Summary: Sequel to Hoping's Very Fears. Spike and Buffy are trying to decide what their relationship is going to look like. Buffy and Dawn are missing Joyce terribly. And the warlock comes back to town, looking for another pound of flesh.
Author's Notes: This story is the sequel to "Hoping's Very Fears." If you haven't read that one, I'd strongly recommend you do so. Otherwise, it probably won't make any sense. Set in the summer right after BtVS S5. (My Season 5 that is.)
Rating: PG-13
Lyndon had felt the shockwave coming right before it hit him, but not soon enough to do any good. The power-surge had actually knocked him unconscious, and when he woke several hours later, he still was too weak to do more than crawl into his make-shift bed.
It had been the witches; that he was sure of. He had felt a distinct womanly presence, plus a little taste of someone else who was unfamiliar. Lyndon cursed. They had completely broken his tie to the vampire. There was no way he could sense what his handiwork was doing now, no way to sense the emotional state of the creature.
He groaned. And now that the wards were up, he couldn't renew his hold over Spike. The best time to do it would be while he was unconscious, and that would be while he was sleeping. Next time he actually got his hands on the meddling little son of a bitch, Spike wouldn't be walking away. He'd be floating away on a good stiff breeze.
Lyndon began concentrating on the next stage of the plan. The witches. He had to get rid of the witches, first and foremost. That was most certainly his next step.
~~~~~
He ran. It was all he could think of to do, even though he had no idea if Buffy was still alive. He had never wanted to hurt her, never. (Well, not "never," but certainly not in recent history.) Once he realized the chip was out, however, it was like his demon had taken control, as though he couldn't do anything to stop it.
Spike finally came to rest blocks, if not miles, away, panting unnecessarily, shaken to the core. What was he going to do now? What had he done? He had—he had—
He was still hungry.
Spike could feel the hunger, a gnawing at his very core, and he knew what it meant. He hadn't had any blood since that morning, when he ate breakfast with Dawn. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and think logically, Spike took stock of exactly what had happened.
There had been the humans attacked in the alley, apparently by other humans. He had sprung into action, Buffy had warned him to stop, he had hit a human, and there had been no pain.
After that, everything got a little fuzzy. Buffy had been clutching a stake, that much he was sure of. And he did remember sinking his fangs into her throat—but he didn't feel any different. Spike clearly remembered the last time he'd drank Slayer's blood, and the power rush was absolutely incredible. If anything, he just felt sick and weak.
He pushed himself off the brick wall behind him, suddenly sure that he'd had another hallucination. Buffy had warned him that they could come up unexpectedly for a while. Spike still wasn't sure what he wanted to do, however. Even if Buffy had said she didn't care if he had a soul or not, she was still hanging onto that stake pretty tightly. He was quite sure he hadn't hallucinated that.
With a heavy heart, Spike set out for the Summers' residence. Whatever Buffy was going to do, whatever she decided, he just wanted to know and get it over with.
~~~~~~
Buffy cursed as she watched Spike take off. Sticking the stake back in her pocket, she turned to chase the two love birds off home, giving them a stern warning about the dangers of walking through dark alleys. Then, she had to escort the two thugs off to the police station. By this point, Sunnydale's finest barely questioned her. They went by the "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy, which seemed to be working for them.
After giving a brief statement, she left the police station, still mentally berating herself. The look on Spike's face just before he took to his heels—he'd looked more horrified than she'd felt, and she was the one who pulled out her stake. After all that talk about how she cared, and how it didn't matter if he had a soul or not, and Buffy had reached for a pointy wooden object at the first indication that the chip didn't work anymore.
The Slayer thought about her reaction. That's all it really had been. She had spent the last two years wondering what would happen if Spike's chip ever stopped working, and she had known exactly how she would react.
Stake first, ask questions later.
Up to this point, it had seemed like a smart option, if only because she remembered what happened when Angel lost his soul. If she'd been able to follow that policy, a lot of lives would have been saved, and she might have spared herself a whole lot of grief. Even more recently, when Spike had started to help them with the whole Glory thing, Buffy hadn't thought her reaction would be any different.
It was only recently that she'd been able to see Spike as anything other than the evil pain-in-her-ass and serious annoyance. She wouldn't have had any trouble staking that Spike. But this Spike—the one who watched out for her sister, and held her while she cried, the one who sent flowers and poetry, who had sobbed in her arms—
Well, if she had thought killing Angel had been bad, killing Spike would be infinitely worse.
With a put-upon sigh, Buffy went off to look for him, thinking that she had probably scared him off for good. Really, pulling a stake on the vampire you loved was just the way to say you cared.
