Cross Purposes
By Sabrina
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sequel to "The Second Thanksgiving" and "The Blue Hour." Buffy and Spike have relationship issues -- they're both basically scared to death of each other.
Disclaimer: Characters, settings, situations belong to Joss Whedon, ME, Fox, UPN, etc. Song lyrics belong to Rufus Wainwright Credit Card Music, Inc., 1998 (more available on his first, fantastic eponymous CD).
Archive: Anywhere, just tell me.
Big old props: AurelioZen, for actually rewriting parts of this and making it so much better.
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Nothing so bright, nothing so smooth,
Nothing so pure
As my baby.
All of my life
Days into night
All I did dream was my baby.
Until the day
Darkness entwined
With silver eyes
Was my baby staring at me.
And since then I can't see straight…
--- "Baby," Rufus Wainwright
"Don't leave," she murmured.
Spike, sitting on the edge of the bed, turned to her, caught in the act of putting on his jeans. "Shhh. Go back to sleep, love."
Buffy ran her hand lightly down his bare back. "Don't go. Stay with me."
He shuddered from the contact, but this time, he was determined to be firm. "You know I can't. Gonna be light soon -- I have to go home, and rest, and eat."
"Why can't you do that here?"
"You're all out of blood, remember?" He smiled down at her. "Anyway, don't want Dawn to walk in on us. Probably traumatize her infant mind."
"She won't freak out, I promise." She yawned. "She's a big girl now."
"Don't want to take the chance." He bent down to retrieve his t-shirt, holding it loosely in his hands, debating. God, I don't want to go. I probably won't, either, depending on what she does now. He waited for her to say it. He had been waiting for so long.
Her voice, still sleepy, came back to him, now plaintive. "Don't go. I want to snuggle some more." She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, hugging tightly and pressing her cheek against his back. "You're my prisoner. You have to do what I say." She took a deep breath, inhaling his bizarre but utterly satisfying scent -- he smelled a little like smoke, or incense, with a faintly musky undertone. It was completely heady, and through her drowsiness she began kissing along his spine, working up to his shoulder blades, sniffing as she went.
He kept very still, thoroughly enjoying her warm mouth on his back, then he turned in her arms, looking down at her with an affectionate smirk. "Since when do I have to do as you say? I don't recall agreeing to that."
"You have to since right now. I want you to sleep right here with me. The shades are down, nothing will hurt you. You have to do as I say." She reached up and kissed his Adam's apple, then tucked her head under his chin, closing her eyes. He put his arms around her, cradling her in his lap like a child.
"Buffy. I'm a little, er, hungry. I've gotta eat. Gotta keep up my strength. Come on, baby."
"Stay. Stay. Wanna sleep with you." She clung to him, nuzzling his chest.
"I have to go." God, I don't want to go.
Her eyes snapped open, and her voice became crisp. "Fine. Go back to your moldy old crypt. I'll sleep without you." She broke away from him and lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin and shutting her eyes tightly.
"Buffy." He tried to stroke her upper arm, and she turned away from him, pulling the sheet past her nose. "You're scaring me love, you're starting to sound a bit like Anya."
"Shh, I'm sleeping. I don't wanna talk."
He stretched out next to her on top of the covers and attempted to kiss her through the sheet. She turned her face away from him, and pulled the pillow over her head. He tried to remove it, but hadn't reckoned with her stubbornness or her strength. She kept it clamped firmly over her face.
"All right. Suit yourself. Might want to take the pillow off before you suffocate though." He sat up and looked down at her. "You know, Slayer, if anyone had ever told me that I'd be trying to leave your bed while you were trying to keep me here… Well, I'd have booked them the executive box at the loony bin. Don't you think this is an interesting turn of events?"
She took the pillow off her face. "No, I don't, particularly since I seem to recall you chanting 'I love you, I love you, Buffy' about a million times last night." She rolled her eyes. "Guess that was just so much chin music though, huh, guy? Fine, run along, go eat and watch your stupid soap operas. I'll be fine."
