Just The Truth: Respect
by inlovewithangel
They pulled away at the same time. It might have been seconds later, it might have been minutes.

“Oh my God! I am so sorry—”

“Buffy, I didn’t—” They were cut off. They stopped their apologies and looked at each other.

Buffy lifted her hand to her lips, red and swollen from kissing, and the shame of her action overwhelmed her. She had used him…again. The gravity of her error sickened her. “Oh my God, Spike,” she said. She hid her eyes in her hands.

“Slayer, I’m sorry—”

Buffy silenced him with a shocked glare. “Don’t you dare apologize! This was me! Me, me, me! God!” Buffy stood up, cracking her knuckles in self-fury. “This isn’t me anymore! I shouldn’t be using you! What am I thinking? What is wrong with me?” She paused briefly. “I am so sorry, Spike.”

Spike was quiet as he looked at the slayer. “Buffy, it’s not… it’s okay.”

“It’s okay?” she echoed loudly, angrily. “Have a little respect for yourself! It is not okay! I loved you, and I’m still using you whenever things get tough?”

Spike sighed, and put his face in his hands. “Buffy, do not make this a big deal. I know about you and the poof.”

Buffy didn’t even acknowledge his use of the term “poof”, which she had always scolded him about before. “Yeah. Everybody knows about Buffy and Angel. Everybody makes excuses. Well, it’s not an excuse. I am supposed to be a GROWN UP!!!” she shouted, her hazel eyes turning a fiery emerald.

“You’re twenty five, love,” Spike said calmly.

“Grown up,” Buffy confirmed, beginning to pace along the sidewalk.

“Not by my standards,” Spike whispered, smirking.

“Well you’re a vampire. Your standards don’t count.”

Spike sighed heavily and bent his head to lay it in his hands. “Buffy, It’s enough,” he said gently. “Stop.”

Buffy’s crazy walking back and fourth slowed and then finally ceased in front of him. She looked into his eyes, her anger dissolving, being replaced by the shame of broken promises. Tears shone in Buffy’s eyes as she regarded the man in front of her. “I thought I was different,” she said quietly, her lips parted as she took raggedy breaths. “I thought that I was—”

“Over me?” Spike finished softly.

“A better person,” Buffy corrected. She shut her eyes, turning away as the liquid sorrow spilled onto her cheeks. “I thought I was mature enough to understand respect. For you.” Buffy reached up to her face and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “For myself,” she added, after a time.

“Old habits die hard, pet,” Spike told her. “Better person, the same person… no matter. You talk about respect… You have enough respect for me to apologize, and I thank you for that. Respect for yourself… you look good, Buffy. Even with the…” He gave a reluctant gesture to the door of the Hyperion. “You look really good. You look stronger that I’ve seen you look in a long time. You know what we’ve just done…isn’t spectacularly nifty. And,” he added, a mischievous smile curling his lips, “as far as I can tell, we’re not doing the nasty by that dumpster over there. Buffy Summers, it’s fair to say that you respect yourself.”

Buffy stared at him, slack jawed. He hadn’t seen her in months. He no longer was an everyday part of her life. He wasn’t there anymore, sitting in at the Magic Box or her living room, smoking a cigarette and offering wry, sarcastic comments that everybody ignored. No. He was far away now. That’s why the rational part of her brain was telling her that his words, however beautiful and comforting they sounded, had no real basis. He no longer knew her…

“I know you, pet. Don’t think I don’t,” he was saying, mind reading in that annoying way he had. He sucked on a cigarette and wore a half smile on his face, his gaze intense as he watched her.

Buffy had a choice then. She could choose to believe him…or not. And she chose the former, and, with that, she proved her changes. She wasn’t going to beat herself up. She made a mistake, and maybe, just maybe, she could learn from it and just…just move on.

She smiled, her facial muscles aching like this expression was too much to handle. “Thank you, Spike,” she said.

Spike gave a nod, blown away by the unadulterated sincerity he found in those three small words.

Buffy chuckled slightly at herself as she took a step towards the stoop and reached for her suitcase. Her hand closed around the handle and she lifted the black bag, ready to turn and retreat, sad but not defeated.

But, just as it was two or three inches off the ground, Spike slammed his hand down on top of it, his supernatural strength forcing Buffy’s hand to unclasp, and the luggage to clatter heavily to the ground.

“Um…” Buffy frowned in confusion.

“Where the bollocks are you off to?” Spike demanded, his hand still firmly in place on top of Buffy’s suitcase.

