Summary: Spike stops a warlock's spell, inadvertantly getting himself into deep trouble. Will Buffy be able to accept the changes in him? And what are they going to do about Glory?
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: The poem, from which I got the title, is e.e. cummings's "silently if,out of not knowable." (It doesn't really have a title. When I found it last year, I immediately thought "Spike!" but I had to wait this long to use it. And while this was the last chapter, I don't know if it's the end yet. Let me know if you want a sequel. I'll see what I can do.
Buffy didn't have much time to think about Spike's promise over the next couple days. She had work to catch up on for her class, plus trying to get ready for the final. There was a delinquent younger sister to corral, making sure she actually went to school and did her homework. Plus, of course, there were bills to pay, finances to go over, decisions to make on what was to be done with the gallery, as well as her mother's things. The list went on ad infinitum. All in all, the last thing on her mind was an evening out as normal-girl and a certain peroxided person of the undead persuasion.
Perhaps that was what made the surprise all the sweeter when Dawn came running up the stairs that Saturday, beaming and slightly out of breath. "Buffy! You got a package!"
Buffy frowned, putting the finishing touches on the final project for her poetry class, and then followed Dawn downstairs. "Are you sure it's for me, Dawnie?" she asked, trying to figure out who would send her something, and what it might be.
"It has your name on it," Dawn assured her.
The package, a long, white box, was sitting on the kitchen table, and Buffy walked toward it with a feeling of trepidation. "Who brought it?"
"Delivery guy, just a few minutes ago." Dawn shrugged. "Whoever it was, they just knocked and left."
Her curiosity peaked, the Slayer approached cautiously, pulling the bow that held it closed and slowly lifting off the lid. Inside were a dozen roses of various hues and a note in a neat little parchment envelope. "Well, aren't you going to read what it says?" Dawn asked impatiently when Buffy showed no sign of moving.
Buffy reached out for the envelope, feeling as though she was living a dream. It had been forever since anyone had thought to give her flowers. She was certain she knew who they were from, of course, but still-roses. And a note. It was nice.
Then she read the note, and it was more than nice.
Buffy,
You said you hadn't had much chance for flowers and poetry, so I thought I'd give it a try. Would have done the red roses, but wasn't sure you were quite ready for that yet. Next time maybe. And I'd have written the poem myself, but that would be sure to scare you off. So the words aren't mine, but the sentiment is. If you want the evening out, love, meet me at the Bronze tonight at 8. If you don't show, no harm done, and I won't mention it again. As always, your faithful servant,
Spike
silently if,out of not knowable
night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess
(only which is this world)more my life does
not leap than with the mystery of your smile
sings or if(spiralling as luminous
they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine;beyond
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit's born:
yours is the darkness of my soul's return
--you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars
Buffy recognized the style easily enough from her poetry class. E.E. Cummings was always easy to spot with his distinctive phrasing and creative punctuation. For some reason, she was surprised that Spike knew of him, but it seemed just one more aspect of his character that awaited discovery. But more than the surprise, there was the sense of being touched deep down inside herself, a place Riley had never been able to reach. A place that Angel had only hit a couple times. The poem, and the feelings behind it, were all very real. Quite suddenly she couldn't imagine not meeting Spike at the Bronze.
"Well?" Dawn finally demanded after too long a silence from her sister. Buffy wordlessly held out the note, letting her read it. Finally the younger girl looked up at her, and asked with a coy smile, "So what are you going to wear?"
Buffy knew she was being a little silly after she tried on, and discarded, the fifth outfit. After all, Spike would be happy to see her whatever she wore, and the longer she took to make a decision, the more important the date itself became. And it wasn't that important; it was just Spike. But every time she looked at his note, and the poem attached, she couldn't help but go tingly all over.
Dawn was watching this whole performance with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and she finally shook her head. "Buffy, just pick something. This is Spike."
"So?" her sister responded. "Spike said he'd give me an evening out as a normal girl. Normal girls worry about what to wear on a date. At least, that's what I've heard."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "You are so pathetic. Here." She stood and starting pulling stuff out of the closet and handing it to Buffy. "Wear this. Spike will love it."
Her younger sister had surprisingly good taste, because the light-weight black sweater and gray pants were both an attractive combo, and yet not too flirty. "Good call, Dawnie," Buffy finally admitted.
The ringing of the phone stalled further conversation, and Buffy picked it up on the second ring. "Hello?"
Willow's voice was cheerful. "Hey, Buffy. How ya doing?"
Buffy smiled. "Good. What's up?"
"You want to come to the Bronze with us tonight? We all thought it might be good to have some down time, you know?" Willow sounded so hopeful that Buffy hated to disappoint, but she was going to spend the evening with Spike. She wanted a date, and she was going to get it. "I actually have plans for tonight."
"Plans?" Willow sounded surprised. "Oh, well, that's good. With who?"
Buffy bit back a sigh. To tell, or not to tell, that was the question. Of course, if she went with the original plan, they might see her anyway. Explaining to Willow that she had a date with Spike was a bit daunting, however. "Spike."
Buffy winced in anticipation of Willow's reaction. "Like on a date?" There was definitely an alarmed squeak in her voice.
"Sort of." Buffy quickly explained Spike's promise and the note and flowers. Willow, romantic that she was, instantly melted.
"Oh, Buffy, that's so sweet." There was a pause, and then Willow spoke again, a puzzled note in her voice. "Wow. That really is sweet. From Spike."
