Absolution in Vein
By Moirae
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.
Feedback: I love it!!
Author's note: Thank you for all the support I've received. The reviews have been a wonderful motivational tool. I am, however, close to the end of my college career, so the last one or two chapters yet to come may take a little longer to produce. I'll work as quickly as I can, but between finals and trying to find a job, time is limited right now. Please keep reviewing. It inspires me to write more. ^_^
Chapter 4: Easter Rising
~You will weep and mourn...~
~You will have pain, but your pain will turn to joy...~
Amid the blue glow of early morning, Magdalen contemplates the secluded cave where her lover now rests. The alabaster jar she carries is heavy and cold in her palm. She finds comfort in its tangible form, its certain purpose. With the small jar of ointment she will anoint his head and feet--pay homage to one in death who should have known all the world's praise in life.
After three days she still cannot believe he is gone. She pulled him from the cross herself. Waited for the crowd to disperse, for the sentries to retreat. She lingered until the sky was blackened and bare, bereft even of stars that night--as if the universe itself was in mourning. Then, with the help of a returned disciple, she released her lover's body from its cruel restraints and conveyed him to the remote cavern that would house him for eternity.
Here, before that cavern, she hesitates. Another place that will bear her grief, another witness to their destinies intertwined.
Gethsemane. Pilate's balcony. Golgotha...
Now here. An isolated cave. A private sepulchre.
Dismally, Magdalen remembers that this place has not been touched by his life. It has not known his beauty, his grace; it houses his body, but not his soul. It is three days since he was torn from her and she now questions her ability to face the empty, lifeless shell of his body--the painful evidence of his existence.
The jar in her hand steadies her. She remembers her task, and knows it will have to be enough to get her through the torture of seeing of her lover and not feeling his comforting touch, not hearing his consoling words.
She takes measured steps to the cave, her thin sandals offering little protection against the rocky desert floor. The cavernous mouth is open and hidden in shadow, and as she enters, Magdalen feels as though she is being swallowed whole.
Through the darkness, she can make out his form. The linen shroud drapes over his body with a delicate intimacy--a feather-light touch. A kiss. The planes of his face and frame are defined in shadow, molded by the whisper-thin cloth.
A stillness takes over, and Magdalen stands silently admiring him from across the expanse. This will be her last visit. She will lovingly anoint him, mark him as sovereign in the kingdom of heaven, then she will pick up the remnants of her life and carry on without him by her side.
Outside, dawn threatens the horizon with a rosy glow.
She isn't sure when or how it happens. A trick of the light. A flutter of breeze. She feels insanity creep in and knows she must be imagining this. The shroud shifts.
No. The dead don't move.
Again. She sees it for sure this time--the flex of dormant muscle underneath the cloth. The chest rising with breath. A wrist jerks. The toes twitch. Before she can comprehend one inexplicable suggestion of movement, another follows, throwing her brain into a frantic spiral of denial.
Tangled images flood her mind unbidden, uncontrolled...
~~A shadow from the hallway slides into her room~~
~~Candlelight flickers~~
~~She reaches out for his hand~~
~~"Yeshua of Galilee shall be crucified"~~
~~She takes the glass and drinks from it~~
Before the last image fades from her sight, he is standing before her, the shroud wrapped carelessly around his waist. Tears stain her cheeks and she falls to her knees in rapture. Her only desire, her only hope--fulfilled. Her lover breathes. Her savior lives.
"Yeshua."
The word is a question, a prayer, an invocation. Is this possible? Is this a dream? Crystalline eyes search his face for recognition. Hazel eyes answer her. This is most certainly real.
"Why are you weeping?" He chides her with a smile, and she and responds in kind.
Out of happiness she thinks. His hand is offered and she takes it gratefully, pulling herself into his arms. The cavern glows with the first hints of dawn--pressing darkness into isolated corners--as they hold each other.
No words are spoken. None need be. They are bound--body and soul--forever. Savior and sinner-redeemed. Bound by blood.
Tenderly, he extracts himself from her embrace and steps out of the sepulchre. He is the picture of serenity under a brilliant rose sky, inviting her to follow. Their destination--their fate--is unknown, but the journey must begin somewhere. Or is this the end of the beginning? Already, she has experienced more from life than any one person has right to claim. Whore. Lover. Disciple.
How many more lives will she be graced to spend with him? How much time? As she meets his gaze, she decides that were she offered eternity, it would not be enough. Wordlessly, she exits the cave and approaches her lover to begin their journey anew.
