Chapter Forty
Someone was murmuring his name. A soft, angelic melody that warmed him inexplicably in ways he had never before fathomed. It had not been his intention to fall asleep; if anything, he had been relying on vampiric endurance to keep him well alert until she awoke. But for the absence of Donna and the scars on his body wearing down his vigilance, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the need of rest.
Though for everything else, drifting into slumberland had been surprisingly effortless for all the worry compressing his mind. His body was surrounded in softness. A gentle guide to paradise behind closed eyes where the looming world could not touch him.
Though now someone was murmuring his name. Softly. Melodiously.
The sound was too divine to actually exist. The hand that found his face with gentle caresses too tender to be meant for him.
And yet, when he opened his eyes, a gorgeous sheen of hazel reflected back at him. Buffy. God, Buffy was awake. Buffy was looking at him. She was sitting beside him, tenderly running her fingers through his blonde curls. For a split second, he was sure his heart was thundering. And he could do nothing but stare at her. The face of his salvation, and she was finally looking back without a river of tears between them.
The love glowing in her eyes sent an exposed, indescribable sensation through his entire being. Something he had never known before. Never been close to before. That glorious warmth of Heaven’s gate.
He was blind-sighted. She was touching him and he could do nothing but stare.
God. It couldn’t be a dream. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Spike,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. “Spike, can I say it now?”
That was it. All he could stand. Whatever was bubbling inside him demanded release, the fear that had blackened his heart lifted with a kiss of promise. And he couldn’t help himself. He crumbled with a choked sob, bowing his head as the tension that had spent the past few days ripping his innards to shreds came rushing out in a baptism of tears. Long, hard sobs of endless relief. Her arms were around him, pulling his head to her chest as he wrapped his arms around her. The sounds that erupted from his throat were raw and guttural. Dry leaves dancing together in the midst of a summer storm. He cried until he had no more tears. Until there was nothing but raspy, dry sobs. Until he had nothing left to offer.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. How odd that she would be the one to console him. He felt more vulnerable than the length of his years had taught him. “Spike…”
He shook his head and pulled away, almost convinced that she was a figment dressed in hope. “God, Buffy,” he gasped, peppering her face with kisses. “God…oh God. I…I…”
Her eyes were glistening with tears. She drew him close and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Can I say it now?” she asked again, voice clogged with emotion. “Can I tell you now?”
“God, yes,” he gasped, drawing another heated kiss from her lips. “Are you real? Christ, I nearly went outta my mind. I—”
“I love you, Spike.”
He had known it, of course. Known it since she told him she wanted to tell him and he forbade her. He had known it then, had felt it longer than that, but hearing the words tumble from her lips gave him a sense of something he had never thought to touch. Never thought to explore, for everything that made him who he was. He had known love before. Some superficial plane of reckoning, though nothing that would stand a fighting chance to the pure elation rushing through his body. It was like being killed and reborn all over again. The best moment he had ever known, or would ever know. Buffy loved him.
She really loved him.
“I love you, too,” he swore ardently, drawing her into his arms. “So bleedin’ much. God, I don’ know what…I was so…”
“I know. I was, too.” She curled into his embrace, head resting against his chest, her arms around his middle. “I’ve never…god…my skin was on fire. I remember it. Not everything. Just…feelings. Images. What I did…I…”
The knowledge made his insides quiver. He would do anything to eradicate her of those memories. Memories that did nothing but hurt.
“’m so sorry, baby.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied, surprised.
A bitter sound rumbled through his throat, and he shook his head with self-aimed disgust. “Wasn’t it? If I had been faster…’f I had seen it…God, all I had to do was open my bloody eyes. Then—”
“Spike.” Buffy pulled away, a frown on her healing face. The scars were fading, of course. She was a god now. Her scars would fade with ease. Similarly, the blood that had gushed so copiously from her wounds had long since halted. He didn’t know if she knew what she was—if the full of what had happened to her had really hit her yet. And when it did, how hard it would hit. “Spike,” she said again, “you saved my life. How can you not know that?”
“I—”
“You saved my life.”
“I held you down while Red did the spell, yeh. But—”
“Not that. You…” Her haunted eyes widened suddenly, a hand coming to his face and tracing one of his newer scars as though it hadn’t been there just seconds before. “Look what I did to you. Oh God.”
