The Fall of William
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Btvs
A/N: Hi all. Okay folks this chapter is going to be the last of the present time for a bit. Thank you again for the kind reviews.
~*~
Ch:8
His head was pounding. His blood was raging and he was reverting inward with every angry step he took.
He could feel their eyes on him and he didn't care. He ignored them as he paced the livingroom and tried to keep his thoughts away from the woman upstairs.
Which was impossible. If he had been able to do that, he would have done it years ago. If he could have erased her from his mind, she would be gone. However, there was no such drug out there, not enough booze, not enough self-destruction that could shake her from his psyche.
To tell the truth it wouldn't have been so hard if there wasn't the underlining thought that if he let go, if he let her go he'd sink. He'd fall so far and so deep, he would never find himself again. Into the darkness of his soul, into the life he' tried so hard to escape as a child.
Clenching his hands he shook his head and closed his eyes briefly as he tried to get a hold of his wayward emotions.
Opening them, he wasn't surprised to find Anya standing in front of him, hands on hips and an expectant expression on her face.
"What?" he growled.
He wasn't in the mood for her. All she'd done was hound him with her incessant talking and questions. Not to mention the git who was still trying to explain the unexplainable. Or the rambling of Willow. Or the silent accusing stare of the red headed fellow.
"Well when can we go see her? I for one want to know how she likes having my boyfriend in love with her," Anya bit out tightly glaring up at Spike.
Spike's face twisted in anger and resignation.
"Listen how many times do I have to tell you this?! No one is going up there! The doctor's up there right now."
Willow slipped from Oz's grasp and walked up to Anya taking her arm.
"C'mon Anya," she began.
But Anya pulled away.
"You knew didn't you?" Anya demanded angrily. "You knew Xander was in love with Buffy?! I bet you had more than a few laughs with that huh Willow? I mean it's funny isn't it? Here I am working for a woman known as The Slayer who happens to be the object of my boyfriend's affections!! You never did like me," Anya finished at a near yell.
Spike took both Willow and Anya's arms, pulled them to the couch, and shoved them down onto it.
"Shut up," he said quietly.
They glanced at him in surprise and were more than surprised to find his eyes flat and deadly. All of the time they'd waited for the doctor to look Buffy over a varying degree of emotions had passed through his blue eyes.
"Um..." Willow began.
Spike held up a hand.
"Shut up. One more word? And I'll have him shoot your boy over there. I'm sick of your voices," Spike warned dangerously.
"How is she?" Xander exclaimed as he saw Gunn and the portly doctor come down the stairs.
Anya rolled her eyes.
"Riiiiight Xander worry about her. What about me? My money? Oh wait you're in love with her. I forgot," Anya spat out venomously.
Xander looked torn as he turned to face Anya words of apology ready to spring forth.
"I thought I said shut up?" Spike demanded as he gripped Gunn's arm and then led him back up the stairs.
"Let go of me," Gunn advised.
Spike ignored him and slammed him against the wall as he gritted his teeth together and glared at Gunn.
"What happened to her?" he asked.
Gunn's brown eyes flickered to the door of Buffy's room before he shrugged.
"She was in the ocean," he said simply as if there was nothing to it.
Spike's smile was feral as he flashed it at Gunn.
"And I'm Mary fuckin' Margaret. Give me the truth you fuckin' git," he growled his hands tightening on Gunn's shirt.
"Her cell was cut off and I knew something was up. Faith gave me the heads up that you were on the warpath and I was on my way here when Buffy's communications went down. I followed the last signal. Found her washed up on the shore. Unconscious. Chilled to the bone. She has a fever and will likely catch pneumonia. I came straight here. That was a mistake," Gunn stated coldly as he stared into Spike's equally cold eyes.
"Warpath?" Spike finally asked with a smirk. "You haven't even seen a warpath mate. Is she awake?"
"Why do you care?" Gunn spat out. "You're gonna kill her anyway!"
Spike's hands moved of their own violation as they wound themselves around Gunn's neck.
"Shut up," he snarled.
"It's the truth," Gunn gasped out. "I'd kill her myself before I let you get your hands on her!"
"Too late," Spike countered. "They've been all over her. Get down with the others," he ordered as he released Gunn with a shove and turned his back on him.
