CHAPTER 29 - SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Buffy held the last one, she tore it, giving half to Spike, and they both put their halves into the fire, watched as they burned away; their nightmares and past sins, until all that was left was them.
Spike took her hand, as she turned to face him, "Now make me something beautiful!"
He smiled at her bossiness, "Ok, what do you want? I was going to draw a picture from something here; this place, since you didn't have a camera," he said.
"That'd be wonderful!" she said, once again, feeling a sense of well-being.
Spike sat down on the floor in front of the couch, "What's your pleasure?"
Buffy smiled back and sort of grinned in a lascivious way.
He cocked his eyebrow at her, "Not talking that, luv," he said grinning back, "what would you like me to draw?"
She shrugged, "Surprise me."
"Tell you what, I'll draw something while you think about what you'd really like."
A few minutes later he tore off the top sheet and handed it to her. She laughed, it was a picture of Snowman Spike.
"Very funny, but it's a start. Okay, how about a picture of the woods, the trail on the way to Clem's house?"
"Okay," he smiled, a playful glint in his eyes and got to work.
About 10 minutes later, he handed her the pad. It was a picture of the trail and in greater detail was 'The Tree,' next to it, was a boot, and very faintly against the bark was the outline of a woman's body; hers.
Buffy laughed, "I love it! I didn't even think about that when I mentioned the trail, but this is perfect. Can I have it to take home?" she asked.
Spike nodded and she tore the page from the book.
"Tell me, Buffy, if you'd had that camera, what would've taken a picture of at the Hot Springs?" Spike asked her.
She looked at him, heart warmed, by the memories of how wonderful a place it had been.
"Well, I would take a picture of you trying to float, but..." she said laughing.
Spike groaned, "May need some more incentive in that department, pet," he said rolling his eyes.
Buffy giggled remembering exactly what that incentive had been.
"I can't decide," she said.
"Close your eyes and pretend you're there at the Hot Springs," Spike instructed, "now, what do you see? What do you take a picture of?"
Buffy closed her eyes, "I take a picture of the room, the light, the water in the pool. I see the table and umbrella, even the chairs and the lemonade," she said, fondly remembering her 'day at the beach.'
"Okay, good. What else?" Spike asked.
Buffy flushed. Spike smiled to himself, noticing; sniffing the air ever so slightly as synapses of Buffy' physical memories gave way to little detectible and delecitble molecular identifiers.
"I'll tell you afterwards," she said, looking at him in a way that made him want to take her right then and there. God he loved her!
She sat on the couch, behind him and watched him expertly draw in the details of her memories of that day. He was so good at drawing, she'd had no idea.
"Spike?"
"Um?"
"Are there other drawings that you have, besides in this pad?" she asked.
"No, luv, only these. Why?"
"It's just that you're so good, Spike. I figured you might have had a whole stash of them somewhere."
"Didn't really do it very often, luv. Mostly when I was up here."
"You didn't have any of your subjects pose for you, then?"
"No, all from memory," Spike said, taking a moment to look back at her, "why?"
"It's just they're so rich, so full of detail, I thought you must have..."
"Dru, Darla, Angel...they would have laughed. Well, maybe not Darla, she was sort of vain. Dru, who knows? Just thought it best I kept this to myself," he said, going back to the drawing.
It made her sad to think of him having kept this gift to himself.
"It was more William, than Spike, you know," he said, as if reading her mind, "William...well, you know...William only occassionally came out while I was here, mostly."
He handed her the pad, and there in color, better than any photograph was the Hot Springs, the walls, the points of lights on the floor as they fell from above, the table, chaises, umbrella, and even her lemonade. She could almost feel the steam as it rose from the water.
"Thank you," she said, putting her hand to his face.
He kissed her palm and snuggled into her hand, warm against his cheek.
"What else, my love?" he asked her.
"I...I want a picture of us, of me sitting on the edge of the Hot Spring, after you lifted me up. And you, when you were standing in the water, hugging me; your face in my chest, but I want to see you..." she said, her voice evoking the emotions the memories now held for her.