As morning breaks across Jerusalem, Magdalen steps into the sunlight and happily greets the dawn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They woke together in a lover's embrace. In a sleep-fuddled fog, Buffy greeted cool blue eyes with her own. Tender arms encircled her, and for a moment she did not remember all that had transpired the night before. Inexplicably, she felt reborn, hopeful.
Spike woke with a contentment he had never known. The woman he loved stared back at him, her face, the picture of affection. 'Loved?' Where did that come from? He wanted this woman, he lusted after her. But did he love? One look into her rapturous face and he knew.
He had loved her all along.
She was his match, his equal in every way. She challenged him with her skills as a fighter; she met his biting sarcasm with an evenly-matched wit. She was fire and passion and beauty and light, and she inspired him like no woman-- no, not even Drusilla --ever had. It was simply a matter of scraping away the title "enemy" and he could see it cleary. Well, perhaps not so simply...it *had* taken four years, after all.
He knew with unfaltering certainty that, because of his love, he would deny her nothing--he would subdue his demon, sacrifice himself, do anything she asked, if only to catch a glimpse of this contentment again.
Spike felt a sudden warmth spread through his lifeless body, and he dared to imagined a time when even the grossest of his sins might be washed away by her redemptive love. A smile adorned her face and absolution stared back at him from within the depths of her affectionate eyes.
He was granted only a moment of satisfaction before realization hit the woman in his arms and the face of his salvation fell. As the dream haze wore off, Buffy felt the blinding loss of her friends and family all over again. Suddenly, the events of last night, the truth of their situation, came crashing down on Spike. He watched Buffy's eyes glaze over in horror and felt her body recoil as if receiving a blow.
He felt sick. To be picturing a future with this girl, to imagine she would ever return his feelings for her--it was ridiculous. They wouldn't last the week like this--much less the eternity it would take for her to ever return his affection. Here she was, broken and trembling from a wound so acute it would never heal, and he was thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about love, about *redemption*.
He abandoned his hopes and tried to comfort her instead. Rocking her small frame against him, he whispered an unintelligible litany of solace--but it was to no avail. She shuddered with unspent grief, a watery tide threatening her eyes yet again.
"Hush, now, pet. Everything's going to be fine."
Her head burrowed into his chest, her fingers dug into his back, and broken, tearless sobs issued from her dry throat. He pulled her against him tighter still, as if he might crush out her grief with his embrace.
Life is too cruel. One person should not be delt this much pain. Buffy knew her life as a Slayer involved sacrifice, but she had never imagined it would take this form. To lose everything she loved, everyone she held dear--it was a grief too great for any one person to bear. She would offer her own life a thousand times if only she could see her mother's face again or hear Dawn complain about always being left out. She wanted Willow's quiet words of comfort now; she wanted to hear one of Xander's stupid jokes. She would face death this moment, if only Giles was there to speak of duty, to offer his loving support.
All the people that had touched her life--gone--because of her. She had to blame herself. They were dead because she was the Slayer. They had sacrificed their shining futures for her.
What kind of twisted world left her no one but her mortal enemy to comfort her?
And what did it mean that Spike--who had always taken a perverse pleasure in her misfortunes--was now holding onto her for dear life? What did it mean that she believed he was only thing saving her from absolute ruin at this moment?
Nothing made sense anymore. She gave up trying to figure it out and simply let herself feel the steady stroke of his hands, the comfort of his nonsense words. She felt her suffering retreat into hidden corners of her mind, and the world went blissfully blank. She was oblivious of everything around her and blessedly free from pain.
Spike caressed Buffy's back, stroked her long locks, absently. Without warning, he felt her body go limp, and he was suddenly reminded of the vacant, expressionless mask her face had adopted the evening before. Is she trying to slip away again? He lovingly wrapped his hands around her head--his thumbs tracing the lines of her jaw--and pulled her back, slightly, to examine her face.
There they were. Vacant eyes. She was retreating into her head, and Spike was terrified that, if left to her own devices, she might never return.
He did the only thing he could think of. It was irrational and hopelessly absurd, but fear drove men to strange acts.
Tenderly, he kissed the top of her head. Chastely, he worked his way down her face--first her forehead, then her eyelids, her nose, and last, her delicate lips.
Through a fog, Buffy felt a strange sensation. Her mind battered against it, tried to shut the doors to the outside world. It was so nice in here, so blank and free, and she didn't want to face whatever her consciousness was battling against.
Spike could see he was having no affect with his nervous attentions. She was slipping from him, and he refused to let her fall.
"Buffy. Stop it." Her face was a lifeless mask, the pools of her eyes, fathomless pits.
