Glancing downward, Buffy smiled tenderly, seeing that Spike's eyes were closed. She'd feared that his sitting upright would intensify his injuries and offered him use of her thigh as a pillow until they'd arrived home, settling with him on the back seat of Xander's car.
Several of his ribs had been either broken or fractured, ruptured blood vessels and heavy bruising patterns prominent along the area. Combing her fingers through his hair, she enjoyed being close to him and studied him with clear eyes, without fear or the slightest care of what anyone else would say.
Foremost on her mind was how proud she was of him for surviving and enduring the pain.
She also considered how different the outcome would've been not if she'd failed to defeat the Turok-Han, but rather if she hadn't expressed her faith in him, speaking from her heart rather than following logic or reason.
I believe in you, Spike.
That moment was a brush with clarity.
Then, she truly comprehended Giles' distinction between two types of monsters, those that can be redeemed and those that are only aware of his or her demonic essence, and how forgiveness is given because it's needed rather than because it's deserved or warranted.
Spike deserved - earned - her forgiveness because redemption was something he pursued.
He saw an opportunity and capitalized on it, treading waters in the process that others wouldn't dare to. If asked to choose between not having him in her life or pain, she'd choose the latter without hesitation every time.
Still, the circumstances didn't change. Danger continued to loom on the horizon.
All because of me, she thought.
Research yielded little with respect to the First's weakness.
The inability to make physical contact, despite appearing otherwise, proved to be its greatest and most powerful asset. It tormented its victims by delving into their innermost thoughts and transforming sources of pleasure into pawns, distorting the truth and using them as torture devices.
It knew instinctively what had taken her so long to grasp.
Spike was more than an ally, a warrior, and friend; he was her source of strength, the light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. He brought out the best in her and made her whole.
She didn't question how important he was to her, the last few months replaying in her mind, each memory vivid. They were dependent on one another, too dependent according to some. She had taken him into her home and offered him harbor from the scrutinizing gazes of her friends in her bedroom of all places.
She didn't know why at the time.
Despite convincing herself that the move posed the greater benefits- it allowed her to keep an eye on him, and at the same time provide the best protection from the sun's rays- that wasn't the full truth. She drew comfort from his presence, from being near him.
This wasn't a question of preference, rather it was a question of knowledge.
As difficult as the fight would be without him involved, could living without him prove even more perilous? She was taken back to the cave then, hearing his words so clearly.
A knife now, is it? You can't hurt me. You're just a bloody figment, you are. You're just…
She remembered the hole in her chest burning anew as he spoke.
Had he abandoned hope that she would come for him? Did he believe she would leave him at the First's mercy? And worst of all, could he have mistaken her vote of confidence for some self-supporting ploy, a tactic to keep him close until she no longer needed him?
When didn't she need him?
He was a pivotal figure in her life, spanning for several years.
He was the first person she'd told when her mother had first taken ill, he was the one who exposed Riley's betrayal and the catalyst to she and Angel's breakup.
As much as she hated reflecting on the previous year, in large part because of how callous she'd treated him, it was Spike who comforted her not only through his touch but, in the beginning, by being a friend, listening and keeping her thoughts in confidence until she was brazen enough to set the record straight about where she had been those four months.
She needed him so much.
She relied on him and trusted him more than anyone.
She'd envisioned him battered and chained, and still she felt unprepared for the actual sight; she suppressed the urge to fall to her knees, overwhelmed by gratitude and the knowledge - and security - that what Spike needed the most right now was strength that only she could give him.
He had to have been delirious with pain, she thought, as her eyes ran over the ritual carvings and dried blood patches marring his torso. Returning to his face, she found his left eye was swollen heavily, compromising his normally heightened, keen senses even further, making it difficult to distinguish between a formless entity and a human from a safe distance.
She'd have to be closer to him for his peace of mind as well as her own, so she moved one foot in front of the other deliberately, knife in hand, keeping her eyes trained on his face, before cutting the tethers. She heard a sharp inhale as his body began to give way and didn't miss the look of surprise when his hand made contact with her shoulder, not the dirty ground.
There was so much she'd wanted to say to him then, but she couldn't get the words past her throat as their eyes locked. The surprise melted, her warmth seeping into his skin, as he looked at her - exhilaration, relief, and happiness apparent.
