*********************************TRAppED******************************
Forty-Two: Come Un-done
By Annie
2003-06-26
************************************************************************
Day Thirty-Six.
10.35 p.m.
He was still on his knees as she came to a slow stop before him. Looking up at her he seemed as the worshipper before his shrine, in frail prayer for a sign that he was not there in vain.
She met his gaze for the longest stretch of minutes, her heart beating hard in her chest as though to let her know that she was still alive, in spite of her already feeling as though she was floating somewhere out of herself; and then he broke eye contact, turning himself over to his right to sit down in the manner he had been seated before Angel interrupted his musings.
Buffy swallowed; observing him for a moment and then she carefully claimed a spot beside him.
"It's hard to believe the things that live down there," she finally broke the stillness residing between them, referring to the what lie spilled out and twinkling in the dark night before them; and though he didn't look at her, he nodded. "It looks so beautiful from up here... You couldn't imagine all the... death."
Once again there was quiet and she had to clench her teeth together to keep herself from turning her head to him; she had the most overwhelming notion that if she did she would burst into weak, girlish tears, and that when he asked her why she was crying them she wouldn't have a good enough answer to give him. She kept her gaze on those city lights, on that veil of beauty that lie over cruelty and pain, over loss and grief, over that cycle of life taking place on the streets far below.
"I met this man," he suddenly said and she blinked in un-called for surprise at the soft sound of his voice breaking through her thoughts; and she did turn her head to look at his profile as he continued to speak, but she didn't cry as she listened to his story. "I met him on the road from Venice to Rome and he was driving a carriage drawn by two really old and dusty, from the dirt of the road, I 'spose, donkeys. They were grey, I remember... with white patches around their noses. Dru was just getting sickly 'round that time and I didn't know what to do... I asked him for a ride thinking he'd make a good enough meal for the both of us - the donkeys would suffice as well... and he smiled. I remember that smile 'til this day. So open, somehow. Like it wanted to tell me how welcome I was to just sodding step right into his world, you know?"
She nodded slowly, twisting herself a little where she sat so that she could eye him without straining her back. He was still faced forward as he continued:
"On the back of the carriage he had two barrels - wine, I'd come to find out - and three bales of hay. He told me I should put Dru on the latter ones, and I did... She kept murmuring my name, but my human one... William, William... Over and over. It was driving me clear outta my bloody head 'cause then she'd suddenly open her eyes and when she looked at me she whispered 'Spike' instead... I don't know why. I never asked her why. So, the man offered me to sit next to him up front and I thought why the hell not, it'll make everything easier. Save me the surprise-from-behind approach. So I jumped up and sat down in the driver's seat beside him. It was really hard, made of two old boards. He told me - later on - that he hadn't the heart to pluck them down and replace them with something more comfortable 'cause his son had made that seat for him; his eldest, he said. And he had moved away to another country with his bride and they hadn't seen each other in eleven years... That really got to me, for some reason.
"Anyways, Dru fell asleep, and I praised my lucky star for it, and I was trying my best to figure a way that I could attack without setting the donkeys off in a fright - carriage and all, when the man turned to me and said that I didn't look Italian. And I really had to buggering smirk at that. And then I answered that I was Englishman and he raised his eyebrows, then chuckled before asking me what I was doing so far away from home... And then he glanced over at Dru before asking me if she was my wife. I told him she was without a second thought and he nodded that that was a good thing. But that I shouldn't be travelling with her if she was taking ill. I replied that I might have just the cure for her, getting ready to make my move when he asked me if I thought the seat was comfortable and then he told me about his son. He looked at me for a little while after that; he had brown eyes, almost black... They were keen... friendly... observant. Then he asked me if I was running from something, 'cause that was what his son had been forced to do."
Spike paused, looking at his hands for a few moments before he raised his eyes to the sky. The memories seemed to have gotten the better of him and Buffy watched him as she herself grew thoughtful, as well as curious to know what the point of this tale was.
