That kiss quickly escalated into something else. Something more fervent, and laced with a lonely kind of desperation. The man, Adam – she knew that he had been joking – was clutching at her shoulders like a safety harness as he assailed her mouth with his own, plundering her warmth mercilessly, like he might’nt ever be given the chance again.
Buffy moaned in bliss at his closeness. His solid realness. “Oh…” She whimpered as he kissed her, feeling weak with a longing she had never felt before. The feeling tore through her so swiftly that she was left feeling like nothing more than a quivering mass of nerve endings. “Oh…” His lips were like a salve on her invisible wounds.
He lifted her into his arms, and she collapsed into him willingly. Already, she had forgotten that it had been less than thirty minutes since he had attempted to end her life, and less than fifteen since he had saved it. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he carried her to the staircase.
She felt like she was flying, and after so many years of drowning, it was an odd sensation to say the least.
He carried her swiftly up the stairs, then over the dirty carpet, to the darkened bedroom at the end of the hall. He didn’t bother trying the light switch. Electricity had been out for almost three years now, and the short hours of sunlight which the earth received each day meant that both of their eyes had grown more than accustomed to the darkness.
He set her down upon the upholstered mattress he’d been sleeping on for three weeks now, then knelt above her, looking down with wonder.
Just a moment of looking- it was all that he could bear without touching- and then he swooped down and pressed his lips to hers once more. She responded gratefully, like the mere moments that their lips were apart had already been too much. She felt molten beneath his hands, and he wondered if he should worry about her having a fever.
Already. Already he worried about losing her, and he didn’t even know who she was, yet. It was like a river flowing deep underground, deep beneath the surface.
For a second, he flashed back to his last memory of Drusilla. The way she’d laid so very still, and taken her last breath, staring upwards at the ceiling. Because in the end it hadn’t mattered how hard he tried, or how much he loved her, it still hadn’t been enough. At least it wasn’t the demons that took her. At least he hadn’t had to endure her face belonging to the hands of a soulless killer. Still, watching her slow descent into delirium had almost killed him, too. It was a wonder he had made it here.
Two years later, and he could still feel the stiffness of her body as he buried her. Didn’t want them to find her, and hurt her body, even if the mind and the soul were long gone.
Buffy felt tears on the man’s cheeks, and she kissed them away, with no idea of what she was giving him. No idea of the freedom that he was seeking, and recognizing in the green of her eyes.
Her lips on his skin brought him back to the present: to this small, dark room, and the small golden girl beneath him. Memories of Drusilla flitted back into the past, where they belonged.
He touched her cheek in wonderment. This tiny, precious human. She gazed up at him, and he already knew that he would give his heart to her. Was it crazy to know that already? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t seen another human face since he’d buried Drusilla’s, but now here she was. Tiny, vulnerable. He pressed his hand to her chest, and her heart pounded fiercely. She would love him, too. He could feel it in the thumping of her heart.
A sudden thought of time made his desire all the more frantic. Images seemed to flash before his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her again: a wildly beating heart, the stillness of Drusilla’s frozen eyes, pounding feet which fled, the rise and fall of the sun, clock hands spinning, spinning, spinning.
He slipped the tattered old shirt over her head, and she arched upwards to meet his lips, fingers desperate as they trailed over his taut body, like they were looking for something- she didn’t know what. She had no idea. But they seemed to know. Like they had minds of their own.
“What is your name?” He murmured into her mouth, as his palms coasted down either side of her small body. He felt like he could hold the whole of her against him with no effort at all. Like she really was just a china doll, and he’d gone as crazy as his Drusilla had done. He almost shivered at her memory, before feeling the warmth of the girl beneath him, once more.
“Buffy.” She murmured back, with a rueful grin, as if she knew what he might say about such a name. He grinned, despite himself, meeting her lips with an increased desire.
“That’s perfect.” He whispered, “So sunny. So beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She whispered, touching the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft. Downy. Vulnerable. “What’s your…”
“Spike.” He said quietly, reaching back up to take her shoulders. Pulled her upwards, then wrapped his arms around her naked back. “It’s William, really.” He added, nestling his face in the smooth crook of her neck, then kissing a trail over her beautiful, unmarred skin.
“Mmm, William.” She whispered, shivering.
“No one’s called me that in years.”
“It suits you.”