"You're being childish." Spike said, his eyes narrowed.
She said nothing for a minute. Then she sat up suddenly, her face slightly rueful. "I guess I am. A little. Okay. Go. I know you have to. I don't have to like it, though." She scrunched back down in bed, her body turned away from him, her hair half hiding her face. "I just want to wake up with you, and have breakfast, maybe some smoochies to start the day, a cup of coffee. You know. Normal stuff."
He ran his hand over her upper arm, gently kneading the muscle there. "I want that, too. Do you know how hard it was to get out of this bed? Most of the time I want to be superglued to you. I don't want to let you go, ever." His smile was a little tight. "But I don't know if that's healthy."
"Why not?" she said. "We've just really found each other -- aren't we supposed to be joined at the hip right now? Everybody tells me it's the best thing about a relationship, and also that it's something that doesn't last."
"Speak for yourself." He stood up suddenly, stripped off his jeans and slipped back into bed. He spooned up next to her and buried his nose in her shoulder. "Okay, joined at the hip."
She smiled to herself. "Heh.. Jump through hoops much? You're so easy."
"Quiet. I think some smoochies are coming up real soon."
"Oooh. Fun. Much better." She took his arm and somewhat possessively wrapped it tightly around her waist. "You have to stay now anyway, 'cause look. Here comes the sun. Isn't that the name of one of Giles' old hippie songs?"
"It's the Beatles, honey. George Harrison, to be exact."
"Oh. I keep forgetting that you're really old, too." She tangled her legs around his and grinned at him over her shoulder. "You don't feel so old, though." She turned around and wrapped her arms around him. He glanced at the light brightening around the edges of the window shades and grimaced. Buffy giggled softly. "Ha, ha, now you have to stay with me. I always get what I want."
"Well, now you've got me."
"Oh, yeah. Kiss me," she demanded.
Spike complied, wondering if she knew how little she really had to do to make him stay. Crook her little finger, most likely. Smile at him. Say anything to him in that low, slightly dirty voice she seemed to save just for him. And as for wrapping her warm, soft body around him as if she loved him more than anything, just as she was doing now -- well, for that he'd gladly stay in this bed forever, no questions asked.
Well, maybe some questions. Even though he was happy, even though this experience was the unbelievable resolution to a thousand extremely fevered dreams, something was off. He knew he was whipped; it was part of the package. He couldn't help it; he was just too damn grateful for all this. But something, in the dim recesses of his mind, back where he pushed the last vestiges of the smug Big Bad, something rankled. Something was definitely missing and…off. He knew what it was, but at times like this it was useless to dwell on it.
But it was annoying, and interfering with what should be pure pleasure and contentment. He pushed back the thought and kissed her, letting the water close in over his head.
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I don't want to hold you and feel so helpless
I don't want to smell you and lose my senses
And smile in slow motion with eyes in love
I twist like a corkscrew, the sweetness rising
I drink from the bottle, weeping
Why won't you last?
Why can't you last?
--- "Foolish Love," Rufus Wainwright
"You look pale."
"I told you, I haven't eaten since yesterday, love." Spike buried his face in his arms, pushing the mug of coffee away from him. He felt woozy.
"Look, I'll just run down to your crypt and bring you back some blood," Buffy said. "It will only take a minute."
"You don't have to." He laid his face against the cool wooden surface of the center island. "I'll be okay."
"There, there, little boy." She put her arm around his shoulder, gave it a squeeze and kissed his forehead. "You sit tight, I'll be right back." She picked up her car keys and went out the back door.
"Hey, watch the light!" He jumped out of the sunlight streaming into the kitchen through the open door.
"Oops. Sorry." She turned and gave him a brilliant, only vaguely contrite smile, before closing the door behind her.
"I knew staying here was a bad idea." His hunger was making him cranky. Nah, mate, it's not just the hunger. It's that off business getting you down again.
