The Beginning of Wisdom

By

Anessa Ramsey

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Buffy, Season 7 through 'Get It Done'; Four years past X-Men (the movie) cause Rogue is 20.

Pairing:  Spike/Rogue

Feedback:  Absolutely!  Good or bad, let me know.  No flames.

Distribution:  Want. Take. Have.  Just drop me a line to let me know where it's going.

Disclaimer:  I own nothing.  Everything Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon.  Everything X-men belongs to Marvel.

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Falling in love is the beginning of all wisdom,

all sympathy, all compassion, all art, all religion;

And in its larger sense is the only thing in life worth doing.

~ Elbert Hubbard

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         Rogue scanned the club, looking through the throng of people for any sign of Spike, the interesting vampire that she met three nights before.  She took in the people around her dressed in bright clothing, leading bright, cheerful lives that involved hugs, touches, kisses...  She missed that the most.  She'd only experienced two kisses in her whole life before her power manifested and one had been when she was five.  The other put the guy she kissed in a coma.

         She glanced down at her outfit, hoping she looked okay.  The denim clung to her legs only to flare outward at her calves and they rested snugly on her hips, the scarf that was tied around her waist dangling down against her leg.  Her shirt was deep purple spandex that fit tight to her skin with a sheer lilac overlay that made sure the skin revealed by the plunging V neckline was covered as well.  She had another scarf wrapped around her neck and a pair of black boots on her feet.  A backwards corduroy lilac newsboy hat rested lightly on her head and pair of short black leather gloves encased her hands.  She knew that other girls got to wear short skirts and really revealing clothing and every once in a while she wished that she was able to wear clothes like that as well.  She wished a lot of things.  Right at the moment though, she was wishing for the appearance of a bleach blonde vampire with amazing blue eyes.

         She drank another sip of her Coke and took out her wallet, laying five dollars down on the counter and standing to leave.  She'd been waiting for three hours in the hopes that he'd decide to show up and now she was ready to give up.  She didn't even really know him, yet she couldn't seem to get him out of her head.  She walked toward the door when she felt a shiver race up her spine, the same shiver she'd felt the first time she saw him. 

         She stopped, not moving because she knew he was behind her.  "Where are you going, luv?"  His stolen breath stirred her hair and tickled the flesh of her ear, sending goosebumps racing down her arms.  This was only their second meeting and already her body had this awareness of him that it never had for anyone else…not even Logan.

         "I was leaving."  There was no way she was going to let him know she'd been waiting for him.

         "Were you looking for me?"

         "No."

         "Liar."  The word was just a breath of air against her skin, a whisper of a sigh that caused her to lean back into him.  What was happening to her?  "I was watching you…"

         "And?"

         "You didn't talk to any one of those wankers that approached you.  Why?"

         "Didn't feel like it."  She shrugged lightly to emphasize her point.

         "Tell the truth, luv."

         She sighed.  This was hard.  Her body was screaming for him to touch her.  How could he make her feel this way so easily?  "They can't touch me."

         "Those gits couldn't but any vampire can touch you.  All you had to do was find one that didn't want to turn you into a meal.  Why were you waiting for me?"

         She didn't answer.  She couldn't tell him.  That would give him too much power over her.  She wasn't going to be here long and she didn't want to leave this town with a broken heart.  And he was fully capable of breaking it with his seductive little whispers and azure eyes full of pain and a desire to be loved. 

         "Rogue."  Her name rolled off his tongue like honey, a sinfully sweet benediction worshipping her just with his use of it.  "Tell me why."

         She turned to him, the absence of his body so close to her sending a shock of realization through her.  She wanted him so much.  Logan would kill her.  That didn't matter right now though.  He looked different than the last time she saw him.  That same look was in his eyes, even though he was doing his best to hide it.  Now, though, he was dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather duster.  The combat boots were still part of his attire, but his hair was no longer a riot of tousled white curls.  Instead it was slicked back and she longed to run her fingers through it to mess it up again.  He didn't look so hard or harsh when he let it curl.  "Because you touch me," she said softly, giving him the answer he wanted.  She placed more emphasis on the word 'touch' letting him know it went beyond the physical.  She gazed into his eyes.  "What happened?"  Her hand went to his hair and she ran her fingers through it, surprised to find it was still soft despite being slicked back.

         "Someone thought I should be who I was before the soul.  Said they needed me that way, so here I am."

         "Was it her?" 

         He knew she was referring to the girl he'd been getting drunk over.  She didn't know her name or that she was a slayer, but she knew enough to know that he would do anything for this girl.  He was beginning to think that wouldn't be the case anymore.  Not if things with Rogue got any more intense.  Only the slayer had ever affected him this way and he thought she'd been the only one who ever would, but obviously that wasn't the case.  "Yeah."  It came out a weary sigh.

         "Oh."  There was nothing she could say to that.  He was willing to change his entire attitude and appearance for this girl.  The Spike who walked her back to the motel the other night was reluctant to even take her hand and this one was trying to seduce her.  Who was he really? 

         A tinge of a smile touched his full lips and she realized she spoke that last part aloud.  Even as the blush tinged her cheeks, he said, "I'm just me, luv.  Clothes don't matter.  I still have my soul, still write poetry, though it's not so bad anymore…" he was going to continue but she interrupted him.

         "Poetry?"

         "It's what I did…when I was alive.  It was bloody awful.  That's how I got the name William the Bloody…Awful Poet.  Not one of my better memories, but then, I don't have many of those."

         She smiled, trying to picture him as a young man in the 1800's.  He didn't look like a poet but he had the romantic heart of one, that she could tell.  It obviously had been broken many times.  Had anyone really loved him unconditionally?  The thought made her sad.  No one should have to spend their life, or unlife in this case, without love.  She reached up and tried to lighten the subject a little.  Her hands sifted through his hair and soon she was ruffling it, causing it to spike and curl like it had been the other night.  "Much better."

         "Thanks."  He meant it.  She knew that he didn't want to go back to being the way he was.  He didn't mind certain things, like the attitude or the cigarettes, but he didn't need the rest of it.  It wasn't him anymore.  She was the first and only person to see that.

         "You're welcome.  So did you come to dance or just to stand here talking to me all night?"

         "Actually, I needed a drink and I'm not exactly welcome at my usual place."

         "Well, don't you know how to make a girl feel special."  He smirked at her sarcasm as she hooked her arm through his.  Together they strolled toward the bar.  "You can buy me a Coke and then we can dance.  I didn't get to dance last time and I want to see your moves."

         "You sure you can keep up?"

         She laughed and sat down on a stool.  "I'll dance circles around you blondie."

         "Oh I hope so, luv."  He ordered a beer and a coke for Rogue and they talked and danced and talked some more, neither of them noticing two sets of eyes, each pair watching them from opposite sides of the club.