Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible http://youtu.be/ej3SmDScjjY

Buffy watched as Spike bandaged her cut hand with detached efficiency. He didn’t speak or drop a kiss atop it or … do anything that would suggest that he even knew her. He could’ve been a stranger off the street. Maybe … maybe it wasn’t Spike after all. She shook her head, no … the monster wouldn’t have bandaged her hand. Or would he?

If he was trying to pretend to be Spike but didn’t really know how to be him… But, he knew about the crypt and the shackles and the declaration of love. But that hadn’t exactly been the best-kept secret in her life at the time. But he also knew about when she’d told him that she loved him, and that had only been between him, her, and the Bot. There was no way anyone else could know that – could they? Could someone have hacked into the Bot and … read her bytes or bits or something?

Buffy cleared her throat as he finished. “Ummm … can I … go outside?” she asked, her eyes darting to the door and freedom beyond.

“Reckon so. But the sun’s up,” Spike-but-possibly-not-Spike told her. “Can’t go with ya. Ya want the Bot…?”

“No! No … just … me,” Buffy hastened, backing away from him, her heart-rate climbing nervously.

Spike furrowed his brow worriedly. “Dunno if those Council wankers are lookin’ for us or not,” he warned. “Might be best t’ stay inside.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. Maybe this wasn’t Spike after all. “Just for a minute. Haven’t seen the sun in … years,” she pleaded.

Spike rubbed at his eyes, hiding his disappointment. His heart wanted to rejoice: Buffy was talking in full sentences! She seemed coherent and lucid, there was only one problem: she couldn’t bear being near him. Even when he wasn’t touching her, she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with him. And how could he blame her? She’d been reminded of the truth of him in the harshest way possible: he was a monster, a soulless demon. No matter how hard he’d tried, the fact was he’d broken all of his promises to her. He didn’t deserve her affections. He was so far beneath her that he could barely even see the light of her soul any longer.

Spike blinked back his emotions and forced a smile to his lips. “Right … just for a bit, then. But it’d be best t’ keep back away from the road, yeah? Just in case.”

Buffy’s brows went up in surprise. Was he really gonna let her leave without an escort? She moved quickly toward the door, expecting him or the other one that looked like the Bot, to stop her. Neither did. She yanked the door open and escaped quickly, striding down the walkway outside as fast as she could without actually running. She ducked around the corner of the building and stopped, pressing her back against the wall. After a moment, she dared a quick look back around the corner. No one was following her.

Buffy frowned and again tried to make sense of what was going on. The monster would not have let her go, even if he was trying to pretend to be Spike. She tapped her fingertips against her forehead, trying to think. How could she find out what had happened back in Vegas? How could she be sure Spike was or wasn’t dust?

“Opie… I’ll call Opie. No … that wasn’t his name. What was his name?” The tapping of her fingers on her forehead got almost painful before it came to her, “Richard … Rick.”

**~**

Buffy hung up the phone in the hotel’s office with a heavy sigh. She’d gotten in touch with ‘Opie’ at the MGM Grand. He’d relayed the story to her – which everyone there knew whether they’d seen the shoot-out and abduction or not – it was all anyone was talking about. Spike had not been dusted – he and the Bot had hurriedly checked out of the hotel within a day of the incident.

Buffy thanked the motel owner for letting her use the office phone and signed the paper to have the charges put on their room’s bill. Outside, she stood with her eyes closed, her face tilted up to the late-summer sun, and tried to understand why Spike was acting so strangely.

She shuddered and ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to wipe away the unclean feeling that seemed to ooze from her pores. Tears burned her eyes behind her closed lids – of course Spike could smell it on her. He could smell the monster, smell the filth that she’d been rolling in. If she’d only fought! She could’ve escaped, stopped it. Why didn’t she fight harder? It was all her fault. She’d given up, let the monster take what it wanted and Spike knew it. He knew she was foul … polluted. Unworthy. Her very soul felt stained.

Buffy heard footsteps approaching and knew immediately who it was from the purposeful strides. She sniffed back her tears and shame, and pulled a mask over her broken heart, then turned to face the Bot.

“Spike asked me to make certain you were not injuring yourself or in any danger.”

Buffy nodded and unconsciously laid a hand over her abdomen. “No … I … I won’t do that,” she assured her twin. “And … I didn’t go near the road – no one saw me.” Buffy swallowed nervously and asked, “Is Spike … mad at me?”

