Redeeming Spike's Ass
Part Thirteen
*Some information taken from http://www.alpacas.com/ (The really funny part of this is that I called up my sister while she was at a meeting, and the other people at the meeting heard her say: "Alpacas ...a - l - p - a - c - a - s...okay, bye.")*
The motel was substantially better than the one they'd stayed in the previous night. There was a double bed with a down comforter, a table, two chairs, and a couch that faced a television set. The bathroom had a tub, instead of the usual motel stand-up shower, and an abundant supply of thick, white towels. A large picture window looked out on a wide, flat landscape, decorated with plump summer trees, grassy fields, and a Super K-Mart.
As Spike went through his clothes, beating the dust out of each somber-colored t-shirt and then tossing it on the table, he thought that this room, with its ample cushiony spaces, large shower including shelves and ledges, and waist-high table, would be the perfect place for some marathon shagging.
Except...
She walked in with her head down and tossed her duffel bag on one of the chairs. "It's a nice room," she said. "Everything's so cheap in Illinois." Spike watched her open her bag and remove a toothbrush. He remained standing in the narrow area between the bed and the dresser, effectively blocking the path to the bathroom. But as she walked by him, as she brushed against his arm and he felt the warmth of her skin even through the leather jacket, she still didn't raise her eyes.
"Dawn found some menus in the dresser and wigged at the Starbucks prices," she called from the bathroom. "We're gonna have to do mochas in the morning."
"Get out."
"Huh?" she shouted over the running water.
Spike walked up to the partially-closed door and pushed it open, the force of his blow so powerful that the door banging into the countertop and bounced back to his hand. "Get *out*!" he shouted, leaning towards Buffy threateningly, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing with anger. "I won't have you prancing around here, chatting like we're friends, when you barely want to look at me." He took a step towards her, and she backed away from him, her expression blank. "Go stay with your sister, because if you lie next to me and cringe when I touch you, I'll snap your bloody neck in your sleep."
She took another step back and her legs banged against the bathtub. When she looked at him finally, her eyes were hard. "Why stop there?" she said bitterly. "Why not throw me on the floor and tear my clothes off while you're at it?"
Spike felt a chill go through his body. The silence was so devastating that he could hear the hum of the electricity, the ticking of the clock behind him, and each of her angry breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "Just get out," he said, and he turned and stormed out of the bathroom.
*
"Then there was The Byzantine Empire," Anya said. "Everything was Constantine this and Constantine that. I never met the man, but I did meet one of the sons, Constantine II. Well, not so much 'met' as 'brutally killed'. Fun fact: his real name was Flavius. He cheated on his wife, so I turned him and his brother Constans against each other so that he'd end up gutted. And by the way, how unoriginal is it to name both your sons after you? Ego much?"
Wesley took off his glasses, placed them on the table, and rubbed his eyes. "Anya, when I asked you to tell me about yourself, I didn't mean -"
"Shouldn't you be taking notes?" she interrupted, frowning. "This is important historical information. It needs to be preserved for the watchers and stuff, right?" Her eyebrows raised in alarm. "Unless you're all planning on killing me, since I'm a demon."
"I'm not -"
"Don't make me go all ugly veiny-face on you," Anya said, pointing a finger threateningly.
"I think the veiny face is pretty," Clem said as he walked in from the Summers' kitchen, holding a box of crackers.
"Thank you," Anya said with a smile. She gestured across the table. "The Watcher was giving me lip about being a demon."
Clem shook his head sadly as he sat down next to her. "It's terrible how prejudiced people can be about our kind. Wheatable?" he asked, holding the box out.
"I am not prejudiced!" Wesley shouted. "I work with several demons. Some of my best friends are demons."
"They always say that," Anya whispered to Clem.
"And as I said before," Wesley added. "I'm no longer a part of the Watchers' Council." He gestured to the books in the center of the table. "Now can we focus please? Buffy and the others will be in Michigan tomorrow afternoon, and we need to figure out what they're facing.
"Oooo!" Clem held his hand up excitedly, only lowering it when Wesley nodded at him, indicating that he could speak. "Big evil things."
"Uh....yes," Wesley said. "Very good, Clem. However, we need to know exactly *which type* of big evil thing, so that we can instruct Buffy on how to kill it."
"Don't worry," Anya said through a mouthful of crackers. "I already figured that out."
"What?" Wesley asked. "When?"
