Promise

The silence on the ride back to Revello Drive was deafening. Spike kept glancing at Buffy, who was leaning against the passenger door. Leaning away from him. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead but unfocused, and he would have given everything to know what was going through her mind. She hadn’t staked him, but that didn’t mean she understood what he had been trying to do, or accepted it.

The idea came to him to show her the files, the tangible proofs that some good results had derived from his actions, but he doubted that would convince her of anything. She hadn’t questioned the truth of his words, not one second. She was simply upset by what he had been doing. Even with good motives. Even with not killing.

And, some part of him said, he had known she would be. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been so careful in hiding all of this from her. He had known it would upset her, but he had done it anyway. That was just him. Acting in a way that could make him lose everything, because he thought he had a great idea. Too stubborn to admit it wasn’t worth the risk.

When they arrived home, she was out of the car and inside the house before he had even turned off the engine. He followed warily and joined her in their room. She pulled PJ’s from her drawer and looked vaguely in his direction, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“The bed in the guestroom is made. Do you want to sleep there or shall I?”

Had his heart been beating, it would have frozen at her quiet words.

“Buffy…”

He stopped, for once in his unlife unable to find anything to say.

“I’ll go,” he murmured, his throat tight.

Turning away from her, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it. That was the screw up of the century. Make that the millennium.

Cursing softly, he went to the guestroom. After Buffy and he had moved to the master bedroom, Dawn had taken possession on her sister’s room, with the argument that it was a little larger and farther away from them, so that she might get some more sleep. Her room had become the guests’ home, used most often by Steven, and a couple of times by Giles.

He walked there without even realizing it, shedding his duster and leaving it on the floor with his boots, and just laid on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. He missed their sky. He missed their bed. He missed his pillow. He missed her. Since he had moved in with his Slayer and Childe, they hadn’t spent a night away from each other. Not one. And here he was, alone in an unfamiliar bed, when she was down the hall, just as alone and upset. Upset because of him.

Morning was close and Buffy still hadn’t found sleep. She wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore. She missed his arms around her that made her feel so warm, even if he was as cold as she was. She had taken his side of the bed and was pressing her face to his pillow, taking some comfort in that faint scent that was just him.

They had quarreled, a few times, in the past. Usually about stupid things, the argument over as soon as it had started, and the making up part always so sweet. But she had never been that hurt by anything he had ever said or done. And, judging by the look he had thrown her before leaving the bedroom, she had hurt him just as much by sending him away. Yet, she couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened and open her arms to him, could she? It couldn’t be that easy, or he might think she would forgive anything as quickly. And the next time, it might be more than scare humans.

She almost jumped when the door creaked open. Sitting up in the bed, she looked at the shadow that was standing just past the threshold. She had left one small candle lit, and it didn’t give enough light for her to distinguish his features.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked in a whisper.

“Come in,” she said with a sigh.

He closed the door behind him and came next to the bed, kneeling by her side. At last she could see his face, and read the sadness and tension that he wasn’t even trying to hide as he usually did.

“Do you believe me when I say I was just trying to do something good?”

She reached out tentatively, stroking his cheek with her fingertips. There was without doubt some remnant of wetness there, just as she had guessed from his voice.

“I believe you. But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy taking their blood.”

His hand covered hers hesitantly, pulling it closer to his face.

“Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I drank from someone else?”

Was it, she thought? Of course not! That sounded too much like being jealous of his victims. She couldn’t be mad because of that, it was ridiculous.

“No,” she replied after a brief hesitation. “I’m not angry at that.”

“Then why?” he insisted. “You admit I had good intentions and you’re not mad about my methods, so why?”

Surely, she should have told him she was upset that he had hurt humans, that it was coming way too close to killing for her to accept it. But it was another answer that came to her lips.

“You didn’t tell me. You made your decision and did whatever you wanted without even asking me what I thought about it. “

“You wouldn’t have let…”

“How do you know that?” she interrupted. “Maybe if you had taken the time to explain beforehand I could have understood. You didn’t even give me a chance. You lied to me, by omission if not in words. You assumed I was too stupid to figure out…”

“Never. I never thought you were stupid.”

The words were calm and quiet, but she could see golden flakes dancing in his eyes. The contrast was stunning. What was he angry about?

“Will you forgive me for hiding this from you?”

She thought about it for a second, and he shifted her hand on his face so that he could kiss her palm.

“I will forgive,” she said at last. “But it will take some time. And I don’t know if I can forget. How will I know next time that you’re off by yourself that you’re not doing it again?”

Once more, she could see the hurt, plain on his face. She was sorry for causing it, but he was the one who had hurt her first.

“All I can do is promise. I promise not to hurt any human in any way. Unless you agree first.”

His voice was solemn as he delivered the words. She knew how important giving his word was to him. He had proven it in the past.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

She leaned toward him for a chaste kiss, and he let out a little sigh. She moved back to her side of the bed and he took the hint, climbing in next to her, still fully clothed, and spooning behind her. Maybe she was just imagining things, but his arm around her waist seemed to hold her even tighter than it habitually did. She didn’t mind at all, though, and soon she was finally asleep.