~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"…so I was like, 'Jeez, guys—carpe diem!' Only it was actually Willow who said it first, a really long time ago, 'cuz I would never have said that! You probably remember what a hard time I had with French…so forget about Latin, right?" Buffy chuckled again, then sobered slightly.
"Remember how I told you Willow and Tara broke up last week? With the whole forgetfulness spell-thing?" She nodded, as if to acknowledge her mother's silent response. "I guess it was pretty awful. But Wills didn't want the world to end and not have a chance to talk to Tara about it all…so she went to see her today."
"I don't even want to think about how hard that must've been…" She swallowed convulsively. "One thing about most of my break-ups," she laughed nervously, "is that once they're over, the guys tend to disappear…"
Then she ducked her head and scuffed the tips of the grass blades with her fingers. C'mon, Buffy! Okay, so maybe you're a bit out of practice…but can't you make with the not-depressing talk, just for five whole minutes? She marveled a bit at the many facets of her changeable moods…and smiled again. "But when Willow came back to the house, Tara was with her, and they were holding hands…" She trailed off, basking in the memory of her best friend's joy. "So everything isn't as perfect as it used to be…but what with the apocalypse coming up and all, they decided to…um, 'accelerate' the making-up thing, I guess."
"So, the lovebirds nesting again, eh?"
Buffy didn't turn to look at him, but smiled lightly at the sound of his voice. "Hello, Spike."
Odd…how even when she didn't know he was there, his sudden appearances never surprised her. It just seemed so natural for him to always be around…for him to materialize as if by magic whenever she found herself alone. She still remembered a time, not so terribly long ago, when it hadn't been that way…but those memories now seemed hollow and alien. More like half-forgotten dreams…or the fractured reflections of a completely different Spike, seen through the eyes of another Buffy. Those old Spike-memories didn't seem to fit inside her head anymore…and she found herself preferring the more recent ones, anyway.
Well…the ones not involving lips, of course…right?
Spike swallowed hard. Now that he was here, and she was here, and he was seeing her again…he had no idea what to do, what to say to her. Somehow, he didn't think that 'hey, Buffy, just dropped by to ogle you a bit before the Powers bugger me off to hell for the next ever' would go over very well…
"Just came to say good-bye to your mum, then?"
She could almost hear the awkwardness in the bleached vampire's manner, and decided to take pity on him. Levering herself off the ground, she turned to face him. "Well, less like 'good-bye' and more like 'see-you-soon,' but…yeah." She realized that her fingers were nervously lacing themselves together, and bent her head to watch them intertwine. "I guess it's silly…'cuz if I'm going to see her tomorrow, what's the point, right? But I sort of felt like I should." One hand pried itself loose in order to tuck an errant strand of blonde behind her ear. "I mean, it didn't seem right to leave Mom out, when I'm trying to spend a little time today with everybody…"
Then her eyes shot up to his, as though a thought had just struck her. "Wait, you weren't there this morning, were you? I mean," she corrected hastily, fluttered her hands in the air, "you were there for the important part, the big news…but you left before we all made our plans! You've gotta come to the Bronze tonight, though—we should all be together for our last night, right?"
She was looking at him expectantly, and Spike was predictably touched by her rambling invitation. The faintest ghost of a smile touched his lips. "'Course I'll be there, luv…wouldn't miss it for the end of the world."
There was that smile…the one that made her go all tingly! The one Buffy had mentally christened the "sweet!Spike" smile, that softened all the sharp edges and angular planes of his face, and made his eyes light up in that loving way that she knew was just for her…
Then she caught herself, and her eyes widened. Huh? No! Eeeeww! Not going there! Bad thoughts! Bad Buffy!!! Suddenly flustered, she scrubbed her palms against her hips and became suddenly fascinated by the sight of something—anything!—that wasn't the expression on her vampire's face.
No, wait—arghh! Not my vampire!!! Nobody's vampire! My friend. Just friend. My friend Spike, who happens to be a vampire. My friend Spike, who has an aversion to sunlight and likes spicy buffalo wings with his O-neg and follows me around in cemeteries after dark with flowers and looks at me like I'm the only thing in the universe and…hey…wait a second…
Buffy blinked, then raised one eyebrow in bemusement. "Spike…you've got flowers."