His eyes glistened from the pain, her touch, or possibly a combination of both as the tension in her body also melted away, her tired muscles and deflated spirits bursting with newfound energy.
Buffy couldn't hold what he'd said against him, though the uncertainty of it all continued to gnaw away at her from the inside - confirmation could wait.
A soft groan and series of unintelligible phrases interrupted her reverie.
Xander spared a look at them, his expression concerned, before returning his attention to the road. Equally distressing for her to see were the sharp pain lines around Spike's eyes and mouth and the thought that, even in a light sleep, he couldn't escape from his wounds.
"It's alright. You're safe with me," She said in a whisper, never taking her eyes from him as he relaxed again, going completely still in a matter of seconds.
As the car came to a gradual stop, she realized they were home. The time had passed so quickly, she approximated more than half an hour had elapsed.
"Spike."
She wasn't surprised that he didn't stir and loathed having to wake him; he seemed to be resting peacefully now. Moving her hand from his hair to caress his face, Buffy called his name again and watched his right eye open wearily, slowly. "We're home."
With Xander's assistance, she gently eased him out of the car and walked into the house, her arm firmly around his waist as a range of expressions welcomed them - suspicion, concern, shock, and fear. It was uncomfortable.
Talk about a 'welcome home' mat.
Spike tightened his hold around Buffy's shoulder as he focused on Dawn who wept openly from just behind the crowd. Later, he'd be sure to ask who the other girls were.
It embarrassed him slightly that Buffy had to support all of his weight, but the pain in his ribs, the feel of bones grating against one another, intensified with each step as they ascended the staircase. He'd wanted to scream more than once.
"Stop," His voice sounded hoarse, dry and weak. "Give me a second here."
Buffy listened as Spike drew in forced, ragged breaths; her eyes instantly went to his face which had contorted in intense pain. That he'd managed to climb three quarters of the staircase before asking to pause amazed her.
She anticipated his pausing sooner and even considered motioning for Xander who had followed close behind to come around to their right and assist them the rest of the way. Despite the obvious pain he was in, beneath was a layer of sheer determination.
Keeping her touch firm, she watched as Spike extended his hand toward the wall in an effort to brace himself before surveying the remaining steps, counting them.
"Can you make it?"
Spike nodded, removing his hand from the wall and channeling what little energy he had left into climbing the last six steps. Moving ahead of them, Xander held the bedroom door open and watched as Buffy helped Spike settle on the mattress before taking position at his side.
"I'll get the antiseptic, gauze pads, dry towels, a pail of cold water, and some bandages."
She nodded, appreciating Xander's offer.
Buffy laced her fingers within his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, smiling as he reciprocated. He was exhausted; the lines around his eyes and mouth sharpened again. His right eye would drift shut for no more than a few seconds and then snap open again, searching for only her.
Leaning, she brought her lips down to his and kissed him gently. She sensed his need for reassurance that she wouldn't leave and would still be there when he awoke sometime later.
"Rest now."
His eyes closed not long after, his body went perfectly still.
Looking up, she saw Xander approaching and stood, quietly organizing the supplies on the empty cart that had been placed by her nightstand. "Thanks."
"You okay here?" Xander asked, concerned.
"We're good," She lifted her eyes to her friend. "I can take care of him."
Before closing the door, Xander took one last look, leaning against the door frame. He had been standing in the doorway watching the exchange. He still didn't understand why Buffy had fallen so deeply for the platinum-blonde vampire; accepting it was even harder.
But who was he to argue if Spike gave her what she needed?
Her happiness mattered to him most of all.
Buffy sighed hopefully, refocusing on his face, and retrieved a smaller cloth from the basin.
She dipped it with water before wiping down his forehead and neck, repeating the process with larger cloths as she wiped away the excess dirt chunks and caked blood from his torso, swabbing the lacerations with antiseptic.
Still desiring attention was the carving just above his heart.
The placement concerned her most of all; that the area had been subject to the deepest cuts pained her. She'd warm thinking that his soul would illuminate under her touch, not that she needed verification of its presence there.
One glance at him and she knew.