Finally he began to speak once more.
"I told him that in a way I was... running away. I didn't tell him that what I was trying to escape was who I once had been... We talked for hours after that. About simple things, grand things, it didn't matter. He told me about his life and I fabricated the life I thought he'd want me to tell him about... But the interesting conversations were about philosophy, art, the world and the people in it... We drank from the wine, he shared it willingly... He read a lot, he confided. He even wrote gibberish in an old notebook that he carried around with him and I smiled and showed him mine, which made him smile as well. We thought alike, mortal and living dead. Soul and demon. That night was the first night in a very long time... well, actually since Dru and me parted with Angel about ten years or so earlier, that I felt truly at peace. Like there was something right in the world..."
He trailed off, and when he this time fell silent for several minutes Buffy couldn't take it, she had to ask:
"And the moral of this story is?"
"For a night this man made me FEEL like a man for the first time in thirty- two years. But that didn't stop me from killing him. That didn't stop me from having Drusilla bloody drain him. That didn't make me think two seconds about whether or not I should kill his two much beloved pet beasts of burden. I killed them, all three of them, Buffy. With no bleeding remorse..."
She stared at him and he turned his head to rest his eyes in hers. She was evidently shaken, and he sighed.
"The moral of this story is that you can't trust me. I'm not good for you, love. In the end, who knows, I just might end up being something that I've been for a hundred-and-twenty-three years, without being able to stop myself," he grumbled, looking away from her and she furrowed her brow slightly before she reached out a hand and placed it gently on his arm.
"If I believed that, I wouldn't be sitting here," she said and he glanced at her. "Spike... Do YOU believe that? Really?"
"I don't bloody know," he muttered, shaking her hand off and rising to his feet. "YOU don't know me," he added and she raised her eyebrows.
"I want to..." she mumbled and he shook his head.
"I don't think so," he disagreed. "My story isn't something I could tell around bedtime, it wouldn't give you any sweet dreams... it wouldn't make you hold me in sodding high regard. I'm a monster, Buffy. How could you ever...?"
He trailed off, his expression growing tight and she looked up at him before she got to her feet as well.
"What did Angel say to you?" she asked and he ground his teeth, then shrugged.
"Nothing that I hadn't already thought of myself," he then replied and she took a step forward.
He took one back and then raised one hand slightly, as if to fend her off, keep her back.
"Don't," he said. "Please..." She furrowed her brow. "I need to be alone for just... a few... a little while," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly bare and vulnerable.
She met them, seeing the underlying seriousness, and she suddenly realized what he was trying to do.
"No," she replied, taking another step forward, stopping right before him and he looked down at her with growing frailty before he put one hand up and let his fingertips stroke her left cheek.
"I could never hurt you," he nearly whispered and she shook her head, reaching up one hand and taking his.
"Then don't go anywhere," she then said and he closed his eyes, leaning forward slightly he rested his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes as well.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her face to the side of his throat and he cautiously held her back, burying his nose in her soft locks and breathing her scent as a human would breathe the air.
No, he could never leave her. He could never walk away.
They stood embraced for a long time and then they slowly pulled apart, looking at each other and both soon smiling a little. Buffy turned and sunk down on the grass again, Spike not late to follow her lead and they once again found themselves gazing at the view of Sunnydale.
"What did the man write?" she suddenly asked and he turned his head to her, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "In his 'notebook'," she elaborated and Spike looked away, beginning to fiddle with the straws of grass beneath him with his right hand as he answered in a not so uneasy voice:
"Poetry, if I remember correctly."
She frowned deeply this time as she studied him for a short while, then she asked the inevitable, and he had to wonder what had EVER possessed him to actually mention something so personal, had he really thought that she wouldn't fit the pieces together?
"So what did you write in yours?"
"Mine...?" he tried the oblivious road, but it took him nowhere as she merely gave him a look not to play coy. He grumbled under his breath, then said: "Short stories... a lot of those, actually. But mostly... Bloody hell."
