Beds of Pebbles
Summary: Chucky's dad on 'Rugrats' says that you're always safe in your own bed. However, a certain blonde begs to differ... Set in the middle of disaster that was Season 6. Angsty B/S (what else can it be?)
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.
A/N: Spontaneous fiction I couldn't stop from bursting out of me when I was watching 'Rugrats' with my nephews. The name in the brackets is just to indicate who I'm dealing with in what chapter. Very short, three chapters, indefinite ending. Still reading it? Then let me know what you think.
2. Petals to Pluck (Angel)
"I'm home!"
The words, punctuated with the sounds of a slamming door, filled the empty house on Revello Drive. The door frame rattled behind the Slayer as she walked in, pulling her gloves off and rubbing her hands together to heat them up. When they were slightly warm, she realized that nobody had answered her call. Frowning, she headed to the kitchen.
"Dawn? Willow?" Peeking around the doorframe of the empty kitchen, Buffy said, "Guys? Anyone home?" She walked to the centre of the room and looked around, trying to see if anyone else had been over that night, when she noticed a sheet of paper hanging from the fridge by a magnet.
Walking over to it, Buffy pulled off the note and read.
Hey, Buff, it said in Willow's cursive script, taking Dawnie out with some friends of hers and Xander. We'll be late, so we'll stay at Xander's, which is closer from the Bronze. Hope you have a good night!
With a sigh, she crumpled the letter in her fist and threw it over her shoulder into the wastepaper basket. She remembered sanctioning Dawn a leave from her grounding for today. She'd forgotten that. Pulling open the door to the fridge, Buffy grabbed the container of leftover macaroni she saw and heated it up.
As she watched the food go round and round in the microwave, Buffy wondered why she had felt a slight disappointment when she had found nobody to be home. She'd come home early just to spend time with Dawn and Willow, like she had promised herself she would a few weeks ago.
Buffy fought a shudder as she thought of that night. She'd hated it, feeling so displaced and vulnerable. That's why, when Spike had been tender the next time they'd got together, she'd messed it up with harsh remarks that made no doubt in his mind that her coming to him for comfort that wasn't of the flesh kind was just a fluke. They'd gone back to exchanging harsh words that hurt, falling back with ease into a ritual they'd established over the years, this year's addition being the sex afterwards.
But it still hurt. Whether familiar or not, this ritual hurt even more now that she'd given them the briefest hiatus of that night. Whenever she let him hit her, she remembered the soft touch of his callused hand on her hair as the rebukes and insults transformed into the sweet nothings he'd whispered that night. She wished she had let him get closer. She wished she could let him get closer. But whenever they got close... they left. And Spike was someone she never wanted to lose. Even if there was pain and anger, as long as he was there, it would be okay.
She was being selfish, she knew, watching her cheese pop and sizzle in the microwave. But as Spike had said, wasn't that what their relationship was about? One sided comfort, that's all it was. That's all she'd meant it to be.
But somehow, now, she was wondering if that was okay. She knew she needed this, badly, but... couldn't she take what she wanted from Spike and give him a bit, too? Was it really impossible? Did their relationship have to be all about her, only?
It didn't. It didn't have to be about her; it could be about them, about him and her. But that would bring them closer, would make him love her more... and if – no, when they broke up, he would hurt so much he'd leave town.
Because in spite of the madness she was swimming in, Buffy knew that she'd have to break up with Spike one day. And if she kept a distance between them, he wouldn't be in too much pain later. Everything that came near her was destroyed sooner or later, anyways. Even Xander, Willow and Giles – they were all just slowly decaying away. Giles had run away from her for the same reason. She was just sparing Spike the pain that came before the ultimate destruction.
So, yeah, she wanted to be closer to him, but she couldn't, for his own good. She was doing it all for him.
The lie didn't even sound convincing in Buffy's own head.
Thankfully, the microwave beeped and she was spared deeper thoughts. She pulled out the dish, burning her hands in the process, and drawing out her time in applying the antiseptic cream to it, ignoring the part of her head that rebuked her for her cowardice.
