That said, thank you to all of you reading and reviewing this story. Truly, your response has been overwhelming for me, which is in great part the reason I forced myself to finish this chapter. I promise I'll answer to your comments as soon as I finish posting.
A million thanks to MarzBar for betaing this chapter for me and to the lovely Tammy, for reading this chapter and assuring me that it didn't suck. ;) And thank you to my very lucky friend, Im_bloody_English, who's away on vacation and will meet James this weekend, for her help with the start of this chapter.
And last but not least, a humongous thank you to m_ravensblood for personalizing the banner that inspired this story for me. :D
Gorgeous banner by m_ravensblood
Chapter 5. Realism
Spike leaned on his studio’s balcony to witness the first signs of daybreak. Slivers of light peeked through the grey, underlying clouds that sat heavily on the eastern horizon, signaling the start of a new day.
This was his favorite time of day, the one moment when he could bask in the sunrays without them rendering him to dust. It didn’t matter that it lasted only a few seconds; the image alone was enough to last him throughout the day. It was enough to illuminate his darkness; to make him feel as if he were stepping out of the shadows into the light.
Make him feel as he did when he was in Buffy’s presence.
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich, vibrant scent of the earth as it filled the morning air. He listened to the birds sing as they awoke. Everything seemed to come to life at that moment. Even himself.
The tingling on the back of his neck reminded him that the time he could remain outside would be over in a few seconds. He walked back inside and threw one last longing look at the rising sun, before closing the tempered French doors. Pressing his forehead to the glass, he continued observing the sun’s ascent for a few more minutes, although it didn’t quite provoke the same cozy sensation as before in him.
Sure, he could still watch the sun through the tempered windows. All bloody day if he chose to. It wasn’t the same, though. The glass in all the windows of his home were tempered to somehow neutralize the rays so they wouldn’t affect him; however, it also prevented its warmth from entering, too. And that in itself was one of the cruelest form of punishment for his sins that God or whoever ruled the universe could’ve ever devised. But even that didn’t stop him from doing it day after day, either. He refused to give up on that as he’d had to give up on so many other things.
With a dejected sigh, he turned his attention to the room where he was. His studio, the place where he spent most of his waking hours; whether it was painting, thinking or writing poetry that he’d never dream of sharing with anyone.
His sacred haven; his sanctuary, his refuge. This was the one place where he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out what he truly was and the one place where he could truly be himself.
The place where he’d finally realized that he couldn’t continue walking down the dark path that the fates had set up for him. Where he understood that although he didn’t truly possess a soul, he still had a heart and even if it didn’t beat, it still felt. Where he learned to control his demon, overpower the urges of its nature, until he was the one in charge.
After that, art became his whole life. He cut himself off from just about everything that wasn’t related to it. He poured all of himself into his paintings, his heart, his soul, his everything. However, he hadn’t been aware of how cold and empty his life had become by doing that, or how alone he truly felt until he met Buffy at the exhibit.
He’d thought he didn’t need for anything but he couldn’t have been more wrong. He hadn’t realized how starved for human touch—for her touch—his self-imposed reclusion had made him.
In only two days, she’d managed to turn his world upside down. To shatter all his preconceived notions of what he needed, of what was important to him, into a million pieces. To the point where he felt unable to deny her anything. To the point where it actually pained him to think of denying himself from seeing her, even if he probably wouldn’t be seeing her again after she returned to the States.
He’d just have to make the most of the two weeks they still had. Starting today. And he had just the perfect way to begin.
He glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle and saw that it was almost eight already. Still early, considering she was on vacation, but he hoped she wouldn’t mind much when she discovered the reason of his call.
Dialing the operator, he requested to be connected to The Mandeville Hotel and afterwards to Miss Elizabeth Summers’ room. A few rings afterward, a sleepy voice answered, “H-hello?” followed by what he supposed was a huge yawn. He chuckled at that, she was adorable even over the phone.
“Mornin’, love. Sleep well?”
She almost threw the phone away in surprise when she heard the voice she’d been listening at on her dreams on the other side of the phone, only to hang on to it for dear life when she realized what she almost did. Yes, he said he’d call and she’d hoped he kept his word, but she hadn’t expected him to call at… she blinked when her eyes settled on the clock on the nightstand, eight in the morning? “Spike?”
“I do hope you excuse me calling this early, sweetheart, but I have an invitation for you.”
She’d excuse him anything if he called her that again. “A-an invitation?” she repeated dumbly, her heart was hammering so loudly inside her chest that she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right.
“I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to visit my home and see the rest of my art collection today.”
He was inviting her to his house to see his art collection? Oh God, oh God, oh GOD. Her breath hitched in her throat as anticipation bubbled inside of her. To have the opportunity of seeing him again and to have a private showing of the rest of his paintings? How could she say no to that?
“Buffy, are you still there?” He knew she was, he heard her breathing, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t answered yet. Perhaps she had plans already and he was putting her on the spot?
“Y-yes, yes, I’m here and of course, I’d love to visit your home.”
“Alright then. I’ll send my chauffer to pick you up in say… two hours?”
“Two hours is perfect. I’ll be ready by then.”
“Alright, I shall see you later, love,” he said.
“Bye,” she hung up the phone, a huge smile in her face as she leaned on the pillows again. “Two hours.” Just enough time to raid her closet once more and find the perfect outfit or so she hoped.
*****
Anne Giles, Spike’s housekeeper, tried to hide the fond smile that bloomed in her face as she watched him impatiently pace the length of the library over and over as he gave her instructions for Buffy’s visit. She and her family had worked in this house all their life and all of them cared deeply for Master William. And now he had met a girl, a woman, he obviously trusted well enough to invite over. A huge step in the right direction considering they hadn’t had any visitors in decades. Perhaps this girl would be the one that would finally bring some light into his house and his life? She could only hope she was.
“Alright then, you’ll be in charge of the menus and has Giles already left to collect Miss Summers at the hotel?”
“Yes, Master William, he left as soon as you told him to.”
“Anything else?”
“No, I think that’s all.” She smiled and started walking to the door, only to say just before leaving, “It’s nice to see you like this, lad.”
“Who are you calling lad? I’m a lot older than you are, Anne,” he said raising an inquisitive eyebrow, before smiling back at her. She and her husband, Rupert Giles, had been working at his home for more years than he cared to remember and were the closest thing to having a family he ever had.
“I know that. Still, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you this excited over a visit, if ever,” she replied, and without waiting for his reply, she closed the door behind her.
He smiled as she left. Yes, he was excited to see Buffy again.
She’d brightened his world with the purity of her soul, painted his somber existence with the amazing colors of her smile, made him feel he could be a better man just by letting him gaze into those gorgeous emerald eyes, by allowing him to hold her hand in his as they walked. Just by being in her presence. And he wasn’t ready to relinquish that feeling, not yet.
To be continued in Chapter 6. Romanticism.
Like, dislike? If you feel inclined to tell me, I'll love to read your comments and answer them as best as I can. ;)