full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Because He Needs Me by DreamsofSpike
 
If You Love Something...
 
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“Please say something.”

Buffy’s voice was tearful, pleading, as she stared up at Spike through wide, glistening eyes -- eyes that were more open and vulnerable in that moment than Spike had ever seen them before.

“I - I don’t know *what* to say, love,” he explained quietly, a lost note to his voice as he shook his head, looking away from those eyes that he had been lost in so many times before -- those eyes that he knew held the power to shake his resolve and muddle his thinking until he would give her whatever it was that she wanted from him, even if he knew better.

Even if it was bad for him.

“I’m asking you to forgive me, Spike,” Buffy repeated softly. “I’m not asking you to pretend like it never happened. I’m not asking you to just go back to the way things were before immediately…”

Spike looked up at her sharply, an unspoken question in his eyes, his lips parted to object.

“*Ever*,” Buffy amended with an apologetic grimace. “You’re right…things *never* need to go back to the way they were before -- because I was never fair to you. Well -- at least not -- after you stopped trying to kill me.”

Those words earned her a half-hearted attempt at a smile, though Spike’s eyes were still troubled, still averted from hers.

“You’re right, Buffy,” he said softly without looking at her. “Things can’t ever be like they were again. I won’t let them be.”

Though there was a quiet sorrow to his voice, depths of emotion that had always been there, even when she had not wanted to see it - there was a subtle hardness to Spike’s tone as well -- a sound that told her that no matter what he felt for her, this vampire had learned his lesson.

The Slayer would have to find herself another sounding board that doubled as a punching bag whenever he happened to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

Buffy felt old defenses start to rise within her, as an anger born of her hurt -- and the fear that she was losing him -- began to swell up in her heart.

“I know things were bad,” she said softly, a certain coolness coming into her voice, as she stared at him with challenging eyes glistening with tears. “But I’m not the only one who made them that way. You hurt me, too, Spike.” She paused, composing her words before going on in a voice of trembling steel, “I came back from the dead with a lot of hurt in me -- a lot of darkness -- and it seems to me you did your best to pull it out, any way you could.”

The vampire was still, silent, taking in those words and then nodding slowly in acceptance. “I know it,” he admitted calmly. “Though -- by your own bloody black and white, humans versus demons, Slayer logic -- you had a bit more to draw on than I did in making the right choices, now didn’t you, love?”

Buffy opened her mouth to object, but Spike went on before she could.

“I *tried* to learn, Buffy! I tried to be what you deserved -- what you wanted…” He paused, his voice softening as he continued, a bit self-consciously, “…tried to join you in the light…you just kept bloody pushing me out again. So -- I thought the only way to be with you -- the only way to -- to make you mine -- was to pull you into the dark, with me.”

Buffy was silent, stunned by his explanation -- and touched, feeling the hurt and confusion and desperation he must have felt back then…feelings she had not acknowledged that he had even really had, until this moment.

“Now, in hindsight,” Spike went on, a cold, melancholy note to his voice that sent a chill down her spine, “I know it was wrong -- and I’m sorry, Buffy. But it’s all I knew to do. I thought if I could make you embrace your own darkness -- you’d be able to look past mine…be able to love me. But -- all it did was hurt you -- and me.“ He paused, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as he concluded in an aching whisper, “Wasn’t bloody worth it, was it?”

A cold, empty fear started in the pit of her stomach, as she wondered at the meaning of his words, and realization of the possible consequences of her thoughtless actions began to dawn on her. Buffy swallowed hard, steeling herself for his answer as she drew in a deep breath and asked quietly, “Do you -- do you still love me?”

Spike did not answer for a long moment, his eyes focused on the floor, but he flinched slightly at the question, an ironic little smile that held no joy or pleasure forming on his lips.

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” he said in hushed voice, thick with emotion. “You don’t fight fair, you know that?”

“This isn’t fighting!” Buffy objected, shaking her head and moving in closer, anxiously seeking his eyes. “It’s a simple question…”

“No, love, it’s anything but simple,” Spike countered, glancing at her for just a moment before looking down again -- but that moment was long enough for her to see the lost expression of pain and confusion in his eyes.

