Okay a bit of light, dare I say 'fluffiness'? But damn it, I'm all spoilery depressed and needy of an antidote.
The reviews are really quite blush-worthy, thankyou.
Hope you like :-)
**PART TWO**
CHAPTER TWO
She smiled awake, blinking at the bright early morning sunlight pouring into the room from the uncovered window. Shuffling forward she positioned herself in a yellow patch of warmth and basked, her eyes closed and smile still in place. (Hmm sunlight... Sunlight?!) Her eyes shot open and her hand patted the mattress next to her, searching frantically until she remembered (Dawn's room).
Her eyes closed in relief but her calm was irretrievable. With a groan, she pushed herself out of bed and padded her way to the bathroom.
-
-
-
-
Passing by her room she was surprised to see the door ajar. She poked her head through the gap and was more surprised to see the room empty. Frowning and consciously ignoring the stirring of dread in her toes, she wandered downstairs.
The lounge was empty too she felt tendrils twist upwards from her feet. (Don't panic!) Something caught her eye as she was about to head for the kitchen and she marched towards the mantle-piece, plucking the urn from its place.
"I've got a few things I'd like to do to you, mister."
She carried the pot at arm's length as she headed towards the kitchen.
-
-
-
-
The loud crash broke her stare and she jumped back from the explosion at her feet. She dropped down to her knees as a blush burned her face and waved her hands ineffectually over the mess, not knowing where to begin.
"Here, careful, you'll hurt yourself."
His hands came into her range of vision and began to precariously pick the sharp edged shatters of porcelain out from the mix, leaving only a mass of fine grey particles.
"It's not... your mother, is it?"
Her throat leaped, allowing a laugh to escape. She shook her head and struggled to contain her smile as she looked back up to see his perplexed expression.
"No, she was buried. *This*," she pinched at the dust, letting it sprinkle like salt from her fingers, "is what Glory made me believe was you."
He scowled and raked a hand through the earthy mass. "Not very aesthetically pleasing is it?" He studied one of the fragments of the urn he held in his other hand. "Talk about garish."
"Yeah 'cos you're really worried about style when you're compost."
He grinned. "It *is* Vampire," he commented, sifting the ashes through his fingers, "she went to a lot of trouble to dupe you."
She met his eyes. "It was worth it."
-
-
-
-
"Yellow?! What, am I jaundiced?" His fingers went to his face as if he could tell just by touch alone. (Maybe he can. I must make a note to start asking these things.)
"No, you're perfectly pale. You're just... all bathed in yellowness. It was a shock." She sipped at her coffee in an attempt to remain nonchalant.
"Indirect light." He illustrated his point with a sweep of a hand, taking in the light, but not too bright airiness of the kitchen.
"I know," she blushed and averted her eyes, "but I only usually see you in the dark, or under electric light... It was like seeing you for the first time." Her words had grown steadily quieter until they could hardly even be classed as a whisper. Trust his Vampire hearing to catch it all though.
His mouth flickered with the beginnings of a smile that didn't come to fruition and he took another bite of -
"What *is* that?"
He paused mid-chew and stared at her, his lips slightly parted. Swallowing the food with a gulp, he cleared his throat before speaking. (He has manners?) "Well it's one of those terribly newfangled things that people like to call sandwiches, Love, af-"
(Back to 'Love'? Fair enough.)
"No, I mean, what's it doing on your plate, i-in your mouth?"
"Was a bit peckish, got an attack of the gurglies. It is breakfast time, ain't it?"
"Not for Vampires, it's not. Shouldn't you be all of the reverse sleep-patterns and what's with the eating? It's majorly wiggy."
He sat up, straightening his back. "I seem to be disturbing you a lot this morning."
"No, you disturb me a lot, *all* the time."
"In a good way, or a bad way." His eyes were glistening with mischief and she struggled to keep her poker face.
"In the *worst* way."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
He smirked at her and took another bite and she huffed indignantly, before her the smile she had been holding hostage broke free and betrayed her.
"What you got in that, anyway?"
"Chocolate spread."
"Dawn won't be pleased."
He shrugged. "Some things can be replaced."
Their eyes met and one side of her mouth lifted in agreement at the unsaid contrary.
"Can I get a taste of that?" She asked, coming over to his side of the counter.
He pushed his plate towards her but she ignored it, moving closer still and placing her hands on either side of his face. "I didn't mean from there."
It seemed like forever since they had been here. So long it felt like never. The warmth of an internal smile and sigh of relief rained through her as she relaxed into him, feeling the merest gentle touch of his fingers on her arms.
Her tongue slid across his and rolled up to trace the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth. He did taste of chocolate but she could also make out the distinctive bitter, almost metallic hint of tobacco and the peculiar salty tang she had long presumed to be the after-taste of blood.
