CHAPTER 13 - DANS LA MAISON DE WILLIAM
Spike held the heavy wood door for Buffy as they walked into the main living area. He watched her to gage her reaction.
From the looks of the well-built log house, Buffy almost expected the decor to be somewhat rustic and spartan. Somewhat minimalist perhaps; like Spike's old crypt.
However, besides the high beamed ceilings and wooden architecture of the log house, the decor was anything but rustic!
It was Victorian! The wooden floors were covered in warm, decorative woolen carpets and all the furnishings, from sofa and chairs, to the decorations on the walls were almost genteel in nature. There were, what looked like, mahogany and cherrywood chairs, scattered throughout the living room, all with maroon cushioned seats.
A tall settee stood near, what must be a dining room off the side of the living room. There was also a little drawing table, near one end of the far wall. She could see that a collection of books and papers lay on the top of it; the only plain wooden chair in front of it. A fire was just starting to blaze in the huge fireplace, in front of which, sat the only piece of somewhat modern furniture - an oversized, maroon leather couch, covered in throws and pillows. On either far ends of the fireplace, were two doors; bedrooms she supposed.
"Wow, Spike, Wow," Buffy said, appreciatively. She'd almost laughed at the decor when she first saw it, but seeing him almost let out a sigh of relief, she was glad she'd suppressed that.
"Do you like it?"
"It's amazing, not at all what I expected from the outside. Guess I thought it would be more woodsy or something," Buffy said, "but knowing you, I guess I shouldn't assume anything.
"Yeah, I guess the outside doesn't exactly go with the inside," Spike said.
"Let me explain my decor in one word. Edna."
"She decorated for you?"
"Well, not exactly. I never explained, but I decided to finish this project about 30 years later, and have been sort of adding things here and there ever since then."
"When Edna found out my father was working on it again, she volunteered some older furnishings from the hotel. She'd updated a bit herself," he laughed, "but William's father got some of the cast-offs. Whenever she redecorated a guestroom, back when she owned the hotel next door, too, she would put the furniture in storage for me, then when I was about, I would pick it up and bring it here. And that, dear Buffy, is how I came to have a Victorian decorated log house!" Spike said.
"Well, I see you have a couple of newish things," Buffy said, pointing to the couch.
"Yeah, I love that couch! Believe it or not, that came from Edna's son, Lawrence. He used to keep a small house up here where he'd spend the summers. Sold it a few years ago, just stays in San Diego now, but he gave me the couch and some other furnishings."
"I see," Buffy said, not knowing what else to say.
"I lied," Spike said.
"About what?" Buffy said, on guard all of a sudden.
"I told you last year that I'd ate a decorator once, and that maybe something stuck; I lied,"
"About eating the decorator or about something sticking?" Buffy asked, with a grin.
"I'll let you be the judge of that," Spike said, with a smirk.
"Let me show you to your bedroom, then we can sit on my 'newish' leather couch and enjoy the fireplace, if you'd like," Spike offered.
"Okay, lead the way."
Spike took picked up her overnighter that was by the front door and lead her through the living room to the room to the right of the fireplace. He opened the door to a large room that had a white, four poster bed, with a white, flowered, old fashioned looking blanket atop it.
It had a small dresser with a framed mirror above it. The room also had a larger chest of drawers and a small desk.
"There's a bathroom over there," Spike said, pointing to a small door, "it's between the bedrooms, but there's a lock on both doors inside doors, so when you use it..."
"Okay."
"I'll go outside for a minute and make sure that the pilot light's on the water tank."
"See you in a few minutes, then?" he asked.
"Yeah, see you in a few minutes," she answered.
He left her then, closing the door to her bedroom.
She looked around the room for a few minutes, touching the desk, looking in the empty drawers, using the bathroom. Finally, she decided to change out of her clothes. She was just going to change into another sweater, but then decided that she'd just put on her flannel nightgown and a robe, then decided that would be too warm, and put on the shorty. With a robe!
"Not like he hasn't seen me in pajamas, or less!" she thought to herself. "Doesn't mean anything, just getting comfortable."
At the last minute, she changed into a two-piece lavender pair of polyester pajamas. With a robe! Not too sexy, not too flannel!
