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Spike calls Giles: (Spike/Buffy)
He put the laminated card down and stared at it. It had been eight years since he'd gone up in a pillar of fire before her eyes. Eight years since he's seen her. Eight years of drifting, trying to put her out of his mind — telling himself she was better off without him. He'd believed that with all his heart and soul. That was the one inescapable fact that kept him from rushing to her side the minute he was recorporealized. He'd wanted to go — tried several times to leave LA, until he finally realized that the W&H mojo that had prevented him from leaving had actually done him a favor. It had given him a chance to really consider his actions for a change; rather than rushing off half-cocked as usual, meeting his own needs, it had given him time to think of her needs. She wasn't the Slayer any longer. There was a whole army of slayers now, to take some of the burden from her—the burden she'd carried for so long. She finally had that chance for a normal life. A chance to start fresh, free of all the emotional baggage that clung to their relationship.His noble resolve had wavered slightly when he'd learned that Angel was going to Italy. He'd wanted her to have a new life, not revisit memory lane with Angel. Spike wasn't about to give Angel an in with Buffy without going along to remind her that there were two souled vampires who loved her.
Spike picked up the calling card and gently ran his fingertips over the surface. He'd stayed away for eight years, but he'd never stopped thinking about her. He put the card down on the nightstand and dug out his cigarettes. He lit one and began to pace. He hadn't bothered to smoke for years, yet the thought of seeing Buffy again brought with it an immediate craving for a cigarette.
She'd be, what . . . 31 now? Slayer Emeritus. Probably not still active in the fight. Was she even involved in it at all? For all he knew, she was happily married with three kiddies by now. He just couldn't picture that. Buffy the Housewife? The 'Soccer Mom'? He laughed at the thought and wondered if she'd ever learned how to drive. He tried to imagine her in that scenario and failed. But he had to know; that meant he had to make the call. If she was happy and out of the game, he'd go away quietly. She'd never even need to know that he'd called. He'd find something to do with his unlife and wish her well. But if there was just the tiniest crumb of possibility that she still thought about him too, well . . .
Spike crushed out his cigarette and took a deep breath that suddenly felt very necessary. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone.
“Council Headquarters.”
The voice sounded very young. Spike swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Rupert Giles, please.”
“Mr. Giles is not available at present. Would you like to speak with his assistant?”
“Yeah . . . fine.”
He was put on hold, and then a cultured English voice came on the line.
“Dawn Summers.”
“Bit?”
The nickname burst out of him before he thought. He'd planned to sound out Giles, get the lay of the land. He hadn't expected to find himself talking to Dawn. And yet . . . she'd be around 25 now. Of course she'd be working for the Council. Why hadn't he thought of that?
“Spike? Spike, is that you?”
“Yeah, Bit. It's me.”
“Ohmigod! Where are you? What have you been doing? Are you okay? Why didn't you call? We thought you were dead!”
A happy grin crossed his face at the torrent of words. Buffy wasn't the only Summers he'd missed.
“Am dead, pet.”
“Dead—er. Again. No one could find you after Los Angeles and we thought . . . damn it, Spike, why didn't you call?”
“Dunno, Nibblet. Shock I guess, at first. Couldn't understand why I wasn't dust. Figured there had to be a reason I kept bein' spared, but didn't have a buggerin' clue what it might be. Didn't seem to be any extra-nasty Big Bad around or any earth-shatterin' apocalypses brewing—least none that I was aware of, an' I just . . .”
“Spike, where are you?”
Spike looked around the cheap motel room. “San Angelo, Texas.”
“What the bleeding hell are you doing in Texas?”
“Language, pet!” Spike laughed at his own dismay.
“Oh, yeah, right! Like you don't say things like that all the time!”
“Yeah, well, 'm used to it comin' from me. Bit of a shock hearin' it in your dulcet tones.”
“God, I missed you, Spike!”
“Mutual, Bit.”
“So, what the fuck are you doing in Texas?”
She was definitely teasing him now.
“Passin' through.”
“On the way to where?”
“That's still up in the air . . .”
“Can you come for a visit? Please?”
“Guess I could, if you're sure I'd be welcome.”
“We'd all love to see you! Me, Buffy, Giles, Willow . . . Andrew will probably wet his pants when I tell him!”
“Buffy's . . . there, then?”
“Sure. After we got the slayers trained and in place, the core group sort of gravitated to England. Except for Xander. He decided to stay in Africa. He says the devastation there isn't of the supernatural kind; it's the kind in which his human skills can be put to use, and he's made a place for himself there. He's happy.”
“Good on him. Thought Buffy may have settled down by now . . . got that normal life she always wanted.”
“Buffy? Yeah, right! Can't you just see Buffy in a Land Rover, ferrying the kids to cricket or football practice?”
That was pretty much what he'd been attempting to picture.
“So, where exactly are you?”
Spike picked up the pack of matches and read off the address to her.
“Give me a minute . . .”
He lit another cigarette, since he already had the matches in hand.
In a few minutes, Dawn came back on the line.
