Lying there on her bed, gazing at the stars, Buffy felt way too passive. All these wounds had been opened tonight, and she felt like there should be something that she could do about it, other than lie there and sulk. Just as she felt herself slipping back into the Buffy of old, the Buffy that would cry and sniffle and then blame herself for everything that had happened that evening, she decided to take a different path. She wasn't going to sit there in her room and play hostess to the current pity party. And she certainly wasn't packing any bags for a guilt trip on the Buffy express.
She got up with a start, and headed to the basement.
The basement had, over the last five years, been slowly renovated into the perfect training space for Buffy. Having Maggie didn't make it so easy to make it to the Magic Box to train, since she usually only caught small bouts of training when Maggie was napping or at playgroup. The once sparse basement now housed her laundry "room" in the back corner, while the rest of the space was occupied with her punching bag, exercise mats, balance beams, weights and other equipment.
Scrounging around in the laundry basket on top of the dryer, she found a tank top and some old sweat pants to quickly change into. Buffy hastily taped her knuckles, and then began to pummel the bag hanging from the opposite corner of the room.
She hit the bag tentatively at first, then allowed her blows to form a steady, harsh rhythm. She hadn't really used the bag that much in training lately, and Buffy found that the rough feel of the canvas and the satisfying squish of sand beneath her knuckles were oddly comforting. She poured out all of her frustrations, all of her doubts, and all of her fears, letting the punching bag take the brunt of her wild emotions. She was so caught up in this old routine of hers that she didn't even hear the front door swing open and click closed.
+ + + +
Spike entered the back door to Buffy's house with trepidation, completely unsure what he would find. He knew that once Buffy was totally ticked off, she could stay that way for a while. He didn't know if she would still be fuming up in her room, if she would have fallen asleep by now, or if she would be waiting for him in the kitchen to give him the beating of his life.
Just as he closed the door behind him, the refrigerator fan clicked off, and the loss of its comforting hum plunged the room into an eerie silence. The whole house felt still, yet possessed with a stressful tension.
He stood there, having no plan of action other than to follow the Niblet's instructions. Go make things right with my sister, she had urged. Just then he saw that the door to the basement was ajar, and heard the sounds coming from below; the heaving breathing and frustrated grunts occasionally pierced by colorful curses that he had no idea she even knew. Spike crept down the first couple of steps, until he could barely see Buffy, taking her frustrations out on the punching bag. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that if she sensed his presence, she never let on. He quickly, yet stealthily, retreated, thinking that making things right was going to be harder than he'd originally imagined.
He decided to leave her alone, and silently locked the front and back doors before going to Dawn's old room. He was suddenly overwhelmed at how tired he felt, both physically and emotionally. Shrugging out of his duster, t-shirt and boots, Spike crawled into the bed and burrowed under the covers that felt oddly comforting. Before too long he drifted into a deeply sound, yet dreamless sleep.
+ + + +
Buffy ascended the stairs to her room, vacantly peeling the layers of tape from her hands. Pushing a sweat-drenched lock of hair from her eyes, she decided to by-pass her room and head straight for the shower. Her slayer sense perked up a little, but she let it go, feeling that she was safe in her own house.
Once out of the shower, she felt a bit renewed, yet still upset with Giles, and regretting her earlier outburst with Spike. She really wished that she had not dismissed him so absently earlier, pretending that she didn't care if he left or if he stayed. Her made-up apathy and flippant dismissal of him was what had gotten her in this predicament to begin with. Slipping on her nightgown and draping her robe around her shoulders, she left the steamy bathroom to head to her own bed.
Just as she cinched the robe around her waist, she felt her slayer senses tingling again, but not in a bad way. In that oh-so-good way they did whenever Spike was around. She glanced over to Dawn's doorway, and noticed that the door was halfway closed. Peeking in, a sad smile found its way to her lips. Thin strands of moonlight found their way through the windows that had been carelessly left uncovered and fell on his white-blonde hair, making it look as if the stars were dancing around his head. One hand rested on his bare chest, just above his un-beating heart, while the other rested outstretched on the bed as if beckoning her into an embrace. Buffy remembered how he had usually looked so peaceful in sleep, but this night she noticed that a disappointed scowl found its way to his chiseled features, giving the appearance that he was in some sort of turmoil. Turmoil that she caused.
