Author: Bitten And Staked
Title: Fight against the hours.
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Summary: Buffy sits alone in her house and lets her thoughts wander to Spike and she misses him.
Timeline: Post Season 6. It's summer and Spike is AWOL [to get his soul], Buffy reminisces about him and winds up feeling lonely.
Pairing: Buffy [and Spike].
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: everyone else owns Buffy and all associated with her.
Feedback: always welcome so email me - webmaster@talesoftheslayer.com
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It was late, the little red numbers spelt out 3am had been and passed still Buffy couldn't sleep. She moved silently across the room to the window and pulled it open, allowing a cool night breeze to creep in. It reminded her of him, sneaking in like a shadow in the night to slip into bed beside her and make her crave him more.
Wrapping her arms tight around herself she watched the desolate street below, everything so peaceful and calm in the early hours of the morning. Those hours that used to belong to them now only belonged to her and it made her feel cold. Now she wanted to feel it, like ice on her skin in remembrance of when he used to touch her, caressing her flesh into goose bumps. Running her fingers down her front she smiled at the sight of her black satin nightdress, the one she always wore for him.
Sighing as she turned away from the window Buffy unwrapped the towel from her hair and let it slip languidly to the floor as she walked towards the bed. It was always worse at night since the night was eternally theirs; it was their world, the world that belonged to the dead.
Letting her wet hair fall down around her neck she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet memory of the kisses he would plant there, teasing her with the thought that maybe this time he'd sink cold fangs into her warm and supple flesh then Buffy would really feel alive. She gave a glance to her wardrobe and shuddered as a cold chill swept up her spine.
Leaning over to her bedside table she flicked on her stereo and skipped forwards a few tracks. Dawn was away from the house tonight getting in some well-deserved girl time with her friends. This past week whenever Dawn was out of the way Buffy fell into a routine, this routine.
Sitting on the bed she curled up and hugged her knees close to her, staring at the wardrobe she replayed the images in her mind. Something inside her knew his criminal act was partially her fault but when she had gone to tell him, to let him know it was all some big mistake and that she was sorry - all she had found was an empty crypt.
She'd stood there for over an hour, frozen to the same spot she had been in when the reality had hit her that he'd left and there was no knowing if he'd ever come back. She'd argued with herself out loud that what she felt was stupid and a lie, that she didn't need him, she was better off without him. But some small part of her had fought back, she did need him, not only to make her feel but to be there for her, a constant in her weary life. And now he was gone.
The crypt looked blue and icy cold in the moonlight, furniture scattered and torn. A reminder that she had blown up everything he had and then dumped him, all on a whim to please Riley. What did he know about their relationship? It was destructive but she had needed it's stabilizing factor in her life, the thought that if things went bad there was always Spike ready to cheer her up again, to tell her things would get better, to reassure her with a soft kiss and a tilt of the head as he narrowed his eyes gently on hers.
She'd stayed there for the longest time, dredging up old memories and wandering about in a dream. Absentmindedly she'd headed downstairs, or what was left of downstairs, to where they used to sleep together. Filtering through all the damage she had chanced upon a little tattered black box. Pulling the lid off she had discovered a photo of her that had been taped to a photo of him, she remembered them as the ones that her mother had took at Christmas time. Buffy smiled in faint recognition of the Christmas before her mother had passed away, the silly presents Spike had got them all just so he could get a hot chocolate in return.
Lifting off the pictures her eyes had widened at what was below them. Two very old books were looking back at her, nineteenth century poetry and a book of Shakespeare's sonnets, a cruel reminder of how romantic he could be if she'd let him. Buffy pushed them to one side and her heart had almost stopped at what she'd found hidden below them.
Sitting there in front of her had been a tattered book; pieces of paper were stuffed into it awkwardly so it had no defined shape. She'd lifted it carefully from the box and ran her fingers softly over the cover. It was bound in patchy red brown leather, worn with time and etched on its cover was a black heart. Easing it open Buffy had flicked through page on page of neatly hand written words, poems and thoughts. Each one signed by her former vampire lover.
Her throat had constricted as she'd hurriedly placed everything back into the box, reaffixing the lid she'd held it tight to her. It was all she had, coming out of her reverie she stared at the little box now resident on her the end of her bed. Each night she read through that little book, learning to know the man that she no longer had within her reach and every day feeling more sickened that she had let him go.
Buffy had come to realise that everything he'd ever told her was true, shortly before his indiscretion in the bathroom she had noticed that when she looked deeply into his eyes that love was looking back at her. She'd shied away from it, pushed it away and told herself it wasn't real but each time her orbs met his it was there, honest and growing stronger each day.
She slipped the book from the box and gently turned the pages, reading over the little thoughts he'd written down about their relationship. About how he wanted to be honest with her, how he needed to know how she felt and that she knew what they were doing.
Buffy doesn't seem to register the nature of our relationship. It's destructive to us both, not just her. It's killing me each day to touch her but not break the surface, she keeps herself locked away in a place I have no hope of reaching and yet I hope. I laugh at that. I hope to touch her virgin soul, to reach where no other man has, to make her open up to me and smash down her defences. If Angel couldn't do it how could I? A monster that she doesn't register as a man - all for the lack of a soul. I can see it in her eyes each time she looks at me. Pain and disgust, fear and hatred, lust and desire all burning in those beautiful clear eyes of hers. She knows that I love her, I'm in love with her and as much as I hate this I can't change a damn thing. She plays me over and over like a broken record and each time I crawl back for more.
