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Years of silence. Not enough.
Who can blame us, giving up?
Above the quiet, there's a buzz.
That's me trying.
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After three disastrous attempts at the mathematic intricacies of Yahtzee, one game of Chutes and Ladders, and two thrilling videotaped episodes of Passions (Buffy didn’t want to know who’d started that little obsession), Dawn had finally gone to bed. Apparently even the teenaged queen of separation anxiety had her family fun-time limits. Buffy peeked in on her sleeping sister before closing the door gently and padding down the hallway to her bedroom. Her own door slid closed with a soft click, and she stood for a moment in a pink cotton night shirt that hung a little too easily on her frame. She had lost weight in the past year.
She shook her head dismissively and moved to turn down the bed when a soft tap at the window brought her slayer senses to full alert.
Vampire.
For less than a heartbeat, her mind flipped back to
Angel at the window
the official worst birthday ever, and she felt the tips of her fingers grow cold and numb. Then she turned her head to the pane and Vampire was re-identified as Spike. Chilled fingertips grew warm and tingly, but she cocked a hip and drew her brow into her best “You’re pushing it” expression as he slid unceremoniously through the window.
“Spike, you’re pushing it,” Buffy said tightly.
“Ow, bloody…” Spike grunted as the tip of his boot caught the ledge and he half tumbled into a kneeling position in front of her. “Hunh. Thought you liked to see me on my knees.” He raised an all-too-innocent and slightly battered eyebrow at her, and Buffy’s resolve slipped a notch.
“Not gonna happen, Spike.” She tossed out. But she was hotly aware of the way his eyes slipped over her, taking in her thin shirt, lingering on the light cotton panties directly in his line of sight.
“Tempting,” he growled. Spike licked his lips, then snapped out of his reverie and stood to face her. “But not what I came here for, Slayer.”
“I already told you there will be no candle-blow… huh?” Buffy squinted through the dim light as her brain caught up with her mouth.
“No sex, pet.”
Spike smiled sweetly and tilted his head, seeming to take genuine pleasure at catching her off guard. Buffy bristled. She winced when her words fell out, more pouty than intended. “Then why are you here?” She didn’t like to think what her confusion implied about their relationship. Not that… not that there was a relationship. Of any kind.
“Simple,” Spike said, but he turned from her and began an abbreviated lion’s pace around her room. “I, um… I just wanted to…” He fumbled through his coat pockets, occasionally darting glances at Buffy’s face.
Buffy found a sharp response, but curiosity beat it back, and she sat down Indian-style on her bed while she watched Spike stalk back and forth. At length, he came up with a tightly folded, worn sheet of notebook paper. He stilled, thrust it at her with a mumbled “here” and returned to wearing annoying little vampire tracks into her carpet.
“What’s this?” Buffy held the paper at a distance from her between her forefinger and thumb.
Spike sighed with heavy exaggeration and then sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and for a moment, Buffy thought of inching away from him, but that would have taken way too much effort. Her decision had nothing to do with the comfy smell of leather, sex and smoke that was Spike. And it was not remotely related to the soft low burn working its way down her body. Not related at all. There. All settled.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered. “It’s not gonna bite you. It’s a present, you silly bint.”
Buffy tossed her hair back with what she hoped was the right amount of aloof indifference. “As soon as I find out what that word means, you’re so gonna be dust.”
Spike only chuckled deep in his throat as she carefully unfolded the paper he’d given her. The fingers in his left hand tapped spastically against his leg. Buffy was tempted to grab them, still him for a moment. But that would be hand-holding. And… just no. Never mind the fact that they’d held hands at her party. And, brief though it was, it had felt… surprisingly not insane. Kind of boyfriendy, actually. Which should have been insane. Because Spike was not boyfriend material. The guy… the one Xander brought. She couldn’t actually remember his name right now, but he was the one who was boyfriend material. So why wasn’t he even a blip on her radar? And if all she and Spike had was sex, then why did he act like the jealous boyfriend? And more importantly, why did she like it when Spike acted like a jealous boyfriend?
