Sorry about the delay.
Thanks a lot for the reviews :-)
**PART TWO**
CHAPTER ONE:
She considered him. Her eyes taking in the tatters of his blood caked T-shirt and the starkly contrasting peeps of white dressing underneath. She reached out tentatively to touch the gauze protecting the wound nearest his heart.
"How's it going under there?" It was barely a whisper, she found herself wondering whether she had actually said the words or had simply heard her own thoughts.
"Better... I think." His voice was drowsy, no more than a lazy drawl. He watched her through weighty eyelids as she held her hand over the wound in some kind of spiritual healing gesture. Her eyebrows knitted and she glanced up at his face, avoiding his eyes still.
"Where did the shirt go? You know with the ever-so-stylish nail polish logo." One side of her mouth tugged at the memory of finding him and that ridiculous letter. Only it wasn't so ridiculous anymore.
"I do have more than one change of clothes, Slayer." His facial muscles were lax and free of expression but there was humour in his voice and she responded to it.
"Really? That why I never saw you in anything other than that red shirt ensemble for two years?"
"What? It was a look."
She smiled. More to herself but he caught it. He never missed anything it seemed. "Yeah... It was you."
"You not liking the all black?"
"It makes you look all morbid-y."
"Well I was going for moody and dangerous, but the old 'nighted colour' holds other, more obvious symbolism."
"Death, grief."
They both nodded slightly and the silence wound them together for an instant before she severed the moment.
"You have other clothes, in the car?"
"Yeah, in the boot."
She grinned and moved to get off the bed, suddenly grateful for the release. "Good. I didn't want to offend you earlier when you were all barely conscious and all, but you really *are* starting to smell."
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-
She wandered into the lounge and placed the bundle of dark clothing onto the coffee table, barely acknowledging Willow's presence.
"Hey, Buffy." Willow glanced up from the hefty volume of something-or-other she was studying and her voice startled Buffy from her mindless musing.
"Huh?"
"How are you?"
"Oh... fine. It's all a bit..." (...much)
The urn still stood crudely on the mantle piece, next to a photo of her mother and she cringed at the sight. A desperate desire to swipe the offending pottery off its perch and smash it underfoot gripped at her but she remained in her seat. Her muscles coiling in waves of impotent rage. The apathy was all encompassing, drawing her in on herself.
"Yeah." Willow smiled sweetly, as if reading her mind. "How is... he?"
"The spell... cleared up his face... but his body..." She trailed off, her eyes falling to the floor and tracing invisible patterns on the carpet until she reached her feet.
"Yeah it only lasts so long, only does so much."
"Can you top it up?" She asked, not looking up from her bare feet. She'd been outside with no shoes and hadn't noticed.
"No, it was only a basic spell. I can look something else up if -"
"No, it's okay... besides, Vampire-healing right." She realised her intended statement had sounded more like a question and in defeat fell back against the sofa cushions.
"Have you...?" Buffy could anticipate the question from Willow's nervous blush.
"No. I mean he's still... it's not... it'd be... weird."
Willow's head drew back in confusion, her hands wavering over the text in her lap. "Weird? You've... before, haven't you?"
"Yeah..."
"And it was...?"
"Yeah..."
"...But?"
Buffy closed her eyes and gripped at the tension at the bridge of her nose. The pressure created a melange of psychedelic imagery on the black canvas of her vision and for a few moments she experimented with different grades of pressure, pressing her eyelids with the heels of her hands and watching the results until her eyeballs began to ache. She opened her eyes and it took a moment for her sight to re-adjust. Swirly ghosts danced in her line of vision for minutes afterwards.
"Everything's different now." She said finally.
"Different how? Because of what Glory did to him?"
Buffy squirmed in her seat and folded her arms. "There's something else."
Willow remained silent, allowing Buffy the space to carry on but then seemed to realise that she needed prompting. "What else?"
"He told me..." she took a deep breath and bulldozed through with the rest, "thathehasfeelingsforme."
"What? Say again, and this time in English."
Buffy squirmed again, uncomfortable with the telling of it, whilst needing to get it out of herself, but also realising that saying it made it real, not just some crazy figment of her stressed imagination. "He said that he's had feelings for me... for some time now."
"And that's bad because...?"
Buffy stared at her friend and couldn't decide which was her strongest impulse - angry frustration or happy relief. "Willow!"
