Spike left the Summers’ home and immediately lit up a cigarette. Buffy and him had just finished having sex. The words “making love” really weren’t applicable here. Spike understood that she was using him, that she hated herself, and she just wanted to feel something after being pulled out of heaven, and he accepted that. He would take what he could get. He loved her, and sometimes he was jealous that he never got to experience the kind of gentleness and care that he had seen when she was with Angel.
“Speak of the devil,” Spike muttered, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Angel, in all his spiky- haired, leather-coated glory, was making his way up the front walk, his face darkening at the sight of his fledgling on Buffy’s stoop.
“What are you doing here, Spike?” Angel growled.
“I live here.” Angel frowned. Spike rolled his eyes. “In Sunnydale, I live in Sunnydale. You, on the other hand, don’t. What are you doing here?”
“Came to see…”
“Buffy?” Spike cut in. “She’s not dressed yet. You’ll have to wait.”
Angel frowned and wondered how Spike would’ve known that Buffy wasn’t clothed, but he shrugged it off. Angel took a few steps and sat down on the stairs, looking out into the street. Angel groaned inwardly when Spike sat down beside him.
“So… is there a Big Bad that needs to be squashed?” Spike said, flicking ashes onto the lawn. Angel just shook his head. “Then what brings you here?”
“I just needed to see her. How’s she doing?” Angel asked, turning towards Spike.
“You mean after teen witch pulled her out of heaven? She hates it here, hates her friends. Can barely stand her sister.” Spike said all this so casually that Angel was dumbfounded, and could not find his voice for several minutes. “Something wrong?” Spike asked, looking to Angel.
“Is it that bad?” Angel asked, horrified. Spike just shrugged and nodded. Angel took a deep breath in. The oxygen was of no use to him, he did not breathe, but something else caught him off guard. “Her scent is all over you.”
Spike stopped, mid-drag on his cigarette. He had not planned for this, and his cool exterior was dropped. Spike slowly turned to look at the man who made him. “I suppose it would be,” he said finally, and Angel thought he heard some fear in his voice.
“Why?” Angel spit out, the word dripping with threat.
“You know why.” Spike stared into Angel’s eyes. Angel was still for several moments, and then quickly placed a bone shattering punch on Spike’s cheek that sent Spike flying across the Summers’ deck. Angel, now unconcerned with Spike’s condition, turned and put his face in his hands. It was several moments before Angel realized that Spike was once again sitting next to him.
“Leave me alone, Spike, if you want to live.” Angel did not even look up.
“Nah,” Spike said, pulling out his pack of cigarettes to reach for another. During the punch, Spike’s last one had somehow ended up a few feet in front of Angel, burning out on the lawn. Angel extended his leg and stubbed it out.
“Does she love you?” Angel asked finally. Spike just scrunched up his nose and shook his head.
“It’s just the body that I get. She still loves you, mate. Her heart is off-limits for me,” Spike said, chipping off his thumb’s black nail polish. Angel stayed silent, replaying this in his mind. “Why’d you leave, anyway?” Spike asked.
The question. Angel asked himself it a million times a day, and never could seem to come up with a satisfactory answer. The reasons that seemed to come to him so easily those three years ago were now not as crystal clear, and he had to struggle to remember them. “She couldn’t have had a normal life with me.”
“Oh, yeah. ‘Cause her life is so normal now. Fights demons on a Hellmouth. Brought back from the dead. Fucks a vampire she hates,” Spike snorted out sarcastically. “Yeah, good thing you left. Otherwise, her life would’ve been much happier, and who would want that?”
Angel frowned, and straightened up. “You think she would’ve been happier if I stayed?”
Spike turned from looking to the street to looking in Angel’s confused eyes. “You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you mate?” Spike rolled his eyes when understanding didn’t dawn on Angel’s face. “Yes, mate. She would’ve been happier, and in love, and safer. Alright? Congratulations, Angelus, you still have the girl.” Spike raised his cigarette as if toasting Angel.
“You love her, don’t you?” Angel asked, searching Spike’s face. Spike just raised his cigarette again.
“She seems to bring that out of people.” Spike admitted.
Angel made no move to agree, because, as he saw it, that wasn’t exactly the truth. She didn’t bring love out of people, she created it. In all her blonde haired, vanilla-smelling, ass-kicking, Buffy way, love seemed to radiate off of her. You couldn’t help but fall in love with her. But none so deeply as Angel himself. Whenever he saw her, every fiber of his being responded to her presence. Without her, he felt like a part of him was missing.
“You’re such a dolt for leaving,” Spike said, almost off handedly. “I never would have left.”
Angel’s head was buzzing. Every inch of him was screaming to go in the house, to tell her that things would be okay, he was here now. Something stopped him. “No, it’s too late. I had my chance. She won’t take me back.” Angel shook his head, a knot in his stomach.
“She’d take you back in a heartbeat Angelus.”
“I can’t do this. I have to stay away. I can’t… I just can’t.” Angel, stood up and practically ran from the house. He had to go, had to run. It hurt too much to look in at what he couldn’t have. Too damn much.
Spike shook his head. Just then, a freshly showered Buffy threw open the front door. “Ang…” She stopped, and looked at Spike. “Was Angel here?” Spike just nodded. “Where did he go?”
Spike stood up and took a deep breath. “He had to leave.”
Buffy snorted a short, bitter laugh. “Angel left? What a surprise.” She shook her head, trying to hide the tears that were running down her face.
“I’m sorry pet. But… he just… He loves you. He wanted me to tell you that,” said Spike, wondering why he was helping Angel out. Except he wasn’t. No, this was what Buffy needed to hear. It was true, of course, but these damn people with souls. Don’t know how to be direct.
Buffy looked at Spike, and reached a hand to her face, trying to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. “Bastard couldn’t have stayed. ‘Course not. He’s Angel, helps the helpless.” She shook her head. “I’m fucking helpless Angel!” she yelled to the street. “Come help me!” Buffy sank to the floor. “Come fucking help me,” she sobbed.
Spike was horrified to see Buffy this way. He went to her side, and tried to hold her. “Get off me, Spike,” she spit out. “Don’t touch me.” The words struck Spike across the face and he stood up, his hands raised in surrender.
Buffy lifted herself and ran through the front door, still crying.
Spike just resumed his sitting on the porch. He lit up another cigarette, and laughed to himself. He thought about how lucky Angel was, that Buffy loved him, and how stupid The Poof was. How he’s willing to let the love of his life sink into a blubbering damsel in distress, how he wouldn’t do a thing to help it. Fucking idiot. Spike replayed the night in his mind, thinking about what he would do if he was in Angel’s place. No, this night never would have happened, if he was in Angel’s place. He never would have left, if Buffy loved him. He wouldn’t have broken her heart when she was eighteen, when all she needed was someone to help her through her trials of being the slayer. What was Angel playing at? Spike just couldn’t see it.
Spike looked at the house. “Well I’ll be here slayer. You don’t want me. But at least I’m here.”
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