Why I do this to myself I'll never know maybe being able to touch her makes unlife worthwhile but as the days pass I feel I'm losing myself. Each time we make love she puts up another barrier, another wall to keep me out as the one behind comes tumbling down. For a split second I see her, clear and attainable if only I could reach out quick enough to touch her soul. But the barriers are as swift as her retribution when she kicks me to the kerb. I love her, I wish I didn't. It's like torture to be in love with someone who curses the ground you walk on. She'll understand one day, maybe when I'm dust, she'll understand I loved her and in some small way she loved me back.
Buffy hugged the book and looked about the room, tears blurred her vision but she stifled them. Placing the book on the bed she leant over and pressed play on her CD as she slipped off the bed.
Opening her wardrobe she steeled herself as she reached inside, retrieving his leather duster from it's hiding place amongst her clothes. She held it to herself in the mirror and breathed in deeply, it still smelt of him but his scent was fading like her memories. Closing her eyes she hung it on the wardrobe door and slipped back onto the bed, watching it hanging there facing her.
As the music started on her stereo she picked up the book and held it to her again.
I'm here, sitting in a bed
In a place where I don't feel at home
The breeze caught her soft muslin curtains and made them dance. Buffy sighed and watched their sad movements as the music washed over her.
Where are you, I sure don't know why
You haven't called me, you promised you would
She felt chill as she turned her eyes back to his duster, it moved slightly in the draught and she could see him in it, walking around the room like a ghost, a shadow in the night haunting her. She remembered the first time she'd seen him after her friends had bought her back from the dead, he'd looked after her, admitted he'd counted the days since she'd left and inside she'd felt warmed.
The phone must be broken it has to be broken
I'm sure there's a reason, say there's a reason
Buffy took the photo of him from the box and tucked its edge into the book she held, staring at it she felt so alone and empty at the sight of happier times. She'd always taken for granted that he would be there until the end and beyond. She remembered visiting his crypt, hearing him tell her that every night he saved her, he'd relived the night she'd died over a hundred and fifty times and each time found some way of stopping her from dying. Squeezing it tightly she fought against the tidal wave of emotion building up inside her.
I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep
I know that if I lay down now,
Inside I know I'll weep
Guess I'm holding on to treasures
To things that just aren't there
To people that I used to know,
To words I wish to hear.
She stood up slowly and pulled the duster of its hanger, holding it flush against her it was cold like him and she felt a crack in her defences as she wished he were there. Laying herself down onto her bed she spread the coat out next to her and pressed her cheek against its shoulder, wishing that we were in it, that his arms would slip around her and he'd whisper 'I love you Buffy' as he kissed her hair softly.
I'm here, thinking only of you
Wish to know, if I need to go
Looking at her pillow she replayed the last time he'd laid there, watching her feigning sleep as she secretly watched him in return. His eyes shining blue like summer skies, she'd wanted to drown in them, to give up her fight and hold him tightly to her, to let him in.
And I try, I swear to you that I try
But you haven't called me, you promised you would
He'd watched her so quietly, only moving enough to gently stroke her hair and smile at her. He'd sighed as she'd pressed her hand to his chest and let it remain there, and Buffy had smiled inwardly at how happy he had looked at her action but now she cursed herself for never giving him more.
The phone must be broken, it has to be broken
I'm sure there's a reason, say there's a reason
As she gathered up his duster in her arms and clasped it to her, she felt something in the pocket. Slipping her hand in she found his lighter and remembered the time he'd come over to get it back off her after she'd found it in the couch. His proximity had made her hot, flustered and when he'd slipped his hand into her pocket to retrieve what was his she'd almost broken down. Buffy flicked the lighter on and held her fingers over the flame, she felt cold and nothing more. Closing her eyes she flicked it shut and gripped it tightly in her hand.
I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep
I know that if I lay down now,
Inside I know I'll weep
Guess I'm holding on to treasures
To things that just aren't there
To people that I used to know,
To words I wish to hear.
He'd still be here if she'd not pushed him away, not forced him into that terrible act that had scarred them both. He'd be laying next to her, his cool white skin pressed to hers and his scent of cigarettes and crypt filling her senses. She missed the feeling of him near her, holding her in the night when she had nightmares of the grave. Buffy slipped his duster on then pulled the book and photo to her chest, clasping it there with her hand that still held his lighter. It was all she had of him, memories and a few reminders of who he was. Tears welled up in her eyes and she struggled to hold them back.
I'm thinking about you, wondering about you
Do I really know you, have I ever known you
Letting her eyes fall closed again Buffy curled up into a ball, she missed him more than words could express. This week she'd written a dozen letters to him but had no where to send them, all her thoughts, all the things she used to be able to tell him she had put onto paper in the hope one day he'd come back to her and could read them. So he could know how she really felt, how much he meant to her and how she couldn't cope without him. That she needed him more than anything.
I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep
I know that if I lay down now,
Inside I know I'll weep
Guess I'm holding on to treasures
To things that just aren't there
To people that I used to know,
To words I wish to hear.
As the music faded Buffy drifted off to sleep still holding his duster tight around her and clasping his picture to her chest. Mouth opening in a sigh she let slip a single tear.