He sat down and buried his face in his arms. I love her. I love her so much it chokes me. Bad choice of words, boy. Okay, analyze this. You have her, in every possible way. She's yours. She's your friend, she talks to you, jokes with you, sleeps with you -- what more do you want? Well, it would be nice if she'd tell her bloody friends about us, not that that's really a big deal. I mean, really, who gives a flying toss about any of 'em? Not me. She does, and I guess eventually she'll get around to telling them. She does have the stones, the darling.
But what if she doesn't love me? What if she's just marking time with me? What if she's still waiting for her normal life with her normal human boyfriend?
What real proof do I have that she loves me -- well, other than shagging me senseless for almost three weeks straight? That's no proof; that's sex. But the sex was good -- actually, the sex was spectacular. It seemed to be the combined result of his enormous desire and her eager response to it. He set the pace, but she kept up with him, almost as if she was rising to a challenge. Wait a minute. That doesn't sound like love -- it sounds like a triathalon. No, no, no, that's wrong, you're getting it wrong, idiot.
I'm not wrong. She's never told me she loves me. I say it to her, a million times a day (just like she said), and she smiles and kisses me, but never says it back. And what's worse, he thought, is that she'd probably said it hundreds of times to both BroodBoy and Captain Cardboard. The thought made him want to stick pins in his eyes.
I love her more than both those wankers put together. I love her more than I loved Dru. I love her more than myself. And she's never said it back to me.
"Spike? Are you okay?" Dawn was standing in the kitchen doorway.
He jumped, clutching his chest. "Jesus, Niblet! You scared the holy crap out of me!"
"What are you doing in here? It's seven o'clock! Aren't you supposed to be back in your crypt by now?" She walked over and sat on the stool beside him, primly arranging her flannel nightgown around it.
"Yeah, well, I got detained." She smirked at him and he looked away. "And it's not what you think. Just lost track of time." He put his head back down in his arms.
"Uh-huh. Where's Buffy?"
"Went to get me some breakfast. Should be back any minute."
"Good, 'cause I need a ride to school." She hopped off the stool and started searching in a cupboard for cereal. "We've got Captain Crunch -- you want some?"
"No. I'll wait for Buffy." In spite of himself, he sighed rather more heavily that usual.
"Not really a morning person, are you?"
"Of course not. By all rights I should be back in my kip, dreaming beautiful dreams. But no. Here I am, hanging around as usual, at her beck and call…"
"Spike? " Dawn poured milk on her cereal and started crunching away. "Don't take this personally, but you're really crabby. What's going on with you? Buffy giving you a hard time?"
"No. Yes." He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake up. Suddenly he looked at Dawn. She was just a kid, but maybe she knew what Buffy was thinking. They were awfully close, after all, what with one tragic event after another bonding them more tightly than most siblings. Buffy probably told her everything.
"Little bit?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you…do you know how Buffy feels about me? I mean, really feels?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well -- does she talk about me?"
"Well, yeah. She talks about you all the time. She sort of has you on the brain, you know."
"Really." That was encouraging. "So…does she say anything specific?"
"Like what?"
"Well…does she say she loves me?"
"Duh, Spike. Of course she loves you. I love you. We both love you."
"That's not what I meant. Does she ever tell you she's…in love with me?"
"No, she's not in love with you. That's why you haven't slept over every night for the last three weeks."
"But does she ever say that to you?"
"Well…no. But I know she does. You just have to see the way she looks at you, like she's been going through caffeine withdrawal and you're the biggest iced cappuccino she's ever seen."
He paused, smiling a little at her analogy, then looked at her a little sadly. "Then why doesn't she ever say it to me?"
Dawn swallowed another mouthful of cereal, and then looked up at him with a little frown. "God, I don't know. If you're so worried about it, why don't you just ask her?"
He gave her a mirthless grin. Why indeed?
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So I will walk without care,
Beat my snare
Look like a man who means business
Go to all the poshest places with the familiar faces
Terminate all signs of weakness
I will take my coffee black
Never snack
Hang with the wolves who are sheepish
Flow through the veins of town,
Always frown…
Oh, all for the sake, all for the sake
Of a foolish love…
--- "Foolish Love," Rufus Wainwright
He had to get out of the house, so in the early evening he told Buffy he was going to the corner mini-mart to pick up more cigarettes. She had given him a disgusted look, then a big, goofy grin, kissed his cheek and said, "Don't be long." Yeah, right, babe.
