"I've seen the bloody Buffybot before -"
No. No, it can't be.
Falling through the air, like an angel, some celestial pirouette…
"I - I found her. Her hands…"
"I see." He reached out and touched Buffy's ragged, bloody hands. She flinched, from the contact or the pain or the reality of clawing out of her grave, he wasn't sure.
Vacant eyes staring up at him from her broken body, lips slightly parted, neck twisted at such an odd angle…
"Nibblet, why don't you get some gauze," Spike suggested. Dawn scurried back up the stairs, eager to help.
Their eyes met and Spike felt something shift in his chest. She seemed so distant, so empty. Lightly he tugged at her and she descended the last few steps to stand toe-to-toe with him.
"Spike," she said, as if questioning it was really him. He tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, luv."
Buffy frowned and licked her lips, hesitant to speak, but the pain in her eyes spoke volumes to him.
"Don't have to say anything," he promised, leading her to the couch where she gratefully sat down. They stared at each other for long moments, waiting for Dawn to return with bandages for her sister's hands.
"How -" Buffy coughed, "how long was I gone?"
I've come so far; I grieved for you, lived for you, died for you…does it change now? Am I worthless again?
"147 days yesterday. 148 today. 'Cept today doesn't count, does it?"
She didn't reply, merely squeezed his hands in her own.
"How long was it for you?" he asked. There was something in her gaze that disturbed him, something he'd seen in Dru's eyes after a vision. Something not quite here yet.
"Longer, I think." She glanced around the room. "Longer."
Dawn appeared at his shoulder. "Here. I didn't know what you'd need, so I brought everything I could find." She placed a laundry basket filled with Band-Aids and peroxide and surgical gauze at his feet. Buffy stared blankly at it.
Spike began sifting through the supplies and shooting concerned glances at the Slayer.
"How did I get here?" she whispered.
Dawn exchanged frightened glances with Spike and sat beside her sister. She wrapped a protective hug around her while he cleaned and bandaged her wounds.
"Doesn't matter how, pet. Just matters that you are."
He was smoking on the front porch when her friends rushed up the front walk. Willow stopped abruptly as he stepped from the shadows and flicked the flaming nub of his Morley into the black night. Spike's duster swung menacingly as he clomped into full view.
"'Lo, Red."
Xander and Anya fidgeted behind her nervously, and Tara stood slightly aloof. So it had been her Willow's idea, then.
"Spike," Willow nodded and made to move past him. He stepped into her path, effectively blocking the front door of the Summers' house.
Fear flashed behind her eyes momentarily before smug superiority settled there instead. "It's been a long night - I kinda just want to go to bed."
With lightning reflexes he gripped her throat and slammed her into a porch beam. Her hands flew through the air, glowing with magic, and he caught her wrists above her head. Xander rushed forward to help his best friend, but Spike vamped-out and growled menacingly at him.
When he turned back to Willow, his features were human again. "What did you do, witch?" he demanded.
She frowned and struggled against his hold. "Nothing! We didn't do anything."
"Then explain to me why Buffy's crying in her bed upstairs!"
Willow froze, eyes wide. The vampire and the witch stared at each other, both seeking lies in the heart of the other.
She tucked the book into her bag, like she was hiding it. He never thought anything of it at the time, but…
Disgusted, he threw her to the ground.
"How could you?" he asked, tears shining in his eyes. "You didn't tell me. You didn't tell Dawn! Don't you think we should've known? Don't we get a say?"
"We need her," Xander implored. "We can't do this without her."
"You're wrong," Spike ground out. "It's the way things are. One Slayer dies, another is called - it's been that way for centuries! You can't go messing with the balance of nature this way!"
"But another Slayer wasn't called," Anya argued.
"That's what we're here for."
"Spike," Willow pleaded, "you of all people should be happy! She's back - Buffy's back! You don't have to mourn anymore -"
The front door opened and Buffy stepped outside. Shiny tracks glinted on her cheeks and her eyes were swollen from crying. Everyone turned to face her, and she contemplated each of her friends before speaking.
"You brought me back?" she asked. The four Scoobies smiled at her.
"Yeah, we did," Willow replied.
Buffy tilted her face toward Spike's and fisted the leather on his arm. "You didn't know?"
"No, pet."
She looked at her friends once more before nodding. "I understand."
Spike crashed into the wall of the training room and felt something break in his back.
"Bloody buggering -"
She was on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground and pressing her stake roughly against the fabric of his shirt just above his heart. Buffy grinned down at him squealed.