Entering the room and sitting gently on the edge of the bed, she looked at him for another moment before she started speaking. "Oh, Spike, I feel like I've made a total mess of things. Deep inside, I know that you weren't trying to hurt me. You were trying to protect me. And you'll never know how proud I am of you. I just tend to over react, as usual. Why do I have such a problem telling you things like this when you're awake?"
He had remained unphased by her soft declaration, still sleeping soundly. She let one of her hands hover over his that rested on his chest, and noticed that the scowl left his face when their skin finally came into contact. Feeling a little bit bolder, she laced their fingers together, and leaned over to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.
She barely pulled back, only far enough that she could see when his eyes drifted open. He squinted, trying to figure out if she was really there, or if he was dreaming. Confusion swept over his face, as he began to question her presence. "Buffy, what…?"
She silenced him by placing her index finger over his lips, and feeling the electricity that was building between them. With her face still mere inches from his, she whispered "Tell me you love me."
The confused expression stayed, and before Spike could form the words, Buffy whispered again.
"Tell me you want me."
Spike's eyes grew wide as the words became suddenly familiar, and he remembered the last time he'd heard them. "Slayer…" he started, with a warning in his voice.
"Please, Spike. Tell me. Help me make this right. Please…"
It was the second please that broke his resolve. His other hand came up to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. Their lips met in a surprisingly gentle, yet passionate kiss. "I love you, Buffy." Spike said as she broke away to breathe. He kissed her again, this time letting go of the hand that she was holding on to, and using it for leverage to sit both of them up. Pulling back to look in her eyes, he repeated what she needed to hear. "I love you, pet. And I've never stopped wanting you."
Her eyes glistened, and she tried to make her hands be everywhere at once. She pulled him toward her for another kiss, and let her hands roam over the exposed skin of his back and chest. Spike began an exploration of his own, running his fingers through the ends of her hair, and holding either side of her face while he rained soft kisses on her. When his hand deftly untied her robe and began to push it off her shoulders, she abruptly jumped up off the bed and grabbed his hand, beckoning him to come with her.
"Love, what are you doing?"
"Come on…" she said, as if she was making perfect sense. Her directive was met with a skeptical look from Spike.
"Come Spike, with me… to my room, my bed," she said, while still trying to tug on his hand. Finally she managed to get him up on his feet. She pulled him close again, started walking backwards, pulling him along the way. In between tiny kisses to his cheeks and shoulders, she said "I mean, I love you and all, but this is still my sister's room and that's just… ewww!"
He stopped, refusing to follow her anymore. "Pardon, Love? Come again?"
"My room, Spike, let's go." She breathed out, still in between kisses.
"No, pet. I got that part. Say the other part again."
"Huh?"
He barely cocked his head to the side, waiting for realization to sink in. He smirked when it did.
Her mouth fell open, in a perfect "oh…" shape. He half expected her to start backpedaling and try to take it back, even though he'd heard her whisper it from the porch on his first night back. He was happily surprised when she smiled, so brightly that he could have sworn he was watching the sunrise. "I love you Spike."
She watched as his eyes lit up, and a genuine, happy grin formed on his face. "Well, Love, it certainly took you long enough."
She playfully smacked him on the arm. "Always the smart-ass, aren't you Spike?" She grabbed his hand and once again started tugging him toward her room. Once they were out in the hall, Spike suddenly swooped her up in his arms, and carried her the rest of the way, making a grand production of kicking the door shut and depositing her on the bed.
He looked at her, with such raw emotion in his eyes that Buffy could barely stand the intensity. What she didn't realize was that she was matching his gaze almost perfectly. They could just about feel the air change around them, becoming thick with the electricity and tension of their anticipation. Slowly, Spike approached her, and gently placed a hand on either side of her face, bringing her lips toward his and capturing them in a tender kiss.
"Love, if this is a dream, promise you won't ever wake me."
"It's not a dream, Spike. And by my calculations, we have a lot of time to make up for," she said, with a little bit of a gleam in her eye.
"That we do, Love, that we do." He practically pounced on her, devouring her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.
"Wait, Spike," she said, pulling back from his kiss. He looked confused, and was disappointed with the sudden loss of contact with her. Suddenly a little shy, she looked up at him and almost whispered, "Will you… I mean, can we… I don't want it to be like before you left."
He thought he understood what she was getting at, but the selfish part of him desperately wanted to hear her say it. He nodded, encouraging her to continue, saying, "It doesn't have to be, Buffy."
"Make love to me, Spike. Let me show you how much I love you."
He once again began raining gentle kisses all over her face and neck, and they got a good start on making up for all the time they had lost.
