Chapter Five
Buffy wrapped herself in the towel and stared at
the blouse and skirt she’d been wearing with a pout. She could’ve always lifted
some new clothes from the mall, but after awhile her petty theft started to feel
all petty and wrong. The food she needed, but she could make do with one outfit.
Now, however, all she saw was the dirty, filthy, disgusting skirt and blouse
she’d become all too familiar with during the past week.
“Spike?” She held the towel close as she climbed the ladder.
Spike stood near the door, sucking on the remains of a quickly burned cigarette.
“Yeah, love?”
“Um, do you think you could go to my house?”
“What?”
“I want some different clothes. The other ones are starting to smell, and they
feel dirty. Would you mind?”
Spike approached the entrance to the lower level and stared down at her. Buffy
held the towel tighter. “You want me to get some clothes?”
“Yeah. Ooh, and a toothbrush. Unless they threw it out. They haven’t thrown my
toothbrush away, have they?”
“I don’t think so…”
“I’ve got one back at the mansion. I could always go back and get it, but… would
you mind?”
“No. No, I’ll get it. Do you know which one it is? Wouldn’t do for me to nick
Dawn’s toothbrush.”
“You want me to remember what the toothbrush I used four years ago looks like?”
Spike shook his head. “I guess you’ll get the other one later.”
He put his hands on his hips and sighed, looking down at her. Buffy raised her
eyebrows.
“What, you want me to go now?”
“Spike, I’m naked!”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“The sun’s not up yet. You could just sneak in through my window and grab a few
things. I should have some bags in my closet. Do you mind?”
Spike smiled down at her, pleased and amused. “No. I don’t mind. You seem like
you’d be awfully fussed if I did.”
Buffy blushed. “I don’t want you to think I’m bossing you around or anything.”
“Right. ‘Cause that would be new.”
She would’ve been hurt if it weren’t for the teasing glint in his eyes.
“I’ll hurry,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He paused
once he reached it, his hand hovering over the handle as he turned around. “I’ll
be right back.”
“Okay,” Buffy replied, a nervous smile plastered on her face. It slowly
disappeared once he was out the door.
He came back last time—no reason for him not to again. She should just calm down
and wait for him, and try not to think too much about what would happen if he
didn’t come back. Or if he took too long.
Buffy climbed up fully to the main level of the crypt and walked over to the
armchair, plopping down into it with a sigh.
I guess I’ll just wait here. Naked.
* * * *
Spike had come through the front door plenty of times the past week, though not
as joyously as the first time in many months that he’d been allowed to step over
the threshold. It was still dark, however, so he decided to go the stealthy
route and climb up the tree near Buffy’s window. Easy entrance, he could see why
she used it so often.
He opened the window quietly and slipped through, silent as a church mouse. He
decided to leave it open until he went back out to avoid excess noise.
Spike stood still for a moment, feeling very out of place. Over the past week
this had become a sacred space. No one had dared enter for fear of disturbing…
anything, everything. It wasn’t the same to him now. It wasn’t a blessed place
to be revered; instead it seemed to him more a memory. Nothing looked out of the
ordinary. The closet, the mirror covered with pictures, the clutter on the
vanity table—all of it looked and smelled of her.
Spike shook his head, dispelling his jumbled thoughts, and instead focused on
why he was there. Clothes, toothbrush, possibly some other girly things. He
opened the closet and found a good-sized duffle bag wedged behind a large number
of shoes. Spike moved to grab an armful of hangers when he thought it might look
awfully strange if all of her things went missing.
So instead he grabbed just a few things, a few blouses, some skirts, a couple of
pairs of shoes—she shouldn’t need that many. The bag was getting quite full when
he opened the top drawer of the dresser, filled to the brim with all sorts of
frilly things, so it made quite a noise when he dropped it on the floor.
“Spike?”