Spike shook his head and planted a kiss on her brow. “You din’t do this, sweetling,” he whispered. “It wasn’ you. God, you think I’d’ve known if it was you? That thing had your body. Had everythin’…turned you…”
“My hands did it. That’s all I need to know. And…” Her gaze dropped to his t-shirt, tattered from their brawl, gorges in the sides where her fingers had plunged into his flesh. Claw marks on his chest, healing with vampiric aid, but there nonetheless. There because she had given them to him. “God.”
He smiled gently, raising her chin so that their eyes were even. “’S not your fault,” he said again steadily. “None of this is. An’ even so, I’d do it all again in a second. I’d do anythin’ that was asked of me. You know that, right?”
Her eyes clouded with tears, and she nodded.
“Nearly tore my world in two,” Spike murmured, his voice trembling. “Din’t want you to know how bloody terrified I was.” He glanced down with a sigh. “I also said some pieces to the Scoobies. Bloody almost took a good chunk outta Sam. An’…do you remember what was said when it was you in the driver’s seat?”
A water smile spread across her face. “Do I remember the claim, you mean?” Spike didn’t answer; couldn’t. Instead he nodded, almost afraid of what she would say. The million plus ways his mind had established in reference to rebuking whatever it was he could offer. He knew that it had been her that had accepted the claim, but even now, he didn’t know if she completely understood what that meant. She loved him, but was she ready for this? Ready for the boundaries sealed with blood and established before the world had a time to refer to?
“I remember it,” she murmured. “And I meant what I said.”
“I—”
“I should’ve told you before we went to Longwood. Before this thing happened. But I meant it…and I’d like to do it again sometime. Properly.” It broke his heart to watch such a warm, sincere smile break across a face that held such pain.
There was that and the other. The loom of what he needed to tell her.
He had no idea where to begin. Even looking at her now, for all her beauty, the hint of what she had become rolled off her with such potency, he was surprised when she didn’t drown from her own power. How she could refrain from feeling the strength that surged through her now. There was no going back from that; Willow had been more than certain. Her body was still a vessel, but it was in her command.
Quirinias had prepared her to be a god. He simply hadn’t reasoned that he would be banned from the haven of her warmth before he could finalize his possession. Her body was stronger than ever before—charged with muscle that was made to endure the long winds of time. There was power at her beck and call if she ever needed it. Power that could blow this sad little world off its axis. He reckoned she could slay an army of vampires with a single glance if she tried. If she perfected her innovative abilities.
If she accepted them at all.
She had everything a god should have. Everything. And yet, there was the mind and soul of the Slayer. The woman behind the myth. The woman that owned his heart. Sitting before him was the reason that gods were born without conscience. Now this thing had happened and there was no going back, and he had no idea how to tell her.
“Come along, sweetling,” he murmured at last, tugging her out of the bed. “I’m gonna see to your wounds.”
A frown crossed her face. “My…they’re nearly all healed up. I—”
“Jus’…let me, okay?”
It was impossible to not hear the plea in his voice. That strained edge that demanded further reassurance that despite all the bad, she was here. A single promise to be kept. There were things ahead that he wasn’t sure of. Things he didn’t think she was ready for. Things he doubted he was ready for. But for everything else, he would always be sure of this.
“Okay,” she agreed softly, allowing him to tug her into his arms.
It was strange leaving the circle of protection, fortified by a witch’s spell. He didn’t even know if Willow had lifted the damn thing, though he left the bedroom without a problem. Walked right through the boundary that had previously imprisoned them to the bed with nothing pulling him back.
Granted, his girl was a god. Walking through invisible walls was likely nothing to her. The struggle was over and the power was fortified. It belonged to her, now.
He gently lowered her to the bathmat, unaware how hard he was trembling when he reached for the hem of her shirt. As though at any moment, his permission would be rebuked, and she would formally introduce his face to the wall. A wounded look filled her eyes at his hesitation, but before he could explain the cause, she had tugged his mouth down to hers and swallowed all his fears.
“It’s me,” she whispered. “Not…it’s gone, Spike. I promise.”
He exhaled slowly and forced his tears aside. God, he was so fucking sick of crying.