Buffy felt new tears rise in her chest. “Home,” she said sadly. “Back to Rome. To Dawn. To less complications.” Buffy breathed the last part out quickly, searching the street for some scene to occupy her thoughts and steal her attention away from the pain that was eating her.

The Slayer watched a pretty brunette walk down the block. There was a goofy smile on her face, and in her step and carriage was a bounce. Her curly hair was mussed, and her white blouse’s buttons were done up incorrectly. Love and sex, Buffy thought, a new wave of pain overwhelming her. Watch out, she thought, speaking cynical words of warning to the woman in her head, You’ll only get your heart broken.

“Respect,” Spike said, pulling the blonde’s vision back to him. “Respect him.”

“What?”

“You love him. You want to be with him. Tell him as much.”

Buffy sat heavily to sit beside the Billy Idol look alike. “No. That would…go badly.” Buffy sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

Spike shrugged. “Maybe. But he deserves to know. And you deserve the chance to tell him the truth.” He pierced her green eyes with his icy blue ones. “Just the truth, Buffy.”

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You and Dawn,” she murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Never mind,” Buffy said quickly. As she stared into his eyes, she found that same feeling of dangerous comfort flow through her veins. Then she shook her head. “No! I can’t do this. I really can’t! Not right now. I don’t want to be rejected. I don’t want to be hurt…”

“Pet,” Spike broke in, a loving smile for her on his lips. It was tinted with condescension, but Buffy was too otherwise absorbed to notice or care. “I would never send you into a situation where I thought you could get hurt.”

Buffy’s head whipped around, locking eyes with him once again. “Are you saying that he would…”

“In a heart beat,” Spike confirmed. He laughed at the Slayer’s shocked face.

“How do you know?” Her voice was innocent and tentative. The Buffy Summers Spike knew would never have shown her vulnerability in such and honest, unbridled way. But this girl was not exactly the Buffy Summers he knew. She had accepted herself—every part, be it vulnerable or frightened or ugly or mean, she was her, and Buffy admitted. No more hiding.

Spike smiled at her. “You mean besides the way he goes around staring at that picture of you and Red and Junior, mooning over you like some lovesick puppy?”

Buffy cocked her eyebrow at him, one corner of her mouth pulling upwards into an ironic half-smile.

Spike cleared his throat and shifted his weight a little, uncomfortable. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered. He paused, taking an unneeded breath and staring at Buffy out of the corner of his eye. “It’s more than that though,” he continued. “Me and him… we’re family, as wrong and horrifying and utterly horrible as it sounds. But…I can feel him, and, Buffy, his blood…it screams for you. This other bint is insignificant. She means to him about as much as Harm meant to me. Just…trust me, okay, love? Talk to him, have a good long shag with his spiffy permanent soul. Go on.”

“I…I…Oh, Spike!” Buffy exclaimed, when words that better articulated her gratitude did not come to mind. She threw out her arms wrapping them around hid neck and laying her head against his muscled chest. She smiled through her tears. Smiled for her, smiled for Angel, and smiled for the incredible man who she embraced and to whom she owed her life, many times over. “I love you,” she said.

He lifted his hand and placed it on her back. “I know,” he said, because he did. He knew she would love him, always need him. But he also knew—and would have to accept—that we would never be the man that fit her perfectly. “I know,” he repeated. “I love you too.”

And then a deep voice came from the doorway. “Oh my God,” he said.

Buffy’s body exploded into a feeling of intense, terrifying tingling at his presence.

Spike jerked away from her, jumping up from the petite blonde so quickly that it appeared his though her very touch had scalded his skin. “Angel, man, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Spike,” the larger man spat. “Please,” he said, sadder, more pathetically, “I can’t hear it.”

Buffy turned to face him. “Angel, you don’t understand—”

“Buffy…just stop. Please. Stop.” Tears filled his voice as he shuddered, and then turned, pushing his way back into his large hotel, returning to the empty, un-meaningful embrace of his lover.

Seconds later, Buffy thoughtfully said, “We’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining this.” She sighed. “I mean, he’s never been the smartest when it comes to me.”

But Spike was shaking his head emphatically. “Did you say ‘we’? ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now there is no ‘we’. He doesn’t like me very much under normal circumstances, and has never needed a reason to beat me senseless. I don’t want to stick around now that he was.” Spike snorted and stood up. “I’ll lay low for a few days…wait for it to sink in that he won the girl.” He paused after a few steps and tossed a glance at Buffy’s stunned form. “You can do it, love,” he assured her. And as he left, and Buffy watched his back until the leather of his coat melted into the blackness of the night, she thought that he was right. After all, had he ever been anything but?


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