"I know." Buffy sighed. "It's not like we're getting serious or anything, Wills, it's just that I want a night out."
Willow made a sound that Buffy interpreted as an agreement. "Well, sure. And with Spike you know if anything comes up he's not gonna freak at the first sign of trouble."
"No trouble," the Slayer insisted. "Spike promised an evening trouble-free. Therefore, Buffy is looking forward to nothing more strenuous than a little time on the dance floor."
Willow thought for a minute. "You definitely deserve it, Buf," she agreed. "Who's got Dawn-duty?"
"Dawn is spending the night at a friend's house," Buffy explained. "The only problem is Xander. If he sees me with Spike, good-bye trouble-free night."
"You let Tara and I handle Xander," Willow reassured her. "You just concentrate on having a good time."
~~~~~
Spike forced himself to not look at his watch again. He shouldn't have gotten there early, it just made him that much more impatient for Buffy to arrive. It was past 8 though, and Buffy had yet to show up. He'd hated to get his hopes up, that she would show. "Hoping's very fears," indeed. His heart seemed a hostage to hope, these days.
The blonde vampire looked up from his drink suddenly. "Hello, luv."
Buffy stood there smiling a little at him. It was a real smile, and it was just for him. "Hey. I like the roses."
"Yeah?" Spike stood and pulled the other chair out for her. "'m glad, Buffy." He waited until she had sat down before he did the same. "Wasn't sure you were goin' to come."
"It was the poem that did it," she confided.
He smirked. "Was that it? I'll have to remember that in the future."
"So what's up with this date, huh?" she asked. "Are we actually going to do something, or are we just going to sit here all night?"
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Well, I s'pose we could dance, if you've a mind to."
Her eyes challenged him. "I do."
Tara craned her neck a little to get a better view of the couple on the dance floor. They were off to the side and partially hidden in the shadows, so it was unlikely that Xander would catch sight of them any time soon. Even better, though not for him, was the fact that he had somehow strained a muscle. Just the fact that he wouldn't say how, and Anya looking smug about it, told both her and Willow that they probably didn't want to know.
She and her girlfriend exchanged a conspiratorial glance and then turned their attention back to the other couple. "So did Buffy say why she couldn't make it?" Xander asked.
"Uh, no, not really," Willow lied. Thankfully, she had gotten marginally better at not telling the truth over the years. "I think she just wanted some time to relax."
Xander looked affronted. "And who better to relax with than her friends?" he demanded.
"Well, sometimes people need to relax alone, you know," Tara said, quickly covering. Whatever happened to be going on between Buffy and the vampire, she didn't need Xander on her back about it. Not tonight, anyway.
Anya nodded agreeably. "It's sometimes good to spend time alone. I find myself refreshed after an evening of counting money by myself, and then I'm ready to have orgasms with Xander."
Willow and Tara stifled giggles as Xander blushed. "An, honey, we talked about this. Let's not mention that in front of my friends, okay?"
Anya shrugged, clearly not discomfited. "Fine, but you know it's true."
Xander could only look up at the ceiling, as though praying for patience. "Do you guys want anything to drink?" he asked, beginning to get up.
"I'll get it," Willow offered, throwing a slightly panicked look at Tara. "You sit, and rest your-" She paused. "Leg."
"It wasn't his leg that was strained, it was his-" Xander's hand cut off the rest of what Anya was going to say as Willow started to walk away. And as the red-head walked past Spike and Buffy, she couldn't help but see that they were oblivious to everyone and everything but each other.
"Tell me, luv," Spike murmured. "Is this just for tonight? A one time thing? Or do you think we could make a habit of it?"
Buffy sighed softly, feeling almost content, oddly enough. She'd never have guessed she could feel this happy in Spike's arms. "You mean like actual dating?"
"Somethin' like that." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "You said you wanted to wait a bit before getting into another relationship. I was just wonderin' if the waiting might be over."
She pulled back a little to look at him. "Would flowers and poetry be a regular feature? Because that would definitely sway me in that direction."
"Could be," Spike replied with a hopeful grin.
"And maybe you could even write me a poem yourself," Buffy suggested playfully.
"If I did that, I'd have to kill you, luv," he said, his face deadly serious.
She laughed. "Come on, you can't be that bad. You don't know until you try." Spike gave her a look, and Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh. You have tried, haven't you?"
"Long time ago, Buffy. And yeah, it was that bad." His face showed no signs of the humor that had been there just a few minutes ago.
The Slayer shook her head. "That shouldn't matter if the feeling behind it is right," she argued.
Spike gave a bitter little laugh. "The poet's sentiments don't mean squat if the object of his affection bloody well hates him."
"Then there would be no problem here," Buffy replied.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the side, studying her face. "You mean that? Does this mean we're an item, you an' me?"
"I think I might be convinced to go out with you."
"Even though I'm a vampire? Without a soddin' soul?" he asked.
She shrugged. "You've changed, and Angel's been wrong before." Buffy suddenly asked, "What changed you, Spike?"
The vampire smiled, surprised she didn't already know the answer. "You did, luv." He leaned down, his mouth next to her ear, and whispered, "'Losing through you what seemed myself, I find selves unimaginably mine; beyond sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears yours is the light by which my spirit's born. Yours is the darkness of my soul's return. You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.'"
And then he kissed her, and Buffy drank of him deeply, losing herself and finding herself in the depths of his eyes and his love.
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