"Buffy," Spike said, setting down the pad and raising up on his knees, hugging her in a way, reminiscent of that; head to chest, "I love you so much," he said, as she pulled his head up, reaching down to kiss his full lips. Her hair fell across his face as he kissed her back, as he drank in the scent of all of her.
He moved his head back to between her breasts as they both relived the moments they'd shared today. He could smell her excitement as he rubbed against her breasts, feel her nipples harden under his cheek.
"God Buffy, I'm never going to get this done, if I don't stop. Wanna ravish you here, right now, luv. Wanna..."
She stopped him from talking further by kissing him passionately, as they both groaned into each other, "Want you, too. William. Spike. All of who you are, love you, love you..."she said, but then stopped the kiss before it could go any further.
"Draw it for me," she begged.
Moaning, Spike sighed, and sat back on the floor. It was like an aphrodisiac for them, the talking about today, the memories. He smiled to himself, knowing they'd have new ones by the morning, as well.
"Slave driver!" he said to her.
She laughed, then quietly asked, "How do you know what you look like?"
He turned around, looking at her funny.
"I mean, you can't see yourself in a mirror. I never much thought about it before but everyday I see myself, get a picture, an image of what I look like. Or I can look back at old photos, or those pictures you drew of me, when I was younger and see myself then and now. How do you imagine yourself on a day to day basis, without the visual?"
"I don't know, Buffy. How does a blind person envision themselves? Obviously, it's more than just a visual thing I use to have a sense of self. It's how I feel, it's tactile, odors, taste, reactions of others, all those things..."
"Back in the late 70's, in New York, I had a street artist down in Hell's Kitchen draw a picture of me, sketched it. I had just gotten into dying my hair and wanted to know what it looked like. I was really sort of shocked when I first saw it. I hadn't seen myself in about 90 years, and though I knew I didn't look like the nancy-boy I used to look like, I never imagined such a radical difference. I liked it, liked the look, so decided to keep it."
Buffy laughed and Spike gave her a dirty look over his shoulder.
"No, no! I like it, too. Just...it wouldn't be you without your white hair. But I like it right now, too. A lot. All softer," she said, running her hands through his naturally curly, ungelled hair. It's nice when it's like this, too," she said, sweetly.
"For you, I'll wear it like this. Here. Back home, I think it's better I look like the Big Bad, don't you, pet?"
She leaned over to kiss his ear, "Probably. I like this though, it's a change."
"Figured you'd think of as my 'crazy Spike,' hair," he said, referring to when she'd first seen him in the school basement after the summer.
"Not so crazy," she said, kissing the side of his head.
"You'd better stop that, Buffy, if you want this picture," he warned.
"Okay, okay," Buffy said, relenting, "I'll leave you to it and go get that other bottle from the refrigerator."
Spike just nodded, absorbed in his drawing.
A few minutes later he smiled when he heard her swear as the cork went flying, hitting something metallic.
Buffy came back from the kitchen in a few minutes carrying a fresh, cold bottle of champagne and two clean glasses.
"Almost done," he said to her, "no peeking!"
"I'll be good," she said, sitting down right in front of the fireplace, with Spike behind her about 6 feet.
She heard him mumble under his breath, heard the edge of an eraser being rubbed against the paper.
A couple of minutes later, he scooted up to her and handed her the drawing pad.
She stared at herself sitting on the edge of the pool, arms around Spike, who stood hugging her in an embrace that she could almost feel. His face was turned outward, toward the 'audience,' but still between her breasts; a look of deep love in his eyes that she would have recognized anywhere as his and his alone. Her arms were around his back, her eyes half open, half closed; love and ecstacy written on her features.
"It's beautiful," she said, a tear running down her cheek, "it's so real; just like I felt," she said, looking at him.
"Thank you. For this, for everything Spike."
Spike put his hand on her cheek and gazed into her eyes; the eyes of the woman who had made a man out of a monster.
"It's all about you, Buffy, always has been," he said, and pulled her to him.