"I did it! I killed you! You are so dust."
He couldn't help but laugh at her childlike excitement. She bounced to her feet and hauled him up after her, and he groaned in protest.
Concern tugged her delight into a frown. "Did I hurt you?"
"Yeah, I think maybe something broke."
Her hands alighted on his chest and back, searching through the cotton and skin and muscles for signs of cracked bones. When her fingers brushed against his nipple he groaned.
"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, mistaking his pleasure for pain, "I think it's your ribs."
"Buffy -"
"Here, sit down, I'll get the bandages…" She man-handled him to the bench and tugged at his shirt, ignoring his protests.
Through the pleasure-fog of her hands on his skin, he tried to stay her. "It'll heal, really. No worries."
Buffy bent down and looked him in the eye. "I hurt you. I'll fix it." Her eyes pleaded with him, begging Spike to understand that this wasn't just about his own pain - it was about hers too.
So he sat back and let her tend to him, took the tape from her shaking hands when she could no longer tear it herself. When they were done, she collapsed on the bench at his side and hunched over in exhaustion.
"You okay?" he asked, tugging his shirt back over his head. She made a vague gesture with her hands before nodding.
"Yeah, I just - I don't know." She frowned and scuffed her shoes against the concrete floor. "There's still stuff I can't deal with yet."
"Like pain?"
She met his eyes. "Yeah."
The training room door opened and Willow's head peeked in. Spike visibly stiffened and all but closed himself off. Automatically Buffy's hand reached out to rest reassuringly on his arm.
"Hey," Willow ventured, stepping slightly into the room.
"Hey," Buffy replied, meeting her friend's gaze head-on. "Can I help you?" she pursued, letting Willow know in clear and certain tones that her intrusion was unwelcome.
The witch bristled at that, jealousy and betrayal and rage rushing through her petite form before some inner calm quelled it. "Are you gonna be home for dinner?"
"Spike and I will stop by, sure."
Willow frowned. "Spike?" Her eyes ticked over him. "I thought he was patrolling tonight."
A warning growl rumbled through Spike's chest at Willow's blatant play of dominance. Who did she think she was, telling him how to spend his evening -
"I invited him. Is that a problem?" Buffy's chin raised slightly, her trademark expression of defiance. Spike watched the power struggle between the two women with interest. Here was the spark that was missing, here was the Slayer he knew and loved.
It made him proud and a little bit horny that she had gotten her spunk back fighting for him.
Willow quailed a bit at the force behind Buffy's glare. "I just - I mean - what I meant was -"
"It's still my house," Buffy interrupted. "And I let you live there. So don't dictate who can and cannot come to dinner, Willow."
Her eyes lowered and a shock of red hair swept in front of her pixie face. "Sorry. Um, I'll go tell Tara we'll need a vamp-friendly course." She popped out of the room as quickly as she had arrived, and Buffy deflated once again in her absence.
"Everything's a power struggle with her lately," she admitted and tentatively leaned her head on Spike's shoulder. He froze at first, then relaxed and wrapped a gentle arm around her slender form.
"Well, you definitely won that argument, pet. Hands down."
Buffy sighed. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of everything, but…" She reluctantly left his embrace to heft a battleaxe into her strong grip.
"I refuse to be beaten."
Sudden awareness, crowding her cobwebbed mind with dust and dark and putrid rotting flesh. She could feel her cells dividing.
Tried to breathe but there was no air, tried to scream but she couldn't remember how. Her fingers clawed at her prison, chunks of satin and foam falling into her gasping mouth.
She punched and kicked even as her muscles were knitting back together. Her body protested, her lungs rebelled, her soul mourned. This was Hell. Surely it was.
Pounding through solid chestnut now, pounding in her ears, her own blood splashing her face, pumping in her throat, beating, pulsing. So very wrong.
The dirt clung to her like static, in her nose, under her tongue, beneath her bloody, shattered nails. Her hands found purchase in the grass and she pulled herself up, but it was too late, she was done, she was collapsing into herself, the grave was in her heart now, she couldn't escape, she couldn't breathe, it was closing in, suffocating, pressing into her on all sides, squeezing, crushing, breaking.
The maggots crawled across her skin and she fell back into the hole she had dug. They forced their way into her ears and her nose and between her dry lips and between her legs and they were killing her, whatever was still alive and she fought but they were relentless and she wasn't strong, she was so weak, so helpless and it was killing her, killing her, she was dead inside and -
Buffy screamed as she woke. Her clothes clung to her sweaty skin and she drank down huge gulps of air. Every night was the same, waking from some horrid nightmare that was really a memory.