* * * *
Her mind was racing, a body moving through the forest. She didn’t know whether
it was running to or from something. It felt like from. As her mind ran down the
path, the branches played out memories like leaves in the wind. Touches, barbed
words and insults, declarations of love and hate, stolen moments of pleasure and
pain. They all carried his face—his smug, shit-eating grin, that look of hurt
that only she could put there, the anguish of his soul leaking from his eyes,
that glint of frustration, that one, little frown that would appear for just a
second between his eyes after he’d stilled above her, before it was replaced
with a smile of release. All of it played past her, running and dancing and
laughing and screaming and punching and killing and wishing and feeling and so
overwhelming that she felt like she was choking…
Buffy pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her head against them. Being
here, in this time, was more like touching a memory than actually living and
experiencing it. She felt like an outsider and like she was completely involved
at the same time. That woman she’d saved in the alley those nights ago—her
instincts had compelled her to save her, her logic had reminded her that the
girl wasn’t for her to save, but her heart told another story. This was her
time, her home, her duty. She’d been ignoring her heart for the past few nights,
but being in this place, his crypt, with him there...
Now her heart wouldn’t shut up, and logic was slapping it like crazy trying to
make it.
* * * *
He turned around, his eyes darting from the bag on the floor to the bleary-eyed
girl sitting up in bed behind him.
“Dawn,” he replied, trying to keep the surprise from his voice.
“You okay?” she asked groggily, regarding the alarm clock with a wince. “It’s
almost four a.m.”
“Sorry,” he said. “What… what are you doing in here?”
Dawn sat up a little straighter, seeming more awake. “My room felt empty.”
She was covered in sorrow like a thick layer of dust. Spike stared at her,
wanting to tell her that everything would be alright and that he was absolutely
certain of it. He wanted to gather the rest of Buffy’s things and take Dawn back
to his crypt to show him that Buffy was alright, that she was alive—at least,
she would be.
But he couldn’t. It was like seeing the bride before the wedding, or worse,
counting your chickens. Besides, it wouldn’t do to piss off future Buffy by
alerting others to her presence. She seemed to be very against that mode of
action.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, regarding him curiously.
“Me? I… I guess… my crypt felt empty.”
“The sun should be up soon. You should probably go.”
“Right,” he responded nervously as she laid her head back on the pillow, sleep
overcoming her once again. “I’ll just… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Be careful.”
Spike waited for her breathing to even out before he grabbed the bag off the
floor and crept as quickly and quietly out the window as he could. Once on the
ground he raced back to his crypt.
* * * *
“Um, Spike? You didn’t get me any underwear.”
“What’s that?”
Buffy rifled through the bag where it sad on Spike’s bed, pulling out a pair of
boots and some sneakers, just to be sure. Clutching the towel to her chest, she
turned to him again. “You forgot underwear.”
“Oh, uh… sorry.”
“I know you know I wear it…”
“I was kind of in a hurry. Made some noise, didn’t want the others to run into
me.”
Buffy laughed softly. “That wouldn’t have been good. I guess I can make do
without for now.”
“I can always go back. Try when the others aren’t there.”
“Thanks.”
Buffy pulled out a thick blouse and some black pants that weren’t too snug and
stared at him. Should he leave, or should she?
The same question didn’t seem to be on his mind. His gaze traveled from the
garments in her arms and down her body, slowly making its way back up. Was he
waiting for her to dress right in front of him?
“Um…” she began, hoping some sound from her would break him from his daze.
“No,” he replied quickly, before blinking and shifting his gaze to her face. “I
mean… sorry. I’ll just step outside for a bit. Let you have some privacy.”
He was out the door before she could even mutter “thanks.” Buffy didn’t take her
time changing. He’d walked out that door too many times, and each time it was
harder to accept that he’d walk back through it. Losing him once was enough.
“I’m decent,” she called out when she was dressed.
Spike reentered, his gaze fixed on her, but this time it wasn’t with restrained
lust. This time his eyes were clear.
“What do I mean to you?”
Buffy hadn’t seen that coming.
“What do you…”
“Mean,” he repeated. “To you. I can’t be around you wondering. You’re treating
me different, an’ if I didn’t know better I’d say you were afraid of me, but I
know that’s not true. You don’t have to give me a long speech about your
feelings; I just need to know what I am to you before we go any further with
this.”
Buffy swallowed. Was there an easy answer to that? Anything short and simple
would be a lie, and she didn’t want to lie to him. Even if it would be better
for them both if she did.
“You… you’re important to me.”