"What? It doesn't matter what you feel about him. You don't have to decide that today or even tomorrow. But knowing where he stands... surely it's a good thing that you don't have to second guess him, like most men?"
(Oh sure, use logic on me, why don't you?)
"*Before* I knew where we stood. We were just two... people... grieving together and we didn't have to think that far ahead. But now," she gestured helplessly with her hands. "Now all I can see is 'far head' and it scares me because I don't see how he fits into that. A-and if we have sex, it won't just be this... comfort thing... it'll be like this huge deal an-"
"It'll be like making love."
She let out a long, shaky breath and stared at her friend. "I'm not ready for that, Will. Not now, I don't even know when or if, or... with him."
"So, what now?"
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know."
-
-
-
-
"You know, for a Vampire, you sure do sleep a lot." The closed-eyed, slack muscled form didn't answer her. Her mouth twitched as she moved round the bed and began to fold his clothes.
Struggling to make out colours and details in the low light she crossed to the window and reached out to switch the blinds open. Pausing suddenly, with her hand on the thread, she sighed heavily. (I could resent this. The darkness.) But when she looked back at him, her lips twitched again. (I hate you.)
She began to hum softly to herself as she put his clothes in a drawer and as she went over to pick up the cup on the bedside table she felt his eyes on her.
"Hey."
He grunted, using his energy to push himself up to seating position. Buffy noted the emptiness of the cup and glanced back at him. Big mistake.
"You hungry?" She saw the flash of his eyes in the split-second before he grasped her wrist and yanked her down on to his lap.
"Oh, yes." Grinning and keeping his darkened eyes on her, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, his tongue darting forward to dig into the centre of her palm.
She had stopped breathing and air caught in her throat when she tried to inhale. She felt her heartbeat step up and surges of panic and lust sweep through her. The panic won out. Pulling her hand out of his grasp, she impelled herself towards the door. "I-I have to go talk to Willow, a-and get you some blood." She dare not look back at his face as she made her exit.
-
-
-
-
"You sure you want me to go?" Willow asked as they made their way to the door. "I can stay if -"
"No, really. I'll be okay," she proved her point with a borrowed resolve-face, "besides, I need you and Tara to look after Dawn for the next couple of days. I don't want her to see him like that... she'd only blame herself."
"So, you'll let me know... when it's safe."
(Is it ever safe?) Buffy nodded and opened the door. She even managed a smile despite the dread creeping into her bones. "Course, tell Dawn to phone me."
"Will do... And be careful."
"I'm the Slayer, I live in a house full of stakes."
"That's not what I meant."
Willow caught her eyes meaningfully and held them until Buffy nodded.
"I will."
And then she was gone, leaving Buffy alone... with him.
"Blood!"
-
-
-
-
"There you go."
He took the mug from her in silence, all the while studying her with a heavy gaze. (He knows.) She watched as he drank, not bothering to turn away from her like Angel used to, not even looking away from her as he wiped his reddened mouth and licked his fingers. (I could resent that. The audacity. The unwillingness to hide what he is.) But again her mouth twitched and she found herself distracted once more by the pink tip of his tongue as it flickered out over his lips.
The continued silence and rising tension collected in tokens of pressure in a corner of her gut and she felt sick. Though not with disgust and she thought that maybe she could resent that, resent that he didn't disgust her.
"There something you wanna tell me?" He asked finally, his voice impossibly stable and it tipped at her internal struggle for equilibrium.
She took a deep breath. "I'll be sleeping in Dawn's room tonight."
He nodded and she felt a stab of frustration pierce her veil of calm.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?"
He shrugged, the action obviously causing less pain now. "Do *you* even know why?"
"Yes... No."
"What is it?" He fixed his eyes on her and she could tell he was looking for cues in her face, but she knew he would find none. "Do you want me to go?"
"No!" She yelled, surprising both of them at the volume and insistence in her voice. (Maybe he doesn't understand after all.) "No, that's the last thing I want."
"Then what *do* you want?" His voice was still so level and she found herself wanting to shout at him just to get him raise his voice too. She suddenly felt so foolish and lonely with her confused desires.
"I don't know." She dropped down onto the bed by his feet and concentrated on the hands clasped at her knees. Focusing particularly on the still-splintered digits, she wiggled them experimentally but they simply felt numb. "Things for you... you've had longer to deal with this."