"Just now, as I was eating Wheatables." Anya turned to Clem. "And thank you for sharing; these are fabulous." She took another one out of the box and held it up. "It's all wheaty, and has these little flecks of deliciousness. See?"
"Anya!" Wesley shouted. "Could we not discuss snack food while the fate of the world hangs in the balance?"
"Fine," Anya said, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so shortly before I came to Sunnydale, I spent a few years in the South. And one spring in ninety....three, I think, I was in Texas, cursing this guy who secretly made a video of him and his girlfriend having sex, and then sold it."
Beside her, Clem gasped. "What a jerk!"
"I know," Anya said. "But he won't be operating a video camera anymore, what with him having no fingers now. Anyway, right after I cursed that guy I got summoned by this police officer to curse her husband. But one of my demon friends was having a little get-together in Arash Ma'har, so I was a bit late. By the time I got to her, there was this whole big situation with some cult in a building. You know, cops, feds, mayhem, mayhem, mayhem, and my woman's nowhere to be found. So I just stick around to see the show, and before long I realize that I'm not the only demon in the area.
"My first thought was Halfrek. She was always trying to upstage me, so it'd figure that I would take off a man's fingers, and then she'd try to kill hundreds of people, just to show off. So I transport inside the building, where the demon-vibe is strongest. But instead of finding Hallie, I find Eniwder."
"Eniwder?" Wesley asked. He opened one of the nearby books and began paging through it. "I don't remember that name."
"You're not going to find him in any of your books," Anya told him. "Very few demons have ever seen him, and I doubt any humans have. He's not like a vampire, or even a spirit. He exists only as energy, drawing it from whatever sources he can, and using it to influence people. Kind of like that Thesulac paranoia demon. And, like all demons, his ultimate goal is death and destruction."
"That's not my ultimate goal," Clem pointed out.
"So I run into Eniwder, and he's all - " Anya put her hands up, mimicking claws, and lowered her voice. "'Paltry vengeance demon! Leave this place before my torment rains down upon you blah blah blah.' Of course, I still bug him a little, cause you gotta keep up with the latest evil. I find out that his thing is cults. He uses electrical energy to manipulate people's minds, gets them to join a cult, and then slaughters them all. So while I'm there, he uses his energy to start a fire, and everyone dies."
"Good," Wesley said. "Oh...not good that everyone died. But good that we know what we're fighting. So how do we kill this Eniwder?"
Anya shrugged. "That's the problem. He's energy, not flesh. Shove a stake in him and it'll just fall out the other side."
"Still, this knowledge could be helpful to them." Wesley stood up. "Anya, I believe they'll be calling you soon; will you fill them in?"
Anya nodded. "But if you want to do another meeting thing tomorrow, we have to do it at the Magic Box; I don't like closing early."
"Fine," Wesley said. "I'll see you both tomorrow." And he walked out of the room, signaling that the conference was finished.
"So," Clem said, rising from his seat. "Where are you off to tonight?"
"Big, lonely apartment where there are too many dishes to do," Anya said. "You?"
"Humid, empty crypt that smells like I might've left a dead kitten underneath the recliner." Clem replied.
They paused for a moment, looking at each other.
"Wanna go to a bar?" Clem asked.
*
Apparently, alpacas were the synthesis of a miracle, an earth-friendly investment, and an important part of Spike's future. Or so the television was telling him.
The small animal looked like a cross between a pony, a llama, and a Lohtnemmelas demon that Spike stole a double-headed axe from in Edinburgh in the 1920s. Overall, very creepy, even to a hardened bloodsucking fiend such as himself. Of course, he had to concede that said fiend was currently not so much sucking blood as he was mixing it with rum and drinking it from a plastic motel cup.
Alpacas, Spike was learning, have not only a luscious cashmere-like fleece, but are also good for companionship. They are surprisingly smart, mild, and loving, though they do tend to spit. They can get along well with sheep and other livestock, and are easy to care for.
"Buy your alpaca today!" The infomercial bellowed. "They are stress-resistant, load and travel calmly, and can be transported in the family mini van, station wagon, or horse trailer. Prices vary, but a castrated male can be purchased for as little as five hundred dollars! Alpaca breeding allows for wealth building, while deferring tax on your investment's increased value. To order your alpaca, call 1-503-ALPACAS. That's 1-503-ALPACAS. Order now!"
Spike switched off the TV when he heard a knock on the door. "Bugger off," he said.