"Mmm ... good." She touched a finger to her lips and smiled down into his half-lidded eyes. Her hand came up to his cheek briefly, before she drifted away to make herself a chocolate spread sandwich of her own.
-
-
-
-
The sun was hot against her back as she walked towards the magic shop. The humidity beginning to weary her and then a whisper of a breeze teased at her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
She smiled into a memory of his lukewarm touch that felt so cool against her heated flesh, like a balm awakening and alleviating the numb pain in her body and spirit. The significance of each contact of his hands and lips collecting inside of her and amassing, solidifying, her internal structures yielding and making way as she created a place for him.
It had been so easy, too easy, and she knew that the hardest part would be to let him in, let him imprint himself within her and make himself at home.
It was that final courage she lacked, the strength to trust her instincts, to trust him by admitting she *knew* him. There was always the doubt, always her past to hold her back, always those moments when she looked at him and realised that she didn't know him at all.
-
-
-
-
The familiar and comforting chime of the doorbell sounded as she entered the shop that was alive with a thrum of customers and a radiantly gleeful shop assistant extraordinairre.
"Hey, Anya." She waved.
Anya paused mid sales patter and regarded at her in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink kind of way that made Buffy dread what was going to come out of her mouth. Only she said nothing, simply turned back to the customer, picking up her thread from the exact same place.
(OK, weird.)
Buffy moved forward, minding a couple of browsers as she made her way over to the table. Tara and Willow were sat studying amidst the chaos and both looked up from their books at the same time. Willow beamed brightly, without overkill, and Buffy visibly relaxed. She had been worried about tension and atmosphere but detected none. Maybe it was a good thing Xander wasn't here.
"Hi, Buffy."
"Hey Will, Tara, how's it going?" She asked as she sat herself down. "How's Dawn?"
"Fine. Xander took her to school this morning."
"And she's OK? I mean, she phoned last night, but she's OK today?"
Tara nodded, an understanding and reassuring smile lifting her lips. "Oh yes, I t-think she misses you though."
"Yeah... me too." Buffy's eyes fell to the table. "I think tomorrow should be OK, if you can bring her back?"
"Sure."
"Me and Tara we're just talking about celebrating some time this week. Now Glory's been all dupified, I think some Bronzing is in order." Willow whipped up some enticing enthusiasm.
"It sounds good, I sure could do with that. When?"
"Ah, Buffy!"
She looked up to see Giles and smiled timidly at him. Surely he would have something to say, surely there would at least be a hint of admonishment in his voice. But no, she listened as he spoke, her ears pricked for any implicit negativity or disappointment.
Nothing.
"...But you really must get back to it soon." He said of training and she nodded eagerly.
"Sure, will do."
-
-
-
-
When she got home he was sprawled out on the sofa, thankfully not asleep for once. She noted that he had changed his shirt and was wearing some blue number, the same colour of his eyes. She stood against the doorjamb and smiled when he looked up at her.
"Hi."
"Hey, what ya doing?"
He indicated the television with a point of the remote control. "Just catching up on me tele."
Her eyes drifted to the object in question. "Uh-huh. *Dawson's Creek*? Wouldn't have had that down as something you'd watch."
"It's classic angsty drama, you can't go wrong. Dawson's a complete plank but the other's are OK. I like that Jen," his eyes gleamed at her, "she has fire."
She felt herself grin. "You like fire, huh?"
He invited her forward with a pat of the space next to him and she obliged.
"Oh yes. It's so passionate and dangerous," He smiled at her as she came to crawl out to lie next to him. "A Vampire shouldn't be able to touch it without getting burnt, without it being the death of him," his hand hovered over the bare skin of her arm and she shivered, the tiny hairs rising on goose-pimples, as if reaching for him. "But it warms me, purges me, breathes life into me with each lick of it's flames."
His gaze was focused on his hovering hand and when he lifted his eyes to hers, he appeared to start with a small jolt backwards and a snatching away of his hand.
"Now watch the show."
She rolled her eyes but complied, rolling over to look at the television.
-
-
-
-
"Did you shower or something?"
He murmured the affirmative through his drowsiness, his eyes not opening.
"Thought so, you don't smell of the sewers any more." She snuggled into him.
"Merfer?"
"No, you smell all fresh and watery and clean."
"Mmpfh."
"It wasn't too difficult was it? With the pain?"
"Numm."
"What..." she paused, her finger tracing the exposed section of his sternum, "what do I smell of? And be nice."
His eyes blinked with and with a small smile he leant in, inhaling her and exhaling with a soft groan. "Day."
"Day?"
"Of fresh air, breezes and daylight."