He pulled back then, to gaze at her. She really was beautiful: it was no wonder he’d mistaken her for one of them: one of the damned. They were all so god-damned beautiful. But there was something about her beauty that theirs could not hope to compare with. Because she had something else shining on her face; something wonderful, that he hadn’t seen for years and years and years.
Innocence. Purity. Fragility.
He could break her, if he wasn’t careful. His hands would leave impressions on her skin, because it was soft: soft as petals. But their skin was hard as granite. Their eyes were hollow, and their beauty was a façade. But she… This girl… This Buffy: she was real. She was a real girl, with real thoughts, and real beauty.
He couldn’t help kissing her again, with those thoughts. He would’ve kissed her, even if she had been the most hideous woman he’d ever laid eyes on, because she existed. And her existence was beauty in itself. Her heartbeat was evidence of hope. A promise of the future.
She was a seed. She was a rose.
She was… A child.
And it was this thought that had Spike freezing in his momentum. His fingers were tangled in her golden hair, and her bare breasts were touching his own chest. He pulled back slowly, assessing her soft features, her wide eyes. So innocent.
“Buffy…” He started quietly, unsure of whether he really wanted this illusion to spill from all around him. He felt a sigh building. He already knew. “Love… How old are you?”
She looked up at him very carefully, her brow slowly creasing into a frown. His fingers didn’t fall away from her hair, and her fingers didn’t leave his torso. Her eyes were so green.
“Seventeen.” She said eventually, and there was a tone to her voice that suggested she already knew that he would pull away at her admission. He did. Then he reached down to retrieve her shirt, handing it to her gently, without looking at her body again. She pulled it back on, looking down. “I don’t see why my age matters.” She said, voice quiet.
Spike smiled. It was a strangely wistful smile. “Some things are still important, pet.” He said, gently. Because, despite the panic he had felt, there was time. Now, there was time.
“I’m not a child.” She stated. There was no bitterness in her voice- just a certain kind of disappointment.
“I know that’s true.” Spike replied, taking a hold of her chin and turning her to face him. She met his eyes unabashed. “Buffy, love, I just…” He found it difficult to speak, with her eyes in his. He took a breath, then tried again. “I’m twenty six.” He said. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so carried away.”
“I didn’t mind.” She tried, giving him a small grin. He smiled back.
“Don’t want to hurt you, love.” He said. “Ever. You’re a bloody miracle, s’far as I can tell. And this-” he moved his finger back and forth between their bodies, to indicate the act that had almost come to pass, “This isn’t me saying no. It’s me saying that I’m willing to wait. Because, like I said… Some things are still important.”
That first night, there was no silence until sleep took them. Spike insisted on cleaning the wounds Buffy had gathered while they were outside, and she closed her eyes as he dabbed at the jagged tears which would become jagged scars with time. Buffy told the man about Dawn, about their struggle for survival, and about the routine their empty existences had become since the world had fallen into almost endless night. Spike told her about the two years of solitude he had been suffering through, and his adamant belief that he had been the last human on the face of the planet.
“I’ve been settled in this house for almost a month now, but I move from place to place. Checking. Always hoping, but never finding.”
Buffy shuddered, imagining his life. To be just two had seemed bad enough, but she understood now that she had been lucky. Being one alone would have driven her to madness. Being one alone would have made her long for death. She marveled at the strength of this unlikely man.
“Dawn and I stayed at home.” She said, her voice quivering in the silence. “I leave about once a month to find supplies, but as long as we’re behind that barrier, we’re as safe as we can be. I never… I never even considered that there might be someone else out there. We’ve been alone for so long.”
Spike sniffed sharply and Buffy worried she had offended him by comparing her lonesomeness to his own. Of course it had been worse for him. Of course. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” He shook his head, reached out to touch her face almost subconsciously. “It’s just so hard to believe that you’re real. Who knows- maybe I’ve finally cracked.”
Buffy laughed at that. A strange, foreign sound in this new world. She lifted her hand to touch the one that rested on her cheek, and electricity passed between them. A sudden jolt. A feeling from a different life- past lives- life before these horrors, when a man and woman would meet and sparks would fly. How Spike longed to have that world back.
He sighed. “How far to get back to your house? To Dawn?”
Buffy thought. “Two hours.” She said. She measured her distances in time, these days. “That doesn’t give us long enough to get there during the daylight hour.”
Spike didn’t say anything for a moment, and Buffy jolted as she realised she had said “us”, as if it were only natural that he would come with her. He dropped his hand from her cheek, and she felt nauseated by the idea that he did not intend to accompany her. Now that she had found him, she couldn’t stand the thought of going on without him. But what if he didn’t feel the same way?