At the last minute, she remembered about something and grabbed her purse.
Spike was sitting on the couch when she came out. He had changed, too. He had on a loose pair of gray drawstring pants, which he'd probably lifted from Xander. His T-shirt had been exchanged for a bright silky, short blue robe, which was open. Buffy's breath caught for half a second at seeing his chest; muscular, scared, inviting. He was barefooted, too, which for some reason, always made her feel soft towards him. His boots were almost as much a part of him, as his black leather duster had been, but the duster had been gone for a while now, but never the boots. Somehow, Spike, sans boots, seemed so vulnerable.
He stood up as she came out of the bedroom. This small wisp of a girl, with lavender pajama bottoms, sticking out from under a little white fuzzy robe that looked like she'd had it since childhood. She wore little white fuzzy slippers, too.
He smiled, "Fire's getting' goin' pretty good now, pet," he said, getting up and kneeling down in front of it, using the poker to move some wood around to a better position.
Buffy set the purse down on the couch, then came over to where Spike was kneeling. She had this overwhelming urge to touch his hair, run her hands through it, to squat down next to him and hug him to her; any and all of the above, but she resisted, instead just stood next to him. Close, intimate.
Spike felt her when she came up towards him, he always felt her. She was standing so close to him, her legs, her essence, so close he could smell her, drink her in; and the fire, the heat of the fire, was causing her smell to reach him all the more. He felt intoxicated.
If Spike had to pick just one thing, one extrasensory aspect about being a vampire, that he relished the most, that he would never want to give up, it would be the ability to smell the delectable scents of a woman, of Buffy.
Neither was it just what every man appreciates and recognizes as a woman's scents; her perfume, her shampoo, the sweat under her arms, the wetness between her legs...No, this was more, it was as if he could read each molecule of her essence. Each emotion she felt, each thought, each intention had it's own molecular marker that he could track like a trail of breadcrumbs. It wasn't something he even did consciously all of the time, but it was always there, always alerting him to just how she felt, what she wanted, what she might desire; the possibilities.
He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled Buffy's womanly scent, so near, but yet so out of reach. He gave the fireplace a final poke and stood up slowly, facing her. She turned, looking at him, feeling the heat of the fireplace, the firelight that reflected in his eyes.
Abruptly the moment ended as Spike turned and walked over to the couch, sitting down and patting the seat, that she might do the same.
"I should check up on the home front," she said.
"Already did that when you were changing, luv. Here, it's all set up. Just turn on this button, phone's already hooked up," Spike said, showing her how to switch views from room to room back at her house.
"I really should probably check this about once an hour," Buffy said.
"Let me do that for you, Buffy. You're here to relax. Can't see you sleeping very well, if every hour you have to wake up to check this. I can do this for you, I want to," Spike said.
"But Spike, you won't get any sleep that way either. Maybe we could take turns or something," she suggested.
"No, tonight I'm on watch, Slayer, er, sorry, Buffy. I can easily wake up every hour and have a look-see, just have to tell myself to do so. Probably even set the bloody thing to beep at me, if you don't think I can be trusted," Spike said.
"I trust you. Thank you, Spike," Buffy said, relieved in more ways than she cared to express to have this responsibility taken from her shoulders, even if only for a few hours.
"Oh, I forgot," Buffy said, reaching for her purse. She took the book out and handed it to him, "Here, Spike, I bought this for you when I was upstairs at The Rittenhouse. I couldn't read what year it is; it's in Roman Numerals, something I think I learned and forgot back in fourth grade. In any case, I hope you like Shakespeare, The Complete Works of," Buffy said, watching Spike's face as it lit up, like a little boy at Christmastime.
Spike took the book from her hand like it was made of glass. He opened the front cover, inside which was written, "To William, From Elizabeth, February 14, 2003"
"You bought this for me?" he asked with a sort of wonder in his voice, looking at her. He didn't remember the last time somebody had bought him a gift. Sure, he'd gotten the furnishings from Edna, and Dru use to bring him all sorts of strange gifts, like puppies to eat, but an actual store bought-paid-by-cash-gift? Never. It was also something that he never expected Buffy to do for him.