Her lips curled and she rested her head back on the smooth material of his shirt. "Oh, OK."
The reviews are really quite blush-worthy, thankyou.
Hope you like :-)
**PART TWO**
CHAPTER TWO
She smiled awake, blinking at the bright early morning sunlight pouring into the room from the uncovered window. Shuffling forward she positioned herself in a yellow patch of warmth and basked, her eyes closed and smile still in place. (Hmm sunlight... Sunlight?!) Her eyes shot open and her hand patted the mattress next to her, searching frantically until she remembered (Dawn's room).
Her eyes closed in relief but her calm was irretrievable. With a groan, she pushed herself out of bed and padded her way to the bathroom.
-
-
-
-
Passing by her room she was surprised to see the door ajar. She poked her head through the gap and was more surprised to see the room empty. Frowning and consciously ignoring the stirring of dread in her toes, she wandered downstairs.
The lounge was empty too she felt tendrils twist upwards from her feet. (Don't panic!) Something caught her eye as she was about to head for the kitchen and she marched towards the mantle-piece, plucking the urn from its place.
"I've got a few things I'd like to do to you, mister."
She carried the pot at arm's length as she headed towards the kitchen.
-
-
-
-
The loud crash broke her stare and she jumped back from the explosion at her feet. She dropped down to her knees as a blush burned her face and waved her hands ineffectually over the mess, not knowing where to begin.
"Here, careful, you'll hurt yourself."
His hands came into her range of vision and began to precariously pick the sharp edged shatters of porcelain out from the mix, leaving only a mass of fine grey particles.
"It's not... your mother, is it?"
Her throat leaped, allowing a laugh to escape. She shook her head and struggled to contain her smile as she looked back up to see his perplexed expression.
"No, she was buried. *This*," she pinched at the dust, letting it sprinkle like salt from her fingers, "is what Glory made me believe was you."
He scowled and raked a hand through the earthy mass. "Not very aesthetically pleasing is it?" He studied one of the fragments of the urn he held in his other hand. "Talk about garish."
"Yeah 'cos you're really worried about style when you're compost."
He grinned. "It *is* Vampire," he commented, sifting the ashes through his fingers, "she went to a lot of trouble to dupe you."
She met his eyes. "It was worth it."
-
-
-
-
"Yellow?! What, am I jaundiced?" His fingers went to his face as if he could tell just by touch alone. (Maybe he can. I must make a note to start asking these things.)
"No, you're perfectly pale. You're just... all bathed in yellowness. It was a shock." She sipped at her coffee in an attempt to remain nonchalant.
"Indirect light." He illustrated his point with a sweep of a hand, taking in the light, but not too bright airiness of the kitchen.
"I know," she blushed and averted her eyes, "but I only usually see you in the dark, or under electric light... It was like seeing you for the first time." Her words had grown steadily quieter until they could hardly even be classed as a whisper. Trust his Vampire hearing to catch it all though.
His mouth flickered with the beginnings of a smile that didn't come to fruition and he took another bite of -
"What *is* that?"
He paused mid-chew and stared at her, his lips slightly parted. Swallowing the food with a gulp, he cleared his throat before speaking. (He has manners?) "Well it's one of those terribly newfangled things that people like to call sandwiches, Love, af-"
(Back to 'Love'? Fair enough.)
"No, I mean, what's it doing on your plate, i-in your mouth?"
"Was a bit peckish, got an attack of the gurglies. It is breakfast time, ain't it?"
"Not for Vampires, it's not. Shouldn't you be all of the reverse sleep-patterns and what's with the eating? It's majorly wiggy."
He sat up, straightening his back. "I seem to be disturbing you a lot this morning."
"No, you disturb me a lot, *all* the time."
"In a good way, or a bad way." His eyes were glistening with mischief and she struggled to keep her poker face.
"In the *worst* way."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
He smirked at her and took another bite and she huffed indignantly, before her the smile she had been holding hostage broke free and betrayed her.
"What you got in that, anyway?"
"Chocolate spread."
"Dawn won't be pleased."
He shrugged. "Some things can be replaced."
Their eyes met and one side of her mouth lifted in agreement at the unsaid contrary.
"Can I get a taste of that?" She asked, coming over to his side of the counter.
He pushed his plate towards her but she ignored it, moving closer still and placing her hands on either side of his face. "I didn't mean from there."
It seemed like forever since they had been here. So long it felt like never. The warmth of an internal smile and sigh of relief rained through her as she relaxed into him, feeling the merest gentle touch of his fingers on her arms.
Her tongue slid across his and rolled up to trace the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth. He did taste of chocolate but she could also make out the distinctive bitter, almost metallic hint of tobacco and the peculiar salty tang she had long presumed to be the after-taste of blood.
