Crossing into unchipped country (16/22) by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: At the start, around AtS 5.09 or 5.10
Author's note: Thanks to my dear betas.
Author's website:
Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk
Buffy wakes up in the same position she's fallen asleep in, only much closer to Spike. When she'd snuck into bed with him she'd been careful not to touch him with any parts of her body except her hands and her face, but now she's clinging to him like a limpet to a rock. Her mouth is smushed against his back and she's made a wet spot with her drool. Drool is probably not the most effective weapon in winning your guy back and she can only hope he hasn't noticed. She ought to get back to the couch before he notices, but she doesn't want to give up the tiny bit of terrain she thinks she gained last night. The physical connection that's always existed between her and Spike is very important, it's the foundation of everything they have. They were so well matched, for fighting and for bed. That connection is what she needs most. Everything will follow from that.
She very gently disentangles herself and inches away from his body. Just when she congratulates herself on a successful retreat Spike stirs slightly and says, "Hey."
Buffy twitches in embarrassment. She knows she shouldn't have done it. She should have just stayed on the couch, humble and repentant, and waited for him to make the move. She wants to do this right, but so far everything's come out wrong.
"Spike."
Spike turns around and faces her. His scrutiny is unnerving and Buffy wishes the indirect sunlight didn't illuminate the apartment so brilliantly. The light makes it seem even barer than the night before, there is nowhere to hide her feelings here. She casts down her eyes, unable to bear the steady bright blue gaze. Spike slips a finger under her chin and lifts it gently. His hand has a pleasant body temperature. She's been keeping him warm all night, a fact that gives her a faint thrill of pride and pleasure. That's something at least she can give him.
"Buffy."
She has to look up now, can't hide herself in the hollow between his collarbones anymore.
"Yeah?"
"You hungry? All I have is coffee and beer."
Buffy was hoping to start a more fundamental discussion than what to have for breakfast, but Spike is right. Food is important. Or maybe it's important that they get out of bed first, before issues become muddled. The mere possibility of issues is enough to make her feel warm, so yeah, some distance is a good idea if she wants rational discussion.
Buffy puts her hand on Spike's chest. His skin is much smoother than the cheap sheets and the thick muscle under it shifts and quakes a little bit. Spike puts his hand over hers and turns her palm towards his. Maybe he started out removing her too intimately touching fingers, but their hands flare up in a sudden flameless heat, invisible but undeniable. They both shudder with it and make no move to separate. Buffy's heart thuds loudly in her ears and she can hear every gurgle in the pipes that run through the room and the mumbling of the fridge. Her stomach joins in with the chorus.
Spike's gaze returns to her face, searing the skin with the glacial coldness of his eyes. His hand continues to burn against hers so his eyes must be lying. When he casts them down again she gasps with relief. Her eyes skip over his face, happy to have escaped his scrutiny, caressing the hollows below his cheekbones, the slight curve of his nose. His lashes lie still, no breath or heartbeat to make them tremble. She can't stop herself from softly kissing the pale bluish lids and tracing a path over his cheek and down to his mouth. His lips are soft and sweet for an instant before he jerks his head back so violently it bangs against the headboard.
Buffy hears her own loud shocked panting. Spike's hand is still in hers, his hips an inch away from her body. No, his cock is touching her. His face twists up and he tries to crawl away from her. He falls out of bed, because he can't seem to let go of her hand. She's pulled along helplessly, coming down hard on her knees. She'll have carpet burns.
"Fuck, Slayer, fuck, let go of me!"
His voice is rough and panicky.
"Spike, I'm not…I'm sorry. Look. I'm letting go, look. You let go."
She's on her hands and knees between his legs. Her breasts are brushing against his skin and she can see his tiny nipples harden. His cock bobs as his ribs heave in and out with his agitation. He stares at their hands. Hers is starfished wide open, lax. His brow crinkles and he's biting his lips to keep something in. Buffy's heart twists and she can't bear this for another second.
"Spike, really, I've let go. I'm not holding you. You're free. You can let go."
Finally his hand falls away from hers and he covers his face. Buffy crawls away from him. It must be torture for him to feel her so close.
"Spike. Are you alright? Are you in pain?"
He doesn't answer, just lies there on his thin gray carpet, face working and taking shuddering breaths. His cock is still hard and straining and she can't imagine what combination of feelings is churning inside him right now.
"Spike, I'll go. I'll go away, right now. I'll stay away if that's what you want. I just need you to tell me first that you're okay. Spike?"
Buffy's never felt this helpless. What's wrong with him? Why does he cringe from her touch? She aches to feel him, cradle his head to her breast and soothe him. She wants hold him and kiss him better, but she's sure she shouldn't touch him now.
Spike rolls away from her and rubs his hand over his face. He props himself up on his elbows and finally turns to look at her. He's so beautiful, moisture shining under his eyes and pearling on his lashes. His mouth is dark pink and swollen and she wishes it was from her kisses.
"Spike?"
She can see clenching and unclenching of his jaw muscles. Why doesn't he say something? What's he feeling?
"Spike? Tell me, what's wrong, please?"