He looked away, before he could start to get choked up. He opened the next page and read the Roman Numerals, "It says 1878, it's really quite old, hope you didn't pay too much for it, luv," he said.
"Do you like it?" Buffy asked, not quite sure what the 'quite old,' meant in terms of satisfaction.
"Oh God yes! It's lovely Buffy, just lovely," Spike said, as he fingered the old leather binding, "it's the nicest thing anyone has ever bought me."
She turned away, embarrassed. If this was the nicest thing...Poor Spike!
"Buffy?"
"Huh?"
"I forgot, I got you something, too; when I was waiting for you," Spike said, taking the velvet box out from the pocket of his robe and handing it to her, "here," he said, not quite making eye contact with her.
"For me?"
He nodded, still holding out the purple, velvet, heart shaped box to her.
Buffy took it from him and opened it. Her eyes grew moist as she saw the beautiful, delicate, lovebird necklace. She took it from the box, gently tracing the shape of the lovebirds within the heart, and the cloisonné flowers. Now it was her turn to get misty-eyed as she turned to Spike.
"It's beautiful, Spike, I don't know what to say."
"You like it, then?"
"No."
"No?" he said, with a sinking feeling, waiting for her to give it back to him, say something about why she couldn't,...
"I don't like it; I love it," Buffy said, then she leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Spike," she whispered in his ear.
Spike silently sighed with relief.
"Help me on with it?" she asked, as she sat back up and turned sideways on the couch, holding up her hair with one hand.
Spike took the necklace from her and put it over her head gently, then secured the clasp.
She felt the necklace softly fall into place a couple of inches above her breasts. She turned around to face him as she looked down, "How does it look?" she asked him.
Spike looked at the necklace, and the couple of inches above Buffy's breasts, appreciatively, "Nice, looks real nice," he said shyly.
"Matches my pajamas perfectly, doesn't it? Hey, were you going through my stuff again, were you?" she joked, playfully hitting him in the ribs.
"No, gave that up some time ago, luv," he answered.
She was still looking down admiring the necklace when Spike stood up to put another log on the fire. When he was finished, he took the heavy rug that lay between them and the fireplace and pulled it up to the edge of the couch. He sat down, back against couch and looked up at her.
Buffy scooted to the front of the couch, then slid down to the floor so that she was sitting next to Spike.
They sat there watching the fire for a couple of minutes in silence.
"This is nice," Spike said.
"Ummmhmmm," Buffy agreed.
"Spike?"
"What, luv?"
"How much time have you spent here, at this house?"
"Oh, let me see...over the years? Maybe a total of 2 months or so," he answered, "a couple of days here and there."
"That's all?" Buffy asked, surprised. "Why not more? You've got this lovely house, money..."
"I don't know, Buffy. Seemed like the house is something else, I don't know, something that's almost outside of myself; outside of my nature. Vampire, you know, couldn't just live here, like a man...I needed other things, the kill, the violence, happy meals with legs, even the company of other demons. You know these things about me," Spike said, his voice strained.
poor spikey - can't be a human, can't be a vampire - where the hell do you fit in?
"Look, can we not talk about this anymore?" he asked.
"Okay," Buffy said, leaning up against him, hopefully reassuring her that she wasn't there to either probe or judge him. Not here. Not anymore, not after what he'd done for her, the lengths he'd gone...
And so they sat there, side-by-side, watching the fire and talking of small things for the next hour.
Spike looked over at Buffy, her eyes were closed and he knew she was almost asleep.
Poor Slayer, all done in.
"Buffy?" he said, shaking her gently.
"Huh?"
"Time to go to bed. Um, you're tired, you should go to bed and get some sleep," he stood up and extended his hand to her.
"Yeah, you're probably right," she answered, letting him help her up.
They were standing in front of the fireplace, between the two bedrooms, "Goodnight Buffy, sleep well. And don't worry about the house, I'll keep watching," Spike said.
She turned to look at him, so unreal in this setting, "Goodnight, Spike," she said, once again, taking the initiative to kiss him on the cheek, "Thank you, for everything," she said as she went into the bedroom.
She turned down the covers and crawled into bed. She was sort of sad that Spike hadn't even suggested to her that she might want to share his bed. Of course, she would tell him, "NO," but none-the-less...she drifted off to sleep.