She smiled brightly at his discomfort and he gave her a murderous look, which only lead to the former broadening further.
"You're a poet?" she then inquired, trying to keep the tease out of her voice, but this discovery was simply too unbelievable for her brain to fully process as it was, having it be completely serious would make it not short of impossible.
"Shut your gob," he growled and she smirked.
"Sorry," she said, stripping her face of any sign of merriment and clearing her throat.
Looking away from him she couldn't keep a tiny smile off her mouth and he saw it as he watched her profile. He couldn't do anything but mirror it as he thought of what a shock this must have been to her.
"I WAS a poet," he then confessed and she turned her head back to him, clearly interested and very curious, and so he continued: "When I was human. I was a sodding pathetic excuse for one, though. Poet, I mean... But I perfected my skill," he shrugged and she looked hesitant before she asked:
"Can I read it? I mean, some of it...?"
"I've burned most of it," he replied, not meeting her gaze now and she didn't know whether to push further on the subject, or simply let it lie.
She chose the latter.
"Spike," she then said, voice low and he nodded, not looking at her. "If I was sick... dying," she continued and at that his head swirled to her, his eyes widening with questions and she shook her head calmingly. "I'm not," she reassured. "But if I was... Would you turn me?"
He blinked.
"Not even if you begged me," he murmured and something dark drew across his features which had her furrow her brow again.
She wasn't entirely sure from where the question had emerged. But once she asked it she had known that it had been in the back of her mind for a while now. Where he would stand if his bite wouldn't kill, but bring another sort of life to her... If he would lose her if he did not use the gift that was his to give.
She hadn't been expecting anything but the truth, whatever that may be, and she had obviously gotten it. It was a relief, but she got the feeling there was more to it. That look on his face, in his eyes... He looked positively heartbroken.
"Why?" she wondered as a response to his previous statement and he was quiet for such a long time she grew uncertain if he had heard her or not.
Then he spoke.
"Because of my mother," he said, voice coarse and she stared at him. "She was sick... when I got turned. I went to my house... I went there to save her. To make it so that she'd be with me forever. But after I'd..." He paused, and Buffy felt herself grieving with him as she could read his face and its display of emotions. "She wasn't my mother anymore," he murmured. "So I killed her all over again."
Buffy didn't know what to say, then thought it best to stay quiet and instead she reached out a hand and locked her fingers with his. As he turned his eyes in hers she tried to look as supportive as she could and his gaze softened, which made her feel a pulse of happiness that she had succeeded.
Then she got herself moving and crawled so that she could ease herself in between his legs and rest her back against his chest. He hugged her and then moved backwards, taking her with him, as he made it so that he could rest his back against the trunk of a thin tree a few feet behind. Once that was done he kissed her tenderly on top of her head and she closed her eyes, relaxing fully as the sense of him enveloped her.
It was tentative, but strong, as it filled her and she drew a deep breath of his scent.
She could fall asleep here. She could fall asleep and dream sweet dreams in his arms for the rest of her life. It didn't matter to her anymore who he had been, because in this moment she was so sure of who he was.
"I'm falling in love with you," she whispered and she could feel his abs tighten as he stiffened.
She opened her eyes and had the most incredible rush of adrenaline pour through her as she understood that what she had just said would change everything. She had taken a step, and there was no way she could go back. Not ever. The dice was tossed and there was no telling what the outcome would be. But then, she had always been in this - with him - on a win or lose basis and so this wasn't very different, was it? No. But she had just raised the stakes to the sky.
Turning herself around she met his gaze and held it. He stared at her now, quizzical and disbelieving.
She smiled at the sight, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, but this time she didn't need it to tell her that she was alive - she had never had that feeling so strong within her ever before, as she had it in that very moment. She pulled herself up and put her face before his as she repeated:
"I'm falling in love with you."
He kept on staring and then his eyes had a familiar warmth gently flow into them before he asked silently:
"How do we fix that, then?"