Buffy held the last one, she tore it, giving half to Spike, and they both put their halves into the fire, watched as they burned away; their nightmares and past sins, until all that was left was them.
Spike took her hand, as she turned to face him, "Now make me something beautiful!"
He smiled at her bossiness, "Ok, what do you want? I was going to draw a picture from something here; this place, since you didn't have a camera," he said.
"That'd be wonderful!" she said, once again, feeling a sense of well-being.
Spike sat down on the floor in front of the couch, "What's your pleasure?"
Buffy smiled back and sort of grinned in a lascivious way.
He cocked his eyebrow at her, "Not talking that, luv," he said grinning back, "what would you like me to draw?"
She shrugged, "Surprise me."
"Tell you what, I'll draw something while you think about what you'd really like."
A few minutes later he tore off the top sheet and handed it to her. She laughed, it was a picture of Snowman Spike.
"Very funny, but it's a start. Okay, how about a picture of the woods, the trail on the way to Clem's house?"
"Okay," he smiled, a playful glint in his eyes and got to work.
About 10 minutes later, he handed her the pad. It was a picture of the trail and in greater detail was 'The Tree,' next to it, was a boot, and very faintly against the bark was the outline of a woman's body; hers.
Buffy laughed, "I love it! I didn't even think about that when I mentioned the trail, but this is perfect. Can I have it to take home?" she asked.
Spike nodded and she tore the page from the book.
"Tell me, Buffy, if you'd had that camera, what would've taken a picture of at the Hot Springs?" Spike asked her.
She looked at him, heart warmed, by the memories of how wonderful a place it had been.
"Well, I would take a picture of you trying to float, but..." she said laughing.
Spike groaned, "May need some more incentive in that department, pet," he said rolling his eyes.
Buffy giggled remembering exactly what that incentive had been.
"I can't decide," she said.
"Close your eyes and pretend you're there at the Hot Springs," Spike instructed, "now, what do you see? What do you take a picture of?"
Buffy closed her eyes, "I take a picture of the room, the light, the water in the pool. I see the table and umbrella, even the chairs and the lemonade," she said, fondly remembering her 'day at the beach.'
"Okay, good. What else?" Spike asked.
Buffy flushed. Spike smiled to himself, noticing; sniffing the air ever so slightly as synapses of Buffy' physical memories gave way to little detectible and delecitble molecular identifiers.
"I'll tell you afterwards," she said, looking at him in a way that made him want to take her right then and there. God he loved her!
She sat on the couch, behind him and watched him expertly draw in the details of her memories of that day. He was so good at drawing, she'd had no idea.
"Spike?"
"Um?"
"Are there other drawings that you have, besides in this pad?" she asked.
"No, luv, only these. Why?"
"It's just that you're so good, Spike. I figured you might have had a whole stash of them somewhere."
"Didn't really do it very often, luv. Mostly when I was up here."
"You didn't have any of your subjects pose for you, then?"
"No, all from memory," Spike said, taking a moment to look back at her, "why?"
"It's just they're so rich, so full of detail, I thought you must have..."
"Dru, Darla, Angel...they would have laughed. Well, maybe not Darla, she was sort of vain. Dru, who knows? Just thought it best I kept this to myself," he said, going back to the drawing.
It made her sad to think of him having kept this gift to himself.
"It was more William, than Spike, you know," he said, as if reading her mind, "William...well, you know...William only occassionally came out while I was here, mostly."
He handed her the pad, and there in color, better than any photograph was the Hot Springs, the walls, the points of lights on the floor as they fell from above, the table, chaises, umbrella, and even her lemonade. She could almost feel the steam as it rose from the water.
"Thank you," she said, putting her hand to his face.
He kissed her palm and snuggled into her hand, warm against his cheek.
"What else, my love?" he asked her.
"I...I want a picture of us, of me sitting on the edge of the Hot Spring, after you lifted me up. And you, when you were standing in the water, hugging me; your face in my chest, but I want to see you..." she said, her voice evoking the emotions the memories now held for her.