"You think I liked it?" She looked at him, knowing she wasn't going to like what he had to say, but needing to hear it all the same. Needing to hear everything he had to say. "You think I liked having Dru tell me, every time I denied her something, every time I couldn't give her the attention she needed, every time she found comfort in another *thing's* arms, that it was because of *you*?" His voice was straining now and a small part of her relaxed at the tiny victory.
"She was always telling me 'go back and see your Slayer', kept getting these visions of big snakes and men in lab coats, even made me promise, if anything happened to her, I'd come back here to you." He came forward off his cushions, making her lean back to recover her precious inches of space.
"And I promised all right, promised I'd come here and rip your throat out. I was intent on that and when she - she died all I could see was you. My vision was red and black with you. Glaring all around me, willing me on with murderous intent."
She felt herself stiffen into Slayer-mode at his harshness, her back straightening, and her eyes lifting to confront his. "What changed?" Her heart was thumping and every limb was alive with a pulsating throb flaring down her veins to the very tips of the toes she dug into the carpet and the fingertips that gripped the sheets. She could finally feel her hands and feet again.
He sighed and settled back again, the tension diffusing and scattering to the ground like ashes. "Your mother died."
The fight was knocked out of her, the blow that washed humbling peace over her. Her breathing became shallow and the tension drained from her body, leaving tiny tingles that could easily develop into pins and needles in her fingers and toes.
"This is all about my mom?" She whispered through a suddenly tight throat.
It was his turn to look at her as if she didn't understand anything. His expression lacking the energy for full incredulity, his head moved slowly from side to side and his eyelids dipped. "No. It's all about you... has been for a long time."
"I don't... I can't." She took a deep breath to allow herself a pause to think.
"You were suddenly in my life and I didn't have time to decide how I felt about that... and then you were gone." She checked with a glance to see if he was listening and he was, in that patient manner that infuriated as much as it relaxed her.
"And I didn't have time have time to decide how much I missed you, and then I thought you were dead... and I didn't have time to know how much I would grieve for you, and then you were back." She faced him, her hands on his knees. "I need time."
There was a slow drift of movement on his face and his lips crept into a wide smile. "Well time's something I find myself with quite a lot of, as it happens."
"Lend me some?" She returned his smile and felt his hand on hers before a glance down confirmed it.
"Sure." He grinned at her and took another gulp of blood.
Thanks a lot for the reviews :-)
**PART TWO**
CHAPTER ONE:
She considered him. Her eyes taking in the tatters of his blood caked T-shirt and the starkly contrasting peeps of white dressing underneath. She reached out tentatively to touch the gauze protecting the wound nearest his heart.
"How's it going under there?" It was barely a whisper, she found herself wondering whether she had actually said the words or had simply heard her own thoughts.
"Better... I think." His voice was drowsy, no more than a lazy drawl. He watched her through weighty eyelids as she held her hand over the wound in some kind of spiritual healing gesture. Her eyebrows knitted and she glanced up at his face, avoiding his eyes still.
"Where did the shirt go? You know with the ever-so-stylish nail polish logo." One side of her mouth tugged at the memory of finding him and that ridiculous letter. Only it wasn't so ridiculous anymore.
"I do have more than one change of clothes, Slayer." His facial muscles were lax and free of expression but there was humour in his voice and she responded to it.
"Really? That why I never saw you in anything other than that red shirt ensemble for two years?"
"What? It was a look."
She smiled. More to herself but he caught it. He never missed anything it seemed. "Yeah... It was you."
"You not liking the all black?"
"It makes you look all morbid-y."
"Well I was going for moody and dangerous, but the old 'nighted colour' holds other, more obvious symbolism."
"Death, grief."
They both nodded slightly and the silence wound them together for an instant before she severed the moment.
"You have other clothes, in the car?"
"Yeah, in the boot."
She grinned and moved to get off the bed, suddenly grateful for the release. "Good. I didn't want to offend you earlier when you were all barely conscious and all, but you really *are* starting to smell."
-
-
-
-
She wandered into the lounge and placed the bundle of dark clothing onto the coffee table, barely acknowledging Willow's presence.
"Hey, Buffy." Willow glanced up from the hefty volume of something-or-other she was studying and her voice startled Buffy from her mindless musing.
"Huh?"
"How are you?"
"Oh... fine. It's all a bit..." (...much)
The urn still stood crudely on the mantle piece, next to a photo of her mother and she cringed at the sight. A desperate desire to swipe the offending pottery off its perch and smash it underfoot gripped at her but she remained in her seat. Her muscles coiling in waves of impotent rage. The apathy was all encompassing, drawing her in on herself.