"Mmm ... good." She touched a finger to her lips and smiled down into his half-lidded eyes. Her hand came up to his cheek briefly, before she drifted away to make herself a chocolate spread sandwich of her own.
-
-
-
-
The sun was hot against her back as she walked towards the magic shop. The humidity beginning to weary her and then a whisper of a breeze teased at her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
She smiled into a memory of his lukewarm touch that felt so cool against her heated flesh, like a balm awakening and alleviating the numb pain in her body and spirit. The significance of each contact of his hands and lips collecting inside of her and amassing, solidifying, her internal structures yielding and making way as she created a place for him.
It had been so easy, too easy, and she knew that the hardest part would be to let him in, let him imprint himself within her and make himself at home.
It was that final courage she lacked, the strength to trust her instincts, to trust him by admitting she *knew* him. There was always the doubt, always her past to hold her back, always those moments when she looked at him and realised that she didn't know him at all.
-
-
-
-
The familiar and comforting chime of the doorbell sounded as she entered the shop that was alive with a thrum of customers and a radiantly gleeful shop assistant extraordinairre.
"Hey, Anya." She waved.
Anya paused mid sales patter and regarded at her in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink kind of way that made Buffy dread what was going to come out of her mouth. Only she said nothing, simply turned back to the customer, picking up her thread from the exact same place.
(OK, weird.)
Buffy moved forward, minding a couple of browsers as she made her way over to the table. Tara and Willow were sat studying amidst the chaos and both looked up from their books at the same time. Willow beamed brightly, without overkill, and Buffy visibly relaxed. She had been worried about tension and atmosphere but detected none. Maybe it was a good thing Xander wasn't here.
"Hi, Buffy."
"Hey Will, Tara, how's it going?" She asked as she sat herself down. "How's Dawn?"
"Fine. Xander took her to school this morning."
"And she's OK? I mean, she phoned last night, but she's OK today?"
Tara nodded, an understanding and reassuring smile lifting her lips. "Oh yes, I t-think she misses you though."
"Yeah... me too." Buffy's eyes fell to the table. "I think tomorrow should be OK, if you can bring her back?"
"Sure."
"Me and Tara we're just talking about celebrating some time this week. Now Glory's been all dupified, I think some Bronzing is in order." Willow whipped up some enticing enthusiasm.
"It sounds good, I sure could do with that. When?"
"Ah, Buffy!"
She looked up to see Giles and smiled timidly at him. Surely he would have something to say, surely there would at least be a hint of admonishment in his voice. But no, she listened as he spoke, her ears pricked for any implicit negativity or disappointment.
Nothing.
"...But you really must get back to it soon." He said of training and she nodded eagerly.
"Sure, will do."
-
-
-
-
When she got home he was sprawled out on the sofa, thankfully not asleep for once. She noted that he had changed his shirt and was wearing some blue number, the same colour of his eyes. She stood against the doorjamb and smiled when he looked up at her.
"Hi."
"Hey, what ya doing?"
He indicated the television with a point of the remote control. "Just catching up on me tele."
Her eyes drifted to the object in question. "Uh-huh. *Dawson's Creek*? Wouldn't have had that down as something you'd watch."
"It's classic angsty drama, you can't go wrong. Dawson's a complete plank but the other's are OK. I like that Jen," his eyes gleamed at her, "she has fire."
She felt herself grin. "You like fire, huh?"
He invited her forward with a pat of the space next to him and she obliged.
"Oh yes. It's so passionate and dangerous," He smiled at her as she came to crawl out to lie next to him. "A Vampire shouldn't be able to touch it without getting burnt, without it being the death of him," his hand hovered over the bare skin of her arm and she shivered, the tiny hairs rising on goose-pimples, as if reaching for him. "But it warms me, purges me, breathes life into me with each lick of it's flames."
His gaze was focused on his hovering hand and when he lifted his eyes to hers, he appeared to start with a small jolt backwards and a snatching away of his hand.
"Now watch the show."
She rolled her eyes but complied, rolling over to look at the television.
-
-
-
-
"Did you shower or something?"
He murmured the affirmative through his drowsiness, his eyes not opening.
"Thought so, you don't smell of the sewers any more." She snuggled into him.
"Merfer?"
"No, you smell all fresh and watery and clean."
"Mmpfh."
"It wasn't too difficult was it? With the pain?"
"Numm."
"What..." she paused, her finger tracing the exposed section of his sternum, "what do I smell of? And be nice."
His eyes blinked with and with a small smile he leant in, inhaling her and exhaling with a soft groan. "Day."
"Day?"
"Of fresh air, breezes and daylight."
Her lips curled and she rested her head back on the smooth material of his shirt. "Oh, OK."