Spike’s reaction mirrored hers from a few moments ago—he hadn’t expected that.
“How so?”
“Um, we’re close, in the future. C-Closer. We become friends.”
“Really?” he asked, stepping closer to her. His movements were fueled by an odd
mixture of confidence and apprehension, a combo she hadn’t seen since she’d last
been around him.
“Yeah. Really good friends. We don’t swap friendship bracelets or braid each
other’s hair, but there’s some bondage. Bonding! Friendship… bonding. Friendship
bonding.”
Why did she have to butcher the English language?
“So… you like me?”
Her throat was starting to feel tight. “Yes.”
“Huh,” he huffed, a smile threatening to curve the corners of his lips. He
seemed pleased and surprised by this information. “And I suppose I feel the same
about you as I do now?”
“Well…” she began, but stopped. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get into the
issue of his soul, even though that was true. It was the fact that she couldn’t
refute that. She couldn’t say that he didn’t feel the same way. He’d still had
the same feelings, but they were expressed differently. Maybe the soul had
intensified his love, but she couldn’t deny what he felt. She couldn’t say that
he didn’t really love her when hindsight told her that he did. “Yes.”
“So where does that leave you and me?” he asked. “Since I’m pretty much the
same, can you treat me like you do then?”
He was close. Not so close that he was invading her space, but close enough that
one small step and their bodies would touch. She wanted their bodies to touch.
She wanted to hold him again, to kiss him, to feel his skin and his hair beneath
her fingertips.
“Love?” he prompted, dipping his head lower and looking into her eyes. “You
still with me?”
“Yeah,” she replied, realizing that it had been longer than she’d thought since
he’d asked his last question. “We’re okay, Spike.”
Spike smiled and sat on the armrest of his ratty armchair. “Okay then.”
* * * *
The moon was high in the sky when they made their way to the mansion, walking
side-by-side. Buffy needed to get her books and the much longed for toothbrush,
and Spike didn’t want to leave her side.
Buffy didn’t mind.
They couldn’t think of anything to say to each other. That was a lie, actually.
Spike was dying to know more about what their future held, and Buffy was
desperate to apologize to him for things that she’d done—or will have done—and
to give him warnings, such as “avoid shiny jewelry.” It wouldn’t be right,
though, and they both knew it, so they kept their curiosity in check.
This didn’t stop Spike from asking about the others. Buffy felt that it really
wasn’t his business, especially since he’d probably tease the others with what
she told him, but she couldn’t keep silent when he asked about Dawn.
“She’s in school right now,” Buffy told him. “First year of college. She’s madly
in love with this guy named Eduardo, and I was kind of iffy on leaving her
behind in Italy. But there’s nothing to worry about that we can see. Willow did
a background check and I checked for a pulse and/or horns, and he came out
clean. I just hope…”
It was weird, talking about her hopes for the near future when it was so much
farther away.
“What about you?” Spike asked as they climbed the hill, the mansion now in view.
Buffy offered him a hand when he slid on some loose rocks, and he stared at her
quizzically before taking it.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. You say you left Italy? Where are you now?”
“Sunnydale,” she replied with a grin, which broadened when he rolled his eyes.
“Cleveland, actually.”
“Well, it seems demons aren’t the only things a Hellmouth attracts. Any of your
other mates squattin’ with you?”
Buffy smiled sadly. “No, just me.”
“Alone? That doesn’t seem right. What’s their excuse for leaving you behind?”
They were in the garden now. “They didn’t leave me behind. I left them. Besides,
I don’t need any babysitters. The others are off doing their own thing.”
Once inside the main living area, Buffy immediately went to the couch and
started collecting books. Spike stood back, mentally debating his next choice of
words, his better sense losing the battle.
“And me?”
He’d spoken in almost a whisper, but he knew she’d heard him when her body
stilled.
“You do your own thing, too.”
Buffy placed all the books in a neat stack and lifted them before walking over
to Spike.
“I’ve just gotta grab a few more things,” she said softly, her hands shaking as
she passed the books to him. She turned away quickly so he couldn’t see her
eyes, but he didn’t need to see them to know that sunshine and happiness didn’t
lie in their future.
Not that it wasn’t already a given.
