Buffy woke up a couple hours later, still wrapped tightly in Spike's arms.
She felt . . . safe? Nothing could touch her while she was there. It was
nice. But how had—the dream? Oh God! No, she couldn't think about it
right now. It was fragmented, what she remembered, and nothing seemed
particularly terrifying. But there was Something that had scared her more
than anything. If Spike hadn't pulled her back . . .
She should leave, but she didn't want to. This was the place she wanted to be more than anything. Her demon insecurities threatened to raise their heads—every time Buffy got close to this feeling of . . . she pulled back. But after that dream she wouldn't run, she was determined to stay.
Buffy looked at her protector. Ask her a month, no, night ago if she would ever be this close to Spike again and she probably would have staked you (demon or human). But in the blink of an eye, that sentiment had changed. She had changed, or was trying to. There were the voices tugging at her still, calling her mad to have done what she did, forgiving him after . . . She sighed, causing Spike to pull her closer.
He was amazing, all things considered. He'd done some things that, well . . . but who wasn't guilty of some err in judgment or action. She had really never given him a chance, but he tried again and again to prove himself worthy while she refused to see. She'd acknowledged it briefly that day after Glory had nearly done him in, but had pushed it away refusing to see that he could be anything but selfish. You could only do so much with the motive of winning points with a person before self- preservation kicked in . . . but he had with-stood Glory's queries and rummagings and torture . . .
Still, he was and always would be a creature of the dark. But that didn't stop her from loving Angel. Soul aside, how different were the two vampires really? True the chip had reigned Spike in, kept him from hurting her friends; for Angel it had been his soul, which without he was a monster. And when the chip didn't work on her anymore, Spike never did anything to her that she didn't do to him. Despite having no soul, Spike seemed to retain more of his humanity than even a souled Angel.
That was it! All along, the one of the main reasons she had pushed Spike away was that tiny little difference. He was the better man. And Angel had hurt her more deeply than any of Spike's actions, including the bathroom, ever could because Angel had made her build the walls that chased everyone else away.
She softly traced the scarred eyebrow, wondering when and how Spike had gotten it. Obviously it was before he became a vampire, but what little she knew of William the Bloody, he was definitely not the type prone to brawling as his successor was. That brought to mind the poems she had received recently. Not that Buffy was an expert on poetry (or any of the literary arts for that matter), but the poems hadn't seemed that awful when she'd read them. Actually, she was quite flattered. None of the other men in her past had taken the time. Maybe a hundred some odd years as a vampire had helped?
Spike was the only one who never held back. He was never fearful of telling her like it was, especially the truth about herself whether she was willing to hear it or not (the latter occurring the majority of the time). When she came back, Spike treated her the same as always—she may have been brought back from the dead, but she was still Buffy. He didn't act like nothing had happened or treat her like she was some fragile piece of glass that would break at the least disturbance. He had made her feel alive again—no, that wasn't it, he had made her feel like she had never died. Living again wasn't so terrible when he was around.
Spike helped her and Buffy hurt him in return, time and time again. She didn't hate him because he was a soulless, evil creature (as she told him repeatedly); she hated him because he knew her so well and got so close.
After her dream tonight he had been genuinely concerned. There was something safe about this dangerous creature that lay beside her, a duality among many that attracted her powerfully. Before she could think and knowing full well where things would lead once she started them, Buffy gently kissed Spike on the mouth and slowly deepened it as he began to respond.
~*~
Just as things were starting to heat up, Spike opened his eyes and pulled back.
"Bloody hell! Slayer, what do you think you're doing?!"
"Well, I was kissing you."
He rolled his eyes.
"Spike, I—"
He put a finger to her lips. "I thought we were starting over, pet?"
"We are, but—"
"Buffy, luv, I can't go down that path again. You wanting one thing and me wanting another from all this—I don't think I can go through that again."
"I know that, Spike. I—"
"Even you said yourself that it was killing you having things like they were."
~*~
She couldn't really fault the guy; it wasn't like he was party to her internal monologue or anything. To anyone but herself, it would seem that Buffy was indeed falling into an old pattern. Time to try a new tack.
In one fluid movement, Buffy was on top of Spike kissing him again. After a moment she pulled back, "Now are you going to let me get a word in edgewise or am I going to have to do things the hard way."
~*~
He scrutinized her carefully. Made up her mind about things finally, had she? Well, he'd just have to see. "The 'hard way' sounds appealing."
"Thought so. Too bad you get to listen anyway," she smiled.
"Figures."
"You know me better than I know myself or ever want to know myself. And you've been right all along."
His face remained neutral while inside everything was in turmoil. First off there was the whole trying to restrain himself with the Slayer putting the moves on him—very difficult. Then there was the possibility of things being the same as always—Buffy nice one minute, ready to stake him the next. Love's bitch he would not be again.
"Spike, I've been going crazy the past few months. Since you've left I haven't wanted to admit that I've missed you."
This was a start.
"And I am sick and tired of denying to myself that you are the only person on this damn planet who understands me and has understood me from day one. I don't like needing people, Spike, but I need you." She sighed, looking at him completely open and honest. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't hate you and I haven't for a long time."