She went by Willy's first, because it was on her way to Spike's house. He was nowhere to be found in his house, so she went by his crypt. When she couldn't find him at his crypt, Buffy swung by the Bronze, but he wasn't there either.
At this point, the night was beginning to get very old, or the day was beginning to get very young. She really didn't want to stop by his house again, on the off chance he'd made his way there after she'd stopped by. Nor did she want to simply go home without an opportunity to explain that grabbing a weapon had been reflex. A bad one, but certainly nothing more than that.
Buffy turned and decided to head home. She would just have to hope that Spike found his way to shelter before the sun came up, and that he would come to her when he could. Or, that he would let her explain things as soon as she caught up to him.
The Slayer was actually not terribly surprised when she approached her house, only to see the glow of a cigarette tip under what she'd begun to think of as Spike's tree. She knew he was watching as she approached the house, waiting for her to say something, maybe.
Instead, they stood there in silence, both wondering what the other's reaction really was, what they were hiding. "Why did you run?" Buffy asked.
"Why'd you grab a stake?" Spike replied, challenging her with the tilt of his chin and the hardness of his eyes.
It was a stand-off, neither one of them willing to back up. It had been a long time since Buffy had seen this side of the vampire; she'd almost forgotten who he was. He took her silence for a different sort of challenge than it was. "So we gonna fight now, Slayer?" Spike asked. "This how it's gonna go down? You don't trust me without the leash, so we're gonna go at it?"
Buffy had a different sort of "going at it" in mind, but she wasn't quite willing to back off. "I'm not going to fight you, Spike."
"So that's it then?" he asked bitterly. "Spike's off his leash, an' now he's got to go?"
She stared at him. "Spike, you idiot, you have a soul! Are you planning on draining me the first chance you get?"
"No!" he replied angrily. "'Course not. I just—" Spike's shoulders slumped, and Buffy watched the fight go out of him. "I had another flashback, luv. I—I could see m'self draining you."
"And a part of you wanted it," Buffy said knowingly.
He shrugged. "Not really, but yeah. Slayer's blood is sweet, Buffy. I still remember the taste."
Buffy took a step closer to him, knowing that he was being completely honest with her, more honest than she had any right to expect him to be. To be a vampire and tell the Slayer that you still wanted to taste her blood: it was akin to a death wish. "Then why don't you take a bite?"
Spike took a step back from her. "What? Are you crazy, luv? You don't offer somethin' like that to a vampire. I don't care if I do have a soul."
She took another step towards him, making up the distance he'd created. "And if I told you I trusted you to stop?"
"This a game?"
"No games."
There was silence as Spike stared at the vein in her neck, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. "I can't." He reached out and traced the thin blue line. "Not while these flashbacks are still threatenin' to take control. I might not be able to stop."
Buffy nodded slowly. "Then why don't we try something else?"
He read what she meant in her eyes, in the way her heart sped up. "Are you sure? Dawn—"
"Married people with kids still have sex, and they manage to do it without damaging their children for life," Buffy replied with a smile. "So we'll just have to be quiet."
Spike tried to read her, tried to read what she wanted from him. They had gone so quickly from being allies, back to enemies, back to allies and on to friends. And now they were moving to the next level, and he wasn't sure his heart wasn't being left in the dust. What did she want? Did she really want him? Did she just want someone who could understand her, or did she want someone who could help her hide from the world for a few hours?
Suddenly, Spike decided that it didn't matter. He was hers—whether she wanted him or not. He would give her all, and count himself lucky. She was his bright goddess, and he would put himself on her altar.
Spike let her take him by the hand and lead him into the house. If he'd had a heartbeat, it would have been racing. If he'd had any breath, he wouldn't have been able to catch it. When they stopped in front of Joyce's bedroom, he gave her a questioning look.
"It's not right next door to Dawn's room," Buffy explained quietly. "I've actually been planning on moving in here, but—" She stopped, composed herself. "I cleaned stuff out, boxed it up and put it in the basement. I just haven't been able to bring myself to stay in here yet."
"Whatever you want, Buffy," Spike said quietly, letting her make the decision. "I can be quiet, if you need me to be."
She shook her head. "This is—this is okay." Buffy smiled. "Mom really liked you, you know. I think she liked you more than Angel or Riley."
"She was a good woman," he replied, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face. "Just like her daughter."
Buffy opened the door, and stepped through, pulling Spike behind her. In some way, this felt like the ultimate sacrilege, sleeping with your boyfriend in your parent's bed. In another way, this simply felt like an affirmation of life, as though she were really moving on. She had left her childhood sweetheart behind her last night. Tonight, she would leave any pretense of being a child. Tonight, she would pack away any hidden hopes of her mom coming back.