Gunn reacted quickly reaching out and grabbing Spike by the arm and swinging him into the wall.
Spike's grunt of pain echoed followed by a moan from Gunn as Spike kicked back catching Gunn in the shin and thrusting an elbow into his head Spike whirled and caught Gunn as he slumped.
Jabbed his fist into his gut and let out a quick bout of harsh laughter.
"Don't know where she finds em...always havin' the blokes that wanna protect her. But when will you all learn she doesn't need it? Doesn't want it? That she doesn't need it from me?" he asked conversationally as he took out his frustration on Gunn in a series of kicks and punches.
Finished with him Spike let Gunn slump to the ground and he stared down at him a blank look on his face for a moment.
"That was for suggestin' killin' Buffy. I should kill you for sayin' you would kill her. If any one is it'll be me," he snapped.
Without a backwards look, he strode to Buffy's room and jerked open the door. He gave a shuddering sigh as his eyes landed on her. Shutting the door, he leaned against it for a moment as he tried to settle down.
The room was dark, only the partial light of the moon made the vague outline of Buffy's body visible. It was enough for Spike as he hesitated.
He wasn't thinking straight, he knew. Hadn't been for far too long. Because of her. She was like a poison evading every cell in his body. Slowly eating away at him from the inside.
A sneer formed on his lips as he stepped fully into the room.
The only sound was Buffy's even breathing as she slept.
His eyes glinted dangerously as he slowly prowled the room.
It was always amazing to him that his best-laid plans always fell to pieces whenever he was around her. That nothing ever went according to plan if she was involved.
He felt like a man twisted and torn in two. Two separate beings. William the Bloody who wanted nothing but blood in return for his betrayal. Vengeance. Then there was Spike. The part of him that knew without a doubt he'd never be free. No matter whom he killed. She'd haunt him. So what was the point of vengeance when it served little purpose but to spill blood for blood?
He didn't like listening to either voice. Somehow, when they usually raged and waged war against one another, right now, in this room they were silent.
Content almost.
Spike sat.
In one of the over stuffed armchairs and stared into space.
Rubbed a shaking hand over his face.
He should have been over the worst by now. It wasn't as if this had all happened yesterday. It had been years ago and yet...for him it was never far from his mind. Not the fact that Buffy had put him in the one place he'd arrogantly thought he would never be...but the fact that as much as he hated it , loathed to admit even to himself on the opposite side of all the rage and pain he felt for Buffy was an endless spring of love.
He was up and moving then at the turn of his thoughts. Furiously he shoved them away and rubbed his eyes.
Turned to the door.
Opened it and stepped out.
Wandered downstairs.
He barely knew what he was doing as the voices in his head roared their heads again and he moved past the demanding and accusing voices in the livingroom. Out of the house.
Stood in the chilly night air and inhaled deeply.
Thrust his hands into his pockets and contemplated the sky for long endless moments.
Making up his mind, he turned and entered the house again.
Made his way back up the stairs without a word.
Entered Buffy's room again and shut the door. Looked around quickly. Grabbed the desk chair and jammed it underneath the doorknob.
He retook his seat.
Stared at her.
At his hands.
Let his thoughts flow.
Ignored them.
It would be so easy, he thought, to just go over there.
But he didn't.
His face worked with a million emotions. Too many to describe. He hated the way she could make him feel.
Even in sleep.
Her presence did it.
Calmed the raging beast and soothed his soul.
Bitch, he thought then. Bitter and angry with himself most of all because no matter what he always seemed to come back to her.
To this.
Whatever was between them just would not die.
It was a curse.
A blessing.
At times, it had been the only thing keeping him sane.
At times, it had been the only thing making him insane.
He could kill her, he thought abruptly.
Then a voice whispered in his head, where would he be without her? Without what she brought to him? She'd been a lifeline in prison. The thought of getting back at her. Making her feel what he felt and he knew...it would have been so sweet. Bittersweet.
Stay away from her, his head warned as he found himself moving.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Watched as she twisted in her sleep.
Moaned his name.
A tick began to form at the edge of his eye.
Sometimes the best-laid plans went to hell.
All of his usually did in regards to Buffy.