Seeing Spike at the newly constructed high school, first catching her attention wasn't the mass of dark brown roots peeking out beneath the familiar platinum curls, but the look of terror in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her that set off an alarm.
She watched him closely. He appeared unnerved, agitated. Despite pulling his unfastened shirt closer to his body as he backed away, she hadn't missed the jagged marks on his chest.
What happened?
I tried to cut it out. That was all he said, still not looking at her.
Was that the First's intention, to cut his soul out of him?
Shaking her head to clear the coming images, Buffy opted to forego applying antiseptic, fearing that by the wound being so deep the burning sensation would only cause Spike more distress.
Instead, she reached for a fresh towel, again wiping away the excess blood, and dressed it with a larger gauze pad. She took in a deep gulp of air to calm herself, realizing at some point she'd forgotten to breathe. Pleased with her efforts, she tossed the used towels into an empty basin and moved the tray off to the opposite end of the bedroom.
Turning her attention back to Spike, she noticed he'd begun to quiver, soft groans escaping, and quickly retrieved a spare quilt from the upper closet, draping it over him before reclaiming her seat at his side.
After awhile, he began to calm, growing quiet and perfectly still again.
A fresh wave of exhaustion hit her, tension in her lower back and neck building. Not even that could dampen her mood or the glow swelling within her. She'd stumbled through the past few days and finally had something to show for her efforts.
Tracing his cheekbone which had softened in sleep, she kissed him on the forehead again.
She finally had what she wanted, who she wanted.
Instead of curling up in the armchair as she'd done the past several nights, she laid down carefully next to Spike, covering his right hand with hers.
Stretching lazily, a soft smile played across Spike's face, his eyes - both of them - opening slowly as the memory of Buffy's lips against his immediately came to mind. Her touch, her presence, was the only memory that remained in perfect order.
Everything else was a blur. Days passed, he was certain of that.
But how many days?, he wondered.
He was woken occasionally to be fed Pig's blood - god he hated the stuff.
It was too diluted, watered down for his taste, but he wasn't entirely in a position to demand anything else. He drank it without protest and went back to sleep after swallowing the last drop, grateful not only for the offer but to have a sensation aside from intense pain enter his system.
Other times, he'd woken to the sound of the bedroom door opening, finding pairs of suspicious eyes appraising him, snickers registering here and there. It was good to rejoin the land of the living, even if it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.
Sitting up, Spike leaned back against the pillows, his head resting slightly against the headboard, and surveyed his body. While he wasn't wearing a shirt, not that he could've slipped in and out of one without discomfort, he was dressed in a fresh pair of black jeans, no shoes.
He spotted a single bandage on his upper left pectoral and shuddered, remembering the harbingers' precision, how they applied different knife edges depending on which geometric pattern they were trying to replicate and which body part was targeted.
Drawing in an unnecessary breath, he closed his eyes, drifting.
A mass of purple, blue, and green discolorations covered his right side. A couple, maybe three, ribs had yet to mend; he could feel the fragments occasionally brushing against one another, but the pain had abated and was far less sharp than it had been - a fact he appreciated greatly.
His eyes snapped open as he heard someone clearing their throat.
Tracing its source, he focused on the person perched in the armchair to his left.
"Come to check on the patient have you, Rupert?" Aside from looking a little worse for the wear, the former watcher appeared normal, his expression collected and calm. What came out of his mouth, however, was anything but normal.
"I was worried about you. We all were."
Spike wasn't sure how to respond, detecting concern in the older man's voice, particularly interested in his using the word we. Instead, he asked, "How long have I been here?"
"Five days now. How do you feel?"
"Getting there. I've had worse than this."
Other than being a little tired, he felt pretty good, all things considered. The idea of being watched over for that - or any - prolonged period of time made him uneasy, more so than he would've preferred or dared admit to. He wanted to preserve some dignity.
After a long moment, he asked. "Where's Buffy?"
The silence stretched. As no response seemed to be forthcoming, Spike opened his eyes and glared at the watcher, growing agitated. He didn't have the energy or the will to exchange sharp glances and retorts, neither of which seemed necessary as he took in his counterpart's posture.
With a smile in his eye, Giles intimated for him to look to his right.
Peering down, he exhaled a heavy but content sigh studying Buffy. She was stretched out on her side, facing him. Her breaths were even, her heartbeat strong and steady, relaxed.