The Bot tilted her head, considering. “He has been in a very contrite and tense mood for several days. I believe if he did not have the behavior modification chip, he would’ve killed many humans while you were not in our company.

“He was also quite furious when he informed me that you were duffed, but I am not entirely certain why this caused anger.”

Buffy looked at her with confusion. “Duffed? … Does that mean … dirty or… used?”

“With child,” the Bot replied. “It was a new term for me, as well.”

“Oh,” Buffy breathed forlornly, again touching her hand to her stomach. “How did he know?”

“You told him.”

“Oh.” Buffy sagged. She felt like the world was pressing in on her, crushing her from all sides. Of course he’d be angry that she was duffed. Hadn’t he told her as much several times? He didn’t want children. He didn’t want all that responsibility and the tying down and the ruining of Big Bad’s reputation.

“So … he was uber-mad about that, huh?” Buffy asked her twin as she chewed her lower lip worriedly.

The Bot nodded firmly. “He seems firmly opposed to you copulating with other human males.”

Buffy nodded forlornly as she walked over to the nearest wall. She leaned her back against it and sank down onto the walkway. She pulled her knees to her chest and covered her head with her arms as the weight of the world continued to press down on her.

Her heart cracked open inside her from the unbearable weight, and everything good and happy that she’d ever felt seem to leach out and evaporate. Every laugh, every joy, every happy memory, every drop of love, every ray of hope simply floated away on the breeze, leaving her feeling empty and hopeless.

That overwhelming urge to give up began to assert itself again. She felt so empty, so alone … so dirty. All that was left was the mission; everything else was gone. She had to persevere for Dawn – she’d promised her mom and she would do it, but she knew now that she'd completely lost Spike.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had been going to leave him anyway. He didn’t want her now. It made sense, why would he want someone that had ‘copulated with another human male’? Even she could smell the rot of her tainted soul. Spike loved the Champion … the Slayer; Buffy was neither any longer.  What would’ve been a heart-wrenching step, a step she’d been having a hard time taking back in Vegas, would be easier now. She just needed to get her feet back on solid ground and she would go. She’d take the burden of kicking her, and the baby he didn’t want, out off of his shoulders.

“You will be satisfied to know that Spike was very pleased with my performance during our mission to liberate you from the Watcher’s Council headquarters,” the Bot offered as she sat down next to Buffy.

Buffy wiped her eyes and turned her head, which still rested on her knees, to look at her twin. “Was he? What did he say?”

“He said I acted more like the Slayer than the Slayer, which I find redundant since I am the Slayer. But I believe he meant it to be a compliment, so I did not point out the error in his logic.”

Buffy nodded, the side of her head still resting on her knees, and blinked her tears back as the last few drops of hope fell from her broken heart and splattered on the sidewalk. Spike had, apparently, done what she’d wanted: he’d transferred his feelings for her to the Bot. That had been her plan all along – so why did it hurt so much now that it had worked?  

“I don’t think I thanked you for getting me out of there. Thank you,” Buffy offered, her voice thick with emotion.

“It is not necessary. Like Spider-Man, action is the Slayer’s reward,” the Bot replied, smiling brightly.

Buffy nodded again. She remembered that feeling – she didn’t feel it anymore. She just felt empty, alone, and afraid of the future. She really had passed her full Slayer mantle on to the Bot, including Spike’s love and respect.

That night …

Buffy stood on the bow of the small boat as it chugged across the channel to France. The water was choppy and the deck heaved and swayed beneath her feet.  When Buffy had complained of queasiness, the captain had sent her out here into the damp, fresh air, and told her to keep her eyes on the horizon. That was easier said than done – inky darkness was all she could see in all directions at this time of night. Once in a while a light from a buoy or perhaps another ship would reflect in the water, but that was about it.

Buffy did her best to think non-sickening thoughts, but her heart really wasn’t in it. The last few days had taken their toll on her mind and heart.   She was jumpy and nervous, she was depressed and heartbroken, Spike was distant, she wondered if she’d ever be able to wash Weatherby’s stench off her body and out of her mind, and now, just to make her entire existence complete, she was gonna hurl.

It hit her like a bolt, the rumbling unease in her stomach suddenly turning into a tumult of bile at the back of her throat. Buffy instinctively leaned over the railing as far as she could, unable to stop what was coming. 

As she flung her upper body across the railing, the ship hit a particularly large swell, and the deck was suddenly ripped from beneath her feet as she was pitched forward. She grabbed for the railing and gasped in surprise, but began to choke on the contents of her stomach that refused to be hindered from its mission to escape her body. She felt herself falling forward toward the cold, black water and panic took hold as she fumbled weakly against the railing, trying to push herself back onto the deck.

