Restive Nature
Rated NC-17
Chapter Sixteen
Promises In The Dark
"Dawnie, get your rump in gear!" Buffy yelled down the basement steps to her sister. She knew she shouldn’t be yelling. The teen had gotten practically no sleep the evening before, having to deal with her hysterical, crampy, depressed sister during Spike’s impromptu disappearance. But even in light of that, she’d tried never to let her sister miss school unless it was for a really good reason. So today was no exception. Hopefully, the college student would remember back to the days of all night research and her body would respond accordingly, shifting to autopilot. Just as long as she was present for her classes. That was all Buffy was asking for.
The sound of tired feet clomping up the stairs reached her, so she stepped back to wait for her sister. She crossed her arms, a grim frown on her face. She sighed in exasperation as she took in the rumpled pajamas. "Buffy!" the girl protested through a yawn. "What the hell are you yelling at me for?"
"School Dawn!" she rolled her eyes. "You, late, go, now!"
Dawn grimaced and stretched, her back cracking slightly as she reached her arms up into the air. "Buffy," she sighed, taking in her sister’s neat appearance. "It’s Saturday." That stopped her sister up short. "No school for me today."
Buffy gaped at her sibling. She slapped her hand against her forehead. "Oh God, you’re right. I’m so sorry Dawn. Oh sweetie, go back to bed."
"C-can’t," she mumbled through another yawn. "I’m up now. May as well stay up. I have to work this afternoon."
"You’ll be too tired," Buffy warned gently. But Dawn just shook her head.
"If I go back to bed, I’ll sleep through my alarm. I can sleep in tomorrow. All day if I want." She moved past her sister to stumble into the kitchen and the waiting coffee. "You could go back to bed though."
"No I can’t," Buffy shook her head. "Inventory week." Dawn nodded as she recalled the hectic days her sister had been putting up with. The final week of the month was always the time for inventory at the store. It was the way they tracked shoplifting and figured out what books were dead weights and shouldn’t be carried. Daphne had specifically asked Buffy if she would mind working this Saturday, the first of October. Buffy didn’t mind as it meant five hours over-time with time and a half wages. Daphne, who worked Tuesdays to Saturdays, wanted to be the one to train Buffy on how to enter inventory on their computer.
"Oh yeah," Dawn muttered as she doctored her coffee she’d just poured. Plenty of sugar was definitely needed first thing in the morning.
"I guess I got up, started getting ready and my mind was thinking me work, Dawn school," she explained sheepishly.
"It’s okay Buff, really," she shook her head, carrying the mug to the table. She raised an eyebrow, seeing the plate of toast there. "Boy, you really were an automaton this morning, weren’t you?"
"I couldn’t sleep," the petite woman shrugged. Dawn just stared at her for a moment before reaching for a piece of the now cold breakfast. Ever since they’d started living in their new home, Buffy and Dawn, if they were up first, made their own breakfast. On certain days, when he was in the mood, Spike would make a big spread for everyone. But since they’d all started working, he usually reserved that now for their family only Sunday brunches.
"Oh," Dawn mumbled around her mouthful, "I forgot to ask." She hastily swallowed. "Did you get that book yesterday I asked for?" Buffy nodded absently, deciding that she had time enough for one more cup of coffee before she had to catch the bus. Dawn had asked and given her money yesterday for a book she was interested in for her literature course. "Great! Where is it? I can start reading it today."
"Oh," Buffy shook her head clear, trying to remember what she’d done with the bag. "I think I put it on the desk." Dawn nodded and fixed herself a plate. Obviously she was going to gather her book, toast and coffee and find somewhere comfortable to read. Buffy hurriedly finished her coffee and was rinsing out her cup when she heard Dawn’s slightly irritated voice.
"I can’t find it!"
"Well, it’s there somewhere," Buffy called back. "Look around a bit." There was the muffled sound of Dawn sifting through the small mound of junk that had been piled on the convenient flat surface. And then recalled what she’d hidden there the night before. She zipped out of the kitchen, catching Dawn in the act of pulling out the little, white drugstore bag
"What’s this?" she was asking. Buffy leapt forward, snatching it from her hand.
