It's one in the morning, it's dark, and he can't sleep. He's obviously taken to sleeping during the day over the last century or so, because the nighttime is a vampire's best friend. His body clock is pressing him to stay awake. But of course, there are other reasons.
Like the fact that she's sound asleep beside him, relaxed, her small hands resting on his arms that are gently wrapped around her. And he's compelled to simply lay there and watch her.
It isn't as if he hasn't watched, stared, admired before. But it's this rare moment, in which she's finally resting instead of fighting and leading and decision-making, that intrigues him especially. Here, now, there is no crease of worry etched in her brow. No fearful glance in his direction that he sees all too often lately. Just peacefulness.
There is a big battle coming up that not everyone will survive. He knows that she knows this. It is her job to lead the battle against evil, and although she doesn't always show it, he notices those little things in her eyes, in her words, in her movements that practically scream, "I'M SCARED".
So it's refreshing to see her looking so . . . okay. He tries to take it all in while he can, tentatively removing his arm from her waist to prop himself up on his elbow. God, she's beautiful. Strands of her golden hair have fallen slightly in front of her face, her expression is placid.
They've been through a lot, the two of them. Helped and hurt each other along the way. But he hopes none of that matters, now.
He can't help himself: he leans down and presses a small kiss to her forehead. Nothing extravagant, nothing Romeo-and-Juliet-inspired. Just a quiet expression of what he feels.
And then, to his surprise, he sees her eyes blink open. Hazel meets blue. In a sleepy, almost-whisper, she says his name, "Spike?"
"Hey," he replies, wondering if she remembers deciding to spend this last night of nights with him.
But his question is answered the way her eyes light up as she looks at him, and the small smile that creeps its way across her features makes him melt and if he had a heartbeat to begin with it would stop right now because, bloody hell, this girl is amazing.
She's had a history of pushing him and her feelings away. He wonders if tonight will be no exception.
But then she moves closer to him, and the heat of her body envelops him, and she rests her head against his chest and oh God he loves her so much. She's only reason he's able to love, to feel what he does despite what he is. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
"I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow," she says suddenly, and he feels the tension radiating from her curled up frame.
He isn't about to let that tension remain as a wall between them. Not tonight.
He brings a finger under her chin, lifting it so she can face him. "Whatever happens," he says, "You're a hero, Buffy. That's what you've always been."
She shakes her head a little. "I dunno. I mean . . . I have a plan. I think . . . I feel like we'll win. But I know that won't come without sacrifices."
"That's true," he agrees. And he makes the bold move of running his fingers through her hair. She doesn't pull away, so he keeps going, trying to relax her rigid muscles. He goes on: "But I know you, Slayer. You're not going to walk away, or let those sacrifices be made, without a fight."
Slowly, surely, she relaxes again, and he feels almost pompously proud of himself for achieving his goal.
"How do you do that?" she asks, and he raises an eyebrow, which prompts her to continue, "How do you . . . know how to make me feel better?"
He shrugs. "I know you, love. Well enough, anyway. And if I know you, I know you're gonna come out of this alive. You're strong enough. You just don't see it."
Suddenly his hands are warm, and he looks down to find that she has clasped his in her own, tightly, and once again, he looks at her quizzically.
"Spike," she says his name again; her voice, it's the most lovely and wonderful and terrifying sound all at once, "Thank you."
He tries to play it cool, although he gives her hands a squeeze in reply. "For what?"
"You know what."
"For being the greatest, most bad-ass vamp this side of the country? Can't help that, pet."
She rolls her eyes and grins, and he crosses off another item on his mental checklist: make her smile.
He thinks that if this were to be the very last night he spends on this earth, he'd be happy, just being with her. And he'd do it all again. Because he loves her so damn much.
Of course, he's made this very clear to her on numerous occasions. He doesn't need to say it again.
He does anyway, stumbling and crashing as those words fall turbulently from his lips.
"I . . . I love you."
And she says what he'd assumed she would say: "I know, Spike. I know."
She smiles that sweet smile like he guessed she would. And then, she does something he hadn't predicted she'd do at all.
She kisses him.
She brings her hands to his face, gently brushing her lips against his, then down to his neck, then back up again. Instinctively he runs his hands down to her hips, resting them there, bringing her closer to him.
All the fear and the pain and the hesitance wash away, and they are not two lost souls bruised by the past, but one being of utter compassion and trust. The rest of the world, the impending apocalypse, all her regrets, all the wrong he's done her, himself, everyone---it all fades away. Just for now. For tonight. Right here.
In the dark, they are entwined, simply holding each other, two hearts: one beating, one with so much adoration pouring from it that it might as well be.
This is the last night. It could be his last, her last, their last. But it doesn't matter.
This is the last night, and as he is wrapped in her and she in him, this night belongs to them.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I just joined this place and am SO glad to have found it, and to find that it's still active! :D This is not my fist fic; I have various others on fanfiction.net, but I hope you like this one nonetheless.