In the next moment she felt strong hands grab her hips and begin to pull her away from the water. A new panic replaced the old one in a split second. Soulless, coal-black eyes filled her vision; they were laughing at her, jeering, threatening, taunting her cruelly. Buffy began to kick and tried to scream past the dry heaves that had followed the contents of her stomach up to her throat. She felt her jeans sliding down her hips as the hands fought against her. Fingers dug into her flesh painfully as they tugged in earnest to get her back onto the deck.

“Nooo! No! No!” she finally managed to shriek as she landed hard on the deck.

“Buffy … luv,” Spike began as he released the hold he’d had on her hips.

She kicked at her attacker with all her strength and scrabbled away from him, shuffling like a crab across the rolling, shifting deck.

The sole of her Converse tennis shoe smacked Spike in the jaw as he tried to follow her across the deck and he stopped. In her weakened state, the only thing actually hurt was his heart. He could smell her fear, her terror, even out here in the open air. Buffy was afraid of him … afraid of being touched, of being held – and it was his fault. How could he ever make amends for failing her so horribly? The answer, he knew, was that he couldn’t.

Buffy stopped when her back hit the railing on the other side of the small bow. She curled herself up into a ball, her knees to her chest, as she pressed against it. As she’d done in the cell and in the car, she appeared to be trying to melt into it and disappear.

“Buffy? You alright, luv? You hurt?” Spike asked as he moved a little closer to her, but not so close as to seem threatening.

Buffy nodded, her head against her knees, never looking up at him.

“Which is it, pet? Alright or hurt?” Spike tried to clarify, his head tilted in concern.

Buffy nodded again, then shook her head, still not looking up.

Spike sighed.

“Be just another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll be there, luv,” he continued. “Do ya … need anything? A drink o’ water?”

Buffy shook her head against her knees.

“Ok, pet … Didn’t mean t’ frighten ya. Thought you were … going overboard into the bloody drink,” Spike explained gently, backing away from her further.

Buffy took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She forced the vision of cruel, coal-black eyes that had flashed in her mind away. She realized now that it was only Spike that had grabbed her, trying to save her from falling overboard – it wasn’t the monster. Finally, with that realization settling in, she felt herself calming down.

“I know. It’s … okay. I’m … okay, I’m sorry,” she said finally. She forced a small, apologetic smile to her lips and reached her hand out to Spike as she lifted her head up from her knees. Her forced smile fell into a grim frown when she found herself alone on the deck.

An icy fist closed around her throat, threatening to suffocate her. She blinked back her tears as she saw Spike back inside the small cabin of the boat. He was talking to the captain, smoking a cigarette as if nothing had happened, not even looking at her.

Buffy dropped her head back down against her knees as lost, lonely tears trickled from her eyes and the boat rocked beneath her. Even Spike’s love wasn’t strong enough to endure the filthy stench of the last few days that oozed from her very soul.

Of course, her mind knew this already, but she hadn’t been able to kill the small flicker of hope that Spike might be able to find a way to forgive her which clung fiercely to her heart. He’d probably never love her again, probably never be able to touch her, but maybe … one day he wouldn't hate her for it.

**~**

“I paid you a bloody fortune ‘cos you said this little piece o’ shite could handle the crossing covert-like,” Spike growled at the captain back inside the cabin. “Ya got my woman sick and nearly tossed over the bloody side!” he ranted at the man. “I’ve literally killed people for less!”

Spike lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, the flame wavering before finally igniting the tobacco, and took a long drag to try and calm his nerves. He glanced over at Buffy through the cabin’s window, his expression somber and worried, but she hadn’t moved. Her head still rested atop her knees, her body plastered against the cold, metal railing. His heart ached for her. He wanted to hold her and take her pain away, take her fear away, take those days away from her and bear them for her, but his touch only seemed to frighten and hurt her more.

Although she was lucid, the fire seemed to have gone from her heart, and he had no idea how to rekindle it. Nothing he said, nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He was lost – he couldn’t touch Buffy, couldn’t be near her without frightening her, without reminding her of his failure and the price she’d paid for it. He felt like he’d been set adrift in a vast ocean with no idea how to reach her or even what direction to swim. She was his heart and soul, and she was lost to him, beyond his reach.

