Chapter 15: Comfort Level
The sheets had warmed to her body temperature wrapping her up cozily in a cocoon of her own making. As she slept her inner mind felt a coolness press against her back. The feeling of ice trailing up the length of her arm, smoothing away her hair, and dancing circles around her neck caused a silent moan to escape from her lips. She felt comforted, soothed, relaxed as she never expected she would ever again. She felt like she'd come home.
He simply watched her, watched as she moved slightly against the cotton covers of her bed. He watched her bury herself down, looking so small and fragile. Watching her sleep, watching her dream, no one would ever suspect how strong she really was. They would never guess the kind of power and responsibility that lay on her shoulders. And what he was sure no one else would see (if they did watch, which of course they didn't, that would have been absurd bordering on stalker), couldn't see really, either because they refused to or simply because they lacked his experience with this particular activity, was just how scared of all of it she really was. He would never let on that he knew of course. He loved her too much to shatter her carefully painted illusion so easily, but he would always make sure that she knew that he understood her. Even if she never bothered to explain it all to him, he still understood.
A small moan escaped her mouth *So exquisite* and he thought that she looked. . . content. She so rarely held that expression that he had a hard time pinning it down at first, but he had seen it before, once or twice, even if it was usually in stolen moments like these. A sigh escaped his own lips then, wishing he could hold her, tell her how bloody much he loved her, read her some awful poetry and pledge his undying devotion (granted most of these things he had already done, but it couldn't hurt to reinforce it now, could it?).
And, oh, how he loved her. His anger had dissipated by the time he was done with the poof, solace replacing it instead. It wasn't that he didn't care about everything that had happened. He had indeed meant what he said. He hated the fact that she tried molding him all the time to fit some preconceived notion of what he should be based on the current role he occupied in her life. Bending and twisting him a little this way, a lot more of that. But he couldn't let her do that anymore, he was nearly broken by it before, he wouldn't survive it again. So this was it. This was who he was, who he would be, and goddamn anyone who didn't like it. He just wished that she would accept him as he was, as the man he was, even if she would never love him.
And his active brain no longer doubted now that she would never in fact love him. Oh, he would pretend on occasion, act as if the little crumbs she fed him added up to more, when really they didn't. It was the look of absolute peace on her face as she kissed Angel that made him realize that all he had ever experienced from her was misplaced affection at best. Nothing more then that. Subconsciously, however, what he knew was an altogether different story. Fragmented bits of a puzzle that when pieced together just so added up to a whole world of more.
The tingling in her spine grew stronger, inching up her neck before screaming in her ear for her to wake up. Slowly she blinked away the sleep, her body focusing in on the other occupant of the room, causing her to stiffen. Slowly she rolled over looking at the silhouetted figure in her window. "Spike?"
" 's me, love. Didn't mean to disturb."
His face was hidden by shadows, but his voice was heavy and thick, falling oh so softly from his throat. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out his features better so that she could gauge his expression, figure out just how much he hated her.
"When did you get back?" The question surprised him; he had half expected a verbal berating for being in her room without her permission. He shrugged.
"Not really sure. An hour, maybe two. Wasn't countin'"
She nodded at that as she pulled herself up to a sitting position, leaning against her headrest for support, but she remained quiet. *Okay Buffy, its time to stop being such a pansy and start talking,* Inner Buffy chided her.
"I'm sorry."
A simple statement that sent him reeling, the confusion plainly evident, as he titled his head in question, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound escaping.
She breathed in deeply, her eyes closed, "I'm so sorry." And he could see it now, the single tear that had fallen. She lowered her head, not willing to meet his gaze, hoping that he'd come to her. Hold her. Comfort her the way he always did, just being near her. It was selfish, she knew that. Wanting comfort from him when he was the one deserving of it, plainly in need, but she had never been real good with the emotional support.
But he couldn't. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he just leaned back on the window sill, his iced over eyes looking at her, through her, unsure of everything. Not that he was ever sure of much when it came to her. Oh he loved her, he knew that. And she was most certainly the biggest pain to his undead ass that he had ever known. But aside from those immutable facts, the vampire knew very little.
"Why?"
She looked up at him, her eyes scrunching in that adorable way that he loved. He fought the urge to look away. Her confused expression didn't falter, so he asked again.
"I asked why. Why are you sorry, Buffy? You knew what you were doing." The tone in his voice let her know that he didn't just mean Angel; she wasn't getting off that easy. "You've always known. You admitted as much last year after Captain Cardboard made his brief, but highly unwelcomed, appearance." He shook his head, braking eye contact, fidgeting slightly, in need of a cigarette. "So why give two bits 'bout it now?"
Her anger began to rise then, coloring her cheeks. Anger at him, anger at herself, at Giles, Wood, Angel. . .God. The list just went on and on in her mind. But right now at this moment he was in front of her and so she chose to take it out on him. Her voice was controlled, but the flames fueling it laced it with their heat.