He tried again, louder this time. "Buffy! Wake up! I'm not going to let you run away, Slayer!"
Nothing.
He didn't know if what he was about to do was incredibly brave, or just plain stupid. He was almost certain he would get staked for it, but he didn't care, not as long as it brought his love out of her trance.
He kissed her. No innocent kiss of comfort. No chaste kiss of platonic affection. This kiss captured all the passion and fury he had ever felt for her. It was blinding in its intensity, and even Buffy's defensive wall was shaken by its force.
Buffy felt a tug on her consciousness. She lifted her curtain of denial to peek at its cause. That little tug, and the curtain was ripped apart. Suddenly, she was aware of forceful lips against hers, of a demanding tongue exploring her mouth.
She kissed him back.
Only despair as acute as she now felt it could have driven her to such an insane act, but she didn't care. If he wouldn't let her forget her loss in a mindless stupor, he would make her forget in mindless sex. She needed comfort, and right or wrong, comfort came in the form of his caress at this moment. She snaked her arms under his thin, black shirt and deepened the kiss. She engaged his mouth in a demanding attack.
Spike was taken aback as the woman in his arms passionately returned his kiss. He had intended to shock her to reality, to incite her fury, or at the very least, consciousness. He never expected her to invite his attentions--to return them. He pulled away from her desperate grip and looked into her lust-filled eyes.
"Buffy? What are you doing?"
She paused in her assault, confused. "Me? I thought *we* were doing something, Spike." Her expression was cold. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to think. He was taking her release away, and she didn't like it one bit.
Spike was at a loss. He couldn't take advantage of her like this--as much as he wanted to. She would never forgive him for it. "Buffy, you're just confused. You're upset. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't be doing this."
"I'm not confused at all, Spike. I know exactly what I want to be doing. And so do you." She pressed her hips against his and left a blazing trail across his back with her fingertips. "I can see that now. The games you've been playing with me, your sudden compassionate streak. You want me. You can't deny that."
He tried to release himself from her grasp, but she held him tight. "You don't want me. You just want a mindless fuck."
"So?" Her steady answer broke his heart. He didn't want her like this. He didn't want to be used as a means of consolation.
"*So*... I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret later, Slayer." He broke free from her this time, and quickly he was on his feet, bounding away from her.
Buffy was enraged. He would not walk away from her. Again. "I can decide what I will and won't regret, and right now I want nothing more than to finish what you started, Spike." His name was said with malice, furiously spit from her mouth as she stood.
"That's what you want? Are you sure?" A dangerous edge crept into his voice. He stalked toward her, his eyes flashing with fire. Buffy smirked at his threatening words and stood her ground, defiant hands on her hips.
He pounced.
She was prepared for the attack, but offered no defense. If she couldn't have sex, violence ran a close second. Beyond that she just couldn't care. His hand clamped down on her throat as he drove her against a hard, stone wall. The demon ripped through his human mask and blazing yellow eyes stared down on her.
He bared razor sharp fangs in a sinister grimace. "Is this what you want?" His fury was getting the better of him. Why is it always a choice of hitting her or holding her? Somehow, this woman inspired the most infuriating rage and the most unbridled passion in him--sometimes both in the same moment. The malice playing in his eyes sent a sudden spark of worry through Buffy, and she began to doubt the wisdom behind her course of action.
"Be certain about one thing, dearie. I don't play sweet and lovey like the Poof. I'm not your reliable soldier boy. I'm a big, bad man, and you may get more than you bargain for rutting around with me." He was putting on a show now, in defense of his bruised pride. Spike could be a very gentle lover (at least by vampire standards), even before the little metallic bit in his head prevented him from doing any real harm. But if she wanted to treat him like a sex toy, he would make damn-well sure she knew what she was asking for. "This chip may keep me from hurting you, but that doesn't mean anything between us will be pleasant."
Buffy was not so much afraid as disgusted by herself at this moment. To throw herself at Spike. To imagine sex would just wipe the pain away. She groaned at her own childishness. And Spike didn't want her, anyway; he was making that unmistakably clear. She was such a fool.
Spike saw Buffy's once-defiant face fall and realized that he had struck a nerve. Probably that crack about Angel. Brilliant. Bring up the great, tragic love of her life on top of everything else she's dealing with. You're a right wanker, you are.
The hand fell from her throat. His demonic form shifted, and the angular planes of his face smoothed over once again. His remorseful eyes took no satisfaction in Buffy's stricken face.
"Spike...I--" She wanted to apologize, to slink away, to banish the pitiful expression draped over his countenance.