END OF CHAPTER 13
Spike held the heavy wood door for Buffy as they walked into the main living area. He watched her to gage her reaction.
From the looks of the well-built log house, Buffy almost expected the decor to be somewhat rustic and spartan. Somewhat minimalist perhaps; like Spike's old crypt.
However, besides the high beamed ceilings and wooden architecture of the log house, the decor was anything but rustic!
It was Victorian! The wooden floors were covered in warm, decorative woolen carpets and all the furnishings, from sofa and chairs, to the decorations on the walls were almost genteel in nature. There were, what looked like, mahogany and cherrywood chairs, scattered throughout the living room, all with maroon cushioned seats.
A tall settee stood near, what must be a dining room off the side of the living room. There was also a little drawing table, near one end of the far wall. She could see that a collection of books and papers lay on the top of it; the only plain wooden chair in front of it. A fire was just starting to blaze in the huge fireplace, in front of which, sat the only piece of somewhat modern furniture - an oversized, maroon leather couch, covered in throws and pillows. On either far ends of the fireplace, were two doors; bedrooms she supposed.
"Wow, Spike, Wow," Buffy said, appreciatively. She'd almost laughed at the decor when she first saw it, but seeing him almost let out a sigh of relief, she was glad she'd suppressed that.
"Do you like it?"
"It's amazing, not at all what I expected from the outside. Guess I thought it would be more woodsy or something," Buffy said, "but knowing you, I guess I shouldn't assume anything.
"Yeah, I guess the outside doesn't exactly go with the inside," Spike said.
"Let me explain my decor in one word. Edna."
"She decorated for you?"
"Well, not exactly. I never explained, but I decided to finish this project about 30 years later, and have been sort of adding things here and there ever since then."
"When Edna found out my father was working on it again, she volunteered some older furnishings from the hotel. She'd updated a bit herself," he laughed, "but William's father got some of the cast-offs. Whenever she redecorated a guestroom, back when she owned the hotel next door, too, she would put the furniture in storage for me, then when I was about, I would pick it up and bring it here. And that, dear Buffy, is how I came to have a Victorian decorated log house!" Spike said.
"Well, I see you have a couple of newish things," Buffy said, pointing to the couch.
"Yeah, I love that couch! Believe it or not, that came from Edna's son, Lawrence. He used to keep a small house up here where he'd spend the summers. Sold it a few years ago, just stays in San Diego now, but he gave me the couch and some other furnishings."
"I see," Buffy said, not knowing what else to say.
"I lied," Spike said.
"About what?" Buffy said, on guard all of a sudden.
"I told you last year that I'd ate a decorator once, and that maybe something stuck; I lied,"
"About eating the decorator or about something sticking?" Buffy asked, with a grin.
"I'll let you be the judge of that," Spike said, with a smirk.
"Let me show you to your bedroom, then we can sit on my 'newish' leather couch and enjoy the fireplace, if you'd like," Spike offered.
"Okay, lead the way."
Spike took picked up her overnighter that was by the front door and lead her through the living room to the room to the right of the fireplace. He opened the door to a large room that had a white, four poster bed, with a white, flowered, old fashioned looking blanket atop it.
It had a small dresser with a framed mirror above it. The room also had a larger chest of drawers and a small desk.
"There's a bathroom over there," Spike said, pointing to a small door, "it's between the bedrooms, but there's a lock on both doors inside doors, so when you use it..."
"Okay."
"I'll go outside for a minute and make sure that the pilot light's on the water tank."
"See you in a few minutes, then?" he asked.
"Yeah, see you in a few minutes," she answered.
He left her then, closing the door to her bedroom.
She looked around the room for a few minutes, touching the desk, looking in the empty drawers, using the bathroom. Finally, she decided to change out of her clothes. She was just going to change into another sweater, but then decided that she'd just put on her flannel nightgown and a robe, then decided that would be too warm, and put on the shorty. With a robe!
"Not like he hasn't seen me in pajamas, or less!" she thought to herself. "Doesn't mean anything, just getting comfortable."
At the last minute, she changed into a two-piece lavender pair of polyester pajamas. With a robe! Not too sexy, not too flannel!
At the last minute, she remembered about something and grabbed her purse.