"Yeah." Willow smiled sweetly, as if reading her mind. "How is... he?"
"The spell... cleared up his face... but his body..." She trailed off, her eyes falling to the floor and tracing invisible patterns on the carpet until she reached her feet.
"Yeah it only lasts so long, only does so much."
"Can you top it up?" She asked, not looking up from her bare feet. She'd been outside with no shoes and hadn't noticed.
"No, it was only a basic spell. I can look something else up if -"
"No, it's okay... besides, Vampire-healing right." She realised her intended statement had sounded more like a question and in defeat fell back against the sofa cushions.
"Have you...?" Buffy could anticipate the question from Willow's nervous blush.
"No. I mean he's still... it's not... it'd be... weird."
Willow's head drew back in confusion, her hands wavering over the text in her lap. "Weird? You've... before, haven't you?"
"Yeah..."
"And it was...?"
"Yeah..."
"...But?"
Buffy closed her eyes and gripped at the tension at the bridge of her nose. The pressure created a melange of psychedelic imagery on the black canvas of her vision and for a few moments she experimented with different grades of pressure, pressing her eyelids with the heels of her hands and watching the results until her eyeballs began to ache. She opened her eyes and it took a moment for her sight to re-adjust. Swirly ghosts danced in her line of vision for minutes afterwards.
"Everything's different now." She said finally.
"Different how? Because of what Glory did to him?"
Buffy squirmed in her seat and folded her arms. "There's something else."
Willow remained silent, allowing Buffy the space to carry on but then seemed to realise that she needed prompting. "What else?"
"He told me..." she took a deep breath and bulldozed through with the rest, "thathehasfeelingsforme."
"What? Say again, and this time in English."
Buffy squirmed again, uncomfortable with the telling of it, whilst needing to get it out of herself, but also realising that saying it made it real, not just some crazy figment of her stressed imagination. "He said that he's had feelings for me... for some time now."
"And that's bad because...?"
Buffy stared at her friend and couldn't decide which was her strongest impulse - angry frustration or happy relief. "Willow!"
"What? It doesn't matter what you feel about him. You don't have to decide that today or even tomorrow. But knowing where he stands... surely it's a good thing that you don't have to second guess him, like most men?"
(Oh sure, use logic on me, why don't you?)
"*Before* I knew where we stood. We were just two... people... grieving together and we didn't have to think that far ahead. But now," she gestured helplessly with her hands. "Now all I can see is 'far head' and it scares me because I don't see how he fits into that. A-and if we have sex, it won't just be this... comfort thing... it'll be like this huge deal an-"
"It'll be like making love."
She let out a long, shaky breath and stared at her friend. "I'm not ready for that, Will. Not now, I don't even know when or if, or... with him."
"So, what now?"
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know."
-
-
-
-
"You know, for a Vampire, you sure do sleep a lot." The closed-eyed, slack muscled form didn't answer her. Her mouth twitched as she moved round the bed and began to fold his clothes.
Struggling to make out colours and details in the low light she crossed to the window and reached out to switch the blinds open. Pausing suddenly, with her hand on the thread, she sighed heavily. (I could resent this. The darkness.) But when she looked back at him, her lips twitched again. (I hate you.)
She began to hum softly to herself as she put his clothes in a drawer and as she went over to pick up the cup on the bedside table she felt his eyes on her.
"Hey."
He grunted, using his energy to push himself up to seating position. Buffy noted the emptiness of the cup and glanced back at him. Big mistake.
"You hungry?" She saw the flash of his eyes in the split-second before he grasped her wrist and yanked her down on to his lap.
"Oh, yes." Grinning and keeping his darkened eyes on her, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, his tongue darting forward to dig into the centre of her palm.
She had stopped breathing and air caught in her throat when she tried to inhale. She felt her heartbeat step up and surges of panic and lust sweep through her. The panic won out. Pulling her hand out of his grasp, she impelled herself towards the door. "I-I have to go talk to Willow, a-and get you some blood." She dare not look back at his face as she made her exit.
-
-
-
-
"You sure you want me to go?" Willow asked as they made their way to the door. "I can stay if -"
"No, really. I'll be okay," she proved her point with a borrowed resolve-face, "besides, I need you and Tara to look after Dawn for the next couple of days. I don't want her to see him like that... she'd only blame herself."