Her smile broadened.
"We'll just have to wait it out," she mumbled. "But I think it just might take a long, long time."
"Ah, a fair warning?"
She giggled, then nodded.
Moving her head forward she kissed him softly, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers, and then she ended it in the same fashion before she turned around and lay back down in her previous position.
"We could find a spell," Spike said and she raised her eyebrows, though he couldn't see it, in wait for him to spin further on this solution. He did. "A time-spell, so that we could go back to the time before we got trapped and somehow bleeding prevent it from ever happening. Then we wouldn't be sitting here, we wouldn't be starting to depend on each other... we wouldn't be falling into anything and everything 'd be the way it always was... None of this would've ever had to have happened. We could do that," he finished and she smiled contentedly before reaching out a hand and for the second time entwining their fingers.
Then she said:
"Yeah... we could do that."
**************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** ******************
Aw! Thanks a lot for SO great feedback on the previous chapter. I'm so happy you enjoyed it! I do love getting into their heads a bit from time to time as well. Mush-mush. ;) I'm glad that you think I do that well. :) It means a lot to read that, you know that!!!
Special, flowery and Spike-wrapped-in-a-bow-y thanks to Wiccan Princess, Erica, LizDarcy, wolf116, maribel, qattaca, Rachel, VampiresKiss, Alyssa, Leanne, Mel (for both, girl!), Andi, Spuffylover and vuks - thank you!!! You rock my world, you know you do! ;)
Now for some sad news. I'm working all day tomorrow and on Sunday I'm leaving for six days vacation which means I won't be able to post anything new until the 6th of July. IF I get the chance to do some writing where I'm going, since I'll be with ma friends and family. ;) Anyways, I'll try my very best for you AND for myself 'cause I DO wanna have that chance to write a bit as well. Hehe. Neways, take care 'til then and again, thanks to all of you who voted for this story at SpuffyAwards! That's REALLY great of you!
A.M.L, Annie.
Forty-Two: Come Un-done
By Annie
2003-06-26
************************************************************************
Day Thirty-Six.
10.35 p.m.
He was still on his knees as she came to a slow stop before him. Looking up at her he seemed as the worshipper before his shrine, in frail prayer for a sign that he was not there in vain.
She met his gaze for the longest stretch of minutes, her heart beating hard in her chest as though to let her know that she was still alive, in spite of her already feeling as though she was floating somewhere out of herself; and then he broke eye contact, turning himself over to his right to sit down in the manner he had been seated before Angel interrupted his musings.
Buffy swallowed; observing him for a moment and then she carefully claimed a spot beside him.
"It's hard to believe the things that live down there," she finally broke the stillness residing between them, referring to the what lie spilled out and twinkling in the dark night before them; and though he didn't look at her, he nodded. "It looks so beautiful from up here... You couldn't imagine all the... death."
Once again there was quiet and she had to clench her teeth together to keep herself from turning her head to him; she had the most overwhelming notion that if she did she would burst into weak, girlish tears, and that when he asked her why she was crying them she wouldn't have a good enough answer to give him. She kept her gaze on those city lights, on that veil of beauty that lie over cruelty and pain, over loss and grief, over that cycle of life taking place on the streets far below.
"I met this man," he suddenly said and she blinked in un-called for surprise at the soft sound of his voice breaking through her thoughts; and she did turn her head to look at his profile as he continued to speak, but she didn't cry as she listened to his story. "I met him on the road from Venice to Rome and he was driving a carriage drawn by two really old and dusty, from the dirt of the road, I 'spose, donkeys. They were grey, I remember... with white patches around their noses. Dru was just getting sickly 'round that time and I didn't know what to do... I asked him for a ride thinking he'd make a good enough meal for the both of us - the donkeys would suffice as well... and he smiled. I remember that smile 'til this day. So open, somehow. Like it wanted to tell me how welcome I was to just sodding step right into his world, you know?"