Her companion's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open just slightly—his 'uh-oh-I've-been-caught' face. "Yeah, well…I just…" He fumbled for a moment, trying to feign an attitude of nonchalance, then sighed heavily. Buffy could swear she heard him mutter, "Bugger…" under his breath.
With trembling fingers, Spike separated the two bouquets. Now he regretted being in so much of a hurry that he'd stopped the florist lady from wrapping the blossoms in green tissue. Would've been easier to keep track of two skinny green things than dozens…!
Taking the handful of lilies in his right hand, he made an embarrassed gesture toward the headstone. "Brought some for Joyce," he mumbled. Then his embarrassment melted away, in the brilliant glow of Buffy's expression.
"Lilies…" she whispered, her eyes soft. "The perfect way to say good-bye to a loved one…"
"Yeah," he responded, mystified. "That's what the bird in the flower joint said. How'd you know?"
Now Buffy's smile was mischievous, and she indicated the floral arrangement she'd brought to the cemetery. "She must use that line on all her customers when there's an apocalypse coming up."
Spike had the grace to look mildly abashed. "S'pose so." He watched her as she turned away to lay his offering of lilies next to her own. Cor…the way she moves…
With a mental head-shake, he continued. "Thought about getting some of those for you, too, pet…but then I saw these and, well…" He fumbled his way to a frustrated silence, completely forgetting all the graceful words he had planned to use. Instead, he awkwardly thrust the other bouquet toward her, as she straightened and turned to face him again.
Buffy's mouth fell open. The individual blooms dangled in even rows beneath their supple branches, like oddly-shaped icicles from a winter's eave. Her eyes traced the outline of one blossom: twin blush-pink curves arched away from the spindly stem, tapering down to a delicate tongue of crystalline white embraced by two tendrils of deep fuschia. Another flower was in full bloom, the lush pink lips of the surface petals curled back up over themselves, away from the dangling white core, which was striped with the faintest hint of pale yellow down its middle. They were exotically stunning in their peculiarity…and somehow seemed bizarrely, uniquely Spike.
Buffy burst out laughing.
Spike lifted a single tolerant eyebrow. One corner of his mouth twitched just a bit, then gave up its half-hearted battle and rose, curving his lips into a soft, lopsided smile. Her reaction to his gift was exactly what he had expected…and the few moments of embarrassment were worth it, just to hear her laugh.
He cocked his head slightly to one side, listening to the symphony of her. The brassy laughter, the percussive, throbbing heartbeat, the many-toned whisper and crackle of the air in her throat…all overlaid with the delightful sweet-and-spicy scent that was so uniquely Buffy. His eyes traced the lines of her body, and the play of the dangerous muscles beneath her skin as she wrapped both arms around her middle, laughing even harder. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes were scrunched tightly shut, half-hidden by the filmy curtain of blonde cascading around her face. Joy animated her entire spirit, transforming her into a giggling night-nymph, an angel of mirth.
He had never seen anything more beautiful.
"You—you—" Buffy's attempts to speak around lungfuls of laughter made her gasp. "God, Spike, irony much? I mean—bleeding hearts?!?" Naming the flowers out loud seemed to trigger yet another flood of uncontrollable giggles.
The bleached vampire looked only slightly abashed by his questionable taste in horticulture. He just stood there and watched her laugh, still holding out the ridiculous bouquet…still smiling that soft, sweet smile.
It's a good thing it's only Spike, Buffy thought momentarily, or else that smile might start giving me warm-fuzzies.
Then his lips thinned ever-so-slightly, instantly transforming the tender expression into something decidedly more rakish. "Well, let's just say the…er, poetic irony appealed to me—in more ways than one." He willed his hands not to tremble as she accepted the cluster of flowers from him, the warm brush of her fingers super-heating both his skin and his heart, all at once. "And they reminded me a bit of you…"
Buffy blinked, staring fixedly at the cluster of green-and-pink clutched restlessly in both hands. The longing in his voice hung heavily in the air between them, and for the first time that she could remember…she wasn't sure how she ought to react.
