Chapter Fifteen
It was with much reluctance that Buffy agreed to wait until morning rather than tear down the door of an eighteenth century landmark, though she claimed that without reconstruction it wouldn’t matter much. Plus, a loud crashing noise in what was supposed to be one of America’s Top Thirteen Most Haunted Houses likely wouldn’t help to improve the temperament of the guests upstairs, unless they had come here specifically for a fright.
She likewise didn’t want to move out of the foyer and into the darker part of the house. Spike teased her for a few seconds until she offered to throw him against the plated cross-patterned glass, which he said she didn’t have the stones to do but quieted all the same.
Once upon a time she would have had no qualms in demonstrating how very little she cared for the platinum vampire. Once upon a time not too long ago. Just a few short weeks had passed since the disastrous Will Be Done spell; she and Spike had been macking on each other like time knew no end, confessing love and planning wedding services.
She remembered feeling disgust after the spell was over. Wiping her mouth and glancing down at the vampire in horror. The emptiness that seared her insides as her love dissipated and the harsher reality stepped in. What they had been playing at was impossible, of course. It wasn’t real. There was no sense in missing something that hadn’t been there in the first place.
What they had now, though; that was real.
It was so real.
And now she was stuck with him all night. After what she had seen; the image of him in the shower was never far from hindsight. He wanted her. And she really wanted him.
The only thing standing in the way was pride. Pride and ethics. Pride because she was who she was—ethics because it was so damn hard to remember that he was a vampire. Vampires weren’t supposed to act like he did. They weren’t supposed to care, for God’s sakes. And they certainly weren’t supposed to want the Slayer.
This was a creature that had killed for over a century without remorse. There was no okay in that.
When did one line of ethics cancel another out?
She was trembling with the overwhelming weight of practicality, and Spike watched her with quiet concern. “’S all right, luv,” he said soothingly after a few minutes. “Calm down. Sit. Be merry.”
“Easy for you to say.”
The vampire sighed and leaned back again. “Don’ see why you’re so skittish. ‘S not like we can do anythin’.”
He must have interpreted her erratic pacing as a sign of annoyance, which was easier to go with as it did not require embarrassing confessionals. “This is your fault, you know.”
“Yeh. Tell me ‘f this sounds familiar. ‘Spike. Drive. Now.’”
Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Right. Tell me if this sounds familiar.” She huffed and adapted the worst feigned accent to ever touch the air. “‘Let’s take the bloody tour, luv. ‘S’a bunch’ve jolly good fun.’”
Spike grinned in spite of himself. “You know you sound ridiculous, right? An’ I never say ‘jolly good.’”
“You got us stuck in an old, creepy house until tomorrow morning.” She pouted and stomped her foot petulantly. “I’m hungry!”
“Welcome to my world, kitten.”
“You’re used to it.”
“Oh, so it must be a bloody load of fun for me.”
She shook her head. “No. It just means I don’t care as much.”
The vampire flashed a cheeky grin and reached for her hand; not relenting until she accepted his tacit offer and curled up beside him. Ethics be damned. Spike=comfy. “Blokes’ll likely be in ‘round five or six,” he murmured, mouth against her ear. “We’ll run out an’ make a pit stop so you don’ starve. Nice big brekky for my Slayer tomorrow.”
Buffy’s world was coming closer to falling apart at the hinges. “Not your Slayer,” she argued without conviction even as she allowed him to slide an arm around her shoulders.
Then she froze. In the iron dark of an old Southern home, Spike nuzzled her hair with delicate tenderness, the hint of his cold breath sending shivers down her back. He felt so good. Just being held felt good. As if she was precious and he was her keeper. There was certain safety in the measure of his arms. And she treasured it. “Yes you are,” he murmured.
“Spike…”
“Always been my Slayer, luv.”
Buffy blinked at him. She was becoming steadily unglued. The sincerity in his voice and the power of his conviction was enough to rightly do anyone in. She released a shuddering breath and looked away when it became too much, licking her lips and rustling slightly as if daring her body to make Spike’s presence uncomfortable.