She would celebrate life, affirm it, with a dead man. The irony was not lost on her.
Once the door was closed behind them, they moved as one. The music of the ancient dance was something they both understood. They moved to the beat of the same drummer. Their tongues, their hands, both fought and soothed, dominated and submitted.
For Buffy, it was better than she felt she had any right to hope. Spike fit with her so perfectly, his coolness matching her heat in a pattern of yin and yang as ancient as the sea. His hands knew where to touch, where to tease. His lean frame seemed the best counterpoint to her own slender build.
Spike simply couldn't believe his good fortune. He had dreamt of this moment for months, finally losing hope, only to get it back, only to lose it again. Now, she was here in his arms, saying his name, looking into his eyes, so that he was certain that she was here with him, and not imagining anyone else.
Clothing was strewn around the room in their haste to unwrap each other, like two kids on Christmas morning. They lost themselves in each other, and found themselves all over again.
~~~~~
Buffy snuggled back into Spike's arms in the afterglow of their love making. It had been really, really nice. "You doin' alright, luv?" he whispered in her ear.
"Yeah. More than alright," the Slayer replied.
He nuzzled her neck. "So it was good."
"It was good."
"More than good?" Spike pushed.
Buffy pretended to think about it. "On a scale from one to ten, I'd give it an eight."
"An eight?" Spike sounded hurt. "An eight? That's bloody well all?" He was rapidly going from hurt to outraged. "That was the best I know I've ever had, an' you give it an eight?"
She laughed. "Spike, you have to give yourself room for improvement. Next time, we'll shoot for a ten." At his growl, she added, "If it makes you feel any better, eight's the best I've ever had."
He chuckled suddenly, realizing that she was teasing. "This was the best night of my bloody unlife, Slayer."
"It's ranking up there for me too, Spike," Buffy replied, more seriously.
He sighed happily, his grip on the Slayer tightening. "Never thought I'd be here," he admitted. "Never really thought you'd want me."
"Well, I never thought I'd be here either, but I'm glad I am," Buffy replied. She turned in his grip to look at him. He lay stretched out, the sheet covering him from the waist down. He was beautiful, Buffy thought. With tender fingers, she traced the marks on his chest, now faint, white lines. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Buffy," Spike said, a little surprised at her apology. "It's worth it, just to be here now."
"But you were hurt," she said. "I hate that he hurt you."
He shook his head, reaching up to trace her cheek with one finger. "Doesn't hurt anymore."
"Doesn't it?" Buffy asked. "And that nightmare I walked in on the other day? That doesn't still hurt you?"
"I'm a vampire, luv," he said. "I killed people. I feel guilty. 's right that I should."
Buffy shook her head. "You still hurt, though." She leaned down and kissed the marks on his chest, slowly, as though she could kiss him and make it better.
"I love you," Spike whispered, sounding breathless as she ministered to him.
Buffy shook her head. "Why, Spike? What do you see when you look at me?"
"I see a girl so strong, she hasn't yet reached her limits." He did not ask her what she saw in him; Spike didn't want to know. He still couldn't understand why he was here, with her, and he didn't want to try and explain it. He just wanted to revel in it.
"You want to know what I see?" Buffy asked, reading both the question and the fear in his blue eyes, so expressive. They were windows to his soul. It was cliché, but she'd never understood what it meant until now.
When he remained silent, Buffy continued. "I see a man who loves so deeply, he hasn't yet reached his own depths."
Spike felt a shuddering in his belly. In her eyes, he saw himself. "Buffy—"
"I see the man I'm falling in love with."
There was only one way to reply to that. Spike made love to her again, not even caring that there were tears staining his cheeks.
~~~~~
It was very nearly sunrise when Spike reluctantly pulled away. "I should go, Buffy," he whispered, as she slowly woke. "Sun's almost up, an' I can't stay here forever."
"You can stay here today," she said.
He smiled. "Wish I could, but I should get back to my own place. 've been here for days now. I'll wear out my welcome."
"Not going to happen," she argued. "Spike, stay, please."
"Luv—"
"I have this issue with guys leaving the morning after we've made love for the first time," Buffy said. "So don't leave."
He sighed and crawled back into bed with her, not really unhappy that she'd won the argument. "I'd never leave you."
"Good," Buffy replied cheekily. "Because I'm getting used to having you around."
Spike buried her face in her hair, and let himself drift off to sleep, hearing her parting words float past his ear. "Love you, Spike."
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