He had found and he knew it was true with her as well. Being near her caused some sort of chemical reaction in his brain, that over rode all his rational thoughts. All his plans. Leaving him with raw, heart wrenching, gut churning emotions.
He reached out hesitantly.
Stopped himself.
Got up.
Sat back down.
A little closer than before.
Mine.
Yours.
Destroy.
Mine.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
He was now resting beside her.
Staring into her face.
He reached out.
Touched her face.
Let his fingers skim her cheek.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
He blinked rapidly as his chest tightened and he desperately tried to resist her allure. The undeniable urge he had to lay his head next to hers. To take her in. To savor her like he would a vintage wine. To protect her. From himself. Herself. The world.
His fingers tangled in her hair and he inhaled the scent he always recognized as hers.
Vanilla.
He'd never liked the smell much and never all over. Not until her. He'd never felt too many things, or done so much until her.
Wake up.
Look at me.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
He let his cheek brush hers, his fingers clenching briefly in her hair as his lips barley grazed her flesh.
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
In the darkness, in the depths of the night he could let it all go. He could forgive. He could love. He could look at her and feel everything he had the first time he'd made love to her.
Told her he loved her.
In the embrace of the shadows that cloaked his soul he could inhale and let himself crave. Let himself fall.
Let himself remember.
The taste of her lips.
The silkiness of her skin.
The look in her eyes when he was inside of her.
Her gasps of pleasure as he showed her how much he adored her.
His mouth settled over hers.
Blue eyes met green.
And he remembered the pride he'd felt, the love that had overwhelmed him when he'd slipped his ring on her finger.
When he made her his wife.
~*~
It wasn't always nice. Dreaming about him. Usually they turned into nightmares. And she woke screaming.
Usually.
But not tonight.
Not now.
Tonight was a good night.
Maybe she was delirious and fever stricken as the images flickered through her brain never settling.
Always out of her reach.
Usually she didn't mind.
The less she saw the easier it was.
To pretend.
To act like she didn't care that her heart was broken.
Dreams should have been her escape instead, they were her prison. Her self-induced sort of hell.
Every night she closed her eyes she knew...she'd see his face. His eyes and ache all over again.
She had never been comfortable with the feeling of guilt. She never felt guilt over her job. What she did saved innocent lives. She had a purpose.
The law was something to be followed and respected.
He could make her forget that.
He could make her lose control. And for her, control was everything. If she didn't have control then she was left only with the jumbled chaotic mess that she'd become over the last few years.
Was it so bad to want peace? From the world?
From him?
From herself?
Sometimes she just wanted to rest. To let the world defend itself.
To stop struggling with the two sides of herself. She wanted to be Buffy. She wanted no part of the Slayer.
The warrior in her.
Who demanded she continue with the farce of hate and deception. Who wanted nothing more than to release her rage at the world. To kill Spike.
Then there was Buffy.
The woman in her.
The one who only wanted to be loved, who didn't like telling lies. Who knew from the very beginning what she was getting into would be the end of her and didn't care. Buffy who was impulsive, reckless and able to walk the thin line between love and hate.
She'd been ripped in two and was at a lose as to how to put herself back together. To make herself complete again.
She was long out of the game of espionage.
Mainly because of him.
In her dreams, he was all she could ever hope.
Loving, gentle and forgiving.
Buffy twisted in her sleep.
Couldn't help but moan his name as he was ripped from her grasp.
Images assaulted her and she tried in vain to keep them at bay.
She didn't want to see.
Didn't want to relive it all.
Her heart couldn't take it.
She had never given herself so freely, foolishly and unforgivably to a man before. He had owned her.
And when he'd tossed her aside she'd felt her world crumble.
Dissolve.
She had vowed then and there to let love go, to leave him behind and move on with her life.
And she had.
All the while missing one essential thing.
Her heart.
She had stored that away. Never to be touched again.
Pain was something she was accustomed to feeling, to using in her work. It had in all intents and purposes been a friend.
In the end, it had been her greatest enemy.
Spike...
Bastard.
She could hate him.
She did hate him.
All she wanted to do was wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze.
She wanted him to feel what it was like to hurt.
To ache.
To shed useless buckets of salt over their ending.
To want to make amends.
She should kill him.