Buffy turned her eyes back to the paper. A present. Gah, please don’t let it be bad poetry, she thought with a mental groan. Visions of awkward rhymes and a more awkward silence to follow floated through her mind as she spread open the last fold of the sheet.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Spike glanced at the paper, then looked at her bedroom wall. “No joke,” he managed softly.
“It’s… it’s blank,” Buffy said, wondering why she’d even have to say it, since they both knew it, and Spike normally wasn’t slow with the swaggering, annoying wordiness.
“Yeah, well…” True to type, Spike stood and began to speak. But with very little actual swagger. “See, I was thinking about the chip.”
“Spike,” Buffy said sharply, and she wasn’t quite sure why. The Chip was not something they talked about anymore. Not ever.
“And about what would happen if I ever got it out,” he finished slowly, turning to stare her down.
Buffy’s flinch was limited to the very corner of her eyes. If Spike noticed, he said nothing.
“I was gonna make a list. All the places I’d go, people I’d eat, things I’d kill.” Spike said the last part with awed fervor, and Buffy let out a disgusted little noise. Spike shrugged it off. “Thing is, in my head, every time I’d think of something to put down on the list, I’d hear you asking me not to. Bloody stupid really,” he said as his hands patted down his coat for cigarettes before stilling when he remembered his surroundings. “Know you’d never beg. Never care enough to want…” Buffy studied the fabric of her comforter, and Spike turned his back to her, his eyes focusing through the softly lit window pane.
“But if you did…” he murmured softly to the glass. He turned abruptly, calming his stormy face. “So it made me wonder. Where do I draw the line, yeah? Had to make a new list. Figure out what I wouldn’t do for you. What I absolutely would never lower myself to, no matter how much you wanted it.”
Buffy lifted her eyes to him and noticed the way the blue-white street-light filtered in through the tree outside her window to brush across his face. It made him softer somehow, even as he set his jaw in determination. “And?” Buffy said.
“And you’re holding it,” Spike answered, tipping a chin toward her before settling on the opposite corner of her bed with a small sigh. He looked down at his fidgeting hands. “All those sleepless nights. Well, days, technically. Trying to think of just one sodding thing. And there you have it.” Laughter fell from his throat like dry grass.
“What I Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.”
Buffy stared at the slip of paper with a sort of shocked interest. She noticed, for the first time, the little creases of use from constant folding and unfolding. Tiny tobacco smudged stains. Part of a red thumbprint in the bottom left corner. Ink? Or blood. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of so much feeling that it pared her to the bone. And responsibility. Buffy wasn’t made to be a moral compass. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she breathed.
Spike stiffened, then skimmed off the bed and made to leave as he grasped the window. “Yeah. Well. Just…Happy Birthday, Buffy,” he tossed over his shoulder with an efficient, casual air that didn’t quite cover the pain.
“Spike.” Buffy was up and holding his arm before she realized she had moved. His sudden closeness, the intensity of dark blue eyes as they stared down into her, was enough to cause a tremble. Unbidden, ideas of things he wouldn’t want to do, things she could make him, swirled in her head. Kill Drusilla. Stop smoking. Never hurt another human being. Be nice to Xander. And she knew they’d all crossed his mind. And she wondered how much it had taken, in his fantasy vision of her, before he’d pushed the pen away. If she only asked. For a moment, the power of it was a living, heady thing.
“I want you,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes. The smile he gave her was so tender that she cut her gaze away and felt the blush rise into her cheeks. For a moment, she did a mental double-take to make sure she hadn’t said something more significant. Something involving an L word. Secure that her words were purely Want-related, she had to wonder if Spike had just started taking it to mean the same thing. As if it were a secret code they shared. Then he kissed her, and it didn’t seem so important anymore.
His lips were gentle, brushing hers, then grazing her temples. She gripped the leather at his arms in tight fistfuls when he laid a palm on her back and pulled her against him. Buffy felt his cock straining against his jeans in the narrow space between them and was amazed that so little could make him so hard. She lifted her face to catch his lips in something more, and he obliged, licking her lips before slipping his tongue into her mouth in a gentle play. Spike moved a hand under her shirt to cup her small breast and the chill tingle of his flesh against hers made her moan into his kiss. She brought a hand to his chest and felt his body shudder when she rubbed a finger across the fabric covering his sensitive nipple.