She nodded slowly, twisting herself a little where she sat so that she could eye him without straining her back. He was still faced forward as he continued:
"On the back of the carriage he had two barrels - wine, I'd come to find out - and three bales of hay. He told me I should put Dru on the latter ones, and I did... She kept murmuring my name, but my human one... William, William... Over and over. It was driving me clear outta my bloody head 'cause then she'd suddenly open her eyes and when she looked at me she whispered 'Spike' instead... I don't know why. I never asked her why. So, the man offered me to sit next to him up front and I thought why the hell not, it'll make everything easier. Save me the surprise-from-behind approach. So I jumped up and sat down in the driver's seat beside him. It was really hard, made of two old boards. He told me - later on - that he hadn't the heart to pluck them down and replace them with something more comfortable 'cause his son had made that seat for him; his eldest, he said. And he had moved away to another country with his bride and they hadn't seen each other in eleven years... That really got to me, for some reason.
"Anyways, Dru fell asleep, and I praised my lucky star for it, and I was trying my best to figure a way that I could attack without setting the donkeys off in a fright - carriage and all, when the man turned to me and said that I didn't look Italian. And I really had to buggering smirk at that. And then I answered that I was Englishman and he raised his eyebrows, then chuckled before asking me what I was doing so far away from home... And then he glanced over at Dru before asking me if she was my wife. I told him she was without a second thought and he nodded that that was a good thing. But that I shouldn't be travelling with her if she was taking ill. I replied that I might have just the cure for her, getting ready to make my move when he asked me if I thought the seat was comfortable and then he told me about his son. He looked at me for a little while after that; he had brown eyes, almost black... They were keen... friendly... observant. Then he asked me if I was running from something, 'cause that was what his son had been forced to do."
Spike paused, looking at his hands for a few moments before he raised his eyes to the sky. The memories seemed to have gotten the better of him and Buffy watched him as she herself grew thoughtful, as well as curious to know what the point of this tale was.
Finally he began to speak once more.
"I told him that in a way I was... running away. I didn't tell him that what I was trying to escape was who I once had been... We talked for hours after that. About simple things, grand things, it didn't matter. He told me about his life and I fabricated the life I thought he'd want me to tell him about... But the interesting conversations were about philosophy, art, the world and the people in it... We drank from the wine, he shared it willingly... He read a lot, he confided. He even wrote gibberish in an old notebook that he carried around with him and I smiled and showed him mine, which made him smile as well. We thought alike, mortal and living dead. Soul and demon. That night was the first night in a very long time... well, actually since Dru and me parted with Angel about ten years or so earlier, that I felt truly at peace. Like there was something right in the world..."
He trailed off, and when he this time fell silent for several minutes Buffy couldn't take it, she had to ask:
"And the moral of this story is?"
"For a night this man made me FEEL like a man for the first time in thirty- two years. But that didn't stop me from killing him. That didn't stop me from having Drusilla bloody drain him. That didn't make me think two seconds about whether or not I should kill his two much beloved pet beasts of burden. I killed them, all three of them, Buffy. With no bleeding remorse..."
She stared at him and he turned his head to rest his eyes in hers. She was evidently shaken, and he sighed.
"The moral of this story is that you can't trust me. I'm not good for you, love. In the end, who knows, I just might end up being something that I've been for a hundred-and-twenty-three years, without being able to stop myself," he grumbled, looking away from her and she furrowed her brow slightly before she reached out a hand and placed it gently on his arm.
"If I believed that, I wouldn't be sitting here," she said and he glanced at her. "Spike... Do YOU believe that? Really?"
"I don't bloody know," he muttered, shaking her hand off and rising to his feet. "YOU don't know me," he added and she raised her eyebrows.
"I want to..." she mumbled and he shook his head.
"I don't think so," he disagreed. "My story isn't something I could tell around bedtime, it wouldn't give you any sweet dreams... it wouldn't make you hold me in sodding high regard. I'm a monster, Buffy. How could you ever...?"