Every time she got this thought, she tried to shove it away. She wasn't like him. She did not murder people.
The law bound her.
The law had bound her then too. Taking him, down had been the right thing to do. However, somewhere between the time she met him and fell in love the line between right and wrong had disappeared.
She had been no better than him.
Her brain mocked her.
What had her good intentions gotten her? It asked.
A broken heart and a world of pain.
A thousand walls put up.
The tiny whispered words from her heart she ignored valiantly.
There was no point in listening to them.
Buffy wasn't sure what made her come awake but she was.
She felt him.
And barely bit back a groan of irritation.
It had been almost a year since she had last seen him. She didn't bother to count the days, the seconds. She knew exactly how long it had been.
She kept her breathing regular and even.
Heard him move around the room.
Heard him leave.
She wanted to get up, to grab her gun and kill him.
She wanted this over with.
This endless circle of pain.
A smirk appeared at her thoughts.
She was sounding like him, she mused. Then lost her amusement as the realization that he was actually here crashed down on her.
She let out a gasp and even though her body protested, sat up.
Immediately settled back down as she heard his steps on the stairs.
Regulated her breathing.
She liked to think whatever things between her and Spike were in the past. That they were finished.
But if she were truly honest with herself, which she tried rarely to be, she knew it would never end between them.
This dance they had.
The steps they took.
Around and around they went.
At one time, he had been her only anchor.
At one time, he had been the boat she sank on.
He liked to talk about betrayal and destruction.
She liked to think about weakness.
He had made her weak.
He'd made her soft.
She had been the best, one of the greatest.
All of her hard work went to hell because of him.
Because of what he made her feel.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She kept her eyes closed tightly as she felt the bed shift under his weight as he sat on the edge of her bed.
Take in your fill, she thought.
Look at me.
I don't need you.
I don't want you.
She'd had so many plans, plans that had involved moving on from him, from her past. From the things, they had done to one another.
But as usual where her plans were concerned he devoured them, chewed them up and spit them out.
Being near him was dangerous, because then he would get to her.
Put her under his spell.
With those blue eyes.
That mouth, that pouty bottom lip.
His voice, deep and rich.
The way her name rolled off his tongue....
A prayer.
A curse.
The hard thrusts of his body.
He had consumed her once. Taken everything she'd had to give and still...
Still God help her if he asked for more, if he asked for her soul she'd give it to him. He had been an undeniable attraction from the start.
The one thing she should have denied herself, the only thing she indulged in.
She hadn't known how could she? How she would crave him.
His warmth.
His darkness.
His hands molding her, taking her.
His brilliant blue eyes bright with love.
She hated him.
She loved him.
His hate-filled words at finding out the truth rushed forward and she was assaulted by a wave of such heart wrenching sadness it was all she could do not to cry out.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She felt his fingers graze her cheek and wanted rub her face against them, to savor his touch.
She knew his pain.
Because it was her own.
Why did she love him?
All she wanted to do was forget about him.
His lips were on her face and her heart was pounding a mile a minute.
She wanted him to stop touching her.
She never wanted him to stop.
It was times like this, in the recess of her mind, sleep on the edge of her consciousness she let herself see the truth.
She'd had more than one occasion to get rid of Spike, to kill him once and for all. To end the madness and every time she had hesitated.
Resisted.
In the dark and murky depths of her soul, she knew she'd never do it. Would never be able to.
He was....
Her soul.
Her heart.
Hers.
He belonged to her.
And she knew...
Without a doubt if she let herself open up to him, let him see that he could easily destroy her with a few well said words he would not hesitate.
Only on the edge of sleep and wakefulness could she allow her true emotions out.
She might hate that he made her feel this way. That he had power over her. That she continued to let him wield it over her...
But she loved him.
Opening her eyes as she felt the firmness of his mouth settle over hers, she met his eyes.
Loved him with the same depth she had when she had exchanged vows with him.
Looked him in the eyes and vowed to love him through better or worse.
But she would never be with him again.
~*~
A/N: I know you guys must be curious as hell about this but I will explain. As I said before this is the last chapter before I indulge in flashbacks. Hope you enjoyed this, Don't worry you'll be having Buffy's point of view soon too. They'll have equal ground on that.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Btvs
A/N: Hi all. Okay folks this chapter is going to be the last of the present time for a bit. Thank you again for the kind reviews.
