Chapter 16: Death Wish

To say Spike was startled would be putting it mildly – he couldn’t remember ever seeing Buffy let go in front of him like this. The closest she’d ever been was… that night on the porch. When he’d come with the shotgun and she’d only just found out about her mum being sick. Even then she’d only sniffled a little while he sat there awkwardly, not knowing what to do or what to say. It occurred to him that if he hadn’t come along, she’d have been crying all alone. Probably the way she wanted it. He didn’t know how she was with Red or the others, but he’d wager she didn’t allow herself to be this upset in front of anyone. Something about being a Slayer meant she had to seem strong all the time.

When her sobbing had subsided to a soft snuffling, she managed to draw in a deep breath and pulled away from him.

“Buffy? Love?”

She didn’t respond, instead getting up off the sofa and heading toward the other side of the crypt. She paused at his battered, third-hand bookcase, studying the contents without really seeing them and said quietly, with her back to him, “Remember when you asked me what it was like?”

“Shh. You don’t have to talk about it.” He watched her from the sofa. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to fold her back into his arms, but he sensed she needed her distance in order to be able to say what she wanted to say.

“It felt like… like everything made sense, finally. I knew what I was supposed to do. And I wasn’t afraid. Not like the first time. Because it was my decision. My gift. And I – I was okay. At peace.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His words were choked with his own sorrow.

She ran her fingertips along one of the shelves, leaving a trail in the dust. “Before… last year, you said – that thing, about every Slayer having a death wish?”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenched into fists in his lap, dreading what he might hear. “No, pet… no…”

“You were right.”

He stopped caring about giving her her bloody space and jumped off the couch. “No. Buffy…” His hands on her shoulders, he tried to turn her around to face him. “Buffy, look at me.” At first she resisted, then gave in, allowing herself to be spun round.

“I know what it’s like now,” she said, barely above a whisper. She met his eyes, and his heart wrenched at the depth of the pain he found there. Then she let herself be swallowed by his arms, let him lead her back to the sofa and cradle her like a child.

“Sometimes I think…” Buffy murmured, her voice muffled by his chest. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed dead.” The weight of admitting that out loud restarted the tears. “Where I was, everything was so… Sometimes I want to die again.”

He drew in a sharp breath. He knew what it was like to yearn for death, had seen it twice before in a Slayer’s eyes, but he couldn’t stand hearing it coming from her. He couldn’t lose her again. He’d frightened her that night, opening her eyes to the darker side of what it meant to be a Slayer, but she’d come right back at him, unintentionally throwing his own fears back in his face with one simple phrase echoing through the centuries. You’re beneath me.

She was right. He was beneath her. Just look at him, what he’d done – he’d wanted to save her, but all he’d managed was to encourage a drinking problem and a row with her friends, and she was no closer to defeating her pain than when they’d started. He was failing her again. He couldn’t save her from Glory, and he couldn’t save her from herself.

He fumbled for the right thing to say – as always, the words seemed to twist and recoil in his pathetic poet’s brain, never falling into the right meter, the right rhyme, never seeming adequate to express his long-stilled heart. “Buffy, listen to me. I – I’m rotten at big speeches, right? But this is bloody important.” Her hitching gasps quieted, and he could feel her holding her breath, waiting. “You can do this, Buffy, you can live. You – you can make it through this. God, I sound like a bloody ponce, but it’s true. You’re stronger than you’ll ever know.” He pulled back and lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “And you have me. I know it’s not much of anything, love, but I’ll always be here, just like I promised.”

Buffy’s expression changed to one Spike couldn’t quite read. She seemed about to say something, but was interrupted by the chirpy ringtone of her cell phone. Spike groaned audibly. That damned thing always went off at the worst times. “I think you’re ringing, pet.”

She pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the name that appeared on the screen. “It’s Will,” she said, sweeping the back of her hand across her tear-stained cheeks.

Like flipping a switch, she changed her demeanor, completely regaining her composure in the time it took her to flip open her phone to talk to Willow.

When she hung up, she told Spike, “They found the demon from the ritual. I have to go over there.”

He looked at her, concerned, realizing that less than two minutes ago, she’d been in tears. “Hey, you sure you’re up to this?”

Buffy pulled herself out of his embrace and stood up. All traces of vulnerability had vanished. “This is my job, Spike. It is what it is.” He started to speak, but she interrupted him. “No, it’s more than a job. This is… this is my life.”

“Can I help?”

“Ask around, see if anyone in town’s seen a dragon lately.”

*****

“So it’s really a dragon?” Buffy asked, conscious of the tension in the room. Willow wouldn’t even look at her, but the guilt radiated from her body language, and the rest of them were a myriad of darting glances and uncomfortable foot-shuffling and weight-shifting. “A real, actual dragon?”

“Yep,” replied Anya, as usual, the only one oblivious to the atmosphere.

“No chance that it’s of the Puff the Magic variety?”

“Not likely.” Giles skimmed the text, taking comfort in his expository role. “Big, flying lizard type, spits fire. It’s not from our dimension. One would have to summon it by opening a portal to another reality.” If he could talk about facts, about demons, then it saved him from having to talk about other things less pleasant than a fire-breathing dragon.

Xander looked over Giles’ shoulder at the picture in the book. “I’ve seen this before. It came out of the portal the night that… the night we fought Glory.”

An awkward hush fell over the group at the mention of that night, though it was difficult to discern from the general awkwardness that had taken over as soon as the Slayer walked in.

Buffy quickly broke the silence. “Swell. How do I kill it?”

Giles glanced back down at the book. “The traditional way you kill dragons, I suppose.” When Buffy raised her eyebrows, he continued, “Sword through the heart.”

“So why would somebody summon this thing?” asked Willow, still not looking up.

Xander shrugged. “Big ol’ yen for massive destruction, maybe?”

“We can figure that out after I kill it.” Buffy marched into the training room to grab the biggest sword she could find. “I’ll be back,” she said, emerging from the back. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Well, hey,” Willow stammered, breaking out of her melancholy with a slight note of panic, jumping up from the table to block her path. “Where ya going so soon? We could still, you know, with the research.”

“We’re coming with you, Buff,” said Xander. “Give us some time to prepare, we can help.”

Buffy shook her head, brushing past her friends. “No, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Come on, Buff,” Xander protested. “It’s us.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure that mattered anymore. It was extremely hard for both him and Willow to take this rejection as anything other than punishment for thoughtlessly pulling their best friend out of heaven.

“I can help!” said Willow. “With spells and stuff.”

“No. It’s way too dangerous. This isn’t Dungeons and Dragons here. This is the real thing. I can’t risk any of you.”

“You can’t go alone, Buffy, that’s suicide!” Willow cried.

Buffy stood her ground. “I’m going alone.”

Giles snapped his head toward her, the pieces falling into place. A suicide mission. He sighed as he realized he should have seen it sooner. Knowing about Buffy being in heaven rather than a hell dimension suddenly made everything clear. “She’s right.”

The Scoobies turned to look at Giles in disbelief. “What?” Xander squeaked.

“What?” said Willow.

“What?” Buffy added, surprised that Giles actually agreed with her.

Giles took off his glasses and began cleaning them. “Buffy needs to do this alone.” If his Slayer had a death wish, she was going to have to face down her demons. The metaphorical ones. And she’d have to do it without their help. If Buffy could defeat the dragon, then it meant she wanted to live. If not… then there was nothing he could do to save her anyway.

With a nod of approval from her Watcher, Buffy was out the door before anyone could stop her.