Spike pulled back a moment, recovering. Secretly, Buffy loved it when he did that. Loved the feeling of watching him forget and fight for breath. “Really,” gasp, “wasn’t what I came,” gasp, “here for, love.”
Buffy looked at him slyly before sliding her hand down his chest to cup his hard length, drawing a deep groan from him. She stroked him through denim, and he looked down at her with a clenched jaw and heavy lidded eyes. “I believe you,” Buffy said with a small smile. She leaned closer, brushing her face against his cheek as she whispered against his ear. “But maybe I do want to blow out my birthday candles.”
Spike’s guttural response and involuntary thrust into her hand brought Buffy a warm, wet rush down through her core. She threaded her arms under his coat to close the distance between them as she pulled him into an urgent, searching kiss. She remembered the bruises a heartbeat later and pulled back to check his reaction with a look of guarded guilt.
“What?” Spike stilled immediately.
“Nothing.” Buffy stared at a point above his left shoulder. “I just…” She shrugged one shoulder toward him. Her voice was soft and sad. “You know. If it hurts…”
Spike’s eyes narrowed before he caught her meaning. “Oh, that. It’s fine, love. Healing up right quick.”
“We didn’t really talk about…” Buffy couldn’t find words, even if she’d been certain she should have finished the sentence.
Spike assumed what Buffy had come to know as the Look of Infinite Patience which by turns endeared and infuriated her. In this case, she leaned toward endear. “It’s over, love. Why do you think I thought of the bloody list in the first place?”
Buffy tried to stifle a laugh, thinking, it’s not funny. You shouldn’t laugh about your boyfriend wanting to kill people because you beat him up. It’s most definitely not… not funny. She giggled anyway, and Spike took advantage of her weakened state to kiss her breath away. She ground herself against him and dug her nails into his back as he started licking his way down her throat.
Spike moved back for another deep kiss, and he slipped the coat off his shoulders without breaking contact, holding his mouth open and certain against hers. They parted as he stripped off his shirt. Spike had barely struggled free of the dark material before Buffy closed on him, grabbing a nipple in her mouth and giving it a gentle tug.
Spike shook himself into a measure of composure before locking his gaze with Buffy and murmuring, “Bed. Now.”
Buffy nodded, struggling with his belt buckle. She managed to pull the leather belt free just before he lay down. Together they worked his boots and jeans off, and he freed them with a little kick. Buffy stood over him and moistened her lips. “Did I ever tell you that you look really good naked?”
Spike laid his tongue against his teeth and smiled with wolfish grace. “Same to you, pet,” he nodded, request implied. Buffy started to shimmy out of her shirt, but Spike reached up and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. “Slow,” he said in a low purr as he nuzzled her hair. “Never done it here before.”
Suddenly Buffy grasped his meaning. This was her own room. Her bed. A place she was tender and quiet. Where she could just be Buffy. A slip of a nightmare came back to her, and although much of it was blurred now, she knew the only moment of comfort she’d had in the twisted dream had been the second he’d laid down beside her in her bed. Somehow, being here might change everything. Buffy didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she brushed a palm against his cheek and began to kiss his face. Softly, so softly, she brushed full lips against each bruise. Spike closed his eyes, and Buffy traced a line of whispery kisses over the worst one.
When she was done, Spike turned so that he leaned over her. She studied the sharp contours of his face while he watched his hand move over her skin. He rubbed his palm over one breast, drug fingernails lightly down her side, and then deftly brought one finger to brush at her sex through the wet, soft cotton of her panties.
Buffy’s hips arched at the first contact, and she fought back the urge to beg him for more. She knew that at this, he was best left to his own timing. Spike looked up into her eyes for a long moment, and Buffy found herself drowning in a sea of dark blue as he slipped a finger inside the sodden material and began to touch…
“Buffy,” Dawn’s tremulous voice cut through the night like a cold stream.
Buffy and Spike both jumped. “Dawn?” Buffy managed to squeak. “Dawn,” she said with slightly more force. “Just a second.”