“Okay. Go to Thompson's funeral parlor on West Beauregard. They'll be expecting you. One of our operatives will drive you to San Antonio International. I've got you booked on the 3:03 pm Continental flight tomorrow, arriving in London the next morning at 9:05 am. One of us will meet you at Heathrow. We'll need to get you somewhere safe before we let you out of the coffin, 'cause it'll be daylight. And Spike . . . I'm really glad you called.”
“Me, too, Bit.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Spike slept for most of the flight, waking when he felt the plane descending for the landing. The coffin was manhandled into the back of a vehicle, and he endured the bumpy ride, full of stops and starts, as they navigated the London traffic. His coffin was placed on what was probably a dolly, wheeled into a room and lifted onto a table. He heard the two delivery men leave, and debated exiting the coffin. He decided he'd better stay put for a time. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, and if there was anyone observing, he didn't want to startle them by popping out of the coffin like a macabre jack-in-the-box.Two or three minutes passed, and then his coffin was wrenched open from the outside. A hand grasped his shirt and yanked him up. A fist connected with the left side of his jaw, and he fell back into the coffin.
“Ow! Whad'ya do that for?”
He hoisted himself to a sitting position, and there she was — hands on hips, hazel eyes glaring at him.
“Eight years, Spike! It's been eight years! You never called, you never wrote . . .”
Buffy covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Spike vaulted out of the coffin and attempted to take her into his arms.
She shoved him away and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve.
“These are tears of anger, you nitwit! Anger! 'Cause I'm fresh out of tears of grief!”
Buffy turned away and began to pace.
“I grieved for you for months after . . . Sunnydale, Spike. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I can count. I couldn't eat—everything tasted like ashes. And then I learned that you weren't dead—that you'd somehow been brought back. And you didn't call. I rationalized that maybe you were just disoriented at first . . . depressed. Of all the people in the world, I figured I was the one who could best understand what you were going through. But then you told Andrew not to tell me you were back! How do you think that made me feel, Spike? Angel knew and never told me, but I figured that may have been Angel's decision and maybe you didn't even know about it. But you specifically told Andrew not to tell me. He told Giles, but not me. Whatever you and Angel were cooking up with the Senior Partners, you didn't trust me enough to tell me. How do you think that made me feel?”
Spike opened his mouth to respond, but Buffy flung up her hand, palm out, and then curled the fingers into a fist. Her hand dropped to her side.
“The coven's seer had a vision. She sent us all to LA. All the slayers we could gather, and some powerful witches, too. I looked for you, Spike — after Willow and the coven closed the portal — I looked for you and I couldn't find you. And I grieved all over again! In eight years, I never heard one word from you, Spike. Would it have killed you to send me a postcard or something? Even if it was just to say 'Dear Buffy. I'm not in love with you any more. I've moved on. Have a nice life.'”
“Hold on! You thought I didn't call because I'd stopped loving you and was trying to avoid you?”
“Weren't you trying to avoid me?”
“Well, yeah. But not because I'd moved on. I was tryin' to give you a chance to move on. If I was out of the picture, you could have a normal life, now that you weren't the only slayer.”
Buffy put her hands on her hips and widened her stance.
“So you dumped me so I could have a normal life? Find someone who could take me into the light? My god! The apple certainly doesn't fall far from the tree!”
Spike raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Didn't 'dump' you. I just . . .”
“You didn't believe me, did you?” When I told you I loved you, you thought I was just saying that because you were dying, didn't you?”
“Well . . . yeah. Thought you were just bein' kind, givin' me the one thing I wanted above all else . . .”
“When have I ever been 'kind' to you, Spike? Oh god! That's the truth, isn't it? I've never done anything for you 'to be kind' — to meet your needs. I would never have told you I loved you if I didn't. I'd have said 'thank you' or 'I appreciate your sacrifice' or 'you're a good man, Spike' — all of which were true, but I'd never have told you I loved you just to make you feel better!”
“Got a point there, pet.”
“As for the 'normal' relationships? Pretty much gotten over that idea a long time ago! Riley was pretty much my final attempt at a normal boyfriend, and he turned out to be a chemically-enhanced, chipped, Government-issue monster-hunter! Even when I try for 'normal', it doesn't work out that way. Remember Xander's attempt to set me up with that 'nice, normal guy' — what was his name? Robert?”
“Richard.”
“Richard. He didn't have a clue what was going on, couldn't defend himself in a fight and . . . and . . . Over the last eight years, I've dated three people, Spike. None of them were 'normal' . . . and none of them were you. So, I finally gave up and got used to being alone. Most people only get one grand, passionate love in their lives, and some don't get that at all. I was lucky — I'd had two . . .”
“So . . . you're not seein' anyone at present?”
Buffy shook her head 'no'.
Spike let out a long breath of relief. His grin was so joyous it made his eyes crinkle.
Buffy grinned back.
“So . . . wha'd'ya say, love? Wanna give it another shot?”
Buffy threw herself into his arms, which tightened possessively around her. She turned her face up to him and he lowered his mouth to hers.
Buffy felt a series of electrical sparks shooting through her body, heating her blood and bringing muscles, organs and tissues back to life.
She had the fire back.
The End
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