She was diving headfirst into a drained cement pool and relying that faith would pull her through without harm. There had to be a guideline on how to behave around him. A warning that would push her Slayer sense into victory.
She was losing herself too fast. Much too fast. And she couldn’t stop.
“So, you think this is real or jus’ bollocks?”
Buffy started and sent him a worried look. “What?”
“The house. Doesn’ seem too ghostly to me.”
Oh.
“Oh.” She expelled a deep breath and shook her head. “No. It all seems pretty ridiculous, really. Ghosts and whatnot. I mean, I’ve seen ghosts. I’ve even been semi-possessed once. This doesn’t really do much for me on the creep-factor.”
“Yeh,” Spike agreed, absently playing with the wisps of her hair. The touch was intimate and more than disconcerting, but it felt too good to stop. “’Ave yet to meet a spook. Dru used to think she could channel ‘em. Half the time it was the bloody radio.”
She arched a brow. “And the rest of the time?”
“Once she got Gerald Ford. Bloke’s not dead yet.”
A grin spread across her face. “Maybe she was just on to something.”
“Doubtful, pet.” Spike smiled warmly and settled back.
It occurred to her directly out of the very dense blue that this was all real. She was actually sitting in the dark of an antebellum and allegedly haunted home with a former enemy-turned-friend-turned-crush with his arm around her, virtually snuggling in the shadows of an abandoned foyer. And it was wrong. She knew it was wrong; she knew she should get up and clarify their position once and for all. State why some things could never change.
It just wasn’t in her. She wanted those things to change. She liked the feel of him against her—warm and comforting. Giving what they had a name was dangerous territory. It just helped in making it more real. But even so, Buffy was coming to the slow realization that she was approaching an unavoidable inevitability. And for everything there was in her, she simply couldn’t care to stop it. There would be problems, of course, but nothing too great to not make it worthwhile. To make it worth them. Worth this.
Her head was just inches from finding his shoulder.
“’S this bad?” Spike asked softly, breaking into her thoughts as though he had been observing them.
“Is what bad?”
“Bein’ here.” His eyes darted down almost bashfully. “I know that ‘s inconvenient an’ what all, an’ that we were…well, wrong—”
“I was wrong. You were following.” She paused. “Granted, the tour idea—”
“We did it together, kitten. Still say somethin’ brought us here for a reason.” He cleared his throat. “But ‘s not…bein’ here with me…’s not horrible, is it?”
He looked flustered, even nervous. So completely apprehensive in his turn that it warmed her heart. Little by little, he was letting her into the far recesses of what made him human more than monster. What made him tick. And that was what she craved.
What she was beginning to need.
“It’s not bad,” she said, edging closer.
“No?”
“This is going to sound beyond lame.” Buffy smiled reassuringly, both for his sake and hers. “But…it’s getting harder for me to remember that you’re—well—you.”
Spike domed a brow. “Should I be offended?”
“Well, you’re a vampire.” She ignored his incredulous stare even as her cheeks flushed at her obviousness. “And you’ve tried to kill me a bunch of times.”
At that, she caught a hint of shame flood his eyes just seconds before he banished it. Such a strange thing to see him betray, demon or not. “I can’t say anythin’ to that,” he replied. “Only that I…things have happened to me, Buffy. I don’ know what. Can’t say I’m sorry, ‘cause I wasn’. Not then, an’ I’m not apologizin’ for what I am. I was made this way.”
“I know.”
“The others…’ve killed others. But that’s jus’ what I’m s’posed to do.”
“Yeah.” The Slayer glanced down again. Her own thoughts were becoming examples of their own willful ignorance. “But it’s wrong, Spike.”
“To you ‘s wrong. To me, ‘s food. An’ I’m sorry, but that’s the way it works.” Off her look, he sighed and looked away. “Okay. How’s this. Lions an’ zebras are both mammals, right? Same genus, different race. Lions need to eat zebras to survive. ‘S what there is—what they were made for. Demons aren’t a mistake, luv, an’ neither are you. ‘S the battle for it all that makes this world keep spinnin’. Vamps are nasty bastards, I’ll grant you, but…” He exhaled again slowly, finding her gaze and holding. “Whatever it was, ‘s over for me now. Something’s changed. Been changin’ for…God, I don’ even know anymore. But Buffy…I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”
The Slayer paused, breath catching in her throat. It was such a quiet revelation, but one that she had stopped questioning longer than she could have realized. Spike wouldn’t hurt her. Not now. When he looked at her now, it was with care, admiration, and an urge to protect. In such a short amount of time, he had exceeded all expectations for any man that had played a significant role in her life.
