DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara
McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own
nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my
crazy thoughts with others.
Wow! I got some reviews. It really does bolster the ego, so thank you very much. Now, beware when reading this chapter, you might get a little concerned about my intentions. But have faith, I am entirely loyal to the presence of Spuffy and this fiction will not let you down in the end. :o)
Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed, Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved,
Buffy gasped and sat up in the bed, her mind instantly alert, her heart pounding. The sheets pooled around her thighs in a white blur while moonlight traced blue shadows on her shivering body. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her head to the pillow. A peal of thunder groaned softly overhead and her tiny hand reached across the empty bed, fingers curling into the cool sheets.
He had come again, alive in her dreams, real in the sanctuary of her sleep. She could still hear his voice, could still see his lips forming her name. She could taste those lips too, from what seemed like a thousand years ago. They tasted of fire and passion and something much softer that she never dared to consider before. And his arms, she felt them too, cool and firm around her. He would never let go until she pushed. Except now he had. And he would always reach for her again. Except now he couldn't.
But, she was the reason. The reason he would never curl his beautiful lips in a smirk. The reason he would never eat hot wings or run his long white fingers through his even whiter hair. Lightning slashed outside the windows, illuminating the room for an instant.
"Why?" she breathed, knowing the answer, feeling it burn her with shame.
For her, of course. The moment she handed him the amulet, he had known. Maybe she had been too stupid to see the truth, but when his fingers wrapped around that necklace, he accepted her offer and his own death. And he never hesitated. Because he knew she needed him.
"It wasn't love," she whispered aloud, though a tear raced down her temple to deny the claim she had voiced a hundred times in the last three months. Three months. How could three months feel so long?
Another groan of the storm rumbled in the sky above sending a pattering of rain across the rooftop. She rolled her head to the side to look out the large windows in the room. They looked out over a vast expanse of Los Angelescity life. And somewhere miles beyond those glittering city lights was the road to Sunnydale. It would have already rained tonight in Sunnydale. Sunnyhell.
She smiled, remembering his nicknames. Remembering his accent. Remembering the way he tapped his fingers and twitched his legs, always moving, always bristling with raw energy. She could still see the amber glow of his cigarette tip as he leaned against her tree. Always watching her.
His presence had been like the moon each night. She never considered it necessary. She rarely considered it at all. Now she had to consider her life without it. Without Spike.
The door to the bedroom creaked open and she roughly swiped the remaining wetness from her face before looking to the door. She couldn't pretend to sleep. He would know by her heartbeat that she was awake.
"Did the storm wake you?" Angel asked, approaching the bed and sliding beneath the sheets quietly.
She turned her back to him, resisting the urge to stiffen her spine when his arms encircled her.
"No," she said, "A dream did."
His arms squeezed her reassuringly. It was always like that with him. So easy. His broad shoulders and kind voice always ready to soothe. His eyes were impossibly warm, his hands always tender on her. He was everything she had wished for. He was her first love, the light of her youth.
"I'm sorry. Was it frightening?"
But she missed the darkness.
"No," she said firmly as the ache in her grew, "it was a good dream."
Wow! I got some reviews. It really does bolster the ego, so thank you very much. Now, beware when reading this chapter, you might get a little concerned about my intentions. But have faith, I am entirely loyal to the presence of Spuffy and this fiction will not let you down in the end. :o)
Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed, Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved,
Buffy gasped and sat up in the bed, her mind instantly alert, her heart pounding. The sheets pooled around her thighs in a white blur while moonlight traced blue shadows on her shivering body. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her head to the pillow. A peal of thunder groaned softly overhead and her tiny hand reached across the empty bed, fingers curling into the cool sheets.
He had come again, alive in her dreams, real in the sanctuary of her sleep. She could still hear his voice, could still see his lips forming her name. She could taste those lips too, from what seemed like a thousand years ago. They tasted of fire and passion and something much softer that she never dared to consider before. And his arms, she felt them too, cool and firm around her. He would never let go until she pushed. Except now he had. And he would always reach for her again. Except now he couldn't.
But, she was the reason. The reason he would never curl his beautiful lips in a smirk. The reason he would never eat hot wings or run his long white fingers through his even whiter hair. Lightning slashed outside the windows, illuminating the room for an instant.
"Why?" she breathed, knowing the answer, feeling it burn her with shame.
For her, of course. The moment she handed him the amulet, he had known. Maybe she had been too stupid to see the truth, but when his fingers wrapped around that necklace, he accepted her offer and his own death. And he never hesitated. Because he knew she needed him.
"It wasn't love," she whispered aloud, though a tear raced down her temple to deny the claim she had voiced a hundred times in the last three months. Three months. How could three months feel so long?
Another groan of the storm rumbled in the sky above sending a pattering of rain across the rooftop. She rolled her head to the side to look out the large windows in the room. They looked out over a vast expanse of Los Angelescity life. And somewhere miles beyond those glittering city lights was the road to Sunnydale. It would have already rained tonight in Sunnydale. Sunnyhell.
She smiled, remembering his nicknames. Remembering his accent. Remembering the way he tapped his fingers and twitched his legs, always moving, always bristling with raw energy. She could still see the amber glow of his cigarette tip as he leaned against her tree. Always watching her.
His presence had been like the moon each night. She never considered it necessary. She rarely considered it at all. Now she had to consider her life without it. Without Spike.
The door to the bedroom creaked open and she roughly swiped the remaining wetness from her face before looking to the door. She couldn't pretend to sleep. He would know by her heartbeat that she was awake.
"Did the storm wake you?" Angel asked, approaching the bed and sliding beneath the sheets quietly.
She turned her back to him, resisting the urge to stiffen her spine when his arms encircled her.
"No," she said, "A dream did."
His arms squeezed her reassuringly. It was always like that with him. So easy. His broad shoulders and kind voice always ready to soothe. His eyes were impossibly warm, his hands always tender on her. He was everything she had wished for. He was her first love, the light of her youth.
"I'm sorry. Was it frightening?"
But she missed the darkness.
"No," she said firmly as the ache in her grew, "it was a good dream."