It's time to get sloshed, he thought as he walked along the darkening streets. Good and sloshed, puke-in-the-gutter sloshed. He almost felt nostalgic for his bad old self, when he could walk down the road drop-kicking babies without so much as a shiver. Good times.
But Buffy wouldn't like him like that. What the fu…? Buffy wouldn't like it -- well, sod Buffy, she doesn't love me so I can damn well do as I please. Hmm. Maybe I should just start by lighting up a fag, blow smoke in everyone's faces, make 'em write me a bloody ticket.
Please. Who was he kidding? Pull the other one, mate, it's got bells on. Chip or no chip, he was Buffy's little lap dog now. Damn it. This is truly the proverbial sorry pass. Well, no more.
He didn't feel like going to Willy's -- not really his scene anymore, what with everyone there wanting to beat him senseless for consorting with the Slayer. Well, then, he thought, guess it's the Bronze for me. He just hoped he wouldn't run into any of dreaded Scoobies.
He walked in and looked around. Not much happening, although it was happy hour. He made his way over to the bar, sat and ordered a beer. He turned on his barstool, looking around the place. Not too many memories here, mate -- just nearly everything that ever happened between you and Buffy. He turned, chugged the beer quickly and ordered another. And another. And yet another.
Funny, the alcohol wasn't doing its job tonight. He had only the faintest of buzzes and moreover was starting to feel too paralyzed with depression to actually get drunk. What was worse, the club had suddenly become rather crowded and noisy -- it was as if a few college buses had suddenly unloaded at the front door. Everyone around him was young and talking really loudly to compete with the suddenly thumping dance music. He put his hands over his ears, and was on the verge of laying his head on the bar, when someone flicked his right wrist.
He looked up. There was a girl in the seat next to him, young, brunette, sharply pretty, and smiling widely at him. He took his hands off his ears.
"Drowning your sorrows? She said, raising her voice a little above the din. "You look like you're trying to shut out the world."
"Huh? Oh -- no. Just trying to hear myself think over this racket." He had no idea why this woman was attempting to chat him up, nor did he particularly care.
"Well. I find things go much better with a small amount of alcohol." She paused, leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in hand, regarding him closely. "I usually don't do this sort of thing, but -- can I buy you a beer? I just handed in a paper that took about two months out of my life, and now I want to unwind. Wanna join me?" She kept smiling at him the whole time, and he had to admit, she was cute.
"Um, well…" What the hell was this? A free beer, at any rate. He nodded. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." She signaled to the bartender, and he placed two longnecks in front of them.
She lifted her bottle and clinked his. "Cheers."
"Cheers." He suddenly felt like a complete prat, sitting there as if he wanted to be picked up or something. And oddly enough, he felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. This girl's attention was making him nervous.
"I'm Claire," she semi-shouted. "Who are you?"
"Er. William. Will." Using his human Christian name -- what was that all about? This was getting weirder by the minute.
"Hi, Will." He thought she winked at him. Bloody hell. She was really working it. With him. This was a new experience. He'd never had to beat 'em off with a stick before. Well, except for Harmony, and she really didn't count.
There was a small silence as he considered all this. Fortunately, his silence seemed to intrigue her rather than make her feel awkward. And the way she was looking at him -- well, it was odd.
She leaned over toward him, ostensibly so she wouldn't have to shout.. "So. You look a little down, and I sure don't know why." She straightened up only slightly, so that she was still definitely invading his body space.
"I'd explain, but it'd take too long," he replied, "Much too boring and predictable."
"Ah ha." She seemed amused. "Sounds like woman trouble."
"Nothing but." He smiled into his beer, a little embarrassed that he wasn't more opaque. The Big Bad had definitely receded into the Big Whipped.