“This is so strange,” she murmured.
“Buffy?”
A long sigh escaped her lips and she nodded when the look in his eyes flickered with doubt. “You would never hurt me.”
“Never,” he swore ardently.
“I know.” She smiled at his smile, daring to edge even closer. “But it’s…it’s strange.”
“Yeh.” Spike released a deep breath. “Happened fast.”
“Yeah.”
There was a brief pause. “’S more than that,” the vampire said, and she could tell simply from his tenor that he was choosing his words carefully. “An’ I know ‘s not jus’ me.” She trembled at the conviction behind his gaze, body humming with self-conscious. “There’s somethin’ else happenin’ between us.”
For all the dancing around that revelation they had been doing for the past few days, hearing it given shape in the form of words was almost anticlimactic. Almost but not quite. Her heart dropped in her chest and her skin seared with heat. “I…uhhh…” She glanced down. “Spike…that’s not…what I mean is, we can’t—”
“Why can’t we?”
Buffy wet her lips and edged an inch away out of obligation. “We can’t,” she repeated. “It’s…I know what you’re…but we can’t.”
“Right. Slayer, vamp. Don’ feed me rot, luv. ‘m not some lackey. You know who I am.” He tugged her back to him, scowling as though to berate her disobedience. “But ‘s there. You’re not denyin’ that it’s there.”
“I—”
“Buffy.”
There came a point in every rational conversation where lying to oneself just didn’t seem fair anymore. What was this other than what she had been tormenting her inner conscious over since the night at the Bronze? Nothing. Masking herself from something so blatantly manifest was not helping anyone. “It’s there.”
Spike’s eyes softened. “Well, that’s somethin’.”
“But I can’t. We can’t.” She tore her gaze away from his, hugging her knees and staring insistently on a spot in the worn carpet. “I…despite how things have changed…I can’t.”
An irritated rumble surged through the vampire, and he sat up to be level with her. “Did it ever occur to you that’s ‘s not exactly somethin’ for me to be singin’ about, either? I din’t want this to happen. Fuck, all I wanted was to be left alone. An’ yeh, I might’ve carried a yen after the spell was over. Bloody impossible not to.” He smiled dryly when she tentatively looked at him with curiosity that could not be denied. “But ‘s more than that to me now. An’ to you, too.”
There was nothing inherently demanding buried within his words, but the hint of agonized longing stuffed tightly beneath layers of self-defense tugged on her heart. “What I feel…it doesn’t matter, Spike. It’s just…it’s wrong.”
And there it was. A sting of pain as she had never seen before. His head reeled as though she had slapped him, his eyes searing with angered hurt. “Oh, ‘s wrong, is it?” he snapped. “But it was jus’ dandy to watch me wank off an’ pretend that never happened?”
The floor beneath her ceased to exist. “Gu-huh?”
He leered at her unpleasantly. “You’re not as stealthy as you think you are, sweetheart. Plus you left your scent waftin’ right outside the bloody loo, so don’ even pretend that you were jus’ happenin’ by.” There was another beat. He tilted his head in consideration. “An’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else: you smell heavenly when you’re excited. Sodding aphrodisiac. Gets a bloke all riled up.”
“Oh God.”
“Y’know, you could’ve jus’ joined me. Gotten rid of both our itches right quick.”
She jumped up in a frenzy, too embarrassed to look him in the eye; too ashamed to allow another word to pass. Of what—her indiscretion, her refusal; a world of possibilities waiting at her feet. “Oh God. Oh God.”
“Interestin’ to know the Slayer’s virtue doesn’ flutter until she’s caught with her hand in the cookie jar.”
