[Reviews - 8]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1740 times

- Text Size +




Part Three: Between the hands


She tossed off the leather jacket and it landed on the cream armchair with a soft plop as Spike carefully bolted the door behind them. The night had been quiet, without any beasties to defeat, leaving them both a bit ruffled. They hadn't spoken the entire walk back to their apartment, to their home. Buffy had walked ahead of him; a foot apart, furiously wiping at tears that refused to obey her repeated orders to stop falling. He had sulked behind her, furious at himself for telling her in the first place, at a loss how to heal her. He knew what is was like to outlive others, to be the one left standing while everyone else moved on, grew older, and passed away. He knew so why couldn't she confide in him?

But she never would confide in him, she would love him, hold him, war with him, but she would never just be with him. She would never lower that wall, if it even could be deflected, for she was hardened into that 22-year-old mind of pain and distrust. She would never soften her stance; time would never erode it. Time could not touch her. She wasn't sure anything could. They lived side by side but they were worlds apart. He reached for her, and wondered why she didn't reach for him, he never understood that she couldn't. She couldn't be in love with him, she could love him in her own soft ways but she could never burn of fire and passion, to be in love was to grow, and she was frozen.

She headed over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a bag of blood. She opened it carefully and poured the crimson contents into a mug that she popped in the microwave for a minute and a half. She busied herself with starting to unload the dishwasher waiting for the beep. This was how it worked, she took care of him, warmed him blood, kept house for him, little penances for not loving him as he loved her. She knew it was wrong, horrible the way she basked in his love without being able to return the sentiment. But she was lonely, and he was so good to her. So she tried to be good to him too, maybe not in ways he would have wanted, a cup of warmed blood didn’t compare with eternal devotion but it was all she could offer him. She loved him with as much of her frozen heart as she could, and he never saw it, he never knew how she longed to burn for him, how she missed the fire. She so wanted to be in love with him.

The microwave alerted her that the blood was ready, she pulled it out, stirring it to make sure it was evenly heated throughout before pulling down a box of Wheat Thins and snatching a few. She placed the mug and the crackers side by side on a small plate. “Whatcha got there, luv?” Spike questioned as she carried the plate into the living room where he lounged on the sofa furiously clicking channels. He always asked but it rarely changed. Sometimes she would get the urge to bake something, or serve up a real dinner, or order a bloomin’ onion but generally it was the same.

She handed him the blood. “Chicken and Stars. Make you all better. You seemed a bit sluggish tonight. So I thought comfort food.” She smiled sheepishly.

“Looks like the chicken's a bit bloody.” He quipped as he brought the mug to his lips.

“I thought there was something off about it.” She snapped her fingers, as if just solving a mystery. “I didn’t know if it was that or the lack of stars…and, ya know, chicken.”

“Does seem to be lacking, luv.” He took a long sip, a hungry groan escaping his lips.

“You like?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He didn’t answer; he was too busy wolfing down the crimson content, his face a picture of ecstasy. When the mug lay empty, the last drops of life devoured, and his mouth wiped with the back of his hand, he stared at her in a content bewilderment. “How?” He spoke when he was able to form words again, pulling her onto his lap.

“Well…” She smiled playfully as her fingers danced up and down his neck. “I heard of a little place who could do this sort of stuff, figured since I don’t need it, it might just perk you up.”

“Oh I’m up alright.” He whispered huskily into her hot ear. “But why not just offer it from the source?” His cool hand smoothed over her jugular. Her eyes immediately fell to the floor, her body tensing up. He knew why, the bite, the claim, it was too intimate, only to be shared when you were in the throngs of love, and she wasn’t. “Hey, hey.” He said, catching a finger beneath her chin and raising it, forcing her to look at him. “It’s okay.” He brushed a strand of golden hair from her face. “It was a lovely gift, really.”