He trailed off, his expression growing tight and she looked up at him before she got to her feet as well.
"What did Angel say to you?" she asked and he ground his teeth, then shrugged.
"Nothing that I hadn't already thought of myself," he then replied and she took a step forward.
He took one back and then raised one hand slightly, as if to fend her off, keep her back.
"Don't," he said. "Please..." She furrowed her brow. "I need to be alone for just... a few... a little while," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly bare and vulnerable.
She met them, seeing the underlying seriousness, and she suddenly realized what he was trying to do.
"No," she replied, taking another step forward, stopping right before him and he looked down at her with growing frailty before he put one hand up and let his fingertips stroke her left cheek.
"I could never hurt you," he nearly whispered and she shook her head, reaching up one hand and taking his.
"Then don't go anywhere," she then said and he closed his eyes, leaning forward slightly he rested his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes as well.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her face to the side of his throat and he cautiously held her back, burying his nose in her soft locks and breathing her scent as a human would breathe the air.
No, he could never leave her. He could never walk away.
They stood embraced for a long time and then they slowly pulled apart, looking at each other and both soon smiling a little. Buffy turned and sunk down on the grass again, Spike not late to follow her lead and they once again found themselves gazing at the view of Sunnydale.
"What did the man write?" she suddenly asked and he turned his head to her, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "In his 'notebook'," she elaborated and Spike looked away, beginning to fiddle with the straws of grass beneath him with his right hand as he answered in a not so uneasy voice:
"Poetry, if I remember correctly."
She frowned deeply this time as she studied him for a short while, then she asked the inevitable, and he had to wonder what had EVER possessed him to actually mention something so personal, had he really thought that she wouldn't fit the pieces together?
"So what did you write in yours?"
"Mine...?" he tried the oblivious road, but it took him nowhere as she merely gave him a look not to play coy. He grumbled under his breath, then said: "Short stories... a lot of those, actually. But mostly... Bloody hell."
She smiled brightly at his discomfort and he gave her a murderous look, which only lead to the former broadening further.
"You're a poet?" she then inquired, trying to keep the tease out of her voice, but this discovery was simply too unbelievable for her brain to fully process as it was, having it be completely serious would make it not short of impossible.
"Shut your gob," he growled and she smirked.
"Sorry," she said, stripping her face of any sign of merriment and clearing her throat.
Looking away from him she couldn't keep a tiny smile off her mouth and he saw it as he watched her profile. He couldn't do anything but mirror it as he thought of what a shock this must have been to her.
"I WAS a poet," he then confessed and she turned her head back to him, clearly interested and very curious, and so he continued: "When I was human. I was a sodding pathetic excuse for one, though. Poet, I mean... But I perfected my skill," he shrugged and she looked hesitant before she asked:
"Can I read it? I mean, some of it...?"
"I've burned most of it," he replied, not meeting her gaze now and she didn't know whether to push further on the subject, or simply let it lie.
She chose the latter.
"Spike," she then said, voice low and he nodded, not looking at her. "If I was sick... dying," she continued and at that his head swirled to her, his eyes widening with questions and she shook her head calmingly. "I'm not," she reassured. "But if I was... Would you turn me?"
He blinked.
"Not even if you begged me," he murmured and something dark drew across his features which had her furrow her brow again.
She wasn't entirely sure from where the question had emerged. But once she asked it she had known that it had been in the back of her mind for a while now. Where he would stand if his bite wouldn't kill, but bring another sort of life to her... If he would lose her if he did not use the gift that was his to give.
She hadn't been expecting anything but the truth, whatever that may be, and she had obviously gotten it. It was a relief, but she got the feeling there was more to it. That look on his face, in his eyes... He looked positively heartbroken.
"Why?" she wondered as a response to his previous statement and he was quiet for such a long time she grew uncertain if he had heard her or not.
Then he spoke.