“My hand wasn’t anywhere.”
He quirked a brow and flashed a nasty smirk. “Well now,” he drawled. “There’s an image to keep me company on lonely nights.”
“Shut up!” She was pacing now; up and down the carpet, her gaze avoiding him and her body trembling with the weight of furthered anxiety. “Oh God. Oh God.”
“Yeh. Keep doin’ that. It’ll make it go away.”
“Shut up!” she snapped again as her fingers came up to massage her temples. “I didn’t mean to. It just…it happened. But that…” Buffy’s hands fell to her sides the next minute. “You’re a vampire.”
“Thought we had that much covered, pet.”
“I have to remember that, Spike. Bad things happen when I let vampires in.” She shook her head, voice trembling. There was a beat at that; she knew she had said something to make him catch his proverbial breath. “I’m not…I can’t do this again. It’s wrong. It was wrong the first time, and I knew it. I knew it but did I care? No. No caring from Buffy. And people died. I didn’t care and people died.”
Silence settled in—slow molasses encasing them in an endless vat of nothing. “Buffy…”
“People died,” she repeated, back still to him. “People died because of me. Because I didn’t care. Jenny…Giles lost Jenny. Angel killed God-knows-how-many because I couldn’t…and it was because of me. Because I thought that I could tame a vampire because he had a soul. And even after he came back…God, how stupid can I be?”
“Buffy—”
“People don’t matter to you, though. Just food. Just—”
“Buffy, stop.” He was behind her in a second, whirling her around so that she was sucked again into the endless ocean of his eyes. The sneer that had been there just seconds ago was gone. The mock, the bitter sarcasm, the everything. There was nothing but empathy. Empathy from a vampire. From Spike. It made her head spin. “’m not Peaches, luv. I’m not him.”
“I know.”
“An’ you know that I would never hurt you.”
Buffy licked her lips, looking away when it became too much. “Not intentionally.”
“Not ever, pet. Not anymore. Somethin’s happened to me. Bloody bollixed everything up, but it’s real. An’ I—”
“It’s not your hurting me that I’m worried about.” She met his eyes again reluctantly, pulling away when his grip on her loosened. “You…you’re pretty much you. All the time. You can’t get any worse.”
There was a dry snort at that. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean—”
“No soul to lose, right. I got that much.” Spike sighed and cast a hand through his hair. “I have no soul. You don’ think I know what that means? For a sodding century, I’ve had everythin’ handed to me. What wasn’ handed, I took. That’s the way I lived. I can’t do anythin’ about that. ‘S over. A part of my past. ‘S how I was taught. It was what I’m s’posed to do. This—” He gestured erratically between them. “—isn’t. . I’m everythin’ you’re s’posed to hate? Well, pet, that’s a two-way street. I’m through with that now. This is everythin’ I’m s’posed to hate. Was never one for conformity.”
Buffy shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You don’ think I know that you’d be hurt ‘f I hurt others, luv? You don’ think I knew exactly what I was sayin’ when I told you that? I’ve been around forever. I don’ fuck with you like that.” He released a steady breath when she stopped struggling and just slacked, looking at him with quieted calm. “’m not sorry for anythin’ I’ve done. I can’t be. Don’ have that networkin’. But I do know what I’m capable of. I don’ want to hurt you. I won’t.” He reached for her chin, catching it before he fell again. “You’ve broken me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” A gentle smile crossed his face. “I was angry for a while, but that din’t do rot. Neither of us meant for this. It jus’ happened.” Another beat past; he was close. So close. “An’ I wouldn’t change that for anythin’.”
Then he was kissing her. His lips moving over hers with such delicacy, such tenderness that she doubted her own tangibility. It took less than two seconds to decide what to do; her arms went around his neck and her mouth ravaged at his. The bubbling non-form of everything that had been agonizing her for days erupted with a vicious cry, and there was nothing else. Nothing but Spike. The taste of cigarettes and the scent of leather fogging her senses. His arms around her, holding her body to his as his tongue explored her mouth, fighting hers—seeking, needing that something else. She didn’t realize that they had moved until she felt him hit the wall beside the piano. Didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop kissing him.