"Listen, luv, you don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for bringing up the wanker--Angel," he amended.
"Spike, why am I...? What's wrong with me?"
The broken question shattered something inside of him. All pretense of anger gone, Spike offered reassuring words. "Oh, Buffy, there's nothing wrong with you. You're just trying to deal with all of this." He stroked the length of her bare arms to quiet her agitation, a gesture that was becoming a little too familiar, he noted with unease.
"No. It's not just that. Everything's turned upside down." She notice his absent-minded strokes against her arms and realized the source of her errant questions. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Of all the things Buffy might ask, that was the last one Spike was prepared to explain. He couldn't tell her the truth. Could he? No, better to stall.
"Uh...why?" Not his most eloquent moment, but it would do for the present.
"Because you hate me. Enemies, remember? You've spent every moment since you got to Sunnydale plotting my death." Not angry as much as confused, she watched him expectantly.
His hands abandoned her arms, crossing in defense. "That is not fair. I haven't tried to kill you in a very long time." He groaned inwardly at his retort. That sounded a lot better in my head. He avoided her gaze, unsure how to continue.
Quietly, he offered, "And I don't hate you, by the way. You're not too bad--for a human."
Buffy suddenly felt like she was at a Jr. High dance, tugging on her dress while some pimply boy offered awkward compliments. What is going on? Am I in Bazarro Land, or did Spike just say he likes me?
"What are you trying to say, Spike? You want to be my friend?" Sex appeal was one thing, but warm fuzzies was just way too wiggy when dealing with Spike. "Because things don't work that way. You vampire. Me slayer. Remember?" This was too surreal. Spike looked like a wounded puppy, and it was giving her the disturbing urge to reach out and hug him.
"But shaggin' me is alright?" Buffy started to respond, but he cut her off, curtly. "It's all so black and white with you, isn't Buffy? I'm evil because I'm a vampire. No soul, no exceptions, right?" He barreled ahead, adamant in his own defense. "Well, if you hadn't noticed, I've done a bit of changing since you met me, luv. I'm more than just fangy and GRRR these days."
Buffy didn't like where this conversation was going. Vampires aren't good. Vampires don't change. And if they did, then everything she believed about her calling and her high principles was wrong.
She checked her doubts and forcefully replied, "This, from the man who not five minutes ago pinned me against a wall, aching to drain me dry. The only thing that's changed about you is that chip. And last I checked, impotent vampires were still evil vampires." It was more than a little confusing that soft words from the man she had just thrown herself at should so terrify her, but somehow, in all the years she had known him, Buffy had managed to separate her lusty urges from any heartfelt attraction.
"You've not heard a word I've said. This is not about the chip! It's about you! It's about my feelings--" He cut himself off, sickly aware he had gone too far.
Buffy felt panic bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. Suddenly, everything fit. At the same time, everything was horribly wrong. Spike has feelings for me. Spike is being nice because he's attracted to me. Spike thinks he's in l-- No. She wasn't going to finish that thought.
"I'm in love with you, Buffy."
Well that's just great. He had to say it, didn't he?
Buffy's mind screamed NO! Her instincts told her to get away from him, to stake him. Anything to keep him from going further. In spite of all that, she couldn't eject the image of him holding her last night; she couldn't forget the look of concern etched on his face through this entire ordeal. She stood rooted in place, paralyzed and speechless.
"Buffy, I--" He reached out to touch her face and she flinched away from him. "Please. Please just listen to me."
"Spike, I can't--" She couldn't hear another word. Madness crept at the edge of her vision, threatening its absolute conquer. She didn't know what was more insane--that her mortal enemy was declaring his undying love for her, or that she might actually be excited by it.
"I know. Believe me, I know how ridiculous this is. But I can't help the way I feel. It's tearing me up inside. And if you hate me because of this, it just might destroy me." His eyes grew dim with anticipation of her repulsion. He knew it was hopeless, but he had to tell her--at least this once.
"But it would be worth it." He plunged. One final attempt. "I would die this moment for just a chance that you feel the same about me."
With that, Buffy lost the battle. Madness swept over her and a lunatic smile invaded her face. She couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted to be loved by him. She wanted to loose herself in irrational passion-to let her heart, not her mind, guide her through this. Buffy had no words for him; language couldn't possibly convey the flood of emotion overtaking her, so she spoke with action. As Spike warily anticipated the blow of her rejection, Buffy leaned over and did the last thing he ever expected.
She kissed him. Through the roof's grinning hole, sun blossomed down in a vibrant column behind Buffy as she and Spike shared what she considered their first real kiss.