So as usual, she dodged the issue, seeking refuge in the land of the Speedy Topic Change instead. "So…where'd you run off to, after Harry did his big song-and-dance routine?"
Spike could still feel the heat of her blood, even from several feet away, throbbing in time with the syncopated rhythm of her heartbeat. Thuh-thump…thuh-thump…thuh-thump. It was hypnotic, and deadly…like the cheerful candle-flame that charms a moth into its fatal orbit. The simple act of standing so close to her was torturing him, softly and sweetly, like cuts from a thousand flower-petal knives. He shoved his hands into his pockets so she would not see them shake, and struggled to strike a casual pose. He ended up studying the way the moonlight reflected off a particular blade of grass.
"Didn't see much point in sticking around," he finally replied, with a loose shrug that belied the tension in his voice. "Had a bit of thinking to do."
Buffy smiled a bit at that, watching the way a single bleeding heart played across her nervous fingers. "Yeah—there was kind of a lot of that going around." She drew in a breath, then raised her eyes to meet his. "It's…different, you know? I mean, I always figured an apocalypse would get me someday. But I thought it'd be like with Glory—fight the Big Bad, die to save the world, and life goes on for everybody else. I never expected to be sit idly by and watch the Big Bad happen." Then she registered the expression of pain that had flitted across his face at the mention of Glory, and instantly regretted being so flip. "Sorry…I mean—" She broke off with a quick huff of a sigh, and eyed him with an expression of combined amusement and exasperation. "If I tried to tell you that none of what happened that night was even remotely your fault, would you believe me?"
Spike blinked at that, and his voice was matter-of-fact. "No."
"Didn't think so," she shot back wryly.
It was so much harder than he imagined it would be…to stand here with her, and not blurt it all out. Every profession of love…every joke he'd ever wanted to share…every sarcastic point he'd ever wanted to make…every snippet of ridiculously horrible poetry…even the witty banter he'd never gotten to say, back when their only real connection had been the clash of fist against fang. Everything he'd ever wanted to say to her came crowding into his throat, choking him, and suddenly it matter than he didn't need the air…because all at once it hit home that this was the last chance he'd ever have.
Ever.
After Glory, he'd spent countless hours of those long summer days, playing and replaying the last real conversation he'd had with her…the one at her house, when she'd re-invited him. Every night he saved her, but every day the might-have-been's besieged him just as thickly. A thousand different words, a hundred different expressions…all the words he hadn't spoken had haunted him just as surely as all the things he hadn't done.
Except this time, there was no hope of a second chance…just an eternity in hell, to think of all the things he didn't say.
Only six months ago, he'd chained her up and begged her for a crumb…and then he'd made a promise…and then she was gone…and then she was back. And then just last week, she'd kissed him…and called him her 'best friend.' It was far more than he'd ever hoped for. A privilege beyond a demon's wildest dreams.
And suddenly, it wasn't enough.
"Will you miss me?"
The words escaped his lips before he could stop them…and he instantly hated himself for sounding like such a ponce. Buffy had gone back to examining her bouquet during his short silence, but the lost and wounded tone of his voice drew her full attention back to his face. For the barest of instants, she caught the pleading look in his tortured blue gaze…but then he looked away.
"Wait…what?"
Spike shook his head, silently cursing himself for being seventeen different kinds of fool. "Nothing—never mind."
But Buffy knew him better than that…and on the last night of the world, she wasn't going to accept anything less than the full and unvarnished truth. "No, not 'nothing,'" she countered, her forehead wrinkling into a small, perplexed frown. "Will I miss you? What…kind of question is that?" She faltered a bit, overwhelmed by the roil of thoughts and feelings conjured up by that deceptively simple query.
Spike turned away from her with a jerk, putting his back to her even as his eyes never left the ground. He couldn't look at her, didn't want to watch the disdain rise up in her eyes.
"Forget it." He meant it to sound hard and threatening, but had to wince as he heard the desperation in the words.
He was actually starting to scare her now. He must have some crazy idea in his head about the Annealing, and it was obviously tearing him up inside. She was surprised by how much pain that caused her. Without thinking, she rushed to reassure him.