There was a squeaking sound as the picture window opened, and then the curtains parted to reveal Dawn. She pulled her body inside, brushed off her cotton pajama bottoms decorated with cartoon monkeys, and then stood with her hands on her hips, eyes burning angrily. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Spike said defensively.
"She's sitting on the bed, staring off into space, picking the Pale Pink Passion off her fingernails." Dawn walked up to the side of the bed and looked down at Spike sternly. "Remember the whole 'I'll kill you if you hurt her' conversation? What were you - "
"She doesn't love me."
He looked down at his hands, and closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "Said she does, and I thought that's all I wanted, but this...having her say it and still not mean anything by it, this is worse. Worse than anything."
Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed, and reached out to lay her hand gently on the side of his face. "Spike..." He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Dawn gently moved her hand to the top of his head, and smacked him. "Get over yourself."
"What the bloody - ?"
Dawn stood up and glared down at him, managing to appear towering and intimidating in spite of her monkey pants. "Do you think it's easy for her? Buffy's had some of the crappiest relationships ever, not to mention all the Slayer stuff she has to deal with. You know what happened with my mom, with Riley, with Angel even. Over and over again, she's lost everything, but she always pulls herself up and deals. Now her best friends are off in another country, less than a year ago she crawled out of her own grave, she just quit her job and she's practically broke, she's got me to take care of, Willow to worry about, Tara to mourn, and - oh yeah - she has to save the world four times before Tuesday."
Spike leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs down the length of the bed. "Poor tiny Slayer," he muttered. "Doesn't mean I have to hand the bitch my balls on a platter."
"This has nothing to do with your...parts. You're a hundred and twenty-something years old, Spike; act like a grown-up for once. She doesn't need a moody vampire with a soul. She needs someone to be there for her, to support her emotionally, and back her up in a fight too. She needs someone who cares about her even if she *is* a little screwed up. If you really loved her, you'd love her not only when she's happy and kissing and stuff, but when she's having a hard time too." Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed again, but her voice remained commanding. "Actually, you should love her *extra* then, because that's when she really needs it. And if you can't see that, if you're so wrapped up in your needy little All-About-Spike world, then you *never* loved her."
"Stop it. Stop...making sense," Spike argued weakly.
"Spike," Dawn said, looking at him with determined eyes. "Love is forever, and no matter what. That's how my mom loved me, and that's how I love Buffy, and how I love you too." She looked down at her hands. "You hurt my sister, and you left, and I still loved you, because that's just how it works."
"Oh, shut up already, you aggravating little girl," Spike groaned, pulling her into a hug. "Where'd you learn how to be all pushy and self-righteous?"
"From you," Dawn said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Of course, living with Buffy helped a lot too."
*
The sky was just beginning to turn pink with morning when Spike heard the click of the door unlocking. He was lying in bed, lights and television off, staring at the ceiling. He didn't move as he heard her enter, her footsteps impossibly soft as she made her way to the bed. He heard the rustle of her clothing being removed. His eyes still fixed on the ceiling, he could sense her apprehension, her resentment, and underneath it all, a constant weariness. Or maybe that was all inside of him.
She got into the bed and covered herself with the blanket, her movements so careful that, had he been asleep, it wouldn't have woken him. She positioned her body so that it was as far away from his as possible, and lay mirroring him, on her back, looking upwards blankly at the plaster as it slowly illuminated with the daylight. And Spike thought:
*I can't do this, can't lie like this, where I can't touch you, pretending that I don't need to. And even if what your sister says is true, it isn't enough for me, to just have the pieces of you. Sometimes I think I'd rather die than exist an arm's length away, and sometimes I think I'd rather kill you.*
And then there was a warmth at his chest, so small that he barely noticed it, and when he finally tore his eyes from the ceiling he saw her hand there, fingertips and the heel of her palm only lightly grazing his bare skin, though she still didn't turn her head. And then, in an instant, she returned her hand to her side, and he was left without any thoughts at all.
He turned on his side to watch her, lying with her eyes open, deathly still. He covered her stomach with his hand, and felt it rise and fall subtly with shallow breaths.
The room was so quiet that even his whisper seemed obscenely loud. "What do you need?"