TBC...
By Moirae
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.
Feedback: I love it!!
Author's note: Thank you for all the support I've received. The reviews have been a wonderful motivational tool. I am, however, close to the end of my college career, so the last one or two chapters yet to come may take a little longer to produce. I'll work as quickly as I can, but between finals and trying to find a job, time is limited right now. Please keep reviewing. It inspires me to write more. ^_^
Chapter 4: Easter Rising
~You will weep and mourn...~
~You will have pain, but your pain will turn to joy...~
Amid the blue glow of early morning, Magdalen contemplates the secluded cave where her lover now rests. The alabaster jar she carries is heavy and cold in her palm. She finds comfort in its tangible form, its certain purpose. With the small jar of ointment she will anoint his head and feet--pay homage to one in death who should have known all the world's praise in life.
After three days she still cannot believe he is gone. She pulled him from the cross herself. Waited for the crowd to disperse, for the sentries to retreat. She lingered until the sky was blackened and bare, bereft even of stars that night--as if the universe itself was in mourning. Then, with the help of a returned disciple, she released her lover's body from its cruel restraints and conveyed him to the remote cavern that would house him for eternity.
Here, before that cavern, she hesitates. Another place that will bear her grief, another witness to their destinies intertwined.
Gethsemane. Pilate's balcony. Golgotha...
Now here. An isolated cave. A private sepulchre.
Dismally, Magdalen remembers that this place has not been touched by his life. It has not known his beauty, his grace; it houses his body, but not his soul. It is three days since he was torn from her and she now questions her ability to face the empty, lifeless shell of his body--the painful evidence of his existence.
The jar in her hand steadies her. She remembers her task, and knows it will have to be enough to get her through the torture of seeing of her lover and not feeling his comforting touch, not hearing his consoling words.
She takes measured steps to the cave, her thin sandals offering little protection against the rocky desert floor. The cavernous mouth is open and hidden in shadow, and as she enters, Magdalen feels as though she is being swallowed whole.
Through the darkness, she can make out his form. The linen shroud drapes over his body with a delicate intimacy--a feather-light touch. A kiss. The planes of his face and frame are defined in shadow, molded by the whisper-thin cloth.
A stillness takes over, and Magdalen stands silently admiring him from across the expanse. This will be her last visit. She will lovingly anoint him, mark him as sovereign in the kingdom of heaven, then she will pick up the remnants of her life and carry on without him by her side.
Outside, dawn threatens the horizon with a rosy glow.
She isn't sure when or how it happens. A trick of the light. A flutter of breeze. She feels insanity creep in and knows she must be imagining this. The shroud shifts.
No. The dead don't move.
Again. She sees it for sure this time--the flex of dormant muscle underneath the cloth. The chest rising with breath. A wrist jerks. The toes twitch. Before she can comprehend one inexplicable suggestion of movement, another follows, throwing her brain into a frantic spiral of denial.
Tangled images flood her mind unbidden, uncontrolled...
~~A shadow from the hallway slides into her room~~
~~Candlelight flickers~~
~~She reaches out for his hand~~
~~"Yeshua of Galilee shall be crucified"~~
~~She takes the glass and drinks from it~~
Before the last image fades from her sight, he is standing before her, the shroud wrapped carelessly around his waist. Tears stain her cheeks and she falls to her knees in rapture. Her only desire, her only hope--fulfilled. Her lover breathes. Her savior lives.
"Yeshua."
The word is a question, a prayer, an invocation. Is this possible? Is this a dream? Crystalline eyes search his face for recognition. Hazel eyes answer her. This is most certainly real.
"Why are you weeping?" He chides her with a smile, and she and responds in kind.
Out of happiness she thinks. His hand is offered and she takes it gratefully, pulling herself into his arms. The cavern glows with the first hints of dawn--pressing darkness into isolated corners--as they hold each other.
No words are spoken. None need be. They are bound--body and soul--forever. Savior and sinner-redeemed. Bound by blood.
Tenderly, he extracts himself from her embrace and steps out of the sepulchre. He is the picture of serenity under a brilliant rose sky, inviting her to follow. Their destination--their fate--is unknown, but the journey must begin somewhere. Or is this the end of the beginning? Already, she has experienced more from life than any one person has right to claim. Whore. Lover. Disciple.
How many more lives will she be graced to spend with him? How much time? As she meets his gaze, she decides that were she offered eternity, it would not be enough. Wordlessly, she exits the cave and approaches her lover to begin their journey anew.