They slid slowly to the ground, entangled in each other. Her legs abound his waist and her nails dug into his forearms, her pelvis undulating against the hardness pressed against her. Needing that friction. Every strangled gasp that escaped his throat played harmoniously to her ears. His fingers tunneled through her hair, his throat humming small pleasurable murmurs with every taste he stole. He drank her in as though he was dying of thirst. His hands took route all over her body. Holding her arms, massaging her hips, rubbing her shoulders. With every touch of his lips, every sweep of his tongue, she sampled that much more of what she had been missing. Since the end of the spell, since the beginning of something she was still too small to comprehend. This—whatever it was—was larger than both of them combined. To fight it was a fool’s prerogative.
“God,” he rasped, breaking from her mouth to explore her throat with his lips and tongue. “God. I want you so much.”
“Uhhh…” Her teeth found his earlobe and nibbled softly. She pressed herself against his erection and squeezed his shoulders with wordless encouragement.
Spike released a throaty moan, throwing his head back as his hands battled with the hem of her shirt. “Buffy…”
The move initiated the sound of the first warning bell. Too fast.
Her body, though, refused to listen. Instead she found his mouth again, wrestling away greedy kisses as their hips moved together with strained sensuality. The feelings he elicited were unlike any she had ever experienced. An emotional overdrive ready to burst.
No more running. Whatever this was, they could not go back.
They could not go back, but there was every possibility of moving forward too fast. And as his hands cupped her laced breasts and began exciting her nipples through the thin material, a light shone through hazy fog and she forced her mouth from his body.
She had to stop now before they ruined everything with urgency.
“Spike—”
“God, Buffy,” he murmured, voice half-dazed. “Never felt anythin’ like this. Never—”
“Spike, I need—”
“Know what you need, baby. Gonna take such good care of you.”
“Time, Spike. I need time.”
It happened immediately—the loss of his touch. The cold fall as his mouth drew from her skin and his hands fell to her thighs. Buffy drew in a breath and held, meeting his eyes with misplaced trepidation.
He looked at her with a different sort of knowledge. The heat behind his gaze burned her thoroughly, and amidst notable disappointment there was consideration; understanding that she would never have credited him with. An acknowledgement of their time.
“Time,” he rasped, voice rough with the edge of his arousal. “You need time.”
She nodded. “Y-yes. It’s just…I want this—”
“God, I do, too.”
“But I need time.” A shuddering breath coursed through her system and she glanced down with shades of apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Bollocks.” Spike smiled kindly. She loved that smile on him. The one he reserved for her; the one he gave her now when he thought no one else was looking. “We’re worth waitin’ for.”
He said it with such conviction, there was nothing to do but believe. With wherever this was leading them, it was larger than either could have foreseen; that much was manifest simply within the power of their connection. Of what they had shared without crossing boundaries that others would recognize.
It was better to approach emotional revolutions with babysteps. She had lost so much by being foolish. By following her heart. She didn’t want to lose this, too.
“You should rest,” Spike observed, helping her off his lap as she assumed the seat beside him once more. “It’ll be mornin’ soon.”
Buffy snickered dryly. “You think they heard us?” she asked, indicating the upper floor with a jerk of her head.
“Prob’ly jus’ thought it was spooks,” he replied with an indifferent shrug. “Guess I could stomp up to the…the seventeenth step an’ clinch it.”
“Was it the seventeenth?”
“Bugger ‘f I know or care. You need to rest, sweets.”
She stifled a yawn. Where said yawn had come from, she didn’t know. Perhaps the vampire had a more pronounced power of suggestion. “I’m not sleepy.”
He chuckled. “Yes you are.”
“Spike?”
“Mmmm?”
“If Faith didn’t bring us here, what did?”
She felt him go still against her even as his hand gently encouraged her head to fall onto his shoulder. “Dunno,” he replied after a minute. “But it was somethin’.”
“Yeah.”
Something. Something that they had yet to find. That thought didn’t rest well with her. But there was nothing to do. Nothing she could do if she didn’t know what she was looking for.