"So, you'll let me know... when it's safe."
(Is it ever safe?) Buffy nodded and opened the door. She even managed a smile despite the dread creeping into her bones. "Course, tell Dawn to phone me."
"Will do... And be careful."
"I'm the Slayer, I live in a house full of stakes."
"That's not what I meant."
Willow caught her eyes meaningfully and held them until Buffy nodded.
"I will."
And then she was gone, leaving Buffy alone... with him.
"Blood!"
-
-
-
-
"There you go."
He took the mug from her in silence, all the while studying her with a heavy gaze. (He knows.) She watched as he drank, not bothering to turn away from her like Angel used to, not even looking away from her as he wiped his reddened mouth and licked his fingers. (I could resent that. The audacity. The unwillingness to hide what he is.) But again her mouth twitched and she found herself distracted once more by the pink tip of his tongue as it flickered out over his lips.
The continued silence and rising tension collected in tokens of pressure in a corner of her gut and she felt sick. Though not with disgust and she thought that maybe she could resent that, resent that he didn't disgust her.
"There something you wanna tell me?" He asked finally, his voice impossibly stable and it tipped at her internal struggle for equilibrium.
She took a deep breath. "I'll be sleeping in Dawn's room tonight."
He nodded and she felt a stab of frustration pierce her veil of calm.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?"
He shrugged, the action obviously causing less pain now. "Do *you* even know why?"
"Yes... No."
"What is it?" He fixed his eyes on her and she could tell he was looking for cues in her face, but she knew he would find none. "Do you want me to go?"
"No!" She yelled, surprising both of them at the volume and insistence in her voice. (Maybe he doesn't understand after all.) "No, that's the last thing I want."
"Then what *do* you want?" His voice was still so level and she found herself wanting to shout at him just to get him raise his voice too. She suddenly felt so foolish and lonely with her confused desires.
"I don't know." She dropped down onto the bed by his feet and concentrated on the hands clasped at her knees. Focusing particularly on the still-splintered digits, she wiggled them experimentally but they simply felt numb. "Things for you... you've had longer to deal with this."
"You think I liked it?" She looked at him, knowing she wasn't going to like what he had to say, but needing to hear it all the same. Needing to hear everything he had to say. "You think I liked having Dru tell me, every time I denied her something, every time I couldn't give her the attention she needed, every time she found comfort in another *thing's* arms, that it was because of *you*?" His voice was straining now and a small part of her relaxed at the tiny victory.
"She was always telling me 'go back and see your Slayer', kept getting these visions of big snakes and men in lab coats, even made me promise, if anything happened to her, I'd come back here to you." He came forward off his cushions, making her lean back to recover her precious inches of space.
"And I promised all right, promised I'd come here and rip your throat out. I was intent on that and when she - she died all I could see was you. My vision was red and black with you. Glaring all around me, willing me on with murderous intent."
She felt herself stiffen into Slayer-mode at his harshness, her back straightening, and her eyes lifting to confront his. "What changed?" Her heart was thumping and every limb was alive with a pulsating throb flaring down her veins to the very tips of the toes she dug into the carpet and the fingertips that gripped the sheets. She could finally feel her hands and feet again.
He sighed and settled back again, the tension diffusing and scattering to the ground like ashes. "Your mother died."
The fight was knocked out of her, the blow that washed humbling peace over her. Her breathing became shallow and the tension drained from her body, leaving tiny tingles that could easily develop into pins and needles in her fingers and toes.
"This is all about my mom?" She whispered through a suddenly tight throat.
It was his turn to look at her as if she didn't understand anything. His expression lacking the energy for full incredulity, his head moved slowly from side to side and his eyelids dipped. "No. It's all about you... has been for a long time."
"I don't... I can't." She took a deep breath to allow herself a pause to think.
"You were suddenly in my life and I didn't have time to decide how I felt about that... and then you were gone." She checked with a glance to see if he was listening and he was, in that patient manner that infuriated as much as it relaxed her.
"And I didn't have time have time to decide how much I missed you, and then I thought you were dead... and I didn't have time to know how much I would grieve for you, and then you were back." She faced him, her hands on his knees. "I need time."
There was a slow drift of movement on his face and his lips crept into a wide smile. "Well time's something I find myself with quite a lot of, as it happens."
"Lend me some?" She returned his smile and felt his hand on hers before a glance down confirmed it.
"Sure." He grinned at her and took another gulp of blood.