When her palms were lathered in cream and the dish was relatively cooler, Buffy put it gingerly onto a tray and went to the living room where she sat, with the TV turned on, watching Baywatch without actually seeing it.
She realized she finished her food when her spoon hit the empty bottom of the plate. She looked down at the plate devoid of its food, and sighed. Zoning out, again. She hadn't done that in a while. And not a lot when Willow and Dawn were around. She knew, now, that she had to be tough for them. After all, with Willow's addiction and Dawn's recently revealed kleptomaniac tendencies, the girl who'd just come back from heaven was the strongest one there.
After rinsing her plate, she turned off the TV in the living room and headed for the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes. She froze, however, at the sight of the small white card on the bottom step that she hadn't noticed up until then.
Her heart skipped a beat and, automatically, her mind went back to the night when she'd brought Giles back home from Spike's factory. After putting him to sleep on his couch with a strong dose of cough syrup and tea, Buffy had set about cleaning the house where the police hadn't.
Thrown carelessly in the trash was a note. Written in white with black ink, Buffy knew this was something Giles had refused to show Sunnydale's finest when they had questioned him about Jenny Calendar's murder. She thought he'd burn it, but he'd just thrown it away like that...
She'd been too curious to resist. She'd read the note and, even now, she could remember the bile that rose in her throat at the disgusting, horrifying act.
An act done by her boyfriend.
Or rather, ex boyfriend. Because her current boyfriend, however evil he used to be, was always one for a quick, clean kill. He didn't like torture, just plain old kills. Like her.
As she thought this, she wondered how she used to put up a brave front in front of Willow when the redhead asked how she could tolerate her boyfriend's wild tendencies. Now, that brave front had become her reality. You ate people? Okay. You didn't eat people? Okay. That summed up her attitude post Death # 2. She still pretended to care a lot before her friends, of course; this was something she hid even from Spike.
Spike.
Shakily, Buffy picked up the white card and read it. Come on up, it said in his old fashioned writing.
Buffy swallowed. He didn't know, probably, what Angelus had done with Giles. He probably meant it as an innocent act of seduction. A part of her mind that was completely detached with her emotional side laughed, scoffing, at that. Innocent act of seduction. Ha.
Buffy tried to lighten up. Holding the walls for support, Buffy headed up the stairs, only to stop again when she reached the first landing.
A pile of white rose petals rested in the middle of the landing, another note on top of it.
Her heart, already hammering in her chest, sped up again. She picked up the card. Off with the clothes.
She let out a brief chuckle. Spike sure knew how to make her laugh. Even though if he said that to her, she'd give him a biting retort. Obeying the instructions on the card, Buffy took off her uniform from the restaurant and folded them, draping them over one arm to head up the stairs, only in her underwear, now.
There was a trail of yellow rose petals, now, leading her to her bedroom. Buffy wondered how Spike had known Dawn and Willow wouldn't be in. Probably found out from Dawn. She was punished for a long time, now, and the only chances she got at fun were taken with a pounce.
Even though the first two cards had been perfectly harmless, Buffy's heart quickened its pace when she saw the third card propped up outside the door to her bedroom.
Don't touch the lingerie. I'm taking it off.
She suppressed a laugh. She had to act annoyed, not pleased, at Spike's show of his tenderness. Taking a deep breath, Buffy made her best annoyed face and pushed her door open.
And almost fainted.
Strewn all over the floor and her bed were red rose petals and, on top of those, pictures of her. Slaying, sitting, standing, crying, laughing, frowning, walking, in Spike's bed, half dressed, in her DoubleHell uniform, trying to smoke, dancing, drinking, at the beach – almost everything she'd probably done in her recent years was on photos, showing her what an excellent stalker Spike had been last year. Pictures of her that had clearly been cut out from full photos with others lay, too, everywhere, in no particular order. Every available surface was covered with her face, looking up at her. There was one thing common about them all: she had a spark in her eyes, an enthusiasm for life that was gone, now, when she looked into the mirror.