"Spike…you've got it all wrong! After tomorrow, I won't have to miss you. I mean, I guess I sort of would, if—" she broke off, suddenly wary of getting too deep into things she didn't want to think about. "—but it won't be like that," she finished lamely, groping for the words to explain what no one seemed to understand. "You don't know…I can't even begin to describe how perfect everything will be. It's…it's every moment of pure elation you've ever felt, all rolled into one amazing instant…but then there's another one, and another, and the feeling just goes on for ever and ever…" She nearly lost herself in the memory, in the anticipation. "We'll all be there together, Spike—the whole world! And we'll never have to miss anything, ever again!"
He could feel all his muscles tighten with longing, as he listened to the pure joy in her voice. Her perfect little heaven…and he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't darken her last few hours with his own pain…but the clutching feeling in his throat would leave him no peace. He'd only wanted to bask in her golden presence for a few final moments, but the rising tide within could not be held back.
Spike's back was still turned to her when he finally forced the words out around the ache in his throat. "Sounds bloody marvelous." His voice was soft…sad. "And you deserve every last bit of it." He swallowed, and felt his face shift as he worked to bring the demon forth, his brow expanding into prominent ridges even as his canines sprouted into miniature daggers. "But I'm not like you, luv…"
He turned uncertainly to face her, every movement painfully slow and hesitant. His demeanor was that of a man beaten and bruised beyond mortal tolerance, as though the 'big bad' façade he'd sported for so long had become a second skin…a skin that had been agonizingly flayed from his body. When his black-flecked yellow eyes finally met her hazel-green ones, his voice was soft and broken as he spoke thickly around his fangs. "Heaven's not for the likes of me."
The sight of his 'game face' hit Buffy like a physical blow. Suddenly her world was spinning off its axis, and her mind was awash in a maelstrom of thoughts, feelings, memories…all swirling in that deep golden gaze that used to be so loathsomely familiar…
«You don't strike me as the begging kind…»
«Look at you…shaking, terrified, alone…a lost little lamb…I love it…»
«I'd rather be fighting you anyway…»
«Guess you're not worth a second go…»
«I swear, I was just thinking of you…»
«A Slayer must always reach for her weapon…I've already got mine…»
«Hey, I'm a superhero, too…»
Even in the midst of her own personal mental hurricane, Buffy took a moment to marvel. Until last week, for those few hours when they were "Joan" and "Randy," she had seen nothing but Spike's human face for months.
He acted so human. Snacking on spicy buffalo wings at the Bronze, baby-sitting Dawn, patrolling with her…he was always right there, being whatever she needed him to be…but real. Mortal. Human. She had almost forgotten the demon was there…
Then she was swamped all over again as she stood there, drowning in a cruel wave of déjà vu…
«Angel standing before her, blood trickling slowly from a cut near his eyebrow. His hands clutching her shoulders with fearsome strength. Worrying about her. Freaky assassin-guy lying on the ice a few paces away, in a steadily-growing pool of blood…
Angel refusing to look at her, turning his face away. 'You shouldn't have to touch me when I'm like this.'
Buffy's own hand reaching up, gently cupping his cheek. Pulling his eyes back to her own. Looking at him with a mixture of tenderness and wonder.
'I didn't even notice…'
Suddenly realizing that it didn't matter…that none of it mattered. Slayer. Vampire. Human. Demon. Saint. Monster. Hero. Villain. All meaningless. Because she loved him.»
In that moment with Angel, all the barriers had fallen away, and all that remained was love…in that monumental instant when she had realized that she no longer saw the demon.
And now, with Spike, she was suddenly confronted with the fact that she hadn't noticed she'd forgotten to see…and it changed everything. Buffy was sure that her very soul was being shaken on its moorings, and her guts were tying themselves into wrenching knots. Her mouth opened, and her tongue scraped against her palate like sandpaper. She stared into a mournful yellow gaze she barely recognized, and felt her own eyes widen as the significance of his words slowly filtered past her turmoil.
"You—" Her voice dried up. She swallowed convulsively, and tried again. "You mean tomorrow…you won't…" Her eyes burned, and she ruthlessly forced back the tears. "You can't come with us, can you? Because of…the demon." She raised a shaking hand and pressed it against her forehead, as though it might slow the flood of her thoughts. "I didn't realize…I mean, I didn't think…"
Spike closed his eyes at the shock and horror in her voice, and allowed his vamp face to dissolve away. "I know, luv. No one did." His voice was gruff. "'Cept me…I figured as much. And that Herald chap, he said…I was right."