~*~
Ch:8
His head was pounding. His blood was raging and he was reverting inward with every angry step he took.
He could feel their eyes on him and he didn't care. He ignored them as he paced the livingroom and tried to keep his thoughts away from the woman upstairs.
Which was impossible. If he had been able to do that, he would have done it years ago. If he could have erased her from his mind, she would be gone. However, there was no such drug out there, not enough booze, not enough self-destruction that could shake her from his psyche.
To tell the truth it wouldn't have been so hard if there wasn't the underlining thought that if he let go, if he let her go he'd sink. He'd fall so far and so deep, he would never find himself again. Into the darkness of his soul, into the life he' tried so hard to escape as a child.
Clenching his hands he shook his head and closed his eyes briefly as he tried to get a hold of his wayward emotions.
Opening them, he wasn't surprised to find Anya standing in front of him, hands on hips and an expectant expression on her face.
"What?" he growled.
He wasn't in the mood for her. All she'd done was hound him with her incessant talking and questions. Not to mention the git who was still trying to explain the unexplainable. Or the rambling of Willow. Or the silent accusing stare of the red headed fellow.
"Well when can we go see her? I for one want to know how she likes having my boyfriend in love with her," Anya bit out tightly glaring up at Spike.
Spike's face twisted in anger and resignation.
"Listen how many times do I have to tell you this?! No one is going up there! The doctor's up there right now."
Willow slipped from Oz's grasp and walked up to Anya taking her arm.
"C'mon Anya," she began.
But Anya pulled away.
"You knew didn't you?" Anya demanded angrily. "You knew Xander was in love with Buffy?! I bet you had more than a few laughs with that huh Willow? I mean it's funny isn't it? Here I am working for a woman known as The Slayer who happens to be the object of my boyfriend's affections!! You never did like me," Anya finished at a near yell.
Spike took both Willow and Anya's arms, pulled them to the couch, and shoved them down onto it.
"Shut up," he said quietly.
They glanced at him in surprise and were more than surprised to find his eyes flat and deadly. All of the time they'd waited for the doctor to look Buffy over a varying degree of emotions had passed through his blue eyes.
"Um..." Willow began.
Spike held up a hand.
"Shut up. One more word? And I'll have him shoot your boy over there. I'm sick of your voices," Spike warned dangerously.
"How is she?" Xander exclaimed as he saw Gunn and the portly doctor come down the stairs.
Anya rolled her eyes.
"Riiiiight Xander worry about her. What about me? My money? Oh wait you're in love with her. I forgot," Anya spat out venomously.
Xander looked torn as he turned to face Anya words of apology ready to spring forth.
"I thought I said shut up?" Spike demanded as he gripped Gunn's arm and then led him back up the stairs.
"Let go of me," Gunn advised.
Spike ignored him and slammed him against the wall as he gritted his teeth together and glared at Gunn.
"What happened to her?" he asked.
Gunn's brown eyes flickered to the door of Buffy's room before he shrugged.
"She was in the ocean," he said simply as if there was nothing to it.
Spike's smile was feral as he flashed it at Gunn.
"And I'm Mary fuckin' Margaret. Give me the truth you fuckin' git," he growled his hands tightening on Gunn's shirt.
"Her cell was cut off and I knew something was up. Faith gave me the heads up that you were on the warpath and I was on my way here when Buffy's communications went down. I followed the last signal. Found her washed up on the shore. Unconscious. Chilled to the bone. She has a fever and will likely catch pneumonia. I came straight here. That was a mistake," Gunn stated coldly as he stared into Spike's equally cold eyes.
"Warpath?" Spike finally asked with a smirk. "You haven't even seen a warpath mate. Is she awake?"
"Why do you care?" Gunn spat out. "You're gonna kill her anyway!"
Spike's hands moved of their own violation as they wound themselves around Gunn's neck.
"Shut up," he snarled.
"It's the truth," Gunn gasped out. "I'd kill her myself before I let you get your hands on her!"
"Too late," Spike countered. "They've been all over her. Get down with the others," he ordered as he released Gunn with a shove and turned his back on him.