Just nothing.
Nothing but wait for morning.
*~*~*
The pit of her stomach fell and the rest of her lurched with instantaneous forewarning. Every nerve in her body hummed and her heart was pounding so loud that she didn’t know if her body could withstand it. Such was not an unusual occurrence upon awakening, though. She experienced it often. More often than she cared to consider.
There were certain indisputable truths drawn between regular dreams and prophetic dreams. That was merely one of them.
Buffy blinked and sat up, her eyes falling to Spike, who was curled up beside her. Every muscle in her body ached from resting on a hardwood floor. She would probably have that crick in her neck until she was fifty.
But that wasn’t important right now.
“Spike.”
He murmured slightly and his grip around her tightened. It was then she realized that his arms were nestled around her waist, and smile rose to her lips. It hardly surprised her; she never really was one for sleeping while sitting up. His arms were around her waist and his head was resting comfortably on her belly. And while her previous conviction of the much-needed time rang true, she felt utterly cared for in ways she could not have fathomed.
But that hardly distracted her from the cause of her awakening.
“Spike.”
“Mmpppffff.”
“Spike!” She whacked him lightly upside the head. “Wake up!”
That did the trick. A sleepy murmur rumbled through his throat and his eyes blinked open. It took a second, but he eventually found her gaze and offered a sexy morning smile that stole the breath from her lips. “’Lo, pet.”
He was more distraction than any woman needed. “We’re on something.”
“You’re tellin’ me.”
“No. I mean…there’s something under the floor.” She sat up at that, wiggling away from his embrace.
“Huh’s that?”
Her fingers were already prying at the floorboards. “Slayer dream,” she murmured.
Spike didn’t do anything. Just sat and looked at her dumbly. “Uhhh, luv?”
“You were the one saying we’re here for a reason. Well, Slayer dreams tend to point to reasons.” The first plank came up without much resistance and she was rewarded with a face-full of sawdust. “Help me,” she coughed.
“When I said ‘reason’, I was meanin’ a more—”
“Spike!”
“Right.”
Slayer strength in addition to a vampire’s assistance made a virtually impossible task executed in a few quick minutes. The sky was still dark but dots of light were beginning to spread over the horizon, leaking through the cross-paned glass and into the foyer as minutes wore on. It didn’t make the endless darkness of the virtual hole they were digging any easier to penetrate, which was why—at times like these—it was handy to have a vampire convenient. With three floorboards removed and nothing but blackness staring back at her, she turned to her companion and smiled sweetly.
Spike sighed. “You’re off your nutter, you know that?”
“Just look.”
“Gonna get sued for property destruction.”
“We are not. And since when do you care, Mr. How-Many-Times-Can-I-Run-Into-The-Sunnydale-Sign?”
“That’s different. ‘S the Hellmouth. This place—”
“Is a tourist trap that they renovate every three months anyway.”
He sulked a bit. “Do not.”
“Spike! Just look!”
He released another sigh as though it was some horrible chore, but smothered a smile all the same and did as she requested.
“Anything?”
“Could you get a tighter grip on your horses? I jus’—whass’at?”
Buffy’s heart rate doubled. “Spike?”
“Gotta tell you, luv. You’re good.”
“I know. What do you see?”
“A very big rat.”
The Slayer’s face dropped. She was going to kill him. “I swear to God—”
“Sittin’ on a very old book.”
Her words stopped in her throat and her eyes widened. “A book?”
“Yeh.” There was a brief pause and a rustle; Spike emerged from the dark a few seconds later, blowing on a dusty cover. “I’ll give you this,” he said, taking in the look in her eyes. “When you decide to gamble, you hit the jackpot.”
“What is it?”
“A book.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Spike—”
“Hidden under a haunted house that was built on an ancient tunica burial ground?” He perked a brow. “As Poltergeist as it sounds, kitten, this place was here firs’. Reckon this might be worth a look-see. ‘Sides…” He offered a gentle smile. “Slayer’s intuition’s never wrong.”
Buffy nodded slowly, licking her lips. “We gotta get this to Giles,” she decided. “Now.”
TBC