She remained still, but he imagined that even in the fading darkness he could see her eyes filling with sadness. "To sleep," she whispered flatly. And he kept his hand on her soft stomach long after she finally let herself rest.
tbc
Part Thirteen
*Some information taken from http://www.alpacas.com/ (The really funny part of this is that I called up my sister while she was at a meeting, and the other people at the meeting heard her say: "Alpacas ...a - l - p - a - c - a - s...okay, bye.")*
The motel was substantially better than the one they'd stayed in the previous night. There was a double bed with a down comforter, a table, two chairs, and a couch that faced a television set. The bathroom had a tub, instead of the usual motel stand-up shower, and an abundant supply of thick, white towels. A large picture window looked out on a wide, flat landscape, decorated with plump summer trees, grassy fields, and a Super K-Mart.
As Spike went through his clothes, beating the dust out of each somber-colored t-shirt and then tossing it on the table, he thought that this room, with its ample cushiony spaces, large shower including shelves and ledges, and waist-high table, would be the perfect place for some marathon shagging.
Except...
She walked in with her head down and tossed her duffel bag on one of the chairs. "It's a nice room," she said. "Everything's so cheap in Illinois." Spike watched her open her bag and remove a toothbrush. He remained standing in the narrow area between the bed and the dresser, effectively blocking the path to the bathroom. But as she walked by him, as she brushed against his arm and he felt the warmth of her skin even through the leather jacket, she still didn't raise her eyes.
"Dawn found some menus in the dresser and wigged at the Starbucks prices," she called from the bathroom. "We're gonna have to do mochas in the morning."
"Get out."
"Huh?" she shouted over the running water.
Spike walked up to the partially-closed door and pushed it open, the force of his blow so powerful that the door banging into the countertop and bounced back to his hand. "Get *out*!" he shouted, leaning towards Buffy threateningly, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing with anger. "I won't have you prancing around here, chatting like we're friends, when you barely want to look at me." He took a step towards her, and she backed away from him, her expression blank. "Go stay with your sister, because if you lie next to me and cringe when I touch you, I'll snap your bloody neck in your sleep."
She took another step back and her legs banged against the bathtub. When she looked at him finally, her eyes were hard. "Why stop there?" she said bitterly. "Why not throw me on the floor and tear my clothes off while you're at it?"
Spike felt a chill go through his body. The silence was so devastating that he could hear the hum of the electricity, the ticking of the clock behind him, and each of her angry breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "Just get out," he said, and he turned and stormed out of the bathroom.
*
"Then there was The Byzantine Empire," Anya said. "Everything was Constantine this and Constantine that. I never met the man, but I did meet one of the sons, Constantine II. Well, not so much 'met' as 'brutally killed'. Fun fact: his real name was Flavius. He cheated on his wife, so I turned him and his brother Constans against each other so that he'd end up gutted. And by the way, how unoriginal is it to name both your sons after you? Ego much?"
Wesley took off his glasses, placed them on the table, and rubbed his eyes. "Anya, when I asked you to tell me about yourself, I didn't mean -"
"Shouldn't you be taking notes?" she interrupted, frowning. "This is important historical information. It needs to be preserved for the watchers and stuff, right?" Her eyebrows raised in alarm. "Unless you're all planning on killing me, since I'm a demon."
"I'm not -"
"Don't make me go all ugly veiny-face on you," Anya said, pointing a finger threateningly.
"I think the veiny face is pretty," Clem said as he walked in from the Summers' kitchen, holding a box of crackers.
"Thank you," Anya said with a smile. She gestured across the table. "The Watcher was giving me lip about being a demon."
Clem shook his head sadly as he sat down next to her. "It's terrible how prejudiced people can be about our kind. Wheatable?" he asked, holding the box out.
"I am not prejudiced!" Wesley shouted. "I work with several demons. Some of my best friends are demons."
"They always say that," Anya whispered to Clem.
"And as I said before," Wesley added. "I'm no longer a part of the Watchers' Council." He gestured to the books in the center of the table. "Now can we focus please? Buffy and the others will be in Michigan tomorrow afternoon, and we need to figure out what they're facing.
"Oooo!" Clem held his hand up excitedly, only lowering it when Wesley nodded at him, indicating that he could speak. "Big evil things."
"Uh....yes," Wesley said. "Very good, Clem. However, we need to know exactly *which type* of big evil thing, so that we can instruct Buffy on how to kill it."
"Don't worry," Anya said through a mouthful of crackers. "I already figured that out."
"What?" Wesley asked. "When?"