Gunn reacted quickly reaching out and grabbing Spike by the arm and swinging him into the wall.
Spike's grunt of pain echoed followed by a moan from Gunn as Spike kicked back catching Gunn in the shin and thrusting an elbow into his head Spike whirled and caught Gunn as he slumped.
Jabbed his fist into his gut and let out a quick bout of harsh laughter.
"Don't know where she finds em...always havin' the blokes that wanna protect her. But when will you all learn she doesn't need it? Doesn't want it? That she doesn't need it from me?" he asked conversationally as he took out his frustration on Gunn in a series of kicks and punches.
Finished with him Spike let Gunn slump to the ground and he stared down at him a blank look on his face for a moment.
"That was for suggestin' killin' Buffy. I should kill you for sayin' you would kill her. If any one is it'll be me," he snapped.
Without a backwards look, he strode to Buffy's room and jerked open the door. He gave a shuddering sigh as his eyes landed on her. Shutting the door, he leaned against it for a moment as he tried to settle down.
The room was dark, only the partial light of the moon made the vague outline of Buffy's body visible. It was enough for Spike as he hesitated.
He wasn't thinking straight, he knew. Hadn't been for far too long. Because of her. She was like a poison evading every cell in his body. Slowly eating away at him from the inside.
A sneer formed on his lips as he stepped fully into the room.
The only sound was Buffy's even breathing as she slept.
His eyes glinted dangerously as he slowly prowled the room.
It was always amazing to him that his best-laid plans always fell to pieces whenever he was around her. That nothing ever went according to plan if she was involved.
He felt like a man twisted and torn in two. Two separate beings. William the Bloody who wanted nothing but blood in return for his betrayal. Vengeance. Then there was Spike. The part of him that knew without a doubt he'd never be free. No matter whom he killed. She'd haunt him. So what was the point of vengeance when it served little purpose but to spill blood for blood?
He didn't like listening to either voice. Somehow, when they usually raged and waged war against one another, right now, in this room they were silent.
Content almost.
Spike sat.
In one of the over stuffed armchairs and stared into space.
Rubbed a shaking hand over his face.
He should have been over the worst by now. It wasn't as if this had all happened yesterday. It had been years ago and yet...for him it was never far from his mind. Not the fact that Buffy had put him in the one place he'd arrogantly thought he would never be...but the fact that as much as he hated it , loathed to admit even to himself on the opposite side of all the rage and pain he felt for Buffy was an endless spring of love.
He was up and moving then at the turn of his thoughts. Furiously he shoved them away and rubbed his eyes.
Turned to the door.
Opened it and stepped out.
Wandered downstairs.
He barely knew what he was doing as the voices in his head roared their heads again and he moved past the demanding and accusing voices in the livingroom. Out of the house.
Stood in the chilly night air and inhaled deeply.
Thrust his hands into his pockets and contemplated the sky for long endless moments.
Making up his mind, he turned and entered the house again.
Made his way back up the stairs without a word.
Entered Buffy's room again and shut the door. Looked around quickly. Grabbed the desk chair and jammed it underneath the doorknob.
He retook his seat.
Stared at her.
At his hands.
Let his thoughts flow.
Ignored them.
It would be so easy, he thought, to just go over there.
But he didn't.
His face worked with a million emotions. Too many to describe. He hated the way she could make him feel.
Even in sleep.
Her presence did it.
Calmed the raging beast and soothed his soul.
Bitch, he thought then. Bitter and angry with himself most of all because no matter what he always seemed to come back to her.
To this.
Whatever was between them just would not die.
It was a curse.
A blessing.
At times, it had been the only thing keeping him sane.
At times, it had been the only thing making him insane.
He could kill her, he thought abruptly.
Then a voice whispered in his head, where would he be without her? Without what she brought to him? She'd been a lifeline in prison. The thought of getting back at her. Making her feel what he felt and he knew...it would have been so sweet. Bittersweet.
Stay away from her, his head warned as he found himself moving.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Watched as she twisted in her sleep.
Moaned his name.
A tick began to form at the edge of his eye.
Sometimes the best-laid plans went to hell.
All of his usually did in regards to Buffy.