As morning breaks across Jerusalem, Magdalen steps into the sunlight and happily greets the dawn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They woke together in a lover's embrace. In a sleep-fuddled fog, Buffy greeted cool blue eyes with her own. Tender arms encircled her, and for a moment she did not remember all that had transpired the night before. Inexplicably, she felt reborn, hopeful.
Spike woke with a contentment he had never known. The woman he loved stared back at him, her face, the picture of affection. 'Loved?' Where did that come from? He wanted this woman, he lusted after her. But did he love? One look into her rapturous face and he knew.
He had loved her all along.
She was his match, his equal in every way. She challenged him with her skills as a fighter; she met his biting sarcasm with an evenly-matched wit. She was fire and passion and beauty and light, and she inspired him like no woman-- no, not even Drusilla --ever had. It was simply a matter of scraping away the title "enemy" and he could see it cleary. Well, perhaps not so simply...it *had* taken four years, after all.
He knew with unfaltering certainty that, because of his love, he would deny her nothing--he would subdue his demon, sacrifice himself, do anything she asked, if only to catch a glimpse of this contentment again.
Spike felt a sudden warmth spread through his lifeless body, and he dared to imagined a time when even the grossest of his sins might be washed away by her redemptive love. A smile adorned her face and absolution stared back at him from within the depths of her affectionate eyes.
He was granted only a moment of satisfaction before realization hit the woman in his arms and the face of his salvation fell. As the dream haze wore off, Buffy felt the blinding loss of her friends and family all over again. Suddenly, the events of last night, the truth of their situation, came crashing down on Spike. He watched Buffy's eyes glaze over in horror and felt her body recoil as if receiving a blow.
He felt sick. To be picturing a future with this girl, to imagine she would ever return his feelings for her--it was ridiculous. They wouldn't last the week like this--much less the eternity it would take for her to ever return his affection. Here she was, broken and trembling from a wound so acute it would never heal, and he was thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about love, about *redemption*.
He abandoned his hopes and tried to comfort her instead. Rocking her small frame against him, he whispered an unintelligible litany of solace--but it was to no avail. She shuddered with unspent grief, a watery tide threatening her eyes yet again.
"Hush, now, pet. Everything's going to be fine."
Her head burrowed into his chest, her fingers dug into his back, and broken, tearless sobs issued from her dry throat. He pulled her against him tighter still, as if he might crush out her grief with his embrace.
Life is too cruel. One person should not be delt this much pain. Buffy knew her life as a Slayer involved sacrifice, but she had never imagined it would take this form. To lose everything she loved, everyone she held dear--it was a grief too great for any one person to bear. She would offer her own life a thousand times if only she could see her mother's face again or hear Dawn complain about always being left out. She wanted Willow's quiet words of comfort now; she wanted to hear one of Xander's stupid jokes. She would face death this moment, if only Giles was there to speak of duty, to offer his loving support.
All the people that had touched her life--gone--because of her. She had to blame herself. They were dead because she was the Slayer. They had sacrificed their shining futures for her.
What kind of twisted world left her no one but her mortal enemy to comfort her?
And what did it mean that Spike--who had always taken a perverse pleasure in her misfortunes--was now holding onto her for dear life? What did it mean that she believed he was only thing saving her from absolute ruin at this moment?
Nothing made sense anymore. She gave up trying to figure it out and simply let herself feel the steady stroke of his hands, the comfort of his nonsense words. She felt her suffering retreat into hidden corners of her mind, and the world went blissfully blank. She was oblivious of everything around her and blessedly free from pain.
Spike caressed Buffy's back, stroked her long locks, absently. Without warning, he felt her body go limp, and he was suddenly reminded of the vacant, expressionless mask her face had adopted the evening before. Is she trying to slip away again? He lovingly wrapped his hands around her head--his thumbs tracing the lines of her jaw--and pulled her back, slightly, to examine her face.
There they were. Vacant eyes. She was retreating into her head, and Spike was terrified that, if left to her own devices, she might never return.
He did the only thing he could think of. It was irrational and hopelessly absurd, but fear drove men to strange acts.
Tenderly, he kissed the top of her head. Chastely, he worked his way down her face--first her forehead, then her eyelids, her nose, and last, her delicate lips.
Through a fog, Buffy felt a strange sensation. Her mind battered against it, tried to shut the doors to the outside world. It was so nice in here, so blank and free, and she didn't want to face whatever her consciousness was battling against.
Spike could see he was having no affect with his nervous attentions. She was slipping from him, and he refused to let her fall.
"Buffy. Stop it." Her face was a lifeless mask, the pools of her eyes, fathomless pits.