Giles sat silently, watching Spike brush away an errant strand from Buffy's forehead, feeling incredibly envious - jealous - of the pair. He waited for the blonde vampire to turn to him before speaking again, not wanting to break the moment, absorbing the look of joy, tenderness, and awe he saw there.
"She wouldn't leave your side. She didn't allow herself to eat unless Xander, Dawn, or I brought up a meal for her. It wasn't until I reassured her that she could stay near you that she allowed herself to rest," Giles paused to remove his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not aware of all that's happened between the two of you which might be for the best. But what I've also come to realize is that Buffy, in large part, endured and worked through the past year because of you. You bring out the flair, the passion in her that I hadn't seen in quite some time. It scared me, to watch her going through the motions, to see her distant knowing there was nothing I could do for her. And I was wrong before, to doubt your feelings for Buffy or your intentions."
Giles stood then, moving from his position at their bedside to stand in the doorway before turning back. "She's as close as I'll have to a daughter of my own. She means more to me than anything or anyone in this life, and I trust her to you. I trust that you'll take care of her, always."
Spike took a long swallow before nodding, stunned by what he'd just heard.
"Should either of you need anything, I'll be close-by."
As the bedroom door closed behind Giles, he returned his attention to Buffy. Sliding down on the mattress, he rolled onto his side, ignoring the protest from his ribs, and wrapped his left arm around her.
"I've got everything I need right here," He whispered in her ear, smiling as she inched toward him and buried her face in his chest.
Running his hand up and down her back, Spike placed a feather light kiss into her hair as Buffy's eyes fluttered open.
"Hi."
Her voice was the most beautiful sound he'd heard yet, and the day was young gauging by the amount of light filtering across the hardwood floor. "Hi yourself, love." He smiled as she arched her back and stretched her tired muscles, gazing into his eyes.
She mirrored his embrace, throwing her right leg across his hip while covering his left arm with her right, her hand resting along his strong bicep. There was more lucidity in his face now, her stomach flipped at the strength - the warmth and safety - emanating from him as he held her.
"Feeling better?"
"Much, a bit knackered is all. I'm sick of being a lay-about."
He kept his eyes trained on Buffy who averted her attention to the sole gauze pad on his torso. She ran his fingertips across the bandage, teasing its edge and the exposed skin there; her expression grew more serious.
"We should change that."
He drew in a noisy breath as she flattened her hand on his rib cage, debating whether it was her touch or the shift in her demeanor that bothered him. Spike removed his arm from her waist and took her hand in his.
He sensed the anxiety in her touch as her fingers folded across his. "Buffy, look at me."
When she didn't respond, Spike lifted his free hand to her cheek and ran his thumb across it lightly, encouraging her to look at him. "Look at me, please." When she did, her eyes were wide and bright. "I'll be fine. Vampire, remember?"
"I know."
"Then, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing that can't wait."
He wasn't buying that. "C'mon, we're alone now. You can trust me. Tell me whatever it is."
Buffy chewed at her bottom lip. She wondered how she must have appeared to Spike as he watched her, his expression soft. She sat up slowly and invited him to do the same, adjusting the pillows so he could lean back against them.
After a long moment, she found her voice.
"Do you remember the girls you saw?" At his nod, she resumed. "They're potential slayers. Turns out that the First's ultimate agenda is to wipe out the slayer line to prevent a new one from being called in case I… Some had watchers and are aware of what could be in store for them, others were not so lucky, and the few left are on their way here. I asked Giles to take care of their training sessions for today so that you and I could have some time."
He remembered Giles' words, then. Should either of you need anything, I'll be close-by.
"Time for what?" He chided gently.
What she said covered only a portion of the mystery. There were still some puzzle pieces missing, he could feel it. The uneasiness between them grew, but he said nothing and waited.
"If I ask you something, do you promise to give me an honest answer?" Again, he nodded. "Did you think I wouldn't come for you?" The silence stretched as confusion and then pain hardened his expression.
"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have asked."
He raised a hand between them to prevent her from saying more. It was important to her; she wanted to know.