She nodded meekly, guilt flooding her. A gift? Was it? She wondered if she had just cursed him, if by the gift of her hot blood he would freeze, or if it was nothing more than Slayer blood, a present to be given so freely? It had been crazy, a gamble, one she wasn’t even sure she wanted to win. If he became like her, what then? Would he be hollow like her? Would he turn to ice, the passion extinguished in his eyes? She wanted him forever; she wanted something to hold onto while the sands of time slipped through her fingers. Sometimes she wondered how she even had blood running in her veins, how she could still, taste, and eat, and touch. She felt like a rock, she didn't live, she just was. Blood from a stone that's what she gave him.

His blue eyes darkened with worry at her somber expression, her body here but her mind floating beyond his reach. He wanted to hold her down, to keep her here with him, if someone had offered him true immortality he would have taken it in a heartbeat, just to be with her, to maybe understand her, to travel the paths that she so often walked alone. He never would know how she had hoped to make that choice for him, a secret part of him hoped he would be cursed, the blood would transfer something, anything to him and he would be like her, he would be part of her forever. And yet she was relieved when the fire still shown in his azure orbs. She didn't want to douse that torch; she never wanted to harm that flame. She missed the fire, she didn't want him to hurt like that.

Her lips crashed down upon his, her tongue seeking permission, exploring the moist cavern. Hands pulled at zippers and plucked at buttons. Flesh exposed, fire on ice, attempting to warm his body, thaw her heart. His mouth latched on to her breast, a starving man, feasting on her sweet skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself go. The choice had been made long ago. There was no going back now.

*****

Angel had done some checking. A few tests, she could be harmed, hurt, but no matter how severe her injuries, how grave, she miraculously pulled through. He had visited them first, his own ears disbelieving. He couldn't tell her, but he gave her passage to them. She had stood, timid, before them. Babbling before they halted her, they knew her purpose of coming. The word "forever immortal" had hung in the air, dancing before her eyes her mind not ready to receive it. She would never change, never age, never grow in mind or body. Denial comes easy to those of 22, and with a body that should have aged to 29 she ran from their presence.

She ran to Angel. Crying tears of youth, she didn't want this, ask for this. She could already feel the rift between herself and the others, how much larger would it grow in a year? Ten years? Fifty? And then they would be gone, and she would be alone. Forever 22 because of two stupid spells freezing her, the one to resurrect her, melding with the one to unleash the slayer power, until she was bound in her icy prison. He had agreed to come with her, beg them to release her, to do something. He stood beside her when they told her they could do but one thing, take her from this plane.

Angel had left her, giving her until midnight to make her choice, if she didn't come he would know her choice was death, over an icy life. As he kissed her goodbye, he knew he would never lay eyes on her again, and he was right. He trusted her to know what it had taken him centuries to discover; life without being able to grow wasn't life at all. Had she been a year or two older she might have given herself over to eternal slumber, but she wasn't, and never would be. She knew that the Scoobies could never understand; Angel could never grasp her decision. She refused to sit day after day and watch as they moved further out of her reach. She would be forever immortal alone.

How Spike ever found out she never knew. He seemed to know the whole story, thought Angel was a right ponce for the way he was acting like there was no choice to be made. He thought Spike a fool when he protested that Buffy wouldn't go through with it. Never did believe him. Told her friends brave tales of her valiant decision. They mourned and moved on. Spike stood beside her as they all instantly faded from her life. Only Spike saw.

******

She cried out in ecstasy as he pumped into her, a growl of pleasure ripping through him and he spilled his seed deep inside her. She curled up within his arms, his hands forever holding her. He had known what the others had missed, that she had been afraid. They saw her as a brave slayer, they refused to strip the mask away and look upon the girl who wanted to be protected and loved. And he planned to do just that. He never could understand how Angel hadn't seen it. The girl wanted to live, it was the only thing that made sense. Spike never knew that had she it to do over again things might be different. It was a sobering thought, but maybe she wasn't as frozen as she thought, maybe she was just caught between the hands of time.



The End





You must login (register) to review.