He tried again, louder this time. "Buffy! Wake up! I'm not going to let you run away, Slayer!"
Nothing.
He didn't know if what he was about to do was incredibly brave, or just plain stupid. He was almost certain he would get staked for it, but he didn't care, not as long as it brought his love out of her trance.
He kissed her. No innocent kiss of comfort. No chaste kiss of platonic affection. This kiss captured all the passion and fury he had ever felt for her. It was blinding in its intensity, and even Buffy's defensive wall was shaken by its force.
Buffy felt a tug on her consciousness. She lifted her curtain of denial to peek at its cause. That little tug, and the curtain was ripped apart. Suddenly, she was aware of forceful lips against hers, of a demanding tongue exploring her mouth.
She kissed him back.
Only despair as acute as she now felt it could have driven her to such an insane act, but she didn't care. If he wouldn't let her forget her loss in a mindless stupor, he would make her forget in mindless sex. She needed comfort, and right or wrong, comfort came in the form of his caress at this moment. She snaked her arms under his thin, black shirt and deepened the kiss. She engaged his mouth in a demanding attack.
Spike was taken aback as the woman in his arms passionately returned his kiss. He had intended to shock her to reality, to incite her fury, or at the very least, consciousness. He never expected her to invite his attentions--to return them. He pulled away from her desperate grip and looked into her lust-filled eyes.
"Buffy? What are you doing?"
She paused in her assault, confused. "Me? I thought *we* were doing something, Spike." Her expression was cold. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to think. He was taking her release away, and she didn't like it one bit.
Spike was at a loss. He couldn't take advantage of her like this--as much as he wanted to. She would never forgive him for it. "Buffy, you're just confused. You're upset. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't be doing this."
"I'm not confused at all, Spike. I know exactly what I want to be doing. And so do you." She pressed her hips against his and left a blazing trail across his back with her fingertips. "I can see that now. The games you've been playing with me, your sudden compassionate streak. You want me. You can't deny that."
He tried to release himself from her grasp, but she held him tight. "You don't want me. You just want a mindless fuck."
"So?" Her steady answer broke his heart. He didn't want her like this. He didn't want to be used as a means of consolation.
"*So*... I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret later, Slayer." He broke free from her this time, and quickly he was on his feet, bounding away from her.
Buffy was enraged. He would not walk away from her. Again. "I can decide what I will and won't regret, and right now I want nothing more than to finish what you started, Spike." His name was said with malice, furiously spit from her mouth as she stood.
"That's what you want? Are you sure?" A dangerous edge crept into his voice. He stalked toward her, his eyes flashing with fire. Buffy smirked at his threatening words and stood her ground, defiant hands on her hips.
He pounced.
She was prepared for the attack, but offered no defense. If she couldn't have sex, violence ran a close second. Beyond that she just couldn't care. His hand clamped down on her throat as he drove her against a hard, stone wall. The demon ripped through his human mask and blazing yellow eyes stared down on her.
He bared razor sharp fangs in a sinister grimace. "Is this what you want?" His fury was getting the better of him. Why is it always a choice of hitting her or holding her? Somehow, this woman inspired the most infuriating rage and the most unbridled passion in him--sometimes both in the same moment. The malice playing in his eyes sent a sudden spark of worry through Buffy, and she began to doubt the wisdom behind her course of action.
"Be certain about one thing, dearie. I don't play sweet and lovey like the Poof. I'm not your reliable soldier boy. I'm a big, bad man, and you may get more than you bargain for rutting around with me." He was putting on a show now, in defense of his bruised pride. Spike could be a very gentle lover (at least by vampire standards), even before the little metallic bit in his head prevented him from doing any real harm. But if she wanted to treat him like a sex toy, he would make damn-well sure she knew what she was asking for. "This chip may keep me from hurting you, but that doesn't mean anything between us will be pleasant."
Buffy was not so much afraid as disgusted by herself at this moment. To throw herself at Spike. To imagine sex would just wipe the pain away. She groaned at her own childishness. And Spike didn't want her, anyway; he was making that unmistakably clear. She was such a fool.
Spike saw Buffy's once-defiant face fall and realized that he had struck a nerve. Probably that crack about Angel. Brilliant. Bring up the great, tragic love of her life on top of everything else she's dealing with. You're a right wanker, you are.
The hand fell from her throat. His demonic form shifted, and the angular planes of his face smoothed over once again. His remorseful eyes took no satisfaction in Buffy's stricken face.
"Spike...I--" She wanted to apologize, to slink away, to banish the pitiful expression draped over his countenance.