She should have been flattered.
She was scared.
Suddenly, she heard him approach her from behind and circle her nude form. As his lips dropped to caress her throat, he whispered, "Like it?"
She hated it. "Yes. Thank you."
He stopped kissing her and turned her bodily around. Frowning, he asked, "What's the matter? Not too enthused, I see."
She'd learned to tell him what was bothering her. Usually, he had a strange but nevertheless effective solution to it. She said, "You were there, weren't you, almost four years ago when Angel—I meant, Angelus killed Miss Calendar and put her body in Giles' bed?"
Spike swallowed. "I remember. He bragged quite a lot about that one." He stroked her golden hair. "What's it to do with this?"
Buffy nodded, distractedly turning around in his arms to look at the roses and the pictures. "Did he ever tell you what else he'd put in Giles' apartment that night?"
Spike frowned deeply and shook his head. "He tended to keep his tricks to 'imself, mostly. Bragged so much, you'd ask him; he wanted that, you know. The recognition of his abilities in your curiosity. But I never gave 'im the chance to patronize me. He did enough of it, anyway. Never asked 'im what he did that night in detail."
A shudder passed through Buffy at his words. Moving closer to seek comfort in his cold body, she said, "He lit candles and scattered petals everywhere. There..." She swallowed before continuing. " Th-there was a note, asking Giles to go upstairs to his bedroom, where he'd put Jenny in his bed, and there was a sketch – one he'd made – next to her."
Spike was silent for the longest time, just holding her close against the memories, her face pressed into his chest, her arms hidden in his coat to protect her from the sudden cold in the room. Then, he sighed.
"Bolloxed it up, eh?"
Buffy looked up when he tossed a hard, cold laugh in her direction. She frowned, trying to make out his expression in the moonlight. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, Buffy," He pulled away to leave her unclothed in the centre of the room, running a hand through his gelled hair. "I always try to do something right, and always – always! – something goes bloody wrong!" He hit the wall beside the door at that, and she winced, involuntarily, at the crack in the paint. He fell silent, standing there, drawing in unnecessary, angry breaths as she watched.
Buffy waited till he was calmer before approaching him. She wondered how the positions had changed – now, it was she who was comforting him. Why? Well, she'd have to find out...
"Spike," She touched his shoulder with a soft hand. He turned his head halfway towards her. "It isn't your fault. You tried to do something for me. The fact that I've got so many bad experiences doesn't make the magnitude of your effort any lesser. There's something wrong with me, and my life. I-I really like what you've done..." She broke off at his heartless chuckle, then sighed and said, "Fine, I'm too spooked to like it. But if Angel hadn't been in my life before--" She broke off to laugh dryly at herself. "If Angel hadn't been in my life... so much would have been different... not necessarily better, but then again..."
"Slayer," Spike broke into her thoughts, "What're you getting at?"
Buffy bit her lip. What was she trying to say? "Spike... I just wanted to say thank you, for doing this. It means a lot."
Spike said nothing to that. But when she tried to pull him towards her, he didn't resist and allowed her to envelop him awkwardly in her arms. She wasn't used to tender moments with Spike. When they happened... they made her feel out of place.
"So, what now?"
Spike's voice pierced her thoughts. "Hm?" She cross-questioned him.
"What do we do now, Slayer?" He spoke slowly, so as to make her understand his speech.
Buffy shrugged. "Well... not really in the mood for much, now..."
He sighed and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. "'s what I thought."
"I guess I'll take a shower and get changed," She spoke to herself, "Then we can grab a bite and then make cookies for Dawn..."
Spike groaned.
Buffy chuckled. "We'll stay in, tonight. Watch movies, tell stories." She pulled him down for a kiss. After raiding his mouth, gently, she whispered against his lips, "And you can tell me how, exactly, you came by all those pictures."