"How can I tell you, Buffy, for Christ's sake? I don't know myself. I can't think when I'm with you!"
He rises to his knees with that uncanny grace he always has, even in his smallest movements and the most embarrassing of situations.
"Spike?"
With a deep sigh he lifts his head to looks at her again. His eyes are dry. His hands start sliding up and down her arms while he obviously tries to think of what to say. Does he realize this makes her temperature rise and her heart beat faster? Of course he does. He knows everything about her, he can read her body like a book, her scent the words and her heartbeats the diacritics.
"Leave, Buffy."
She can't take the words in. What? Did she misread his body language just now? He looks up at her earnestly, his thumb still doing that maddening dance on her inner arms, stirring all sorts of things that belie his words.
"I can't drive you away, Buffy. I'm not strong enough to do that. I love you. But I'm asking you to leave me alone. Being with you is gonna eat me alive. I don't want to be your slave, and I don't know that I can be anything else."
Buffy doesn't want him to be a slave, however willing, she wants the man who's as strong as she is, who leaps mountains and skips hills, who will love and fight with the same abandon as she. It's what he used to be, after all. She doesn't know what to feel. Her heart is bungee jumping like crazy, flapping helplessly to the whims of the elastic cord. Part of her thinks just wrestling him to the bed would be a good idea, and this would be where she's careening upwards, and when she's shooting towards the lowest point of the trajectory, the other part of her votes for more groveling. She does nothing.
Spike disengages and gets up one swift movement. Buffy's turns over just in time to watch his progress across the floor. His creamy butt disappears behind the bathroom door. This is so confusing. She's left feeling aroused and sad, happy because somewhere in there he said he loves her, devastated that he wants her to leave. How is she ever going to get past this hurdle?
She sighs wearily and dresses. One of the advantages of sleeping with vampires is that you don't wake up all hot and sweaty. All her excess body heat has been absorbed by Spike.
He's taking a long time in the bathroom. Buffy's annoyed by this and then ashamed at herself. She decides to go hunting for out for breakfast to distract herself. She can't think with an empty stomach. Upon inspection Spike's fridge doesn't contain anything but a couple of bags of blood, and a six-pack of beer just like he claimed, so she decides to go out and get some in the store she saw last night.
Mr. Park smiles at her kindly and seems to recognize her from before, which is quite a feat seeing as that she was being carried upside down over Spike's shoulder. Oh well. Who cares about dignity anyway?
She returns to the apartment with her purchases and there is a tense moment after she presses the doorbell. Spike will let her in, won't he? Yeah, he does. He's even made coffee and looks a lot calmer than he did a short while ago. They sit down at Spike's small kitchen table and she breakfasts on coffee, melon and yogurt. Spike sips coffee. It's so normal that she could almost forget she's never done this with him before, or the tense scene earlier. This is what Spike always claimed to want, breakfast table, footsie. Does he still think that?
"Convenient, a store this close," she says instead.
"Huh. People know you, you can't even nick stuff anymore."
Right. A soul doesn't come supplied with Civil Law 1.01, she supposes. Spike rubs his belly.
"You can go ahead and drink your blood, Spike," Buffy says. "I've seen it before, it doesn't squick me."
Spike gets up to heat blood. "By the way, I can deal with the yogurt. Not easily squicked either."
Buffy guesses she's being condescending. Also Spike's being prickly. Better continue with the disarmament plan.
Spike sits down again, holding his mug of blood. It's a small miracle he owns more than one, actually. She pictures his empty kitchen cabinet filled with cereal boxes and mugs with texts on them like '98.6', or 'Kiss the Slayer'. Chances on that seem to be kind of receding.
She can't think or talk about what he just said, but she can't bear the silence. "I'd like to know what's been happening to you since your resurrection, Spike, Willow could only tell me a few little things?"
She's afraid he won't even bother talking to her anymore.
"She told you about the Amulet? Angel found the package in the mail, opened it, and out came yours truly, resurrected as a ghost."
She hadn't absorbed the ghost part when Willow told it. "So - where were you during the time in between? Was it hell?"
Spike crossed his arms. "So, in spite of my hard-won soul, you immediately assume I went to hell? Interesting."
"I didn't mean that. I meant a hell, like Angel."
"Well, I'm not much like Angel nor have I ever been, so I don't know where you get that assumption. I was trapped in the amulet, and no time had passed for me when I got out."
Spike stares morosely in his blood.
"You were a ghost. How long? How did you get your body back?"
Spike sighs. "Months. I haunted Wolfram and Hart for months. I was slowly sinking away into hell, only my will allowing me to influence the world and not fade away. Then one day I got another package in the mail, and flash, I was corporeal again."
"So, um, why didn't you call me when you got back? I would have liked to know you were alive," Buffy says and can't stop her voice from trembling.
"Didn't I just tell you that?"
Spike jumps up and starts pacing. He doesn't look at her but runs his hand through his hair until the gel gives up the struggle leaving it standing in wild curls. Oh, to have her hands in them.
"I don't think I understood that, Spike. You say you love me. Isn't that enough? I love you."