“Really?” Buffy’s words were barely a breath on her lips, as she swallowed back a sob of regret, and of fear that her regret might mean nothing, now. “It seems fairly simple to me. Either you do or you don’t. Yes or no.”

She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding an immediate answer -- just stating her opinion on the simplicity of the matter -- but although he knew that on some level, somehow Spike still *felt* like he was being pushed.

“See, that’s where your problem is, Slayer,” Spike muttered, pulling back away from her, needing the distance to clear his thoughts a bit. “Yes or no, black and white, no bloody middle ground…you want us to just *be there*, at the end of all the soddin’ heartache and drama, without giving me the bloody space to *get there*!”

“I’ve given you *six weeks* of space!” Buffy exclaimed in surprised frustration, and then immediately bit her lip, realizing the way her words must have sounded. Still, she didn’t stop before she had said all of them. “And from the sounds of things when I walked in, you weren’t happy with *that*, either!”

“That’s because I didn’t want you to just bloody well ignore me, as if I’d never existed!” Spike exploded, turning toward her again, blue eyes blazing with frustration. “I wanted…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, shaking his head, unable to find words to express what it was that he wanted.

“You wanted me here,” Buffy concluded cautiously.

“No! I mean -- yes, I wanted you here…but…bloody hell, Buffy…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head again sadly. “It’s anything but simple,” he repeated, his voice soft and aching with the muddled emotions they both were feeling.

There was a moment’s tense silence between them, before Spike finally continued, looking up to meet her eyes with an intensity that nearly made her look away.

Nearly.

She held his gaze, bravely steeling herself to take whatever it was that he felt the need to say to her -- no matter how badly it might hurt.

“Yes, Buffy -- I forgive you,” he began slowly, cautiously, swallowing hard before he added softly, “*mostly*…but there’s a part of me that will never forget it. Never *can* forget it, probably shouldn’t. And that part hasn’t quite forgiven you yet. Yes, I want you here. I *always* want you here, Buffy…” He shook his head with a sort of bittersweet sorrow, before adding, “…but it makes it so bloody hard, too. It’s -- easier -- somehow -- when I can just -- put Sunnydale, and the Whelp, and -- and even you, Buffy -- out of my head, and just -- go on, yeah?”

It hurt, but Buffy nodded her understanding. She *did* understand that, even if the idea broke her heart -- the idea that putting her out of his mind completely made life so much easier for Spike, when she had so wanted to be the one helping to make things easier -- loving him through his healing process.

“I -- I *do* love you, Buffy,” Spike confessed softly, a single tear escaping his eye as he finally looked away from her. “Think I always have -- think I always will.”

He hesitated a moment, before looking back up at her, something deep and desolate in his eyes that stole her breath away, as he added in a whisper,

“Just don’t know if I *should*.”

Buffy couldn’t help but flinch at those words, and it took a supreme effort to fight back the defensive words that rose up in response within her. There were so many things she wanted to say -- so many excuses, explanations…pleas…but she knew she had to let him get this out, before she said her piece -- and she had to hear all of what he had to say.

“Loving you, Buffy,” Spike shook his head, the tears coming faster now, “you’ve no bloody idea how it feels. It’s -- raw, and intense, and -- and consuming, and passionate, and painful -- and it’s all I’ve bloody done for the past two years -- and -- and it’s nearly killed me.” He paused, before admitting in a whisper, “Don’t know if I want to stop -- don’t know if I’d even know how, or be able to do it if I did -- but…Buffy, even I can only take so much…and…when you chose him…over me…when you knew what he did…when you said you…you *loved* me…”

“Spike, I do love you!” Buffy could no longer keep her silence, moving in close to him, her own face streaked with tears, her voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much! I see that now! I know I’ve done a lot of things wrong, never treated you like I should have -- but things will be different now, I promise you, Spike!”

When she reached out to place her hands on his arms, in a gentle, beseeching way, he stiffened slightly, but he did not pull away, as he choked back a sob that rose in his throat.