"It’s not your book," she muttered. Dawn managed to look affronted, annoyed and amused all at the same time.
"Keepin’ secrets already Buff?" she teased finally. "And it’s not even Christmas yet."
"I’m not…" she began, but realized that that was exactly what she was doing. She had hidden this thing in an effort to keep her sister and Spike from seeing it. Spike especially. "It’s nothing."
"It’s okay Buffy," Dawn smiled, resting a reassuring hand on her sister’s shoulder. Buffy nodded and pushed the bag back into it’s hiding spot. She made a mental note to move it somewhere less conspicuous when she got home.
"Oh, your book!" she recalled suddenly. "That’s right. I set it on the desk and then forgot to tell you. So I put it on the top step, so you’d see it on your way up."
"Aha," Dawn chuckled. "The wonderful way your mind works." She moved off to find the bag with her much needed distraction. Buffy sighed, running her hand over the smooth wooden door that she had used to lock in not only her pregnancy test, but for now, the regret that was thrumming through her. She just couldn’t deal with it at the moment. With a suffering groan, she pushed off the floor, straightening her legs as she stood. But as she did so, something black caught her eye. She remained half-crouched; staring puzzled, at Spike’s weapon bag. How had it gotten there?
She could remember vaguely last night, when she had come back into the living room; she had stared at the coffee table. The bag Willow had brought the only thing there. It had almost been as if the thing were alive, calling to her, whispering about things she’d never had. She knew of course, that it was her own mind, her own insecurities. But she’d never been good with the abstract. Give her a big old demon to fight and she was your girl. This thing preying on her mind had to be stopped. So, in the comfortably illogical manner she clung to tenaciously, she’d hidden it. But Spike’s bag hadn’t been there. He’d taken it with him, as always, to work. Hadn’t he?
But just a few hours earlier, when Max had driven her fiancé home, had he had it? She’d been so happy to see him, which had warred with the fear she’d felt, especially after seeing his ragged countenance. She didn’t really take in his appearance, except to make sure that he hadn’t been hurt more than Max had said. Buffy inhaled sharply. Spike hadn’t had his bag then, and Max hadn’t come in past the doorstep. So she couldn’t have dropped it in the living room. She’d walked Spike to the door, greeted the women, patted the male Slayer’s shoulder and made her excuses to get back to her husband and daughter.
Buffy had been so grateful for the woman’s help, especially considering that she’d just had a long flight home that Buffy just hadn’t noticed. But now she did. The bag sat there on the floor, an amorphous harbinger of fear, confusion. Had Spike been home at some point before Max had given him a ride? Lorne had said that Spike had left work. If he had, why hadn’t he found her and let her know? Then her startled glance shot back to that little, wooden door. Had he…?
"I thought you had to get to work Buff?" Dawn asked innocently, wondering what had distracted her sister this time? Really, she’d been a complete space cadet this morning.
"Yeah," Buffy agreed hoarsely, her throat dry. "Work." Mechanically, she rose and gathered her purse. She brushed by her sister, no words of apology or farewell passing her numb lips.
"Have a good day to you to," Dawn snorted as she headed once more for the sofa.
*****
Spike winced as the sun played over his face, taunting him with its cheerfulness. He swallowed heavily, wincing again at the stinging needles of pain the action produced. It served him right though, going on a bender like that. He hadn’t remembered, hadn’t cared that his mortal body wouldn’t tolerate such things anymore. But he remembered now. And it was a high price to pay. Alcohol was just a stopgap measure. It might numb the pain, make the memories fade for a little while, but it was a high cost physically. Especially now that last evening’s events were pulled into sharper focus than before.
Spike dragged one arm across his face. Not to block out the sun. It didn’t matter. But the tears welling up, burning him from the inside out did. He kept them at bay for as long as he could. But soon, the moisture in his eyes blurred everything. His arm flopped down and he gave in. He lay there silently; staring up at the ceiling while the tears flowed. He could have raged, screamed, broken things, but a little voice in the back of his head kept murmuring about the uselessness of it all.