He had found and he knew it was true with her as well. Being near her caused some sort of chemical reaction in his brain, that over rode all his rational thoughts. All his plans. Leaving him with raw, heart wrenching, gut churning emotions.
He reached out hesitantly.
Stopped himself.
Got up.
Sat back down.
A little closer than before.
Mine.
Yours.
Destroy.
Mine.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
I hate her.
He was now resting beside her.
Staring into her face.
He reached out.
Touched her face.
Let his fingers skim her cheek.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
He blinked rapidly as his chest tightened and he desperately tried to resist her allure. The undeniable urge he had to lay his head next to hers. To take her in. To savor her like he would a vintage wine. To protect her. From himself. Herself. The world.
His fingers tangled in her hair and he inhaled the scent he always recognized as hers.
Vanilla.
He'd never liked the smell much and never all over. Not until her. He'd never felt too many things, or done so much until her.
Wake up.
Look at me.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
I should hate you.
He let his cheek brush hers, his fingers clenching briefly in her hair as his lips barley grazed her flesh.
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
Why do I love you?
In the darkness, in the depths of the night he could let it all go. He could forgive. He could love. He could look at her and feel everything he had the first time he'd made love to her.
Told her he loved her.
In the embrace of the shadows that cloaked his soul he could inhale and let himself crave. Let himself fall.
Let himself remember.
The taste of her lips.
The silkiness of her skin.
The look in her eyes when he was inside of her.
Her gasps of pleasure as he showed her how much he adored her.
His mouth settled over hers.
Blue eyes met green.
And he remembered the pride he'd felt, the love that had overwhelmed him when he'd slipped his ring on her finger.
When he made her his wife.
~*~
It wasn't always nice. Dreaming about him. Usually they turned into nightmares. And she woke screaming.
Usually.
But not tonight.
Not now.
Tonight was a good night.
Maybe she was delirious and fever stricken as the images flickered through her brain never settling.
Always out of her reach.
Usually she didn't mind.
The less she saw the easier it was.
To pretend.
To act like she didn't care that her heart was broken.
Dreams should have been her escape instead, they were her prison. Her self-induced sort of hell.
Every night she closed her eyes she knew...she'd see his face. His eyes and ache all over again.
She had never been comfortable with the feeling of guilt. She never felt guilt over her job. What she did saved innocent lives. She had a purpose.
The law was something to be followed and respected.
He could make her forget that.
He could make her lose control. And for her, control was everything. If she didn't have control then she was left only with the jumbled chaotic mess that she'd become over the last few years.
Was it so bad to want peace? From the world?
From him?
From herself?
Sometimes she just wanted to rest. To let the world defend itself.
To stop struggling with the two sides of herself. She wanted to be Buffy. She wanted no part of the Slayer.
The warrior in her.
Who demanded she continue with the farce of hate and deception. Who wanted nothing more than to release her rage at the world. To kill Spike.
Then there was Buffy.
The woman in her.
The one who only wanted to be loved, who didn't like telling lies. Who knew from the very beginning what she was getting into would be the end of her and didn't care. Buffy who was impulsive, reckless and able to walk the thin line between love and hate.
She'd been ripped in two and was at a lose as to how to put herself back together. To make herself complete again.
She was long out of the game of espionage.
Mainly because of him.
In her dreams, he was all she could ever hope.
Loving, gentle and forgiving.
Buffy twisted in her sleep.
Couldn't help but moan his name as he was ripped from her grasp.
Images assaulted her and she tried in vain to keep them at bay.
She didn't want to see.
Didn't want to relive it all.
Her heart couldn't take it.
She had never given herself so freely, foolishly and unforgivably to a man before. He had owned her.
And when he'd tossed her aside she'd felt her world crumble.
Dissolve.
She had vowed then and there to let love go, to leave him behind and move on with her life.
And she had.
All the while missing one essential thing.
Her heart.
She had stored that away. Never to be touched again.
Pain was something she was accustomed to feeling, to using in her work. It had in all intents and purposes been a friend.
In the end, it had been her greatest enemy.
Spike...
Bastard.
She could hate him.
She did hate him.
All she wanted to do was wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze.
She wanted him to feel what it was like to hurt.
To ache.
To shed useless buckets of salt over their ending.
To want to make amends.
She should kill him.