Not one to look a Gift Slayer in the mouth too long, Spike conceded at last and took what Buffy had been offering him all along. He always would be love's bitch.
She should leave, but she didn't want to. This was the place she wanted to be more than anything. Her demon insecurities threatened to raise their heads—every time Buffy got close to this feeling of . . . she pulled back. But after that dream she wouldn't run, she was determined to stay.
Buffy looked at her protector. Ask her a month, no, night ago if she would ever be this close to Spike again and she probably would have staked you (demon or human). But in the blink of an eye, that sentiment had changed. She had changed, or was trying to. There were the voices tugging at her still, calling her mad to have done what she did, forgiving him after . . . She sighed, causing Spike to pull her closer.
He was amazing, all things considered. He'd done some things that, well . . . but who wasn't guilty of some err in judgment or action. She had really never given him a chance, but he tried again and again to prove himself worthy while she refused to see. She'd acknowledged it briefly that day after Glory had nearly done him in, but had pushed it away refusing to see that he could be anything but selfish. You could only do so much with the motive of winning points with a person before self- preservation kicked in . . . but he had with-stood Glory's queries and rummagings and torture . . .
Still, he was and always would be a creature of the dark. But that didn't stop her from loving Angel. Soul aside, how different were the two vampires really? True the chip had reigned Spike in, kept him from hurting her friends; for Angel it had been his soul, which without he was a monster. And when the chip didn't work on her anymore, Spike never did anything to her that she didn't do to him. Despite having no soul, Spike seemed to retain more of his humanity than even a souled Angel.
That was it! All along, the one of the main reasons she had pushed Spike away was that tiny little difference. He was the better man. And Angel had hurt her more deeply than any of Spike's actions, including the bathroom, ever could because Angel had made her build the walls that chased everyone else away.
She softly traced the scarred eyebrow, wondering when and how Spike had gotten it. Obviously it was before he became a vampire, but what little she knew of William the Bloody, he was definitely not the type prone to brawling as his successor was. That brought to mind the poems she had received recently. Not that Buffy was an expert on poetry (or any of the literary arts for that matter), but the poems hadn't seemed that awful when she'd read them. Actually, she was quite flattered. None of the other men in her past had taken the time. Maybe a hundred some odd years as a vampire had helped?
Spike was the only one who never held back. He was never fearful of telling her like it was, especially the truth about herself whether she was willing to hear it or not (the latter occurring the majority of the time). When she came back, Spike treated her the same as always—she may have been brought back from the dead, but she was still Buffy. He didn't act like nothing had happened or treat her like she was some fragile piece of glass that would break at the least disturbance. He had made her feel alive again—no, that wasn't it, he had made her feel like she had never died. Living again wasn't so terrible when he was around.
Spike helped her and Buffy hurt him in return, time and time again. She didn't hate him because he was a soulless, evil creature (as she told him repeatedly); she hated him because he knew her so well and got so close.
After her dream tonight he had been genuinely concerned. There was something safe about this dangerous creature that lay beside her, a duality among many that attracted her powerfully. Before she could think and knowing full well where things would lead once she started them, Buffy gently kissed Spike on the mouth and slowly deepened it as he began to respond.
~*~
Just as things were starting to heat up, Spike opened his eyes and pulled back.
"Bloody hell! Slayer, what do you think you're doing?!"
"Well, I was kissing you."
He rolled his eyes.
"Spike, I—"
He put a finger to her lips. "I thought we were starting over, pet?"
"We are, but—"
"Buffy, luv, I can't go down that path again. You wanting one thing and me wanting another from all this—I don't think I can go through that again."
"I know that, Spike. I—"
"Even you said yourself that it was killing you having things like they were."
~*~
She couldn't really fault the guy; it wasn't like he was party to her internal monologue or anything. To anyone but herself, it would seem that Buffy was indeed falling into an old pattern. Time to try a new tack.
In one fluid movement, Buffy was on top of Spike kissing him again. After a moment she pulled back, "Now are you going to let me get a word in edgewise or am I going to have to do things the hard way."
~*~
He scrutinized her carefully. Made up her mind about things finally, had she? Well, he'd just have to see. "The 'hard way' sounds appealing."
"Thought so. Too bad you get to listen anyway," she smiled.
"Figures."
"You know me better than I know myself or ever want to know myself. And you've been right all along."
His face remained neutral while inside everything was in turmoil. First off there was the whole trying to restrain himself with the Slayer putting the moves on him—very difficult. Then there was the possibility of things being the same as always—Buffy nice one minute, ready to stake him the next. Love's bitch he would not be again.
"Spike, I've been going crazy the past few months. Since you've left I haven't wanted to admit that I've missed you."
This was a start.
"And I am sick and tired of denying to myself that you are the only person on this damn planet who understands me and has understood me from day one. I don't like needing people, Spike, but I need you." She sighed, looking at him completely open and honest. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't hate you and I haven't for a long time."
Not one to look a Gift Slayer in the mouth too long, Spike conceded at last and took what Buffy had been offering him all along. He always would be love's bitch.