Spike lay still for as long as he could. But finally, the need to escape the little men in his head with their ringing hammers drove him out. The small breakdown he’d allowed himself had made it worse. The tears were no panacea. There was only one thing to do in a situation like this. Shower, plan and plenty of aspirin. He swayed slightly on his feet. All those things just maybe in a different order.
*****
"Uh oh, Buffy?" Daphne called to the blonde a few feet away from her. She’d just finished helping a customer. Buffy, who’d gotten the hang of inventory data entry fairly quickly, was staring forlornly at the computer screen. "Buffy?" she tried again. Finally, she was forced to step up to the woman seated before the computer and wave a hand between her and the screen. Buffy blinked quickly and then glanced up at her boss.
"Daphne, yes. What did you need?" she spoke hurriedly, realizing that she hadn’t been paying attention.
"Do you realize that you’ve entered the same number for the last six books?" Daphne replied gently, pointing at the screen. "And I know that I certainly don’t carry six hundred and fifty-four copies of King’s work."
"Oh yeesh," Buffy replied sheepishly as she moved to correct her mistake. "I must have been tapping my fingers, or something."
"It’s okay," Daphne shrugged. She watched as her newest employee applied herself to her task. But the set of her shoulders told her that the woman’s mind was close to wandering again. "Problem sweetie?"
"Huh?" Buffy glanced up again; wondering what she did this time.
"I was wondering if you were having problems," Daphne explained. "At home or something." The sharp inhalation of breath told her she was right. "Is it Dawn?" Buffy had shared some of the difficulties of trying to raise her sister after their mother had died. But those problems didn’t usually make Buffy quiet. Normally, she’d rant about her sister for a moment before her sunny nature exerted itself. "Hmm, if it’s not Dawn, then it must be Spike."
"Yeah, I guess," Buffy murmured, studiously avoiding the other woman’s gaze.
"What happened?" Daphne asked kindly. She wondered if she should pry. A bookstore wasn’t exactly the best place for a heart to heart. But over the last few months, she and Buffy had become fairly good friends. Enough that they shared a little with each other. "Did you have a fight?" she wondered, fully prepared to help with whatever was on the blonde’s mind.
"No, not exactly," Buffy returned slowly. She sighed and let the hand holding the inventory list slump down into her lap. It didn’t seem as if Daphne were going to give up. And none of her closer friends were conveniently handy at the moment. "It’s just, some things aren’t adding up."
"Tell me," Daphne instructed, leaning against the desk.
*****
Spike barely paused as he rushed down the stairs, so eager was he to start on his plan. He didn’t notice Dawn, firmly ensconced in the living room. Her nose was buried in the book she was reading. She heard the thump of his feet landing on the floor as he jumped the last few steps. She whirled around, her back having been towards the hallway. But all she saw was her friend disappearing down the length of hallway. She frowned and went back to reading. If Spike was up already and not communicating, it must mean he had one hell of a headache. And from the whisper of alcohol she’d smelled on him last night when he’d gotten home, a hangover.
She imagined he was probably downing an aspirin-coffee cocktail about now. But she was wrong. She heard the return of his stomping feet and refrained from giggling. Spike would never learn. He was his own worst enemy. He still insisted on wearing those dreadful combat boots and they were noisier than a cage full of monkeys. So if his headache grew worse, he had no one to blame but himself. But the feet went right on past her and out the door. She twirled around again as she heard the front door slam and moments later, the engine of the DeSoto start up.
"Geez," she rolled her eyes. "Good morning Dawn. How are you Dawn? Sorry I can’t stay, but I have to go clomp around in my boots and act like a dickwad." She adjusted the pillow behind her and drew her knees up to rest the book on. "The people in this house," she sighed.
*****
"And this morning, I noticed his bag," Buffy had brought Daphne up to date on most of the recent events, centering specifically on the evening before. Of course she’d deliberately left out all things Slayer related. "So that means he was home. But he left again and I think he went to get drunk."