* * * *
“Okay,” she said, placing the books on an end table he had by the armchair. “I
guess I should get with the research again.”
Buffy pulled the small reading glasses she’d nicked from the local Walgreens
from the bag she’d stored all her stuff in and turned to Spike, who was smiling
at her.
“What?”
“Research?”
Buffy frowned. “I’m not a big fan. But if I’m going to get back to my time, I
need to… do something. Unfortunately beating up demons won’t do the trick. I
wish it would, though. I’m good at that.”
“Yeah,” was his simple reply. His smile had disappeared, and Buffy frowned at
the far-off look he was sporting.
“You okay?”
“Hmm? Yeah, fine. Let’s get crackin’.”
This was something she’d never experienced—sitting on the crypt floor with Spike
doing research. She could feel his eyes on her every now and then, but she only
glanced up once or twice, finding him suddenly engrossed in whatever he was
pretending to read.
Spike couldn’t help but look at her. She looked so different, with her long hair
pulled into a ponytail, enhancing her age-sharpened features. The glasses were
something he’d never seen her wear, and they made her look very dignified. He
never thought of Buffy as the brainy book type, but he could see that she had it
in her.
Or maybe it was just the glasses.
He wanted to touch her; it didn’t matter where or how. Spike scooted to the
left, shifting the book in his lap as he did so. There. His shoulder was now
touching the little cleft where her calf met her knee. He’d expected her to
tense at the contact, but either she didn’t notice or she didn’t mind.
It wasn’t enough, though. Spike wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingertips.
He wanted to hold her and kiss and tell her the things that she wanted to hear.
The only problem was that he didn’t really know what those things were, and if
she’d ever want him to touch her. If she’d ever really let him.
They’d lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, the only sound that broke it being
her diminished coughing and the flipping of pages, Spike’s slightly more
audible. He didn’t really read what was on the pages in front of him—he wasn’t
very interested in sending her back anytime soon.
When dawn cast the interior of the crypt in a golden hue, Spike finally turned
and looked up to see Buffy passed out in the armchair, her body twisted so that
her head rested on her outstretched arm. She pouted in her sleep with a furrowed
brow, and with her glasses askew Spike concluded that he’d never seen her more
adorable.
“Love?” he whispered gently, rising to his knees and touching her shoulder.
“Mmnh.”
“You want to sleep somewhere more comfortable?”
She nodded and licked her lips sleepily, but made no effort to move.
“Love?”
“Hmm?”
“What are the glasses for?”
She exhaled deeply before answering. “Reading. Justalil farsighted.”
Spike couldn’t suppress a smile as he gently removed the glasses from her face.
“Ah. That explains a lot.”
“Mmnh.”
Spike stood and bent over the chair, lifting the sleepy girl into his arms for
the second time in so many hours and carrying her towards his bed again. He
didn’t want to put her down too quickly, so he made his movements slow, his
fingers relishing the feel of the back of her knees and the soft skin of her
arm.
Her eyes cracked open when he laid her carefully on top of the mattress.
“What are you doing?”
Spike blinked. Did he do something wrong? “I was just trying to make you more
comfortable.”
“Where you sleep?” she asked groggily, shifting onto her side and looking at
him, her eyes barely open. Spike shrugged.
“Figure I’ll catch some sleep in the chair. I’ve been meaning to get a proper
bed downstairs, but ‘til then…”
He trailed off as she scooted to the opposite edge of the mattress, the
universal signal that he should join her on the bed. He stared at her,
dumbfounded.
“Uh…”
“Just lie here,” she mumbled, her eyes now closed.
Spike stared at the empty space beside her before removing his coat. She was
already asleep when he climbed onto the mattress beside her. He kept his eyes on
her face, watching for a reaction as he slid his hand to her waist, their knees
touching. He wanted to watch her for longer before he succumbed to sleep, but
even vampires could be the victims of exhaustion.
Two seconds later—or so it seemed—his crypt door flew open. Someone shouted out
his name and automatically he cried “bloody hell!” before he rose from the bed,
his eyes falling on the empty spot beside him. Xander was saying something
rather loudly and with great urgency, but Spike didn’t hear him as his eyes
darted around the interior of his crypt.
Buffy wasn’t there.