“I’m sorry.” She said quickly, “I shouldn’t assume… I… You don’t have to stay with me. It’s insane of me to-”
He looked startled, “You think I’m going to leave you?” He asked, eyes wide with surprise. “No. No. Not now that I’ve found you. No, love. It’s me and you, now. I’d follow even the most ridiculous of characters, if it meant a break from the loneliness.”
Buffy felt relief wash over her. “Okay.” She said, like they’d just settled a deal.
“Sorry.” He said abruptly. “My manners aren’t what they used to be, these days.”
“I guess that’s to be expected.” Buffy tried to smile. She looked out of the window at the dark, dark sky, then asked “We should stay here until the sun rises. The hour of daylight will at least give us a head start.”
Spike nodded firmly. Then he gestured to his bed. “You should get some sleep. We both should.” He headed for the dark sitting room, calling back to her “I can take the couch.”
“No, please.” Buffy replied, her heart beating a little faster in the wake of his presence. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you… Would you stay with me- sleep beside me? I think I’d like to hear your heart beat.”
Spike turned, and looked at her intently. Then he nodded simply, and followed her over to the bed. She lay down, her back pressed against the wall so that there was space for him beside her. They lay side by side for no more than a second, though, because when he touched her hand she curled into his side reflexively, her cheek coming to rest upon his chest, directly above his steadily beating heart.
Later
A toe nudged her side, and Buffy groaned softly. Everything hurt, and still she wasn’t dead. Her stomach felt concave, like she was withering away upon her bones. One day they’d find her shrunken, stiff remains, and maybe then she’d really be gone. She’d get the rest she so desperately wanted.
The toe nudged her again.
“Is she dead?” Asked a voice. She felt a human kneel beside her, and then groaned again as she felt two fingers on her neck, seeking out her pulse point.
“Undead.” Was the response.
“Right.” The first voice sounded. “Let’s keep moving.”
Buffy sighed to herself. She hadn’t even had to open her eyes to know that these two voices belonged to human men. Two more survivors, and two more stars of hope on Spike and Dawn’s horizon. She almost smiled, but her chapped lips would allow nothing above a slight grimace. As long as there was hope for her family, she could die in peace.
“Wait.” Said the second voice, interrupting her tranquility. “I recognise this…” The voice trailed off as its owner seemed to realise something. “This is-” he cut himself off abruptly, “-was Buffy Summers.”
The first voice seemed suddenly a lot more interested. “Spike’s girl?”
There was pain in the second voice. “Yes.” It conceded, taking no pleasure in the discovery. “I guess now we know why she never made it to the meeting point.”
“Should we tie it up: wait for the sun to rise?” The first voice asked, no qualms.
The second voice was hesitant. “I…” It faltered, uncertain. “She’s weaker than I’ve ever seen one before. I didn’t realise they could still get to be this weak.”
The first voice was hesitant now. “Is… That significant?”
“I don’t know.” The second voice admitted. “It’s certainly of interest. If we were to attempt it now, we could hurt her without any exertion of effort. I’ve never come across such a case. Every confrontation I’ve had with these things has been a… Struggle for survival.”
“So we thank our lucky stars and put it up against that tree until morning?” The first voice asked hopefully.
“Eventually, perhaps.” The second voice agreed. “But I think that maybe… she might be of interest to us now. The advantage we’ve been looking for.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am.” The conviction in the second voice was almost frightening to Buffy. The thought of death had been a comfort, and the prospect of being the experiment of this man made her tremble deep inside. “I’m almost certain that these creatures are turned with the knowledge of how they can be killed. If we could get that information from her, we might actually have a chance in all this.” The voice quivered, though whether it was with excitement or fear, Buffy did not know. “Roll up your sleeve. She’ll need blood to carry on.”
“What?” Voice number one protested, astonished. “You’re kidding me?”
“Not at all. She’ll be too weak to kill you now, so consider this our first experiment.”
“I’m not giving her my blood.” The first voice said, sounding convicted. “No effin’ way.”
The second voice sighed, “Fine,” and then Buffy heard the sound of a sleeve being rolled. The strangely clear sound of a knife being dragged across flesh, then the suddenly wonderful aroma of fresh, warm blood.
Buffy felt disgusted with herself. She wanted to die.