"Well, whoever she is, I gotta tell you, she's really stupid. What woman in her right mind would give you a hard time?" He looked up, truly surprised, and she smirked at him. "She obviously doesn't know what she has."
Good Lord. He glanced at her again, trying to fathom this obvious come-on. He had always been a one-woman man, so completely single-minded when it came to the object of his love that he had always in effect deflected or ignored any interest from any other women, human or vamp. But now…now it seemed that he may have been missing out on something. Maybe he should try playing the field for a change.
And maybe Buffy isn't the end all and be all to existence, he thought. Yeah, and you're a bloody ballerina, "Will." He swigged the last of his beer, suddenly wishing he could just get up and leave. But it would be rude. He sighed, and looked over at Claire again. She smiled back brightly, as if sensing that his interest was waning.
He gave her an appraising look: she was smart, well-dressed, fearless -- in a word, attractive. Suddenly it seemed important to know exactly why she was here with him. He leaned forward and asked, point blank, "Tell me, love. What made you come over here to buy me a drink?"
Her eyes darted away from his for a second, almost in embarrassment, then she recovered and said, "Um. Looked in the mirror lately?"
This really made him grin. "Actually, no. Not in a very, very long while."
"Well. To say you're an attractive man is an understatement. I can't believe I just said that." She didn't look embarrassed now, though. "And… you looked sort of unhappy and lonesome, and I thought I might be able to cheer you up." She gave him an extremely direct, impossible-to-misinterpret look.
He chuckled. My God, I'm turning into Angel, he thought, and now I know firsthand the secret of his success with humans. Act mopey and they come after you like gangbusters. Unbelievable.
As if on cue, Claire started trying a little harder to get his attention. She leaned forward again and asked, "Are you a pool player, Will? I am. I've also got a little money to burn and I feel like gambling. Think you can take me?"
This girl is shameless. Ah, what the hell. He stood up and made a small stab at insouciance. "All right. Let's see what you've got, honey."
It was really bizarre. Racking them up with this Claire girl caused him to look around himself, and he was deeply surprised by how many meaningful looks he was catching from several of the other women in the room. It was weird. He'd never paid much attention to the looks he got in bars before. He figured most of the ones doing the looking would have run screaming in fear if they ever saw his true face. Tonight was different, though
He actually started to enjoy himself, chatting with this young bird and hitting every ball with accurate precision. Maybe he wasn't such a wanker after all.
He was about to sink the 9 ball in the corner pocket, when suddenly his elbow was shoved very roughly from behind, causing him to overshoot and nearly rip the felt on the table. "Hey, what the hell -- " He straightened and turned quickly, fully intending to shove back, and was confronted by an extremely agitated and obviously irked Buffy.
"Spike," she said slowly, through what sounded like gritted teeth. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Caught, he decided to brazen it out. "What does it look like, pet? I'm playing pool with my new friend Claire here." He started inspecting the end of the pool cue, then looked up at her with a completely innocent expression. Claire's eyes widened, and she smiled a little disarmingly at Buffy, but she was also no fool: she was well aware that this was Will's (Spike's?) very pissed-off girlfriend.
Buffy caught one of Spike's arms in what could only be called a vise-like grip. "Claire," she said evenly, "Would you excuse us? We have something very important to talk about." She started maneuvering him away from the table. He looked back at Claire with false longing. "Bye, love! It's been fun! Remember, you owe me twenty bucks." Buffy tugged at him insistently, finally shoving him out the back door and into the alley behind the Bronze.
She actually shoved him out the door! Oh, but this was so reminiscent of another tender scene, he thought, smiling in spite of himself. He turned on his heel to look at her, and was not surprised to find an expression of barely supressed anger on her face.
"WHAT the hell were you doing in there?"
"I told you , love, playing pool. With Claire. She's a nice college girl, like yourself."
"I thought you said you were going out for cigarettes? It's been almost three hours! I didn't know what happened to you!"
"I got waylaid. No biggie."