"Now?! Why do I give two shits about it NOW! Excuse me." She was standing on her feet now, the bed the only barrier between the two of them. "What part of that oh-woe-is-me brain of yours forgot WHY exactly I ended this," she motioned violently between the two of them then, "thing last year to begin with?" She held his gaze then, arms falling to her sides, eyes questioning, "Yeah, I knew what I was doing. It just took me awhile to figure it at was all." She looked away for a moment, sighing. For his part he did nothing but watch and listen. "Once I did, once I knew," she shrugged, before slumping down to the bed again, the weight of everything too heavy to stand anymore. "That's why I ended it, I told you that. I didn't want to hurt you," Hrmph. "Anymore then I already had."
She waited for a response, her back to him. *Stupid stubborn vampire, say something, throw something, just do something!* But he didn't. So she continued. "I never asked you to get a soul you know."
Her voice was softened by the emotions now playing through her, he watched in abject awe at the roller coaster she had been on since he entered the room, *How the hell does she do that without bloody burnin' out?*
She continued. "It never even occurred to me that you would care. Big Bad. Vampire and all. Says he loves me, but what does he know? Ya know?" She turned her head towards him a bit, not meeting his eyes, before lowering her head again, staring at the hands in her lap. *Shouldn't they be more helpful? Stupid useless hands.* She continued on, almost to herself.
"You just always took everything I gave. And, oh god, the things I did. I knew I shouldn't, but you just took it all, never complained. Helped when I needed it. Even if I didn't want it. And then one day, your bloods covering my hands, and you never fought back, and I just didn't understand. How could I understand? And you forgave me? How? I was so vile. So wrong.
"And then, then you were holding me down, and I still didn't get it. I trusted you, regardless of what I said, I did. You could've done so much worse to me, so many times. But I knew you wouldn't. And then I didn't anymore. And you were gone? Why? Why would you care? How was I supposed to know?
"So I hated you. Hated you for being just one more in the long line of people who left. Who'd hurt me and leave. Not want to stand by and watch what they did to me take its toll. Then you came back, and everything is so different now. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I don't want to hurt you, you don't deserve it. I know that."
She shrugged trying to lighten the now very somber mood, noticing that he had sat on the other side of the bed during her little rant. "Old habits are hard to break I guess."
She met his watchful gaze, a smile touching her lips at seeing him smile lightly at her. He reached over then, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the warmth of her skin sending rivlets of wonder shooting through his arm, as blue met green. "Yeah, they are."
The sheets had warmed to her body temperature wrapping her up cozily in a cocoon of her own making. As she slept her inner mind felt a coolness press against her back. The feeling of ice trailing up the length of her arm, smoothing away her hair, and dancing circles around her neck caused a silent moan to escape from her lips. She felt comforted, soothed, relaxed as she never expected she would ever again. She felt like she'd come home.
He simply watched her, watched as she moved slightly against the cotton covers of her bed. He watched her bury herself down, looking so small and fragile. Watching her sleep, watching her dream, no one would ever suspect how strong she really was. They would never guess the kind of power and responsibility that lay on her shoulders. And what he was sure no one else would see (if they did watch, which of course they didn't, that would have been absurd bordering on stalker), couldn't see really, either because they refused to or simply because they lacked his experience with this particular activity, was just how scared of all of it she really was. He would never let on that he knew of course. He loved her too much to shatter her carefully painted illusion so easily, but he would always make sure that she knew that he understood her. Even if she never bothered to explain it all to him, he still understood.
A small moan escaped her mouth *So exquisite* and he thought that she looked. . . content. She so rarely held that expression that he had a hard time pinning it down at first, but he had seen it before, once or twice, even if it was usually in stolen moments like these. A sigh escaped his own lips then, wishing he could hold her, tell her how bloody much he loved her, read her some awful poetry and pledge his undying devotion (granted most of these things he had already done, but it couldn't hurt to reinforce it now, could it?).
And, oh, how he loved her. His anger had dissipated by the time he was done with the poof, solace replacing it instead. It wasn't that he didn't care about everything that had happened. He had indeed meant what he said. He hated the fact that she tried molding him all the time to fit some preconceived notion of what he should be based on the current role he occupied in her life. Bending and twisting him a little this way, a lot more of that. But he couldn't let her do that anymore, he was nearly broken by it before, he wouldn't survive it again. So this was it. This was who he was, who he would be, and goddamn anyone who didn't like it. He just wished that she would accept him as he was, as the man he was, even if she would never love him.
And his active brain no longer doubted now that she would never in fact love him. Oh, he would pretend on occasion, act as if the little crumbs she fed him added up to more, when really they didn't. It was the look of absolute peace on her face as she kissed Angel that made him realize that all he had ever experienced from her was misplaced affection at best. Nothing more then that. Subconsciously, however, what he knew was an altogether different story. Fragmented bits of a puzzle that when pieced together just so added up to a whole world of more.