"Because of my mother," he said, voice coarse and she stared at him. "She was sick... when I got turned. I went to my house... I went there to save her. To make it so that she'd be with me forever. But after I'd..." He paused, and Buffy felt herself grieving with him as she could read his face and its display of emotions. "She wasn't my mother anymore," he murmured. "So I killed her all over again."
Buffy didn't know what to say, then thought it best to stay quiet and instead she reached out a hand and locked her fingers with his. As he turned his eyes in hers she tried to look as supportive as she could and his gaze softened, which made her feel a pulse of happiness that she had succeeded.
Then she got herself moving and crawled so that she could ease herself in between his legs and rest her back against his chest. He hugged her and then moved backwards, taking her with him, as he made it so that he could rest his back against the trunk of a thin tree a few feet behind. Once that was done he kissed her tenderly on top of her head and she closed her eyes, relaxing fully as the sense of him enveloped her.
It was tentative, but strong, as it filled her and she drew a deep breath of his scent.
She could fall asleep here. She could fall asleep and dream sweet dreams in his arms for the rest of her life. It didn't matter to her anymore who he had been, because in this moment she was so sure of who he was.
"I'm falling in love with you," she whispered and she could feel his abs tighten as he stiffened.
She opened her eyes and had the most incredible rush of adrenaline pour through her as she understood that what she had just said would change everything. She had taken a step, and there was no way she could go back. Not ever. The dice was tossed and there was no telling what the outcome would be. But then, she had always been in this - with him - on a win or lose basis and so this wasn't very different, was it? No. But she had just raised the stakes to the sky.
Turning herself around she met his gaze and held it. He stared at her now, quizzical and disbelieving.
She smiled at the sight, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, but this time she didn't need it to tell her that she was alive - she had never had that feeling so strong within her ever before, as she had it in that very moment. She pulled herself up and put her face before his as she repeated:
"I'm falling in love with you."
He kept on staring and then his eyes had a familiar warmth gently flow into them before he asked silently:
"How do we fix that, then?"
Her smile broadened.
"We'll just have to wait it out," she mumbled. "But I think it just might take a long, long time."
"Ah, a fair warning?"
She giggled, then nodded.
Moving her head forward she kissed him softly, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers, and then she ended it in the same fashion before she turned around and lay back down in her previous position.
"We could find a spell," Spike said and she raised her eyebrows, though he couldn't see it, in wait for him to spin further on this solution. He did. "A time-spell, so that we could go back to the time before we got trapped and somehow bleeding prevent it from ever happening. Then we wouldn't be sitting here, we wouldn't be starting to depend on each other... we wouldn't be falling into anything and everything 'd be the way it always was... None of this would've ever had to have happened. We could do that," he finished and she smiled contentedly before reaching out a hand and for the second time entwining their fingers.
Then she said:
"Yeah... we could do that."
**************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** ******************
Aw! Thanks a lot for SO great feedback on the previous chapter. I'm so happy you enjoyed it! I do love getting into their heads a bit from time to time as well. Mush-mush. ;) I'm glad that you think I do that well. :) It means a lot to read that, you know that!!!
Special, flowery and Spike-wrapped-in-a-bow-y thanks to Wiccan Princess, Erica, LizDarcy, wolf116, maribel, qattaca, Rachel, VampiresKiss, Alyssa, Leanne, Mel (for both, girl!), Andi, Spuffylover and vuks - thank you!!! You rock my world, you know you do! ;)
Now for some sad news. I'm working all day tomorrow and on Sunday I'm leaving for six days vacation which means I won't be able to post anything new until the 6th of July. IF I get the chance to do some writing where I'm going, since I'll be with ma friends and family. ;) Anyways, I'll try my very best for you AND for myself 'cause I DO wanna have that chance to write a bit as well. Hehe. Neways, take care 'til then and again, thanks to all of you who voted for this story at SpuffyAwards! That's REALLY great of you!
A.M.L, Annie.