"No biggie?! And then I come in here, after searching around like an idiot for you, thinking you'd been hit by a truck or staked by some disgruntled vampire, and I find you hanging out with some, some, college slut?"
"Hey! Don't cast aspersions. You don't even know the girl."
"Neither do you, you idiot! Just what were you trying to prove here?"
"Nothing! I don't have to prove anything. Just trying to have a bit of fun. What's wrong with that?"
She seemed to deflate somewhat, and regarded at him with what looked uncomfortably like a bit of anguish. "What were you really doing here tonight, Spike? I want to know."
"I told you." He turned away from her irritably, searching his coat pockets for a cigarette. He found one, and lit it quickly with a metallic click of his lighter, drawing a deep drag and slowly blowing out clouds of smoke -- something he knew she hated. " I came in to have a few beers, we started chatting and then we started playing pool. As I said, no biggie."
He felt another sudden shove, this one knocking him on his ass and reminding him of another time Buffy had knocked him down and stood over him in cold fury. But this was different. Her expression was the same, but tears were brimming in her eyes. "You asshole." She turned and quickly walked off.
For a minute he lay there, stunned. But this time, instead of glowering at her and going off to find his shotgun, he jumped up and ran after her.
"Buffy! Stop!" She ignored him, wiping her eyes angrily, and kept walking with the same sense of purpose, which was obviously to get away from him as soon as possible. Finally, he caught up to her and tried to grab her arm. She pulled it away roughly, and kept going.
"Buffy. It was no big deal. Just wanted some peace for a bit. Also a couple of beers and to smoke somewhere without getting yelled at."
"I don't yell at you. I ask you very nicely to get the hell out and smoke on the deck." She stopped walking, looked down at her shoes and asked quietly, "What's up with you, Spike?"
"Nothing." He shifted uncomfortably. "Just wanted to be alone."
"Well, you weren't alone."
"Um, yeah. Didn't mean anything, pet. I was just a little het up."
She peered up at him. "Over what?"
"Lots of things. Nothing. Feeling a little strange lately, that's all."
"Strange? I thought you were happy. I thought we were happy."
"Well, there's happy, and then there's unhappy. Been leaning towards the latter for the past day or so."
"Why?"
"No reason. Just been in a funny mood."
She looked at him hard for a second. "As I've said before, Spike, don't bs me. What's really going on here? Have you changed your mind about us?"
"No."
She scrunched up her face, half bewildered, half annoyed. "Then what is wrong? Talk to me, Spike."
"Nah. Don't wanna talk."
"Why not? Did I do something? Tell me."
"No. If you don't know, I'm not gonna say it."
"Spike. I can't read your mind. Tell me."
He took a few steps away from her, toward the corner they were approaching.. Without turning around, he asked, "How do you feel about me, Buffy?" His voice sounded distant, detached.
"What do you mean, how do I feel about you? You know how I feel about you."
"Do I?"
"Well -- yeah.
"Then how?
"Well… up until right now I trusted you more than anyone in my life, except maybe for Dawn, or Willow. I used to think you were so hot that sometimes I thought I'd pass out. You constantly, constantly give me grief, much like now, which I realize I've always kinda liked in some very sick way…"
"Uh-huh. That all?"
"No."
"What else?"
"Right now I'm torn between kicking your teeth in or kissing you, and it's really giving me a headache.
"Buffy."
"Yes?"
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
A beat. "Do you love me?"
Another beat. Then, evading, lightly, "What is this, "Fiddler on the Roof?" We put that on in my junior year of high school, I tried out for Chava…"
"Buffy." He said her name like a warning. "Do you love me?"
He could almost hear her swallow. "Why, yes. I do."
"Then say it." He turned to face her, eyes boring into hers.
She looked away. "I can't."
"Why the bloody hell not?" His voice sounded just the least bit deadly.
She closed her eyes. "I just…can't. It's not that I don't -- I do. God, do I. But I can't say it."
Suddenly he was standing directly in front of her, his hands under her chin, lifting her face to look her in the eye. "Why not, Buffy? I've said it to you enough times, practically every hour on the hour. Why can't you say it to me?"