"It isn't enough. I want to be my own man. Not dangle at your shirt tails again like I did in Sunnydale. I've got a soul to guide me, don't need you anymore. Angel needs me here, as well."
Buffy's icy cold hands clench around the coffee mug. It's still hot, but she welcomes the pain, it's like comfort, distracting her from the agony in her heart. Spike's words squeeze it so hard, there should be blood running out of it.
"Did you hate it so much, working with me?"
"No! It's just…I'd fallen so low, Buffy. Chipped and chained and insane. Had to take whatever life dealt me. Now that's different. I want to make the decisions, do what I want."
He gets out a cigarette and fiddles with it. His face is tilted down, but he looks at her from under his brows. "And I was afraid you wouldn't much care for hearing I was back. And I was right about that, too."
"Spike, I told you I was sorry. I just freaked."
Buffy can hear the panic in her voice. What he says sounds so final. "I spent days in the company of, like, the Free Range Spike, and I kept reacting to him like he was you, because he was. You are the same person, only you have changed, reformed. So when I saw you I couldn't let myself be happy again, because I'd been fooled before."
"Free Range Spike? And what does that make me? The henpecked battery chicken with clipped wings?"
"No, well, yeah, but you escaped from the cage and you became like the Robin Hood of chickens and…"
"Vowed never to eat worms again? Brilliant simile, Buffy."
Buffy takes refuge in her yogurt. She seems to be making things worse with every word she says.
"You're still mad at me, I guess."
"It's my only defense, Buffy."
The Korean yogurt is not settling well in her stomach. Should she confess all? It doesn't seem that things could get worse.
"I'm sorry I slept with the other Spike. I thought you were dead, I thought it didn't matter. I wish I'd known you were alive, I never would have…"
Spike silences her with a gesture. "Don't make it my responsibility, Buffy. You decided to do that, and it's your prerogative. It's my prerogative not to like it much, okay?"
"But it's not like I was cheating on you! I didn't know!"
"It still feels that way," Spike says curtly and gets up. "You'd best pack your bags and leave now, Buffy. Maybe if you think on it you'll understand why. Besides, I've got business to attend to. Your Spike left a trail of slaughter and Angel thinks I did it, so I need to talk to him about it."
Buffy has half risen out of her chair but falls back at these words. "Slaughter? But he promised…"
This is too much. Her eyes brim with tears and that is just so sending him the wrong message.
He pauses and looks back. "I'm sure he meant it at the time, Buffy. I would have, but I wouldn't have been able to hold on to that promise then, especially not with Dru around. A vampire needs a soul for that," he says kindly. "Don't fret over him, Buffy. You're better off without him."
He opens the door and waits for her. Buffy hastily stuffs her things in her bag and is gently pushed outside. The door shuts behind her and there she is, standing outside in the bright sunlight of a warm LA morning. She sits down on the concrete steps leading down to Spike's apartment and tries to let the morning's occurrences penetrate. She trusted the other Spike not to kill anyone, she was sure of his promise. Now everything is topsy-turvy again. Soulless vampires can't be trusted, she was right after all. No, she refuses to think that's true. Her Spike had changed so much before he got the soul, she could trust him. He's proven to be worthy of that trust so many times. It's the history the other Spike misses, being chipped, being forced to work with her and the Scoobies to survive. Loving her. That made him change. If the other-dimensional Spike had loved her like this Spike does, or did, then she could have trusted him. But he loved Dru.
At first she thinks she's doing fine. She can just sit here in the warm California sunshine and get up enough will to plot her next step. She can't believe Spike said he loves her but refuses to act on it. He looked so devastated. Gradually she realizes she's crying and has been for some time. As usual, her brain is lagging behind on things her heart has already understood. Spike meant to say goodbye to her, he really did. He loves her but he can't bear to be near her. She slept in his bed but he refused her.
She fishes in her purse for tissues and cleans her face and blows her nose. How have things come to be like this? Spike makes it sound as if he'd have felt the same if she had recognized him right away, if she hadn't slept with the other Spike, which he didn't seem too surprised about. It can't be true. It's gotta be plain hurt feelings and jealousy. She refuses to buckle under to stuff like that. She'll just have to persevere. How, she doesn't know yet, but she will win her man, and do whatever she has to do.
The heat and the smells rising out of the pavement and the dumpsters nearby intrude on her musings. Ew. She's been sitting on these pretty nasty steps, in the sun, without sunscreen on and her dress, so carefully selected and hopefully packed, is creased up in a thousand pleats from her nervous hands. Great. Way to get your guy back if you look and smell like you've slept in a dumpster. She gets up hastily and tries to smooth out her skirt.
Suddenly she feels a curious sensation beneath her feet, like a tingling of her vampire sense. It must be Spike, passing though an underground passage. Sewer, most likely. She jumps up and decides to follow him. She quickly stuffs her bag behind a dumpster and looks around to find a sewer cover. It costs her several Cotton Candy nails, but she gets it open and jumps in. Something tells her Spike went left and she goes in that direction. Step one of any plan she could make is staying close to her prey, and her dress is a write-off anyway. Spike is worth a second pair of shoes.
TBC