"Just now, as I was eating Wheatables." Anya turned to Clem. "And thank you for sharing; these are fabulous." She took another one out of the box and held it up. "It's all wheaty, and has these little flecks of deliciousness. See?"
"Anya!" Wesley shouted. "Could we not discuss snack food while the fate of the world hangs in the balance?"
"Fine," Anya said, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so shortly before I came to Sunnydale, I spent a few years in the South. And one spring in ninety....three, I think, I was in Texas, cursing this guy who secretly made a video of him and his girlfriend having sex, and then sold it."
Beside her, Clem gasped. "What a jerk!"
"I know," Anya said. "But he won't be operating a video camera anymore, what with him having no fingers now. Anyway, right after I cursed that guy I got summoned by this police officer to curse her husband. But one of my demon friends was having a little get-together in Arash Ma'har, so I was a bit late. By the time I got to her, there was this whole big situation with some cult in a building. You know, cops, feds, mayhem, mayhem, mayhem, and my woman's nowhere to be found. So I just stick around to see the show, and before long I realize that I'm not the only demon in the area.
"My first thought was Halfrek. She was always trying to upstage me, so it'd figure that I would take off a man's fingers, and then she'd try to kill hundreds of people, just to show off. So I transport inside the building, where the demon-vibe is strongest. But instead of finding Hallie, I find Eniwder."
"Eniwder?" Wesley asked. He opened one of the nearby books and began paging through it. "I don't remember that name."
"You're not going to find him in any of your books," Anya told him. "Very few demons have ever seen him, and I doubt any humans have. He's not like a vampire, or even a spirit. He exists only as energy, drawing it from whatever sources he can, and using it to influence people. Kind of like that Thesulac paranoia demon. And, like all demons, his ultimate goal is death and destruction."
"That's not my ultimate goal," Clem pointed out.
"So I run into Eniwder, and he's all - " Anya put her hands up, mimicking claws, and lowered her voice. "'Paltry vengeance demon! Leave this place before my torment rains down upon you blah blah blah.' Of course, I still bug him a little, cause you gotta keep up with the latest evil. I find out that his thing is cults. He uses electrical energy to manipulate people's minds, gets them to join a cult, and then slaughters them all. So while I'm there, he uses his energy to start a fire, and everyone dies."
"Good," Wesley said. "Oh...not good that everyone died. But good that we know what we're fighting. So how do we kill this Eniwder?"
Anya shrugged. "That's the problem. He's energy, not flesh. Shove a stake in him and it'll just fall out the other side."
"Still, this knowledge could be helpful to them." Wesley stood up. "Anya, I believe they'll be calling you soon; will you fill them in?"
Anya nodded. "But if you want to do another meeting thing tomorrow, we have to do it at the Magic Box; I don't like closing early."
"Fine," Wesley said. "I'll see you both tomorrow." And he walked out of the room, signaling that the conference was finished.
"So," Clem said, rising from his seat. "Where are you off to tonight?"
"Big, lonely apartment where there are too many dishes to do," Anya said. "You?"
"Humid, empty crypt that smells like I might've left a dead kitten underneath the recliner." Clem replied.
They paused for a moment, looking at each other.
"Wanna go to a bar?" Clem asked.
*
Apparently, alpacas were the synthesis of a miracle, an earth-friendly investment, and an important part of Spike's future. Or so the television was telling him.
The small animal looked like a cross between a pony, a llama, and a Lohtnemmelas demon that Spike stole a double-headed axe from in Edinburgh in the 1920s. Overall, very creepy, even to a hardened bloodsucking fiend such as himself. Of course, he had to concede that said fiend was currently not so much sucking blood as he was mixing it with rum and drinking it from a plastic motel cup.
Alpacas, Spike was learning, have not only a luscious cashmere-like fleece, but are also good for companionship. They are surprisingly smart, mild, and loving, though they do tend to spit. They can get along well with sheep and other livestock, and are easy to care for.
"Buy your alpaca today!" The infomercial bellowed. "They are stress-resistant, load and travel calmly, and can be transported in the family mini van, station wagon, or horse trailer. Prices vary, but a castrated male can be purchased for as little as five hundred dollars! Alpaca breeding allows for wealth building, while deferring tax on your investment's increased value. To order your alpaca, call 1-503-ALPACAS. That's 1-503-ALPACAS. Order now!"
Spike switched off the TV when he heard a knock on the door. "Bugger off," he said.