“It might be too late,” Buffy sobbed softly now, lowering her head as her shaking hands clung to him desperately, terrified that he was slipping from her grasp despite her physical hold on him. “It might be too little, too late, now -- but I choose *you*, Spike. I choose *you*…please…”

Those tender, heartfelt words nearly broke the blond vampire, and he lowered his head toward her almost instinctively, his body expressing his intense desire to fall into the promise she offered, to accept the comfort of her embrace.

But that embrace had burned him before -- and he didn’t know if he could safely go back there again.

“Give me a chance, Spike,” Buffy whispered, lowering her head to rest against his chest, shamelessly pleading now, knowing better than she had ever known, that she would not -- *could* not -- give him up. She needed him so much. “Please, give me a chance to prove it. It’s not just words -- I mean it. I love you, and I want to prove it. Please let me…”

Spike could not speak, his voice choked off by his own sobs, as his hands rose of their own accord to rest at her waist, pulling her slightly closer to him, as his head fell forward to rest against the top of hers, his tears flowing down to dampen her golden hair.

“Buffy,” he finally rasped out in a voice thick with emotion, “if you -- if you really love me…”

Buffy pulled back, looking up at him with a wild hope in her tear-filled eyes, searching his gaze for the chance she had pleaded for, that he now appeared willing to give her. “Yes?” she urged him softly. “Please, Spike…anything…”

He closed his eyes, his head still bowed, his hands running up and down her arms, memorizing the feel of her silken skin, as he struggled to find the strength to do what he needed to do.

Questions still remained in his mind. He knew she meant what she was saying -- but did she really feel it, or was she deceiving herself? Could she really make the choice she was claiming to make, choosing him above even her closest friends? Did she really have the feelings she claimed to have -- or was she just afraid of losing the hold she had over him?

Did she love him -- or just love the way he made her feel?

“If you love me,” he repeated in a whisper that was still stronger than his previous words, “if you really love me, Buffy…” He hesitated, and then forced the words out on a barely audible breath, “…you’ll go.”

Buffy felt her heart skip a beat in her chest, as time froze for a moment, as she stared at him in stricken disbelief. Surely he didn’t mean for her to just *leave* -- not after she had finally seen the depth of feeling he still held for her? Surely he didn’t *really* want her to…

*But you’re thinking about what *you* want, Buffy,* a soft, sure voice spoke in her head with a clarity that had not often marked Buffy’s ideas about relationships -- and the voice sounded suspiciously like that of her own mother. *Not about what Spike *needs*. He loves you -- he’s told you that -- but he’s not ready yet. If you love him -- you have to honor his request. You can’t keep trying to control how he feels, what he does…*everything*. If you love him…you have to let him go…*

Buffy stared up into his pleading blue eyes, her own eyes welling with fresh tears, a hard ache swelling up in her chest. A bittersweet smile formed on her lips, as she raised a gentle, tentative hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him down slowly into a tender, intimate kiss that was still somehow chaste and unassuming.

A kiss that said that she wanted nothing more than just that -- a kiss.

He surrendered to it, tears of longing and aching desire streaking his face again -- and in that moment, Buffy knew in her heart that had she resisted his request, had she simply kept doing what she was doing, what she had become so good at that past year, she would not have had to leave. Spike would have allowed her to stay, and still would have accepted her back -- he loved her that much, in spite of his words, in spite of what the consequences could have been for his own heart, had he accepted her back on her own terms, rather than his.

But she *did* love him -- much too much to take advantage of his feelings for her.

Reluctantly, she finally pulled back, ending the kiss as she looked up into his eyes again, her smile firmer now, braver, and with a hope in it that had not been there before.

“You know where to find me,” she whispered softly, trying to put the whole of her heart into the simple words.

Spike opened his mouth to respond, his eyes shining with a depth of emotion that he could not have put into words -- but Buffy gently raised a finger and pressed it to his lips, shaking her head with understanding in her eyes.

“I love you,” she stated simply, earnestly, as she lowered her hand and studied his expression for one last moment -- as if it might really *be* the last moment.

And then, she turned without another word -- and walked out the door.
 
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