She staggered to her feet and gripped her dresser hard enough to crack the frame. Wild eyes stared back from her mirror and she was so tempted to crack the flimsy shell. But she stayed the violence in her veins and concentrated on breathing, on living, on breaking out of her fear.
Struggling out of her sticky nightgown she knew this had to end. She had to find peace somewhere, if only for her own sanity.
She didn't think she could survive waking in her coffin again.
It dug its slimy fingers roughly into her skin as they struggled across the cemetery. Buffy's grip slipped from it's gel-covered arms repeatedly, and it was beginning to crush her ribs.
"Hey Sluggo, I think we got off to a bad start." She slammed her fist into what she hoped was its throat and the demon staggered back, releasing her from its gooey clutches.
"These clothes? Designer. Your life?" Buffy plunged her stake into its chest. "Over."
The slime demon screamed as orange sap oozed from its wound. It reached for Buffy again and caught her hair in its fingers. Revenge fuelled its rage, but the Slayer would have none of it. In a few neat moves she had broken its arm and pinned it to the ground.
Viciously she ripped the stake from its body. The demon screamed before she snapped its neck.
"Maybe I should send a memo out to all you demon types," she muttered to the slowly disintegrating corpse. "You can't kill me." She stood and wiped clumps of slime from her clothes. "They'll just keep bringing me back."
Buffy turned her gaze to the sky, taking in the wide open space between the stars and the planets and the astronauts. At times like these she felt so small, so insignificant. Here was one girl in all the world, chosen to fight vampires, demons, and other forces of darkness. Here she was, the newest incarnation, and she was finished with the lies and the threats and the failure and the pain.
She was new, she was reborn. She was a goddamn phoenix. This was her destiny, and she would meet it head on. No more quitting. No more dying. No more escaping.
"You hear me world? I'm not running anymore."
It was nearly four a.m. when Buffy came home from patrol. After the slime demon there had been a nest of vampires, a lone Fyarl, and a pair of munchkin-sized Boudiccas, all estrogen and pointy objects.
She felt surprisingly energized, though probably less from the workout and more from her decision to live life her own way. It was refreshing and somehow…liberating to finally feel totally in control. She was decision girl now, and it made her smile.
Climbing the stairs to the bathroom she pondered this new feeling. It wasn't the peace she'd gone in search for, but it felt pretty darn close. Like there was just one more element that would finish the mosaic of her 'perfect life'. She found it funny that white picket fences and 2.5 kids didn't show up on her 'List Of Things To Do Before I Die - Again'.
Though the slime from the ooze demon had eventually decomposed, Buffy was still sweaty from all the slaying. A long, hot shower sounded like just the thing to -
She turned the knob on the bathroom door, but it was locked. Buffy frowned at the offending ball of metal and rapped on the hulking oak door.
"Can't a bloke get a mo' of privacy 'round here?" replied the voice on the other side.
Buffy paused. Spike?
"Spike?"
A rattle of glass against porcelain. "Buffy?"
The door clicked as it unlocked and creaked as it swung open. She found herself face to chest - smooth, creamy, toned, pale and lickable - with the blond vampire. Make that very blond.
"Was just dying my hair," he offered in explanation. She glanced past him at the cluttered sink before her gaze was inevitably drawn back to his bare chest. And naked hips. And towel-clad waist. Oh, to be that towel…
Stop it! Bad thoughts, Buffy. Very bad! No naked Spike thoughts for you.
"Something on your mind, pet?"
You. Naked.
"Um, no?"
He frowned at her. "You want the shower?"
"Yeah," she replied, but made no move to enter. She was too busy looking at his bare feet. "Why are you so naked?"
Her eyes widened. His mouth quirked.
"Well," he said, silk caressing every word as it wrapped itself around Buffy's heart, "I hear most women prefer me this way." A seductive hand ghosted over her arm and she had to fight back a sigh.
Where is this coming from? she thought, breaking out of her Spike-induced stupor and struggling to remember why his sexy body was wrong to want.
Where is this coming from? he thought, sensing the desire coming off her in waves, as confused at her sudden change as she.
"You're a pig, Spike," she retorted, retreating to the other side of the hall, gazing up at him with mild disdain etched across her features. The spell was broken, and he had only himself to blame.