The aroma was wafted beneath her nose, but she kept her lips clamped shut. “No.” She managed, in a strained voice. She kept her eyes tightly closed, knowing she’d lose it if she saw the beautiful iridescent red of the second man’s blood, dripping from his wrist. “Please, no.”
“How queer.” The second voice mused, while the wrist continued to gyrate beneath Buffy’s nose. “She seems to have phenomenal self control, considering how young she certainly must be.” Eventually, he pressed the wound against Buffy’s tightly clamped lips, and she choked, struggling to keep herself in check. She didn’t want to hurt this kind-sounding voice. She didn’t want to give in to the creature she didn’t want to admit that she’d become.
She shook her head hard, and finally the wrist was pulled away.
A bottle of water was offered to her instead, and she took it, drinking from it gratefully and feeling a little better for the gratification it provided. “Thank you.” She murmured, slowly blinking her eyes to look up at the two faces looming over her. One face she did not recognise, the other she was surprised to discover that she did.
Spike’s father- she knew him instantly from the photograph Spike had always kept with him. She knew him from his familiar, kind blue eyes, that looked so much like the man’s son’s.
“Spike?” She choked out, hoping she wouldn’t startle the older man, but also hoping he might offer her some kind of answer. She felt tears fill her tired eyes, then pool over. “Is he okay? Is he alive, and safe?”
The older man looked at her with some surprise, but he controlled it, and after a moment or two it melted away into mild interest. “And Dawn, too.” He conceded, watching with interest as the vampire girl seemed to deflate with absolute, undeniable relief. The older man glanced at his companion with a significant expression, but the other man seemed less convinced. Buffy knew that if she were in his position, there was no way she’d ever trust a vampire, no matter how well-behaved it appeared.
“You want to help me get her upright?” Spike’s father asked, and the other man shrugged, half-nonchalant.
“You know he’s going to flip his lid if you bring this home with us.” He said, his voice tacked with a sincere warning. “He’s not going to thank you for bring her corpse back.”
Spike’s father just ignored the other man’s words, taking both of Buffy’s shoulders into his grip, and hauling her much too easily to her feet. She must not weigh anything, these days. “Steady, there.” He said, as she swayed dangerously, leaning back into his chest.
The feel of him was so familiar, like he really was Spike. He almost smelt like him, though there was something different. Something older, about this man. Wiser. Spike was always so reckless, so free.
“Giles, I don’t want any part of this.” The first man warned, even as he took one of Buffy’s arms and locked a tight hold around her frail wrist. “If Spike flips out, I want your word that you’ll tell him I was against this from the start.”
“Certainly,” the man called Giles affirmed. “I wouldn’t dream of passing the blame upon anyone else. Besides, I have the upmost faith in William’s rationality. He knows how important it is for us to ascertain a way to kill our foes.”
“But, his girlfriend…”
“Unfortunate coincidence.” Giles was shaking his head, and he glanced at Buffy then. Her eyes were wide as she looked between them. They wanted to use her to find out how her kind were killed? She wondered just what that would entail. Endless torture sessions? Hit and miss attempts upon her life?
She mused over the fact that it would almost be worth it, if it meant seeing Spike and Dawn with her own eyes. Visual confirmation that they were alive and well.
And of course, at the end of the day, she knew that a stake through the chest would do it. If it all got to be too much, at least she could offer them that. Then maybe they’d put her out of this miserable existence.
Oh, was she glad she’d been captured? Most definitely.
“This way then, Buffy.” Giles said, his voice soothing and warm. Buffy wondered at that as she took her first step out on wobbly legs. Surely he didn’t have to be nice to her? It upset her balance. “Easy. You’re alright. Do you want more water?”
She accepted a fresh bottle gratefully, noting the other man’s look of disgust as she drank it down fast. Also noting Giles’s look of interest and curiosity.
“Most curious.” He said again, when she handed the bottle back to him. “And food?”
She accepted a tuna-mayo sandwich, made on wheat bread, and it tasted heavenly as she scoffed it down. Giles gave her another, his expression of interest never lifting.
“She’s certainly a nonconformist.” He mused to himself, while his companion shook his head.
“An abomination.” He suggested, instead. “Or a good actress.” He squeezed her arm a little more tightly at that, and Buffy inadvertently dropped the last corner of her sandwich. She looked at it regretfully but said nothing.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Welcome to chapter two...
Chapter End Notes:
Liked it? Loathed it? Either way, my interest is peaked! Please let me know :) And thanks so much for reading again!