Spike was sitting on the couch when she came out. He had changed, too. He had on a loose pair of gray drawstring pants, which he'd probably lifted from Xander. His T-shirt had been exchanged for a bright silky, short blue robe, which was open. Buffy's breath caught for half a second at seeing his chest; muscular, scared, inviting. He was barefooted, too, which for some reason, always made her feel soft towards him. His boots were almost as much a part of him, as his black leather duster had been, but the duster had been gone for a while now, but never the boots. Somehow, Spike, sans boots, seemed so vulnerable.
He stood up as she came out of the bedroom. This small wisp of a girl, with lavender pajama bottoms, sticking out from under a little white fuzzy robe that looked like she'd had it since childhood. She wore little white fuzzy slippers, too.
He smiled, "Fire's getting' goin' pretty good now, pet," he said, getting up and kneeling down in front of it, using the poker to move some wood around to a better position.
Buffy set the purse down on the couch, then came over to where Spike was kneeling. She had this overwhelming urge to touch his hair, run her hands through it, to squat down next to him and hug him to her; any and all of the above, but she resisted, instead just stood next to him. Close, intimate.
Spike felt her when she came up towards him, he always felt her. She was standing so close to him, her legs, her essence, so close he could smell her, drink her in; and the fire, the heat of the fire, was causing her smell to reach him all the more. He felt intoxicated.
If Spike had to pick just one thing, one extrasensory aspect about being a vampire, that he relished the most, that he would never want to give up, it would be the ability to smell the delectable scents of a woman, of Buffy.
Neither was it just what every man appreciates and recognizes as a woman's scents; her perfume, her shampoo, the sweat under her arms, the wetness between her legs...No, this was more, it was as if he could read each molecule of her essence. Each emotion she felt, each thought, each intention had it's own molecular marker that he could track like a trail of breadcrumbs. It wasn't something he even did consciously all of the time, but it was always there, always alerting him to just how she felt, what she wanted, what she might desire; the possibilities.
He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled Buffy's womanly scent, so near, but yet so out of reach. He gave the fireplace a final poke and stood up slowly, facing her. She turned, looking at him, feeling the heat of the fireplace, the firelight that reflected in his eyes.
Abruptly the moment ended as Spike turned and walked over to the couch, sitting down and patting the seat, that she might do the same.
"I should check up on the home front," she said.
"Already did that when you were changing, luv. Here, it's all set up. Just turn on this button, phone's already hooked up," Spike said, showing her how to switch views from room to room back at her house.
"I really should probably check this about once an hour," Buffy said.
"Let me do that for you, Buffy. You're here to relax. Can't see you sleeping very well, if every hour you have to wake up to check this. I can do this for you, I want to," Spike said.
"But Spike, you won't get any sleep that way either. Maybe we could take turns or something," she suggested.
"No, tonight I'm on watch, Slayer, er, sorry, Buffy. I can easily wake up every hour and have a look-see, just have to tell myself to do so. Probably even set the bloody thing to beep at me, if you don't think I can be trusted," Spike said.
"I trust you. Thank you, Spike," Buffy said, relieved in more ways than she cared to express to have this responsibility taken from her shoulders, even if only for a few hours.
"Oh, I forgot," Buffy said, reaching for her purse. She took the book out and handed it to him, "Here, Spike, I bought this for you when I was upstairs at The Rittenhouse. I couldn't read what year it is; it's in Roman Numerals, something I think I learned and forgot back in fourth grade. In any case, I hope you like Shakespeare, The Complete Works of," Buffy said, watching Spike's face as it lit up, like a little boy at Christmastime.
Spike took the book from her hand like it was made of glass. He opened the front cover, inside which was written, "To William, From Elizabeth, February 14, 2003"
"You bought this for me?" he asked with a sort of wonder in his voice, looking at her. He didn't remember the last time somebody had bought him a gift. Sure, he'd gotten the furnishings from Edna, and Dru use to bring him all sorts of strange gifts, like puppies to eat, but an actual store bought-paid-by-cash-gift? Never. It was also something that he never expected Buffy to do for him.
He looked away, before he could start to get choked up. He opened the next page and read the Roman Numerals, "It says 1878, it's really quite old, hope you didn't pay too much for it, luv," he said.
