.” The words passed her lips before she could stop herself.
She opened her eyes to see Spike’s shocked face. His eyes lit with surprise and fuck—hope. What had she gotten herself into?
She’d thrown The Plan completely out the window now.