"The First came to me as Drusilla, other times as you. It taunted me, asked what I was holding on for. I knew you would come for me, and that knowledge is what kept me going - it kept me alive. The more time that passed, I'd feared that something happened to you. It promised me repeatedly that you wouldn't come, but I never lost hope. I never gave up on you, Buffy."
Her lower lip trembled as his hand returned to her face, his thumb catching her tears.
"Giving up on you is the one thing I could never do."
She covered his hand as it rested on her cheek, her eyes drifting shut as he leaned closer and their lips met; the kiss was slow, soft. Opening her eyes again, she found him watching her and rested her forehead against his, her free hand locking in his hair as they breathed together.
"That leaves us with your trigger to deal with."
"I take it that research didn't pan out then, but we'll manage. We always do. Besides, you're doing what you can, love. That's all any of us are expected to do."
"No, I haven't done everything." He looked at her quizzically.
"I'd been thinking more and more about what happened in the cellar, and I don't mean just your trigger, but the effect I had on you - the effect my blood had on you." She paused, taking a deep breath to collect herself, organizing her thoughts. "As you leaned toward me, I winced and closed my eyes, accepting, waiting for the inevitable to come…only it didn't. I remember the wild look in your eye and how much it scared me, knowing that I couldn't reach you although you were so close to me. You were attracted by the open wound on my shoulder. I studied your face. I watched you brush across the gash with your bared teeth and then pressing your lips to it as you tasted me. I didn't fear you, and that surprised me, but what surprised me more was the look on your face when you jerked away. Your eyes were no longer wild but bright with guilt, with pain and responsibility, the memory of what you'd done - what the First made you do."
Spike continued to look at her, a breath of sadness and recrimination touching his eyes.
Buffy relinquished her grip on his hand and pulled away, never taking her eyes from his face as she unfastened her sheer blouse, revealing an ivory lace camisole. She watched his eyes roam over her body as she tossed the blouse to the foot of the bed; chills surged up and down her spine as she melted into his arms again.
His eyes narrowed on her neck, intrigued by the fading scars there, his jaw visibly tense. The sound of her heart racing, arteries pumping blood, tantalized him and made it increasingly difficult to maintain control.
He still desired her.
As much as that excited her, it didn't make it any less difficult to say what she had to. She waited for his eyes to meet hers before speaking again. "Claim me."
"What are you-" Spike pulled back, his eyes widening as her request finally registered. "Forget it! You don't know what you're asking. You have no idea what you'd be getting yourself into."
"Yes, I do."
"Do you?" She nodded. "Enlighten me. What would we be in for?"
She winced, hearing the agitation in his voice, seeing the anger written in his face.
Moments ago, they'd been happy. Going in, she knew what she was asking for and its consequences would involve more than the two of them alone. Everyone would be affected, swept up in the aftershocks, but she never considered that he would react so strongly in dismissal. Still, she was resolved.
"We'd be connected emotionally, mentally, physically, and be aware of each other always. If we're ever separated, I could pinpoint your exact location, retrace your steps, feel what you feel, and see what you see. We can communicate not only through words, but with a glance, with our thoughts. I know and appreciate the risks of what I'm asking for, but the greater harm would be not trying at all."
Spike could only shake his head, in disbelief.
"Giles thinks it's the most viable option of releasing you from the First's control." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
Stupid Buffy.
Spike pushed away from her then, his eyes clouding with intensity - rage - as he rose from the bed. She reached for him as he appeared unsteady on his feet, but he jerked his arm away as she touched him. He took in several deep breaths and began to pace.
Turning toward her again, he stood with his hands on his hips.
"You discussed this with Giles, and he approves? He's alright with this? You must think I'm stupid if you expect me to believe that."
So this was the nothing that couldn't wait, he muttered. Her request was far from nothing. For as much as he didn't understand Buffy's openness to the idea, what escaped him even further was why Giles would approve.
Then it hit him.
"Say you and I go through with this, it works, and I'm free from the First's control. Then what? You'll just change your mind about us again?"
She considered his question for a moment. "Change my mind? No, that's not how-"
"Haven't we hurt each other already?"
"That's not what I want. Spike, you have to-"
"I have to what - take it, accept it, walk away?" He threw his hands in the air. "Some things really don't change, do they, slayer?"