“I know it’s you. I can feel it.” She frowned at him curiously, and he offered a sheepish smile. “Claims never lie, pet. I feel everythin’. ‘Sides, there’s no bloody god in this or any other dimension with eyes like yours.” Except for the one in his arms, of course, though that went without say. “But that’s not…I knew it was you before I woke up. I’m not worried about that.”
“Then…?”
He shrugged honestly and smiled on his own behalf. “I dunno. Guess it’s…it feels like it’s been years since I touched you. Since this. Now I’m almost…I guess I—”
“Spike…” She said nothing else. Didn’t need to say anything else. She took his hand in hers and placed it over her breast, her eyes falling shut as he rumbled a surprised gasp and caressed her gently through her shirt. Her warmth seared at his skin, and more than ever, he was unworthy. Unworthy of this. Unworthy to touch her. A lowly vampire, no matter of what Order. He should not be allowed to touch her.
God, but he was already a sinner. A few more couldn’t hurt.
And even so, she loved him. She had crossed the Rubicon at his side. She was here with him because she wanted to be. She had placed his hands on her body, and though his touch was soft and delicate, not beyond cautious, she was moaning in response.
Spike trembled, aware vaguely of how hard he was breathing. As though his lungs suddenly demanded air. His head dipped to caress her throat with his lips, his hands abandoning her breasts to tug her shirt over her head. Then, reverently, he sank to his knees and worked her out of her trousers.
Bowing reverently to the god of his new religion.
He didn’t realize she had removed his shirt until her horrified gasp rang through the air. Her eyes, wide as saucers, taking in the damage in the form of claw marks and gashes that fit her body like clockwork. Spike swore softly and rose to his feet, tugging her into his arms before he could see the first tears spill at his expense.
“’S’all right, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her brow. “Bloody well believe me, I din’t feel a thing.”
“God, Spike—”
His heart constricted at the sound, and he tightened his embrace. “Please don’ cry. Not for the likes of me. Remember? You used to like goin’ a few rounds.”
“Not like—” She pulled back suddenly, an accusatory flare rising behind her eyes. “This is different. I never…I never would have done this. Not then, and sure as hell not now. I love you. God, and look…” A whimper escaped her throat as her gaze dropped back to his healing cuts and bruises. “Look what I did.”
“Christ, Buffy, this wasn’t you. Furthermore, it was my choice. I wasn’ about to leave your side. The Scoobies tried to tear me away, but I wouldn’t let them. Willow even banished me away, an’ I demanded to be let back in.” His fingers found one of his scars, and he traced it slowly, eyes never leaving her face. “I din’t feel a thing. I was too focused on you.”
She didn’t look convinced; the sorrow embedded in her eyes running too deep to eradicate with any measure of reassurance. “You didn’t feel this?” she asked, gently running her hand over one of his angrier scars, watching his face carefully for any hint of reaction. “God…I’m so sorry.”
“I din’t feel it,” he whispered, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. “I only felt you. This doesn’ hurt, kitten. Din’t then, doesn’ now. I was where I wanted to be.” He smiled softly and caressed her brow with another kiss. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’m fine.”
“Humor me.”
Buffy’s eyes lowered again, touching one of the deeper scars on his chest tentatively. “You need this more than I do,” she said, not bothering to acknowledge the double meaning that haunted her words.
Spike licked his lips. “We both need it. Come on, pet.”
There were words lodged in his throat. Words he needed to say. Buffy was a tower of strength—she always had been. Her body had been a war-zone less than twenty-four hours earlier, and here she was, being what he needed her to be. Not dwelling, not playing the victim. Being the Slayer first in that manner that so often went unappreciated. The part that was about healing more than slaying. Of being brave in the face of adversity.
The water that pelted his skin was hard and nearly sent his skin ablaze. He ignored the superficial burn against his abrasions, rather soaked in the feel of her in his arms. Her head resting against his chest as they clung to each other for endless seconds. Just standing in the comfort of a lover’s embrace.
So much to say. So much to tell her.
But he couldn’t now. Not like this. Not when he had just gotten her back.
At the same time, though, he couldn’t put it off forever. He had to tell her soon. This day. Before they left the townhouse. He had to tell her. It had to be him. Not Giles. Not the Scoobies—not even Willow. It had to be him.