"And you think he knew about the test?" Daphne asked. It had taken a while to get the whole story out, between serving customers and reassuring the petite blonde that having a baby wouldn’t affect her job.
"He must have," Buffy shook her head. "Why else would he leave?"
"There’s lots of reasons," Daphne shrugged. "All I can tell you is to ask him."
"Yeah," Buffy sighed. Once again, such a simple answer to a difficult problem.
"I’ll tell you what," Daphne offered. "There’s only half an hour more of your extra shift. Go home and talk to him."
"But I haven’t finished the inventory yet," she protested, glancing down at the list.
"Eh," the other woman shrugged. "You’ve got the hang of it. I’ll finish up. You go home and get things straight."
"Thanks," Buffy smiled softly at her friend. The woman was a dream to work for, especially in moments like these. The practical side of her sneered that Daphne may as well send her home, as she wasn’t accomplishing much here.
*****
"I’m sorry Lorne," Spike apologized once again.
"It’s all right man," Lorne sighed. It would be tough work getting to someone to take over Spike’s shift, but if he had to, Lorne could serve up drinks as well as reading his customers. He’d done it before when they were short-handed. It wasn’t as if he needed an entire song to get a handle on a person. And after the previous evening’s debacle, he had been somewhat expecting it. Spike had rambled quite a bit and Lorne had been able to piece together what had occurred. He’d quietly offered to read Spike and Buffy.
The blonde had haltingly sang a few lines, enough for Lorne to know that there was nothing wrong with him, physically, aside from the pain he felt over his and Buffy’s failures so far. But Lorne hesitated to tell him that. Some sense he carried warned him to back off this one. Told him that it needed to play out on it’s own. He almost itched to read Buffy and see if he got the same sense from her, but didn’t want to intrude. If they came to him, it was a different matter.
And then Spike had called to beg off work. And to let Lorne know he’d be late Monday due to a doctor’s appointment. It didn’t surprise him that Spike was willing to put himself in the hands of a complete stranger to help give Buffy what she wanted. And what Spike was also beginning to crave.
"If I can, I can probably make up the hours next week," Spike offered.
"Take your time sugar," Lorne dismissed the offer. "Family is important. You deal with that and then worry about work. Okay?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "Thanks again." He listened to the demon’s farewell and then hung up his cell phone, turning onto their street as he did.
*****
Buffy had gotten home; knowing that Dawn would be at work. She wondered briefly if Spike were still sleeping off the effects of the evening before. But a quick trip to the bedroom told her otherwise. She headed for the kitchen, looking for a note, but found nothing. So she returned to the living room, debating what to do. She was drawn to the desk, to that little white bag. She withdrew it and set it on the coffee table. She stared at it as she seated herself, advice flowing through her mind.
Just ask him. It was as simple as that. Ask him if he’d seen the test and left. He was Spike. He loved her. He wouldn’t lie to her. ‘Unless he was trying to protect me,’ she thought bitterly. She glanced away, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. So many people had lied to her in the past; all with the noble excuse that they wanted to protect her. But the truth always came out. That’s what she learned, the hard way. And the truth would come out today. It had to. The wondering alone was enough to drive her crazy.
She’d sat there, watching the sun set, occasionally glancing at the clock. When four o’clock came, she wondered if Spike had gone out to run an errand before heading to work. She was about ready to call Caritas, just to make sure that he was still around when she heard the car pull up. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.
The door opened and shut softly and she turned to watch his entry. He paused in the archway as soon as he saw her. There was an apologetic smile on his face, until he caught sight of the white paper bag. Then there was remorse, guilt, a little shame, as he dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You saw it last night, didn’t you?" Buffy asked, her voice rough with emotion. He didn’t answer but to move into the living room. He swept up the bag, taking its place on the coffee table. He held the bag for a moment then set it aside. He leaned forward, his hands stroking her legs in an attempt to soothe her physically. He always did that when he feared that words wouldn’t be enough.