She jerked her head away, crossed her arms and took a step back. She took a deep breath, then said, "If I say it, then poof! You'll be gone. Happens every time. Say the words, and the boyfriend almost immediately dematerializes. It's like the kiss of death." She looked at him ruefully. "Not that kissing death can't be intensely pleasurable. Look, I know it's crazy, but I don't want to jinx this, and saying…those words will jinx it. Big time. Trust me, I know of what I speak."
Spike gave her a small smile. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Right, 'cause I haven't said…those words. The words of kibosh, the words of 'hello, I must be going.'"
"Well, I've said them to you, and you're still here."
"Doesn't work that way. You say it to me, my heart practically stops. I'm dizzy, I'm happy, I know I'm in love with you forever -- oh, God! She clapped her hand over her mouth. "You bastard. You made me say it! You made me say it! You pig! You tricked me!" She started slapping at his arms, truly upset. "That's it, I've seen the last of you, oh my God! Why did you make me say it? That's it. That's IT. " She covered her eyes.
"Calm down." He tried to take her hands, but was nearly knocked over when she literally launched herself at him. She threw her arms around his chest and squeezed tightly, burying her face in his neck. He was amazed to hear her actually whimper. He felt a bit of tear seepage, and wondered at it.
She really was terrified that he'd leave her, he thought, even though he'd given her every indication to the contrary. But obviously it wasn't enough. She thought I'd be like those other idiots, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. And all I've been thinking about is how she probably doesn't really love me. God, we're both insane, and both scared out of our minds.
"I think this is what is known as being at cross-purposes." He kissed the top of her head, then bent down to speak in her ear. "Buffy. Slayer. Listen carefully. Don't ever confuse me with anyone else. I love you. I won't leave you. You'll have to stake me first. I mean it." He pressed his mouth against her temple, and pulled her closer. It was never close enough.
She looked up at him, still a little watery around the edges. "Really?"
"Really. Cross my heart and hope to die -- oops. Too late." He traced a finger over her brow, then over her bottom lip. "And you know what? You don't have to say "it" again if you don't want to. If I hadn't been so insecure --" He grinned a little. "Well. Would have known by your actions, and everything you say to me. How you feel about me. You don't say it, but you do say it. Know what I mean?"
Her expression cleared, and she sniffed dramatically. "Yes. You don't have to say it either. I know."
He gazed at her meaningfully, his eyebrows raised. "You're sure? I don't have to babble it over and over anymore?"
"Well, no. But I kinda like it. Makes me feel happy. And secure." She reached up and kissed him, biting his lower lip ever so slightly, the way she knew he loved.
He pulled back a little, disengaging himself. "Ah-ha. So you're saying The Slayer feels insecure sometimes? That's a new one. But I know how it feels." He pushed back her hair and put his mouth to her ear again, coaxing, "Say it to me anyway. Again."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I love you, Spike." He touched her face gently, turning her mouth towards his. She whispered it again right before he kissed her. "I love you."
Aaahh. Knew it. Knew it all along. She loves me.
"See? " He brought her hands up to his chest. "Still here. No disappearing."
"Wow, " she said. "What a concept." She paused, giving him a wry little look. "Let's see if you make it through next week. Then I might be convinced. Now, come on, come back home with me. I promise to kick you out of bed by 5 a.m. sharp. No whining, no yelling, no begging."
"Begging I could get into. Whining or yelling…no." He bent to kiss her again.
"Spike?"
"Hm?"
"If you ever pull anything like that stuff at the Bronze again, I'll have your guts for garters." She smiled sweetly at him.
He stared at her. "Where the hell did you pick that up? You sound like one of the Kray Brothers."
"From Giles. He's been giving me lessons in Ripper-speak. Comes in handy." She took his hand and squeezed it, hard. "Just remember what I said."
"Yes, dear." Whipped indeed. This is the life. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she put her arm around his waist, the two of them drawing together as close as they possibly could while still being able to walk unimpeded.
Joined at the hip.