"Buffy," Spike said, setting down the pad and raising up on his knees, hugging her in a way, reminiscent of that; head to chest, "I love you so much," he said, as she pulled his head up, reaching down to kiss his full lips. Her hair fell across his face as he kissed her back, as he drank in the scent of all of her.
He moved his head back to between her breasts as they both relived the moments they'd shared today. He could smell her excitement as he rubbed against her breasts, feel her nipples harden under his cheek.
"God Buffy, I'm never going to get this done, if I don't stop. Wanna ravish you here, right now, luv. Wanna..."
She stopped him from talking further by kissing him passionately, as they both groaned into each other, "Want you, too. William. Spike. All of who you are, love you, love you..."she said, but then stopped the kiss before it could go any further.
"Draw it for me," she begged.
Moaning, Spike sighed, and sat back on the floor. It was like an aphrodisiac for them, the talking about today, the memories. He smiled to himself, knowing they'd have new ones by the morning, as well.
"Slave driver!" he said to her.
She laughed, then quietly asked, "How do you know what you look like?"
He turned around, looking at her funny.
"I mean, you can't see yourself in a mirror. I never much thought about it before but everyday I see myself, get a picture, an image of what I look like. Or I can look back at old photos, or those pictures you drew of me, when I was younger and see myself then and now. How do you imagine yourself on a day to day basis, without the visual?"
"I don't know, Buffy. How does a blind person envision themselves? Obviously, it's more than just a visual thing I use to have a sense of self. It's how I feel, it's tactile, odors, taste, reactions of others, all those things..."
"Back in the late 70's, in New York, I had a street artist down in Hell's Kitchen draw a picture of me, sketched it. I had just gotten into dying my hair and wanted to know what it looked like. I was really sort of shocked when I first saw it. I hadn't seen myself in about 90 years, and though I knew I didn't look like the nancy-boy I used to look like, I never imagined such a radical difference. I liked it, liked the look, so decided to keep it."
Buffy laughed and Spike gave her a dirty look over his shoulder.
"No, no! I like it, too. Just...it wouldn't be you without your white hair. But I like it right now, too. A lot. All softer," she said, running her hands through his naturally curly, ungelled hair. It's nice when it's like this, too," she said, sweetly.
"For you, I'll wear it like this. Here. Back home, I think it's better I look like the Big Bad, don't you, pet?"
She leaned over to kiss his ear, "Probably. I like this though, it's a change."
"Figured you'd think of as my 'crazy Spike,' hair," he said, referring to when she'd first seen him in the school basement after the summer.
"Not so crazy," she said, kissing the side of his head.
"You'd better stop that, Buffy, if you want this picture," he warned.
"Okay, okay," Buffy said, relenting, "I'll leave you to it and go get that other bottle from the refrigerator."
Spike just nodded, absorbed in his drawing.
A few minutes later he smiled when he heard her swear as the cork went flying, hitting something metallic.
Buffy came back from the kitchen in a few minutes carrying a fresh, cold bottle of champagne and two clean glasses.
"Almost done," he said to her, "no peeking!"
"I'll be good," she said, sitting down right in front of the fireplace, with Spike behind her about 6 feet.
She heard him mumble under his breath, heard the edge of an eraser being rubbed against the paper.
A couple of minutes later, he scooted up to her and handed her the drawing pad.
She stared at herself sitting on the edge of the pool, arms around Spike, who stood hugging her in an embrace that she could almost feel. His face was turned outward, toward the 'audience,' but still between her breasts; a look of deep love in his eyes that she would have recognized anywhere as his and his alone. Her arms were around his back, her eyes half open, half closed; love and ecstacy written on her features.
"It's beautiful," she said, a tear running down her cheek, "it's so real; just like I felt," she said, looking at him.
"Thank you. For this, for everything Spike."
Spike put his hand on her cheek and gazed into her eyes; the eyes of the woman who had made a man out of a monster.
"It's all about you, Buffy, always has been," he said, and pulled her to him.