"Do you like it?" Buffy asked, not quite sure what the 'quite old,' meant in terms of satisfaction.
"Oh God yes! It's lovely Buffy, just lovely," Spike said, as he fingered the old leather binding, "it's the nicest thing anyone has ever bought me."
She turned away, embarrassed. If this was the nicest thing...Poor Spike!
"Buffy?"
"Huh?"
"I forgot, I got you something, too; when I was waiting for you," Spike said, taking the velvet box out from the pocket of his robe and handing it to her, "here," he said, not quite making eye contact with her.
"For me?"
He nodded, still holding out the purple, velvet, heart shaped box to her.
Buffy took it from him and opened it. Her eyes grew moist as she saw the beautiful, delicate, lovebird necklace. She took it from the box, gently tracing the shape of the lovebirds within the heart, and the cloisonné flowers. Now it was her turn to get misty-eyed as she turned to Spike.
"It's beautiful, Spike, I don't know what to say."
"You like it, then?"
"No."
"No?" he said, with a sinking feeling, waiting for her to give it back to him, say something about why she couldn't,...
"I don't like it; I love it," Buffy said, then she leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Spike," she whispered in his ear.
Spike silently sighed with relief.
"Help me on with it?" she asked, as she sat back up and turned sideways on the couch, holding up her hair with one hand.
Spike took the necklace from her and put it over her head gently, then secured the clasp.
She felt the necklace softly fall into place a couple of inches above her breasts. She turned around to face him as she looked down, "How does it look?" she asked him.
Spike looked at the necklace, and the couple of inches above Buffy's breasts, appreciatively, "Nice, looks real nice," he said shyly.
"Matches my pajamas perfectly, doesn't it? Hey, were you going through my stuff again, were you?" she joked, playfully hitting him in the ribs.
"No, gave that up some time ago, luv," he answered.
She was still looking down admiring the necklace when Spike stood up to put another log on the fire. When he was finished, he took the heavy rug that lay between them and the fireplace and pulled it up to the edge of the couch. He sat down, back against couch and looked up at her.
Buffy scooted to the front of the couch, then slid down to the floor so that she was sitting next to Spike.
They sat there watching the fire for a couple of minutes in silence.
"This is nice," Spike said.
"Ummmhmmm," Buffy agreed.
"Spike?"
"What, luv?"
"How much time have you spent here, at this house?"
"Oh, let me see...over the years? Maybe a total of 2 months or so," he answered, "a couple of days here and there."
"That's all?" Buffy asked, surprised. "Why not more? You've got this lovely house, money..."
"I don't know, Buffy. Seemed like the house is something else, I don't know, something that's almost outside of myself; outside of my nature. Vampire, you know, couldn't just live here, like a man...I needed other things, the kill, the violence, happy meals with legs, even the company of other demons. You know these things about me," Spike said, his voice strained.
poor spikey - can't be a human, can't be a vampire - where the hell do you fit in?
"Look, can we not talk about this anymore?" he asked.
"Okay," Buffy said, leaning up against him, hopefully reassuring her that she wasn't there to either probe or judge him. Not here. Not anymore, not after what he'd done for her, the lengths he'd gone...
And so they sat there, side-by-side, watching the fire and talking of small things for the next hour.
Spike looked over at Buffy, her eyes were closed and he knew she was almost asleep.
Poor Slayer, all done in.
"Buffy?" he said, shaking her gently.
"Huh?"
"Time to go to bed. Um, you're tired, you should go to bed and get some sleep," he stood up and extended his hand to her.
"Yeah, you're probably right," she answered, letting him help her up.
They were standing in front of the fireplace, between the two bedrooms, "Goodnight Buffy, sleep well. And don't worry about the house, I'll keep watching," Spike said.
She turned to look at him, so unreal in this setting, "Goodnight, Spike," she said, once again, taking the initiative to kiss him on the cheek, "Thank you, for everything," she said as she went into the bedroom.
She turned down the covers and crawled into bed. She was sort of sad that Spike hadn't even suggested to her that she might want to share his bed. Of course, she would tell him, "NO," but none-the-less...she drifted off to sleep.
END OF CHAPTER 13