Every time she got this thought, she tried to shove it away. She wasn't like him. She did not murder people.
The law bound her.
The law had bound her then too. Taking him, down had been the right thing to do. However, somewhere between the time she met him and fell in love the line between right and wrong had disappeared.
She had been no better than him.
Her brain mocked her.
What had her good intentions gotten her? It asked.
A broken heart and a world of pain.
A thousand walls put up.
The tiny whispered words from her heart she ignored valiantly.
There was no point in listening to them.
Buffy wasn't sure what made her come awake but she was.
She felt him.
And barely bit back a groan of irritation.
It had been almost a year since she had last seen him. She didn't bother to count the days, the seconds. She knew exactly how long it had been.
She kept her breathing regular and even.
Heard him move around the room.
Heard him leave.
She wanted to get up, to grab her gun and kill him.
She wanted this over with.
This endless circle of pain.
A smirk appeared at her thoughts.
She was sounding like him, she mused. Then lost her amusement as the realization that he was actually here crashed down on her.
She let out a gasp and even though her body protested, sat up.
Immediately settled back down as she heard his steps on the stairs.
Regulated her breathing.
She liked to think whatever things between her and Spike were in the past. That they were finished.
But if she were truly honest with herself, which she tried rarely to be, she knew it would never end between them.
This dance they had.
The steps they took.
Around and around they went.
At one time, he had been her only anchor.
At one time, he had been the boat she sank on.
He liked to talk about betrayal and destruction.
She liked to think about weakness.
He had made her weak.
He'd made her soft.
She had been the best, one of the greatest.
All of her hard work went to hell because of him.
Because of what he made her feel.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She kept her eyes closed tightly as she felt the bed shift under his weight as he sat on the edge of her bed.
Take in your fill, she thought.
Look at me.
I don't need you.
I don't want you.
She'd had so many plans, plans that had involved moving on from him, from her past. From the things, they had done to one another.
But as usual where her plans were concerned he devoured them, chewed them up and spit them out.
Being near him was dangerous, because then he would get to her.
Put her under his spell.
With those blue eyes.
That mouth, that pouty bottom lip.
His voice, deep and rich.
The way her name rolled off his tongue....
A prayer.
A curse.
The hard thrusts of his body.
He had consumed her once. Taken everything she'd had to give and still...
Still God help her if he asked for more, if he asked for her soul she'd give it to him. He had been an undeniable attraction from the start.
The one thing she should have denied herself, the only thing she indulged in.
She hadn't known how could she? How she would crave him.
His warmth.
His darkness.
His hands molding her, taking her.
His brilliant blue eyes bright with love.
She hated him.
She loved him.
His hate-filled words at finding out the truth rushed forward and she was assaulted by a wave of such heart wrenching sadness it was all she could do not to cry out.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She felt his fingers graze her cheek and wanted rub her face against them, to savor his touch.
She knew his pain.
Because it was her own.
Why did she love him?
All she wanted to do was forget about him.
His lips were on her face and her heart was pounding a mile a minute.
She wanted him to stop touching her.
She never wanted him to stop.
It was times like this, in the recess of her mind, sleep on the edge of her consciousness she let herself see the truth.
She'd had more than one occasion to get rid of Spike, to kill him once and for all. To end the madness and every time she had hesitated.
Resisted.
In the dark and murky depths of her soul, she knew she'd never do it. Would never be able to.
He was....
Her soul.
Her heart.
Hers.
He belonged to her.
And she knew...
Without a doubt if she let herself open up to him, let him see that he could easily destroy her with a few well said words he would not hesitate.
Only on the edge of sleep and wakefulness could she allow her true emotions out.
She might hate that he made her feel this way. That he had power over her. That she continued to let him wield it over her...
But she loved him.
Opening her eyes as she felt the firmness of his mouth settle over hers, she met his eyes.
Loved him with the same depth she had when she had exchanged vows with him.
Looked him in the eyes and vowed to love him through better or worse.
But she would never be with him again.
~*~
A/N: I know you guys must be curious as hell about this but I will explain. As I said before this is the last chapter before I indulge in flashbacks. Hope you enjoyed this, Don't worry you'll be having Buffy's point of view soon too. They'll have equal ground on that.