Chapter Text
It was cool on the balcony, and I could smell the ocean, and the sounds of the party receded as I imagined sound of the tide coming in, wave crashing into wave into sand. Everything was gone– everything I wanted. I didn't want anything anymore. I couldn't imagine wanting anything ever again. All along, all I'd wanted was to get rid of Spike, and I didn't even want that anymore. I just wanted... oh, to be alone, forever and ever. And I would be, I thought. Whether I wanted it or not.
"Hey, Angel!"
Spike was standing in the doorway, loud music escaping around him. He came out, sliding the door shut behind him, and it was quiet again, as quiet as it could ever be in a major city with Spike around.
"You okay?"
"Just fine." Maybe I was being a little curt. But Spike was used to it, or maybe he was just so happy that he wasn't going to let a trivial thing like me bother him.
At least he'd changed out of the blood-soaked clothes, though the black t-shirt and jeans looked the same, minus the blood. He stood there by the door, his hand on his ribs where the demon had slashed him, and said, "Great party– thanks for holding it."
"I didn't realize I had a choice. Kegs and people just started appearing. And then the band set up, and--"
Spike smiled. "Yeah. Best parties are the unplanned ones. Band's playing great."
I cocked my head and listened, and now I could hear the music even through the soundproofed glass. "David Nabbit's really doing his best to follow Kenny, isn't he?"
"Yeah, David's a game 'un. Hard to keep enough to keep up with Super-K, but I bet it's even harder on a trumpet."
"It was cool," I said, "when Kenny played the guitar with his teeth."
"Cool?" Spike scoffed. "It was just showboating."
"You're just saying that because you can't do it. Some measly human with blunt teeth can do it, but you the fanged one can't."
"Can so. Just don't want to."
He came to the railing and stood next to me, leaning out. I could feel him vibrating like Kenny's guitar string. Fulfilled love hadn't calmed him down one bit. "Look," I said, trying to sound warm. Or generous. Or friendly. And failing. "Buffy–"
When I didn't get the next word out, he said, softly, "I meant to thank you–"
"That's not what I want to talk about."
He shut up. Unprecedented. Looked away, out towards the ocean. Waited.
"I wanted to tell you, I think you two ought to get away together."
"Yeah, okay," he said, still looking away, and I knew what he was thinking, that I couldn't stand to see him happy with her. And it wasn't true.
"You both have been through a lot, and you never got a chance just to be together. So I thought, you know, well, my journey might include you two going to some inn up on the Oregon coast, somewhere quiet, where you can be alone– my treat, of course."
He turned to me, his headed tilted quizzically to the side. "Really? You think the Powers will go for that?"
"Sure. I think they're ready to wash their hands of you."
"I guess I wasn't what they expected in a minion."
"I could have told them it would backfire on them. So what do you say? Month or so, just the two of you." The words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. "Somewhere romantic."
He considered this, then said, "See, I'm thinking romantic is fine, but ... but I think we need to fight things. Or we'll fight each other. So what do you think of financing, oh, a demon-destructo tour? We drive around to hotspots and kill demons. Be fun. Do good. Together. We like that."
I had to admit it sounded more likely than my vision of them sitting quietly on a porch reading deep books and sipping herb tea. "Sure. Guess you'll need a car." I took a deep breath. "You can have the Viper."
Spike's eyes gleamed golden for a moment. Just a moment. Then he shook his head. "Nah. Need space for the weapons. And best to be inconspicuous."
"Right. You and Buffy. Inconspicuous. So take your pick from the motor pool."
"That panel van. The black one."
The ugliest vehicle in the garage. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll have them fit it with some weapon racks, a good sound system, a mini-fridge, maybe a mattress–"
I'd heard enough. "Okay. All yours."
"Thanks, mate."
He turned to go, and I sighed, and said, "Come here."
His face suspicious, he took a step towards me. Then he planted his feet like he figured I was going to try to toss him over the side. I briefly contemplated it, then pushed away from the rail and walked over to him.
It was awkward, hugging him. It was awkward hugging anyone, for me, but him most of all. Too much history, antagonism, conflict, pain, all wrapped up in that compact, tense body of his. And I think he was scared, because he never did relax, never did that laughing arms-around thing he did with Gunn and Clem and Fred and everyone else. But he stood there and took it like a man, even eventually working one hand free from my embrace to pat me on the back.