She winced at the last word. She yearned for his patented terms of endearment. Love. Pet. Anything but slayer. It left her off-balance, unsettled. The introspective look crossing his face stopped her from interjecting and making her intentions clear to him.
"I know what I want. I'm not walking away just because you're still afraid to hurt the people around you by being happy. I can't walk away from you, but I suppose you know that already, don't you? I'm not like the other blokes who have come and gone from your life. As fucked up as last year was, you deserve better. I'm here with you because I want to be, I choose to be."
If Spike was nothing else, he was honest, candid.
He never sugar coated his statements, not even if they hurt her. Often, what he said to her was true. How he could sift through her words and find the true meaning in them, she'd never know, but she wanted to spend the rest of her lifetime exploring that gift.
Hesitating, she stood and rounded the bed until she stood before him.
"I'm glad you're here, and I'm not asking you to walk away." Reaching between them, Buffy found his hand and took it in hers. "I'm not afraid anymore."
"What do you want from me, Buffy?" His voice was soft and low, barely above a whisper. She wouldn't have heard him if she hadn't been standing as close.
"You. I want you, Spike."
Though his jaw remained clenched, his eyes had softened - there was only hope in them. Hers closed briefly as he squeezed her hand. Leading him back to the bed, she sat first and waited for him to do the same.
Spike dipped his head, avoiding her eyes, staring at their hands.
"I can't imagine where I'd be if not for you, and I don't want to. Now, I'd like to try to give your freedom back to you because you deserve it…" When he didn't look up, she lifted her free hand to his face and tilted his chin upwards until their eyes locked. "I want us to be together the way we should have been before. I don't want us to end ever. I can't lose you, be without you, again."
"Why would you take the risk?"
"For the right person, the person I loved, I'd do it."
Buffy could see the moisture building in his eyes and wrapped her arms around him as they fell back on the bed; he remembered saying those precise words to her long ago. He guided her to lay flat on the mattress before positioning herself over her, their foreheads touching again.
"What do I have to offer you?"
"A future, a place in your heart if you'll still have me."
Taking her right hand within his left, Spike kissed the inside of the palm and entwined their fingers before bringing them to rest over his heart; she'd been so focused on his face that she failed to notice his removing the bandage.
"You've always been here. I never stopped loving you. I never will."
Lifting her right hand to his face, Buffy watched the skin of Spike's face stretch and harden. She stroked each ridge, the harshness of every curve, and paused to admire his amber eyes looking at her with human emotion, passion and not carnal need, dancing in them.
She wasn't afraid.
He was too beautiful for her to fear.
"I love you."
Brushing her lips over his once more, Buffy's eyes drifted closed as his fangs sank into her neck, taking slow, long pulls on her blood.
Two auras, one silver and the other chestnut gold, swirled around each other, weaving an intricate pattern before coalescing into a thick but exquisitely fine thread. She could see a wall standing erect in the distance.
A series of burgundy flecks thrust against the cracked mass until it crumbled, unveiling a meadow surrounded by a forest to the east, mountains to the west, and a wood cabin just yards off, all capped by the sun's brilliant rays and a gentle breeze.
The grass beneath her feet was lush and full, her jeans and camisole fading and substituted with a tan, knee-length lace dress. She basked in the landscape, its ambiance, and sighed contentedly as a pair of arms came around her waist. The worn leather felt great on her skin.
"It's beautiful here."
Pressing a light kiss to her nape, Spike rested his chin on her shoulder, absorbing the feel of the sun dancing across his skin and watching the rays encapsulate the light honey strands of her hair.
"This is the beginning. It's my gift to you."
Turning in his embrace, Buffy buried her head in his chest, drawing her hands over his shoulder blades. "Will it always be like this, when our minds merge?"
"It can be, if this is what you want. I told you that I wanted to give you what you deserve. I've wanted to show you that there is more than one type of light, the kind that mars and traps all comers, and take you to a place where the light welcomes and holds you," He paused, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "This moment is what I came back to Sunnydale for."
She wrapped her hand around his and held it tightly. Showing his face and navigating the earth freely only when the night came was a fate unworthy of him. In the daylight, with her, was where he belonged.
"It's perfect."