The tingling in her spine grew stronger, inching up her neck before screaming in her ear for her to wake up. Slowly she blinked away the sleep, her body focusing in on the other occupant of the room, causing her to stiffen. Slowly she rolled over looking at the silhouetted figure in her window. "Spike?"
" 's me, love. Didn't mean to disturb."
His face was hidden by shadows, but his voice was heavy and thick, falling oh so softly from his throat. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out his features better so that she could gauge his expression, figure out just how much he hated her.
"When did you get back?" The question surprised him; he had half expected a verbal berating for being in her room without her permission. He shrugged.
"Not really sure. An hour, maybe two. Wasn't countin'"
She nodded at that as she pulled herself up to a sitting position, leaning against her headrest for support, but she remained quiet. *Okay Buffy, its time to stop being such a pansy and start talking,* Inner Buffy chided her.
"I'm sorry."
A simple statement that sent him reeling, the confusion plainly evident, as he titled his head in question, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound escaping.
She breathed in deeply, her eyes closed, "I'm so sorry." And he could see it now, the single tear that had fallen. She lowered her head, not willing to meet his gaze, hoping that he'd come to her. Hold her. Comfort her the way he always did, just being near her. It was selfish, she knew that. Wanting comfort from him when he was the one deserving of it, plainly in need, but she had never been real good with the emotional support.
But he couldn't. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he just leaned back on the window sill, his iced over eyes looking at her, through her, unsure of everything. Not that he was ever sure of much when it came to her. Oh he loved her, he knew that. And she was most certainly the biggest pain to his undead ass that he had ever known. But aside from those immutable facts, the vampire knew very little.
"Why?"
She looked up at him, her eyes scrunching in that adorable way that he loved. He fought the urge to look away. Her confused expression didn't falter, so he asked again.
"I asked why. Why are you sorry, Buffy? You knew what you were doing." The tone in his voice let her know that he didn't just mean Angel; she wasn't getting off that easy. "You've always known. You admitted as much last year after Captain Cardboard made his brief, but highly unwelcomed, appearance." He shook his head, braking eye contact, fidgeting slightly, in need of a cigarette. "So why give two bits 'bout it now?"
Her anger began to rise then, coloring her cheeks. Anger at him, anger at herself, at Giles, Wood, Angel. . .God. The list just went on and on in her mind. But right now at this moment he was in front of her and so she chose to take it out on him. Her voice was controlled, but the flames fueling it laced it with their heat.
"Now?! Why do I give two shits about it NOW! Excuse me." She was standing on her feet now, the bed the only barrier between the two of them. "What part of that oh-woe-is-me brain of yours forgot WHY exactly I ended this," she motioned violently between the two of them then, "thing last year to begin with?" She held his gaze then, arms falling to her sides, eyes questioning, "Yeah, I knew what I was doing. It just took me awhile to figure it at was all." She looked away for a moment, sighing. For his part he did nothing but watch and listen. "Once I did, once I knew," she shrugged, before slumping down to the bed again, the weight of everything too heavy to stand anymore. "That's why I ended it, I told you that. I didn't want to hurt you," Hrmph. "Anymore then I already had."
She waited for a response, her back to him. *Stupid stubborn vampire, say something, throw something, just do something!* But he didn't. So she continued. "I never asked you to get a soul you know."
Her voice was softened by the emotions now playing through her, he watched in abject awe at the roller coaster she had been on since he entered the room, *How the hell does she do that without bloody burnin' out?*
She continued. "It never even occurred to me that you would care. Big Bad. Vampire and all. Says he loves me, but what does he know? Ya know?" She turned her head towards him a bit, not meeting his eyes, before lowering her head again, staring at the hands in her lap. *Shouldn't they be more helpful? Stupid useless hands.* She continued on, almost to herself.
"You just always took everything I gave. And, oh god, the things I did. I knew I shouldn't, but you just took it all, never complained. Helped when I needed it. Even if I didn't want it. And then one day, your bloods covering my hands, and you never fought back, and I just didn't understand. How could I understand? And you forgave me? How? I was so vile. So wrong.
"And then, then you were holding me down, and I still didn't get it. I trusted you, regardless of what I said, I did. You could've done so much worse to me, so many times. But I knew you wouldn't. And then I didn't anymore. And you were gone? Why? Why would you care? How was I supposed to know?
"So I hated you. Hated you for being just one more in the long line of people who left. Who'd hurt me and leave. Not want to stand by and watch what they did to me take its toll. Then you came back, and everything is so different now. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I don't want to hurt you, you don't deserve it. I know that."
She shrugged trying to lighten the now very somber mood, noticing that he had sat on the other side of the bed during her little rant. "Old habits are hard to break I guess."
She met his watchful gaze, a smile touching her lips at seeing him smile lightly at her. He reached over then, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the warmth of her skin sending rivlets of wonder shooting through his arm, as blue met green. "Yeah, they are."