I gave into the moment. Or rather, I forced the moment as far as I could make it go. Then I let him go. "Have fun," I said, turning back to the night.
He waited a moment, and then said, all in a rush as he opened the door, "Yeah, love ya, see ya."
I'd failed again, I knew it. That was the best I could do, and it wasn't much of anything. Couldn't even say it back to him.
Something hit me hard in the chest, and I thought it was him– staking me, or ripping through the flesh and ribcage to grab my dead heart– and I fell to the floor. The stars winked out, and all the lights, and I remembered it was just like this with Connor, just like this, rage and the ocean closing in, darkness and cold seeping into my eyes and bones. "Will," I whispered, and I couldn't hear my own voice above the roaring in my ears. I sensed that he was nowhere close, that I was alone here in the absolute night. Will, I thought, wanting nothing more than just to say what I couldn't say, but it was too late.
Then he was beside me, kneeling. I could feel his hands hauling me up, and then I was sitting up, sprawled half over his legs. He held me up, and over the roaring, I heard his voice, desperate, scared. "It's all right, mate, 'll be all right. Hang on, I'll–"
"No," I whispered. "Stay."
So I rested against him, and the ocean receded, and warmth crept into me, and he said, tense, casual, "I can hear something, Angel."
"What?" I said, because I couldn't hear anything but the ocean and Spike.
"Blood."
"You staked me."
"Staked– Jesus. I wasn't even out here. Just heard you call me– found you like this." I could feel him sob, or maybe it was a laugh. "Shoulda known you'd blame me, you wanker. Got your precious shanshu, and you think I dusted you."
"Shanshu–" I could feel it now, the blood rushing everywhere, all through my body, flooding the pathways, the cells. Veins and arteries. And I started to shiver as the cold from the marble floor hit my warm flesh.
Spike tightened his arms around me and said, "You all right?"
I took a deep breath. I must have been breathing for a minute or more, but this felt like my first breath in– in 250 years. It filled my lungs and hurt my chest and I started to panic, thinking that I'd have to remember to do this forever– or for the rest of my life. My life. I let the breath out in a rush. When was I supposed to take another? I couldn't remember. I tried talking instead. "I don't deserve this."
"Not your call, mate."
"I killed you. Just a couple weeks ago. Hatred. I did it and–"
"'S all right, Angel. Helped me this week. Evens out."
"But I'm not good enough to be human yet."
"Bollocks." Spike shifted, shoving me up more, waking me up more. "You're not being elevated to the celestial choir, man, you're just becoming human, and the standards just aren't that bleeding high. You been better than most humans for a century. Hey!" He jiggled me a little, and I realized that he was now stronger than I was– much stronger. "Maybe it was that little lapse into murder sealed it for you. Now you're bad enough to be human!"
"This should be yours," I said. "You're the one who saved the world. Instead of me–"
"All I want is Buffy. You can have the sodding heartbeat."
"You mean it?"
"Yeah. Never wanted to be human, even when I was. I've just got all I wanted– then and now."
I could hear his smile, but I couldn't see it. "I can't see," I said, starting to panic again.
"Try opening your eyes."
I tried, and found them squeezed shut, and shoved them open, and the darkness was still all there, all around me. But Spike was murmuring something about it being all right, and gradually the stars winked back on, and the moon, and the eternal glow of the city lights crept up the edges of my sight. "Okay," I said.
"Better now?"
"My back. You're jamming your knee into it."
"Sorry."
He moved his knee fractionally, and hit a kidney, and I said, "You know, this hurts a lot more than I remember. Living."
"Bet dying will hurt more."
"Thanks for cheering me up."
"My pleasure. You planning on sitting on me forever?"
"I don't have forever."
"None of us do. Not even me. So how about getting started on it? This new life of yours?"
"What should I do?"
Spike gave this at least three seconds consideration. "Get laid. Eat some fish and chips. Get drunk."
"Sounds like your unlife, not my new life."
"What can I say. I know how to live." Awkwardly he added, "Just live. Be happy. Your way. Hey! You can go out on the beach and watch the girls surfing in their bikinis!"
"I saw that on ESPN last week."
"But it wasn't real. You can see it for real." A pause. "Course for real doesn't have slo-mo tit zoom."
I started to laugh. It felt weird. Because I was human, or because I just never laughed? I had to stop laughing to take a breath. That was new, and authentically weird. "I'm scared," I told him.