It was their future now. It had to be him.
*~*~*
“Oh my God,” Willow gasped as the Miller’s car sped toward the city limits. They had just past Devereaux and now the Winnebago was in view; the front scrunched tightly against an invisible barrier. A spiral of twisted metal, smoke rising from the hood. The pit of her stomach dropped, the dread that had been manifesting for the past twenty minutes reaching new heights. “Giles…”
“I see it, I see it. And no, for the last time, I’m not going faster.” He frowned at her and motioned for her to sit back. “With as nervous as you’re making me, it would be our luck to crash as well.”
But Giles didn’t crash. In a matter of endless seconds, they had screeched to a halt beside the wreckage, and Willow all but bounded out of the car.
“Sam!” she screamed, circling the vehicle while doing her damndest to ignore the thundering of her heart. “Donna! Josh!”
In all honestly, it likely didn’t take as long as it felt it did. The back door of the Winnebago slid open and Sam bolted out, taking her in his arms before she could even sigh her relief. He looked a little shaken, felt the same as he spun her in celebration of his own regard, but otherwise was unharmed.
“You’re okay,” she gasped, pulling him down for a hard kiss.
“So are you,” he replied.
“See,” Giles said, oddly good-naturedly. “Just as I said.”
A noise rustled behind them. Josh, Donna, and Toby were similarly sliding out of the broken vehicle. “Hey,” the Deputy Chief of Staff drawled, “we’re all okay, too, you know.”
The redhead nodded and shot them a winning smile over Sam’s shoulder. “Good to know.”
“Yeah,” Josh continued. “We were actually kinda wondering what was taking you guys so long.”
“Josh was wondering,” Donna clarified. “The rest of us knew that you aren’t mind readers.”
“And you’re okay,” Sam said, running his hand through her hair, uncaring for the concern that burned his eyes. “You were kind of unconscious the last time I saw you, and that was just a half hour ago.”
The redhead nodded, smiling softly. “I’m okay...I really don’t know what happened, but I was kinda catapulted out of…whatever by this thing.” She gestured to the nothing that had them imprisoned. “I…I can’t even really explain it.”
“How did you guys get here so fast?” Toby asked.
“We borrowed the Millers’ car,” Giles explained. “Willow was insistent that something had happened, so we borrowed the Millers’ car and rushed out as fast as we could.”
Josh frowned. “Yeah, now that you mention it, why is this thing still here?”
Willow glanced to the wreckage once more and winced. “Are you guys sure you’re all fine?”
“Josh and Toby fell over because they weren’t wearing seatbelts,” Donna offered with a shrug. “And Josh now has a bump on his head, but that’s what he gets for not listening to me. Sam and I, who were wearing seatbelts, have some bad whiplash, but that’s pretty much it.”
Sam nodded. “We also had airbags.”
“Ah yes. Airbags. The lifesaving invention that could quite possibly kill you.” Donna grinned. “We’re fine.”
“Other than wondering why the hell we’re not halfway to Jackson right now,” Josh agreed. “Which raises the interesting question…why aren’t we halfway to Jackson right now? I thought this thing was taken care of. You know…with the exorcism?”
“Yeah, that’s the thing.”
Sam frowned. “What’s the thing?”
Willow heaved a deep breath and shook her head, offering a nervous smile. “Yeah…that’s what…while I was…there’s something. We didn’t banish Quirinias.”
Donna’s eyes widened. “We didn’t? Then Spike—”
The redhead raised a hand and shook her head. “No. No, Buffy’s fine. I felt that. I felt…we banished Quirinias from Buffy, but that’s the thing.”
“What?”
“We banished him from Buffy. Not from the world. And we used a helluva lot of power doing it.” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “We didn’t banish Quirinias. In fact…I’m pretty sure we made him stronger.”
There was a long moment. She felt Sam’s arm around her turn to granite.
“Well,” Josh said finally, kicking at the pavement and heaving a sigh. “This is a whole new thing.”
“No,” Willow replied. “No, it’s not. This is the same thing. Exactly the same.”
“Only…?”
“Only now it knows us. Now Quirinias knows us.” She paused and tightened her grip around Sam’s middle. “And we’ve pissed him off.”
TBC