"I'm sorry." For being crude? For wanting her? For not having a pulse? He didn't know why, but he was sorry.
She wanted to tell him about the ooze demon, about her newfound inner strength, about her new start at life. She wanted to tangle her fingers in his white-blond hair and explore the delicacies of his mouth. She wanted him to press her roughly against the wall.
God, she wanted him. But there was one thing stopping her from taking what she knew he was willing to give her.
"Do you still love me?" she asked.
He froze. They hadn't spoken of his declaration since Buffy's miraculous return - there had never been a good time to bring it up. Besides, she had rejected him, and that was the end of their love story. Right?
"Of course I do. Never stopped." Spike's blue eyes bored into her, piercing the delicate flesh around her heart. It was almost painful, his admission, and suddenly Buffy felt like she couldn't breathe.
"I can't do this," she gasped and turned down the hallway, seeking refuge in the confines of her bedroom. But as she reached the door he called her name. She paused and waited, though she didn't dare face him for fear she would break in two.
"What do you want from me?" he begged. She kept handing him hope, then dashing it against the rocks of her fear. "I'll stay by your side 'til the bitter end, but…I need to know where I stand."
This was all wrong. Guys didn't stick around for her, and they definitely didn't dare ask what she wanted from them. They crushed her heart in clenched fists, left her when she needed them most, and deluded themselves into thinking life with her would be perfect.
But not Spike. He was here, in her house, asking her to be honest with him. Could she do that? After all these years of lying, could she possibly remember how to tell the truth?
"I'm not running anymore," she reminded herself in a whisper. He was her friend, her confidante. The others had accepted him into their ragtag group, Dawn had welcomed him into their broken little family, and day by day, he had earned a place in her heart.
She looked back at him. Eyes so blue they seemed unnatural, skin so white it could only be marble. But it was how he wore his emotions, right there on the plump curve of his bottom lip, and in the loose curl of his hair, and in his clenched jaw and corded muscle and unneeded breath that decided for her.
Had she really thought she could resist the attraction?
In seconds she was upon him, tasting those tempting lips of his, crushing her soft body against his hard one. His hands cupped her bottom and lifted her before pushing her against the wall and grinding against her.
Spike growled when her tongue plunged into his mouth; Buffy mewled when his thumb rubbed her clit through her jeans. And then suddenly she was stumbling to her feet and he was retreating into the bathroom, eyes wide, lips red, and the bulge beneath his towel told her he was very aroused indeed.
Confused gaze met concerned one, and they stared at each other across the threshold of the doorway.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Buffy frowned and moved towards him.
"This is what I want, Spike," she replied. Her warm fingers tangled in the curls at the base of his neck and drew his face closer to her own. "I want to live my life, not worry about what everyone else thinks, and be happy."
When his hands rested on her hips she gave him a pleased smile. "I want a man who won't run away, who will make me see how beautiful I am inside and out, who will pick me up when I've fallen, accept the Slayer in me as well as the girl, love my sister and my friends…"
He gave her a shy smile. "You think I can do all that?"
"You already have," she whispered, and their lips met softly, tenderly, in the centre of their passion.
A/N: In the NC-17 version, here lies the graphic sex scene. If you are age 17 or over, or promise not to sue me, you can read the full version here: http: (slash slash) aphelant. tripod. com/ sudden (underscore) longing. htm (but, of course, without the spaces and all the correct symbols that won't, for some reason, work in this editor). Some things happen in it that I believe further the Spike/Buffy relationship, and without it, makes the rest of the ending seem...trite? Self-serving? Anyway, yes.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and squinted up at her closed curtains. They glowed with afternoon sunlight and she could feel the warmth on her skin. A heavy arm tightened around her waist and her eyes snapped open.
I spent the night with Spike last night!
Buffy turned her head until she could see his face. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, like all the evil inside him, whatever there was left, drained away as he slumbered. And then another shock hit her.
I didn't wake up in my coffin.
Her smile rivalled the sun in brightness and intensity, and she forced herself not to disturb the sleeping vampire. Her sleeping vampire.
It seems he was the missing piece - or, more accurately, his love. She felt new, whole, and this man, this vampire, this ex-mortal-enemy now friend-and-lover, had helped make her that way.
She cuddled into his embrace, enjoying the feeling of his normally cold skin warmed with her own body heat. Buffy placed a kiss to Spike's brow and settled her arms possessively around him.
She wasn't running anymore. And she wasn't letting go.