“I assure you, monsieur,” the French captain of the small vessel replied, pulling Spike’s attention back to him. “The ship is quite capable. I do apologize for your chérie’s upset, but the weather is out of my control, no?”

Spike sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. They really had no option but to take the small ship across the channel. The captain assured Spike he could get around customs and immigration, since they didn’t have any passports.

“‘S alright,” he sighed, inhaling more of the calming nicotine from his cigarette and looking back at Buffy, who still hadn’t moved.

All he could do was keep trying. Give her time, give her space, and be there for her when she finally came to him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her or frighten her more than she’d already been hurt and frightened.

**~**

Spike unlocked the door of the bungalow and opened it, ushering Buffy and the Bot in ahead of him. They all carried bags and suitcases and began plopping them down on any flat surface as they entered the small, one bedroom, efficiency cabin on the beach. 

Buffy took the suitcases that held her and Spike’s clothes into the only bedroom and set them on the dresser before coming back out to help Spike and the Bot with the rest. They had groceries as well, since the cabin had a kitchenette, and blood for Spike.

As she and the Bot started putting the groceries away, Spike went and retrieved the bag that had his clothes in it from the bedroom and set it on the floor next to the couch, then took the Bot’s suitcase and charging equipment and put them in the bedroom.

Buffy watched him surreptitiously as she put his blood in the fridge, and that small flicker of hope that had been clinging to her heart withered. She could feel it dying, guttering out, shriveling up painfully in her chest. She wasn’t confused now or panicked or frightened. She hadn’t misunderstood his coldness the last couple of days: Spike had rejected her. She’d made it clear that she wanted to be with him by purposely putting both of their bags in the bedroom, but he’d dissed her again. There was no way to refute it now: he didn’t want her anymore; he didn’t love her. Her time as a captive and the baby in her womb had changed everything.

He caught her watching him and ran a hand nervously back through his platinum locks, ducking his head like a schoolboy caught snitching a cookie from the jar.

“Thought I’d … take the couch,” he explained lamely. He waited for her to object, to say she hadn’t put his bag in the bedroom by mistake, but she didn’t. Of course it had just been a mistake. If she’d had her full strength, she would’ve taken his head off a few hours ago on the boat. His touch, his very proximity, horrified and terrified her. With Buffy seemingly lucid and sane, it seemed clear that she was only tolerating his presence because she needed him, and the money he’d won in Vegas, to help elude the Watchers. One day, he knew, she’d ask for her share of that money and she’d be gone. He’d let her down too horribly for her to stay. He'd failed her.

Spike blinked back tears of frustration and anguish, wishing for some epiphany to strike him and tell him what to do to reach his Slayer, what magical words he should use to make her forgive him and love him again, but none came. The best he could hope for was that his little sparrow would need some time to heal her wings before deciding to fly away. He clung to the hope that those perfect words would come to him in that time, words that would show her how sorry he was, how much he needed her and loved her.

Buffy turned away from him and pretended to be reading a label on something – which she knew was ludicrous because it was in French – but it allowed her a moment to swallow back her tears.

Oh, God – he really didn’t love her anymore! No matter how many times that realization came to her, it still hurt just as much. She was stained, spoiled, soiled, dirty. The monster had used her up and turned her into something Spike couldn’t bear to touch.

Spike watched her turn away from him, literally and figuratively, and his regret and heartache became more than he could possibly contain. The last days had been too much of a strain, and he felt the thin threads of his emotional control unraveling. He turned abruptly and headed into the loo where he could drown his sorrow and guilt in the lonely spray of the shower. He couldn’t wash it away, he knew, but at least he wouldn’t frighten Buffy further by having a breakdown in the soddin’ living room.

“Would you like me to translate the nutritional information for you?” the Bot asked helpfully, taking the container, which happened to be mustard, from Buffy’s hand.

“No … that’s ok,” Buffy assured her. “I was just …”

“Concealing your disappointment that Spike no longer wants to touch, copulate, or even sleep in the same room with us,” the Bot filled in.

Buffy looked around wide-eyed, but Spike had gone into the bathroom – the shower was running, he hadn’t heard.

“Yes,” Buffy admitted, turning back to the Bot. “But … don’t tell him how much it hurts. It’s not his fault. I just don’t think he … likes me anymore … not since …”

The Bot nodded knowingly. “Since another other human male copulated with you.  Spike was extremely angry when we discovered you in that condition.”

Buffy’s tears became more insistent and she blinked to try and stop them, but they fell anyway.

“Yeah … I got the memo.”

**~**