"Yeah, I'll bet. Didn't expect this, did you?"
"It's what I wanted. Always."
"Prophecy said you'd be wiped clean. You feel cleaner?"
"Squeaky clean." And it was true. I felt weary and frightened and alien. But the nagging guilt I'd lived with for a century was gone.
"Worth it then. Come on. Get up. My leg's falling asleep."
"It can't fall asleep. It doesn't have blood flow. Unlike, say, mine."
"I spose I'm going to have to listen to that sort of comment from now on?"
"That you are." I gripped the railing and leveraged myself to a standing position. Everything felt different. "I'm going to go to bed. And set my alarm clock so I'll wake up in time to see the sunrise."
Spike got to his feet and looked back into the brightly lit room. Lorne and Harmony were dancing, and Gunn was yelling something into the microphone. Employees I'd seldom seen actually working had shown up for the party, and there wasn't a square foot of space to be had. "You know, it might work better for the rest of us," he said, "if you just stayed up all night, partied hearty, watched the sunrise, and fell into bed then. That's what real humans do."
Except for the sunrise part, it was what Spike usually did, but I didn't bother to make note of this. "Okay."
He lingered by the door. "What you wanted, huh? The Shanshu?"
And I breathed deep of the dirty air, and got dizzy, and gripped the railing. My grip was weaker. I thought I might just pitch over, I was so dizzy, but I felt Spike's hand– strong as ever– grip my shoulder and hold me there. "I guess," I said. And then, softly, "Don't tell anyone yet."
"Sure. In your own time."
And then I felt the improbability of it all, the loss and the gain, the mystery, and I whispered, "But I just gave it up. Signed it away."
His hand gripped tighter, tight enough to hurt, and then relaxed. "For me, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Well." He let go of my shoulder and a moment later I heard the French doors open. Then he said over the sudden rush of music and noise, "That's all right then."
The door closed behind him, and the music ceased, and all I could hear was the sound of traffic far below. I held tight to the railing and looked down at the lights of the city. I felt... forgiven.
Spike was the least of my victims. But there he was, forgiving me. That's what he meant.
Finally I made my way back in to the room. I stood there, my back against the glass door, watching them. The humans. My fellow humans. Well, them and Spike and Clem and Lorne.
They were all having fun. Loud, drunken fun.
I felt... empty. Full. Alone.
Then Buffy was standing at the microphone, all golden and cream, the light behind her radiating like the halo of her smile. She was happy. She reached out and took Spike firmly in hand, and said into the mike, "Let's go to the beach!"
And everyone yelled, and rushed to the door. Even Wes, though he tried to make it seem like he just happened to be heading out at the same time, like he wasn't actually going to go skinny-dipping with them. Like he wasn't going to stay really close to skinny-dipping Fred.
Connor caught my eye and shrugged, and I nodded, and he smiled and headed for the door.
Asked my permission. Like I was his dad.
Pretty soon the apartment was empty, except for Dawn curled up asleep on the couch– she was going to be mad when she woke up and learned what she'd missed– and Cordelia standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She had her hand on the door frame and looked as shaky as I felt.
She said, "I don't suppose they're all stopping to get their swim suits first."
I shook my head. "Doubt it." I added awkwardly, "Don't you want to go skinny-dipping too?"
"Oh, right. I'm going to the beach to display my miserable flat ass and deflated breasts under that bright moon. With Harmony and Buffy there looking all fit and luscious. I don't think so."
"Yeah. I know what you mean."
It wasn't till she laughed that I realized how ungallant I'd been. And how good her laugh sounded. "Sorry," I muttered.
We both stood by our respective doors, hanging on for dear life. Finally she said, "So you got it, did you."
We both knew what she meant. I raised my hand to my heart, felt it beat one and one and one and one like Clem keeping time for Gunn's rap songs. "I guess."
"Wow."
"You were there. Remember? When Wes found the prophecy." Suddenly that felt important– that she'd been there then. That she was here now.
"I remember," she said so softly I almost didn't hear her with my faulty human hearing. "Now what?"
"Now...." And I turned and pushed open the door. "Now I'd like to sit outside. And wait for the sunrise."
When I was out on the balcony, I looked back. She was still in the kitchen doorway, her head down, her expression unreadable.
"With you," I said quietly, and she couldn't have heard, but she must have heard, because she raised her head and smiled, and walked out to join me.
The End