"Listen, luv, you don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for bringing up the wanker--Angel," he amended.
"Spike, why am I...? What's wrong with me?"
The broken question shattered something inside of him. All pretense of anger gone, Spike offered reassuring words. "Oh, Buffy, there's nothing wrong with you. You're just trying to deal with all of this." He stroked the length of her bare arms to quiet her agitation, a gesture that was becoming a little too familiar, he noted with unease.
"No. It's not just that. Everything's turned upside down." She notice his absent-minded strokes against her arms and realized the source of her errant questions. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Of all the things Buffy might ask, that was the last one Spike was prepared to explain. He couldn't tell her the truth. Could he? No, better to stall.
"Uh...why?" Not his most eloquent moment, but it would do for the present.
"Because you hate me. Enemies, remember? You've spent every moment since you got to Sunnydale plotting my death." Not angry as much as confused, she watched him expectantly.
His hands abandoned her arms, crossing in defense. "That is not fair. I haven't tried to kill you in a very long time." He groaned inwardly at his retort. That sounded a lot better in my head. He avoided her gaze, unsure how to continue.
Quietly, he offered, "And I don't hate you, by the way. You're not too bad--for a human."
Buffy suddenly felt like she was at a Jr. High dance, tugging on her dress while some pimply boy offered awkward compliments. What is going on? Am I in Bazarro Land, or did Spike just say he likes me?
"What are you trying to say, Spike? You want to be my friend?" Sex appeal was one thing, but warm fuzzies was just way too wiggy when dealing with Spike. "Because things don't work that way. You vampire. Me slayer. Remember?" This was too surreal. Spike looked like a wounded puppy, and it was giving her the disturbing urge to reach out and hug him.
"But shaggin' me is alright?" Buffy started to respond, but he cut her off, curtly. "It's all so black and white with you, isn't Buffy? I'm evil because I'm a vampire. No soul, no exceptions, right?" He barreled ahead, adamant in his own defense. "Well, if you hadn't noticed, I've done a bit of changing since you met me, luv. I'm more than just fangy and GRRR these days."
Buffy didn't like where this conversation was going. Vampires aren't good. Vampires don't change. And if they did, then everything she believed about her calling and her high principles was wrong.
She checked her doubts and forcefully replied, "This, from the man who not five minutes ago pinned me against a wall, aching to drain me dry. The only thing that's changed about you is that chip. And last I checked, impotent vampires were still evil vampires." It was more than a little confusing that soft words from the man she had just thrown herself at should so terrify her, but somehow, in all the years she had known him, Buffy had managed to separate her lusty urges from any heartfelt attraction.
"You've not heard a word I've said. This is not about the chip! It's about you! It's about my feelings--" He cut himself off, sickly aware he had gone too far.
Buffy felt panic bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. Suddenly, everything fit. At the same time, everything was horribly wrong. Spike has feelings for me. Spike is being nice because he's attracted to me. Spike thinks he's in l-- No. She wasn't going to finish that thought.
"I'm in love with you, Buffy."
Well that's just great. He had to say it, didn't he?
Buffy's mind screamed NO! Her instincts told her to get away from him, to stake him. Anything to keep him from going further. In spite of all that, she couldn't eject the image of him holding her last night; she couldn't forget the look of concern etched on his face through this entire ordeal. She stood rooted in place, paralyzed and speechless.
"Buffy, I--" He reached out to touch her face and she flinched away from him. "Please. Please just listen to me."
"Spike, I can't--" She couldn't hear another word. Madness crept at the edge of her vision, threatening its absolute conquer. She didn't know what was more insane--that her mortal enemy was declaring his undying love for her, or that she might actually be excited by it.
"I know. Believe me, I know how ridiculous this is. But I can't help the way I feel. It's tearing me up inside. And if you hate me because of this, it just might destroy me." His eyes grew dim with anticipation of her repulsion. He knew it was hopeless, but he had to tell her--at least this once.
"But it would be worth it." He plunged. One final attempt. "I would die this moment for just a chance that you feel the same about me."
With that, Buffy lost the battle. Madness swept over her and a lunatic smile invaded her face. She couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted to be loved by him. She wanted to loose herself in irrational passion-to let her heart, not her mind, guide her through this. Buffy had no words for him; language couldn't possibly convey the flood of emotion overtaking her, so she spoke with action. As Spike warily anticipated the blow of her rejection, Buffy leaned over and did the last thing he ever expected.
She kissed him. Through the roof's grinning hole, sun blossomed down in a vibrant column behind Buffy as she and Spike shared what she considered their first real kiss.
TBC...