"But…" Buffy's voice was small and timid, like a child desperately pleading for a parent's reassurance that the scary things hiding in the dark are just figments, insubstantial shadows that can always and forever be chased away by the comforting glow of the bedside lamp.
Then something deep inside her awakened, and spoke up.
No.
It sounded very sure of itself.
NO!
A momentary spark of anger ignited a sudden blaze. It roared to sudden, furious life, searing away the helplessness and the uncertainty, raging against the injustice of Spike's sorry fate.
"No way. They can't…it's not fair!" The flames licked higher, flashing the waves of feeling into steam, consuming her scattered memories of yellow eyes, leaving only crystalline blue amid the ashes.
"How can they do that to you? None of it's your fault—the demon might be what you are, but it's not who you are! And it's what they made you to be, anyway!!" Buffy was well on her way to working up a fine snit-fit, and found she couldn't stand still for it anymore. She spun away from Spike, pacing furiously from side to side as she ranted.
"This is so not right—they're the Powers, for god's sake! They're supposed to be the good guys!! So what do they do?!? They create you to be a vampire, but completely different from any of the others—I mean, with the hair, and the coat, and the sense of humor and everything—and they toss you out into the world armed with this big, fat attitude problem and this enormous capacity to love, and then when they decide they're sick of it all, they take you away from everybody who matters to you and condemn you to spend forever in hell…just for being what they made you to be?!?!?"
Spike's eyes were huge in his angular face as he watched her storm back and forth in front of him, her arms flailing the air with manic gestures. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat of her anger, and her hair flared in her wake like a golden cape every time she turned.
So upset…over me…?
And the things she was saying! His heart swelled to the point of bursting as she continued to vent her righteous indignance.
"It's not fair! They make you, and then they punish you! And none of it is your fault!! Dammit, Spike—" She jerked to a halt in mid-stride, and whirled to face him. "—they can't do that! If they think I'm just gonna stand by and let them do that to one of my friends—!!!"
She was a vision…her face just inches from his own, breathing hard, twin spots of pink high on her cheeks, glaring at him with a dangerous glitter in her eyes…all for him. All because she cared enough about him to not want him sent to hell. If he'd needed breath just then, she would have stolen it.
Spike couldn't help himself. In that moment, he loved her so much that he could swear he felt his heart beat, moving the blood in his veins, flooding his entire body with a euphoric tingle. She filled his field of view, became his whole world. She enfolded him and crept beneath his skin, boiling in his veins and foaming in his throat until he was dizzy with the sense of her…drowning in her. He could no more have stopped the overwhelming rush of emotion cascading through him than he could have bailed out the ocean with a sieve.
His hands seemed to belong to someone else as they reached out and grabbed Buffy's shoulders, pulling her against him. But the lips that met hers, cutting her off mid-sentence with a hard kiss that somehow managed to be sweet and tender at the same time, were entirely his.
So hot…god, like sunlight in a bottle…but sweeter…
Buffy's own thought processes came to a sudden, screeching halt.
Oh.
My.
God.
I'm!
Kissing!
Spike!!!
(again)
A large part of her mind instantly panicked and went into overdrive, hastily running through the mental catalogue of excellent and utterly logical reasons why she had promised herself after the last kiss—oh, alright…last two kisses—that she would never let it happen again. But then his lips started to move against her own, and her eyes melted shut at the same moment that her brain started to liquefy like candle-wax in a raging inferno. Oooh… don't stop…
An eternity later, when he finally pulled back, Buffy couldn't quite suppress the sudden disappointment that stole over her. His fingers relaxed their desperate grip on her upper arms but didn't entirely let go, cradling her shoulders in a gentle grasp. With his eyes still closed, he rested his forehead softly against hers, and drew in a shaky breath.
"Thank you…" His voice was no more than the barest of whispers, and she could hear it quiver.
Reluctantly, she pulled her head back and pried her eyelids open. They both stood blinking as smoky green met silver-blue. The tremble in her words matched his. "For what?"