Spike’s Look of Infinite Patience was nowhere to be seen, and Buffy silently prayed he wouldn’t growl out loud. His lips parted, but Buffy placed a finger across them. “I’ll take care of it,” she whispered. “We’re not finished,” she breathed steadily, holding his gaze for another moment before pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, and straightening her shirt and hair. Spike grabbed his clothes and slid to the other side of the room, out of any possible line of site, and Buffy cracked open her door.
“What is it?” Buffy said, squinting as the hall light filled her eyes. When her eyes adjusted she noticed Dawn’s tear-streaked face. “Dawn,” Buffy said with more feeling. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Buffy noticed a flutter of dark movement in the corner, then turned back to her sister. “It’s not a big deal, I guess,” Dawn said softly. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, and I’m too old for stuff like this, but I had a nightmare. Ok?”
“It’s not stupid, Dawnie.” Buffy stroked a lock of hair away from Dawn’s face. “Are you ok? Do you want to talk about it?”
Dawn shrugged and looked at the floor. “You were there. And Xander, and me, and Willow. And there was this big purple demon thing. With like, funny horns? And something about cheese. Which was kind of weird considering…”
“Bloody buggering…!”
Buffy whipped around in time to see a fully clothed Spike hopping on one foot and holding his shin near the window of her bedroom.
Dawn pushed Buffy’s door the rest of the way open. “Spike? That’s Spike,” she said plainly. She darted her eyes suspiciously to Buffy’s. “What’s Spike doing here?”
Spike looked up, and Buffy couldn’t help thinking, “Headlights. See, Deer In.” He stopped hopping and walked forward to Dawn.
“Right, well, you caught me, Nibblet.”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide, but Spike just stopped casually beside her. “Thought you might still be awake after the little slumber free-for-all, so I came to tell your sis about a new Big Bad. But I see you’re both all tucked into your beddie-byes for the night.” He looked at Buffy meaningfully. “It can wait.”
He turned to go, but Buffy grabbed his arm. “Spike? It sounds kind of… important,” she said, wracking her brains for a subtlety she was unused to. “I think you should stay.”
He glanced at Dawn before saying, “We’ll get around to it later. You’ve got other things on your hands right now.”
Dawn smudged a remaining tear away with the back of her hand before mumbling, “It’s no big deal.”
Buffy knew she should probably feel guilty, but she’d had Family Bonding Time for three days straight. Literally. And for just once, she wanted someone to make her forget her own nightmares for a while. Buffy turned back to him. “See? Dawn’s ok.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get her settled back in, and then you and I can… talk. Please stay.” If Dawn heard the need in Buffy’s voice, she gave no outward sign. She continued to sniffle and stare at the floor.
“No, Buffy,” he said softly. “She needs you.”
For a split-second, Buffy fought the urge to throw herself into his arms, drown out Dawn, and housework, and slaying and responsibilities and just lose herself in his body. But Spike read the look in her eyes and stood firm with a barely perceptible shake of the head. Buffy slumped a little before nodding goodbye to him. He carefully stepped out over the ledge that had brutally defeated his first exit attempt and left the roof.
“He could just use the door, you know,” Dawn said groggily.
“Tell him that,” Buffy said with a smile.
An hour of pseudo-mothering and hot chocolate later, Buffy found herself alone in her room again. This time, there was no tap at the window. But as Buffy began to pull down the sheets, she saw the slip of paper Spike had given her, where she had left it earlier on the bed. A thought occurred to her, and she fumbled at her desk until she found a pen. She unfolded the sheet once more and chewed at her pen cap before writing a title across the top. “What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.” Below the title, on the first blue line, Buffy wrote, “Hurt Dawn.”
Satisfied, she pulled out her smallest jewelry box. She stared numbly at the contents. Petals from the first flower Scott had given her. A locket from her first birthday with Riley. Angel’s ring. Buffy gently laid Spike’s notebook paper over the other trinkets, closed the lid, and pushed the box back into her bottom drawer.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
All chapter titles and quotes at the first of each chapter hale from William Shatner's album, "Has Been." No, I'm not kidding. And yes, it frickin' rocks. =)