There was a squeaking sound as the picture window opened, and then the curtains parted to reveal Dawn. She pulled her body inside, brushed off her cotton pajama bottoms decorated with cartoon monkeys, and then stood with her hands on her hips, eyes burning angrily. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Spike said defensively.
"She's sitting on the bed, staring off into space, picking the Pale Pink Passion off her fingernails." Dawn walked up to the side of the bed and looked down at Spike sternly. "Remember the whole 'I'll kill you if you hurt her' conversation? What were you - "
"She doesn't love me."
He looked down at his hands, and closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "Said she does, and I thought that's all I wanted, but this...having her say it and still not mean anything by it, this is worse. Worse than anything."
Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed, and reached out to lay her hand gently on the side of his face. "Spike..." He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Dawn gently moved her hand to the top of his head, and smacked him. "Get over yourself."
"What the bloody - ?"
Dawn stood up and glared down at him, managing to appear towering and intimidating in spite of her monkey pants. "Do you think it's easy for her? Buffy's had some of the crappiest relationships ever, not to mention all the Slayer stuff she has to deal with. You know what happened with my mom, with Riley, with Angel even. Over and over again, she's lost everything, but she always pulls herself up and deals. Now her best friends are off in another country, less than a year ago she crawled out of her own grave, she just quit her job and she's practically broke, she's got me to take care of, Willow to worry about, Tara to mourn, and - oh yeah - she has to save the world four times before Tuesday."
Spike leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs down the length of the bed. "Poor tiny Slayer," he muttered. "Doesn't mean I have to hand the bitch my balls on a platter."
"This has nothing to do with your...parts. You're a hundred and twenty-something years old, Spike; act like a grown-up for once. She doesn't need a moody vampire with a soul. She needs someone to be there for her, to support her emotionally, and back her up in a fight too. She needs someone who cares about her even if she *is* a little screwed up. If you really loved her, you'd love her not only when she's happy and kissing and stuff, but when she's having a hard time too." Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed again, but her voice remained commanding. "Actually, you should love her *extra* then, because that's when she really needs it. And if you can't see that, if you're so wrapped up in your needy little All-About-Spike world, then you *never* loved her."
"Stop it. Stop...making sense," Spike argued weakly.
"Spike," Dawn said, looking at him with determined eyes. "Love is forever, and no matter what. That's how my mom loved me, and that's how I love Buffy, and how I love you too." She looked down at her hands. "You hurt my sister, and you left, and I still loved you, because that's just how it works."
"Oh, shut up already, you aggravating little girl," Spike groaned, pulling her into a hug. "Where'd you learn how to be all pushy and self-righteous?"
"From you," Dawn said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Of course, living with Buffy helped a lot too."
*
The sky was just beginning to turn pink with morning when Spike heard the click of the door unlocking. He was lying in bed, lights and television off, staring at the ceiling. He didn't move as he heard her enter, her footsteps impossibly soft as she made her way to the bed. He heard the rustle of her clothing being removed. His eyes still fixed on the ceiling, he could sense her apprehension, her resentment, and underneath it all, a constant weariness. Or maybe that was all inside of him.
She got into the bed and covered herself with the blanket, her movements so careful that, had he been asleep, it wouldn't have woken him. She positioned her body so that it was as far away from his as possible, and lay mirroring him, on her back, looking upwards blankly at the plaster as it slowly illuminated with the daylight. And Spike thought:
*I can't do this, can't lie like this, where I can't touch you, pretending that I don't need to. And even if what your sister says is true, it isn't enough for me, to just have the pieces of you. Sometimes I think I'd rather die than exist an arm's length away, and sometimes I think I'd rather kill you.*
And then there was a warmth at his chest, so small that he barely noticed it, and when he finally tore his eyes from the ceiling he saw her hand there, fingertips and the heel of her palm only lightly grazing his bare skin, though she still didn't turn her head. And then, in an instant, she returned her hand to her side, and he was left without any thoughts at all.
He turned on his side to watch her, lying with her eyes open, deathly still. He covered her stomach with his hand, and felt it rise and fall subtly with shallow breaths.
The room was so quiet that even his whisper seemed obscenely loud. "What do you need?"
She remained still, but he imagined that even in the fading darkness he could see her eyes filling with sadness. "To sleep," she whispered flatly. And he kept his hand on her soft stomach long after she finally let herself rest.
tbc