He cocked his head slightly to one side, and regarded her with the look of tenderness and wonder that had lately been guaranteed to make her tingle. His tone said that the answer should have been obvious. "For caring."
Buffy's mouth opened, then shut again, as she tried to figure out exactly how she ought to respond to that. A thousand replies skittered temptingly across her mind…and somehow it was the most cowardly of them all that finally won its way to her lips.
"You're welcome."
Her eyes were still locked with his, and she finally had to look away from the naked emotion in that stare. He released her shoulders and scrubbed one hand through his platinum locks, even as she moved to tuck a long strand of blonde behind her ear.
Neither one stepped back.
Then Buffy let out a quick, nervous laugh, almost more air than voice. "Well…I ought to get home. Dawn's waiting for me to pick her up. You know…for the shindig at the Bronze…"
"Right." Spike nodded once—a swift, businesslike gesture that was totally at odds with the way they were invading each other's personal space. "Don't want to keep th' Nibblet waiting."
"Yeah." Buffy tilted her head a bit, then mustered the courage to look up at him out of the corner of her eye. "And it sounds like we're going to go find Mr. Herald-Man. 'Cuz I'm feeling this sudden urge to give the Powers a really violent piece of my mind…"
He raised a playful eyebrow at her. "And you think he might be able to pass along the message?"
"I think he sounds like a pretty good place to start!"
The mischievous twinkle in her eyes was reflected in Spike's, but mixed with a generous helping of awe and bemused disbelief. "You're really gonna try an' kick a little omnipotent ass, just to keep me around for all eternity?"
"Hey, I've said it before, and I'm saying it again. Nobody messes with—"
Her traitorous brain instantly supplied another memory, just to add to the déjà vu reunion between her ears. «'I've had it—Spike is going down. You can attack me, you can send assassins after me…that's fine. But nobody messes with my boyfriend!'»
"—my friends," she finished, barely missing a beat. She finally stepped away from him, but motioned with her head for him to follow as she headed for the cemetery gates.
"You realize, pet," he commented teasingly, as he fell easily into step with her, "that I'll likely annoy you just as much in heaven as I do here?"
She nailed him with that impish sidelong smirk again, and his silent heart skipped another unbeat.
"I think I can live with that…"
The pair left the graveyard side by side, their long strides perfectly in synch. There were no eyes but their own to see how they bent their heads toward each other as they spoke, or to notice the way their hands 'happened' to brush against each other every few steps. They left behind the darkness and the awful silence…and the forgotten remnants of three offerings of love, scattered like a white-and-pink quilt over a narrow bed of vivid green grass.
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Okay, just a quick author's note. Mostly just 'cuz it's been a while since I made you read one. ;) First of all, a totally huge and far too loud THANK YOU to two readers who cared enough to let me know they liked this story. Thanks and an enormous hug to Rosy Mansfield, who took the time to track me down when I disappeared from the B/S Central Archive and convinced me that I needed to post this story somewhere else so she could read it; and another big shout-out to Learyl, who has so far been my only reviewer (as of this posting), but has been incredibly generous with the praise. Between the two of you, I was inspired to get this story back out of mothballs and do some more work on it. :) Can't thank either of you enough!!!!!
And one other comment, in case anyone else reading this story has noticed…
Yes, there are a few elements of the plot which are VERY reminiscent of Sangga's fic "To Make Much of Time." There is an excellent (if mostly unintentional) reason for that. First of all, that story and its prequel ("Black the Sun") are by far the two BEST pieces of B/S fiction I've ever had the privilege of reading. Sangga, whoever she is, ought to be working for Joss, 'cuz she's freakin' amazing. If you think this story is halfway decent, go read hers (they're both posted at ff.net). You'll be blown away. Anyways, if Sangga or any of her other fans ever end up reading this, please don't take offense at the occasional similarity. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, even if it's not nearly as good as the original. ;)
I hope to have another couple of scenes done within a week or two…it depends on how soon I can finish my Christmas shopping. ;)
And if you're still reading at this point, PLEASE REVIEW? Even if it's just a sentence or two telling me what you liked and hated, it'd mean a lot to me to know what you think of this. :) Thanks!!!!!!