"I did, luv," he confirmed. Buffy nodded.
"That’s why you left," she went on. "You went out and got drunk. There was no second demon." He shook his head. She bit her lip, trying to keep them from trembling. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I-!" he began. His hands stilled for a moment, then moved to pick up her hands and twined his fingers in hers. "I didn’t mean to. I saw you put that thing in the desk. I knew what it was. What else could it be? And I couldn’t handle… couldn’t deal…"
"Couldn’t deal with me?" she challenged softly, holding her breath. His head shot up.
"No!" he growled, slightly angry that she could think he’d think that way. "The pain. I couldn’t deal with the pain."
"So you left." It wasn’t a question. "And what about me? Did you think that I could handle the pain? What, you thought Buffy’s so used to disappointment in her life, this’ll just be another crappy deal to get through?"
"No, I didn’t think that," he tried to protest, but she was gathering steam.
"Do you think this is easy for me?" she yelled, pushing his hands away. "That every time I’ve felt the least little cramp, I just shrugged it off. Said no big deal. That every time I see a woman holding a baby, my arms ache for my own. That when I see your face when I tell you I’m not pregnant, or Dawn’s face, or Willow’s. When I see the disappointment, I just grin and figure that it won’t be that way next month."
"I know," Spike growled, frustrated. "I know you don’t. But I know how it is, to see that disappointment. I didn’t ever want to see it in your eyes. And now I do, constantly. And it’s tearing me apart as much as it is you!" His voice gentled and he scooted forward, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and make her forget that this was happening. "I know luv."
Anger boiled up in Buffy. She stared at him coldly. He knew? That was a laugh. How could he understand? He was a man. He existed only on the outskirts of this pain. "No! You don’t know Spike!" she screamed, thrusting him away again. "You haven’t dreamed about this for years. You haven’t felt your body betraying you. You weren’t in Heaven, holding a baby in your arms, promising that soon he’d be in this world. You weren’t there. You don’t know!"
Spike stared at her, shocked. Heaven? This had started that long ago? He tried to assimilate what she was saying, but it made no sense to him. He thought she’d told him everything about that time, but obviously he was wrong. It didn’t help him now as she pushed past him and ran up the stairs. He stared after her dumbly. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. The Gods had pulled some crappy tricks on his fiancée and to a degree the rest of them. But this taunting, this back and forth, showing her what she could have and never giving it to her. First there’d been the hope of a normal life, taken from her at the tender age of fifteen, then again when the new Slayer had shown up. Her first love, with Angel going south. The sweet oblivion of death, peace in Heaven, cruelly torn from her, or her from it. And now this. Was life ever going to be right?
*****
Dawn arrived home from work. She took one look at Spike, heard her sister’s sobs from upstairs and wisely disappeared down to her room. She came back once, around eight to find some dinner. She looked as if she were going to speak a few times, but held back. So she went back to her little cave, hoping that this storm would pass swiftly.
Spike was still sitting in the living room, on the sofa, past midnight when he heard movement. The moon was out, giving off its ethereal light. He turned his head away from study of it and caught sight of Buffy. She’d changed at some point in the evening into the T-shirt she’d cadged from him and occasionally wore to sleep in. The moonlight whispered over her body, making her seem not quite real. He’d always loved seeing her in the moonlight. Slowly, he held out his hand and she stole on silent feet to join him. She curled up beside him, leaning heavily into him. He wrapped an arm around her, needing her as much as she needed him.
"He’s so beautiful Spike," she whispered, trying to hold back the tears, pressing her face into his chest. Spike sighed and ran a finger town her tear-swollen cheek.
"’Course he is luv," he agreed softly. With Buffy as his mother, how could he be anything but?
"I want him so much," she whimpered.
"I know you do," he answered. He tilted her head up, delivering a chaste, gentle kiss to her lips. He lingered a moment, then allowed her head to drop back to his chest. He rested his cheek on her silken hair. "We’ll get him luv. Somehow, we’ll fix this, and we’ll have our baby."
Bearer Of Bad News
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