Title: Tasting a Glimmer

Summary: Spike comforts a broken Buffy during "Dead Things"

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. I'm just borrowing them to manipulate them to my liking. :)

Distribution: If you want it, I'd be very flattered. Just let me know where it's going.

Spoilers: Season 6 through "Dead Things"

Feedback: Please! This is my first attempt at a fic, so be kind. I kind of took the easy way out and did a songfic, but any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!

Lyrics: "Phobic" by Plumb

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~ Tasting a Glimmer ~


"I could never be your girl!"

*crack*

There goes my nose.

"You don't have a soul!"

*smack*

That's gonna leave a mark.

"You're dead inside!"

She keeps wailing on me, and I let her. If this is what it takes to get her to feel better, then fine. I'll be her punching bag. God knows she needs one right about now. Bloody well might as be me, right? Always has been.

But sometime between the punching and the yelling, she stops and looks at me—the man, not the monster. Green eyes glistening with tears, she chokes out a gasp at what she sees before her: a battered and bruised Spike, compliments of her handiwork.

I try to think of something, anything, to let her know it's okay. Just something to get that gut-wrenching look off her face.

"You always hurt the ones you love, pet."

Brilliant, Spike. Bloody brilliant.

Instead of her snapping out of it, she backs up and slides her body down the wall of the alley, sitting there with a blank look on her face, lip quivering, the floodgates ready to open. And do they ever.

She sobs.

And though I want to go to her, comfort her in some way, I can't bloody well stand up. Or see very well, for that matter.

"Buffy?"

She doesn't respond. In fact, the tears come faster now, like she can't bear what she's done. And I for one feel like the odd man out, yet again. Since when has she cared about beating up on me? That's what we do, you know? We trade a few clever puns—oozing with Big Bad sexual innuendo on my part, laced with dainty feigned disgust on hers—we trade a few punches, pretending we don't know exactly which move the other will come back with, and then we shag.

I'm not sayin' that's what I want—far from it as a matter of fact. But that's just what it is. After all, "we don't have a thing," as she reminded me for the thousandth time just days ago.

It's just that sometimes, I swear she feels something, something real. Something shines in her eyes and I see the faintest glimmer of... Oh chrissakes, who am I kidding? It's just the William in me, I s'pose, going all hearts and flowers again. Snap out of it, Spike.

Dragging myself across the concrete, I take a seat next to her against the wall.

"Buffy," I say again, noticing her sobs have subsided to sniffles.


I watched you sit alone
I watched you cry your eyes out
Now tell me what you've done

"What is it, love? You know you can tell me."

Is it so bad that
I would shut you out
And leave you here alone

"Spike," she whimpers, "How can you even stand to look at me after what I just said to you? After what I did to you?"


Yes, I saw what you did
I was right there with you
I won't let you sink
No, I forgive you

"Buffy, how many times do I have to say it? I love you."

"I know," she whispers.

"Do you? Because ten minutes ago you said—"

"I know. I'm just..."

She pauses, but no way is she bailing on me now. I won't let her. I grab her hand, knuckles still spattered with my blood, and give it an encouraging squeeze.

Miraculously, she squeezes back and looks in my one unswollen eye.

"I'm scared."


Phobic
Don't be
Grace needs a little more freedom

Cautiously, I probe deeper, hoping she won't shut me out again.

"What are you afraid of? If it's your precious Scoobies finding out about our non-thing, you don't have to worry. Because there's no way in hell I'd—"

"It's not that," she says warily. "I'm afraid that..." She stops, takes a deep breath, and continues, "I guess I'm just afraid of history repeating itself, you know?"

"Not sure I follow you."

"Yes, you do, Spike." She sighs, "Man knows Buffy. Man loves Buffy. Man leaves Buffy. Rinse and repeat. I just can't do it again. I'm suffocating."

Phobic
Don't leave
Love needs room to breathe


"Buffy, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not most men, alright? I mean really, have I ever let you down?"

I have watched you grow
And I've stood in your shadow
I've never walked away

She looks at me again, black mascara smudged around her lashes, as realization hits her.

"No... you haven't. Not when it mattered."

The corners of her mouth turn up just barely, forming the smallest, weakest smile ever to grace her face. But to me, she's never looked more beautiful.

"I love you, and I'm not gonna leave, Buffy. There's nothing to be scared of."

I hung the stars and
I hold your heart
So, don't ever be afraid

"Yes, there is," she says quickly. "I'm scared of these feelings I'm having. I'm scared of letting myself get too close to you."

"No such thing," I say, attempting a smirk, but failing miserably, I'm sure.

"Spike, I'm serious."

"So am I, Buffy. You're already too close, and you know it. I can hear your pulse, and I can smell your skin. I can feel your heart, and I can taste you. You're all around me."


Yes, I know when you breathe
And I feel when you need

"But what if I slip again? What if I hurt you—"

I won't let you sink
No, I forgive you

"Nevermind that."

"But I still feel broken."

When I look into her eyes, I see it: she does feel broken. But I know she's not because there's something else there, too. Something shines with the faintest glimmer of...

I touch my finger to her lips, silencing any further protests, and tilt her pretty mouth up to my bloody one. I touch my lips to hers, and we kiss. It's tender, it's gentle, and it's like no kiss we've shared before.

I pull away and look at her smiling face, offering her one last bit of repose.

"You don't taste broken."

You can be healed
You can be free
You can know peace
Never be afraid again