The feel of Spike's eyes boring into hers was rich with power. She'd never felt as beautiful, loved, or cherished except when blue and hazel met.
Leaning into the palm of his hand as it continued to rest on her cheek, she allowed it to drop from her face, still maintaining a firm grip, and kissed him, parting her mouth as his tongue brushed over hers, before dropping her head to his chest once more.
"I wish we could just stay here."
As arch-rivals or as lovers, he always managed to render her still, weightless like a cloud suspended high in the skies above and free from harm. She never wanted to come back down.
"We can come back as often as we'd like."
"Promise?"
He chuckled at the innocent question; moments where her true age shone through were few and farther between. "Forever," He assured her. "By the way, there's just one more thing."
She pulled back to look into his face.
"Think I can have my coat back?" It was her turn to laugh.
"You say it like I was keeping it hostage. You left it that night…" There was no point reopening old wounds, revisiting past pains. They were well past that now. "I missed you so much. I curled up beneath it every night. It was my way of holding onto you."
"No worries, I won't repeat that mistake again. I told you, I'm not going anywhere. Never."
Spike held her firmly, kissing the top of her head, as their surroundings gradually disintegrated.
Returning to herself, Buffy was grateful for his embrace, his touch steadying her as the nausea and dizziness subsided and the fog cleared.
Her toes curled as whispers of electricity swept through her slim frame, surging through her fingertips and traveling up her arms before settling in her chest. Her bedroom filled with an ethereal glow, her thoughts blending with his.
She wondered what he was afraid of, having sensed the caution in his approach as he monitored her heartbeat closely. It was the man in him and not the demon that remained dominant even though the harsh flesh nuzzling her collarbone suggested otherwise.
To craft something tangible, to make a commitment and promise to be the other's world, was something that both teased at but never quite possessed until now. She was certain that it was an opportunity they'd reap the benefits of and capitalize on now.
Together.
There was no other way for it to be.
They'd fail if he wasn't upfront and concealed things from her, although, from what she knew about the ritual and its aftermath, both would be capable of shielding in increments. It was quite the irony; she nearly laughed aloud, pondering the role reversal.
Here she was criticizing him for the very act he'd once accused her of patenting.
Coupling that anxiety was a sudden hunger to feel his skin flush on hers, to feel his hard, sinewy muscles dance and relax under her ministrations, to close any pockets where air could pass between them.
Relax, love.
There was so much she had to learn, new skills to perfect and hone. But hearing his voice in her mind, feeling his words vibrate across the neurons of her brain, that was something she could adapt to with ease; it didn't pose a test for her.
The sensation was exhilarating, as if she was truly hearing his voice for the first time. Instead of echoing off wall corners, it washed over her like a beautiful symphony. Everything felt more real, more precious, clear and distinct.
"I need you." She breathed in his ear, arching her back, weaving her left hand in the curls at the base of his neck. Flattening her right hand against his side, Buffy bit down on her lip to keep from crying out, succumbing to the pleasure and ignoring the pain as he drank more deeply.
Spike breathed heavily through his nose. His eyes drifted shut as the crimson liquid caressed the roof of his mouth and glided across the back of his tongue, warmth searing through him as smaller olive green filaments disbursed.
Muscle fibers, ligaments, and tendons re-knit, bone fragments set back in place, and the grating sensation decreased- culminating into a type of haze. He didn't remember blood ever tasting as potent or full of life, leaving him fully satisfied and yet craving for more at once.
Withdrawing his fangs, he lathed the wound with his tongue, darting the tip across the jagged edges, and then sealed it, his features softening into human guise as she moaned beneath him.
Lifting his head slightly from the hollow of her neck, he stared at the fresh marks, fascinated, as if they indicated possession except that was commonplace, a far cry, a poor reflection of the extraordinary woman that filled him completely.
I belonged to you long ago.
And I you, he concurred.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a silver object in her left hand. Small sparks emanated from their flesh, their fingers briefly touching, as he took the dagger from her.
You're my future, she reminded him. I've never wanted anyone or anything else more.
Spike ran the blade along the inside of his left wrist and flexed his arm outwards.
Taking his forearm in both hands, Buffy slowly dipped her head to the open gash, light shudders rippling through as her veins filled with fire and ice.
THE END