Buffy laid awake most of the night waiting for Spike to come. But he never did. She wanted to go into town and research the house, but there was just too much to do around here to spare a minute right now.
In the morning, Willow had to wake her up only after a few hours of sleep. The three friends worked most of the afternoon in the kitchen: scrubbing and cleaning the floors, cabinets and surfaces to get it ready for the new appliances being delivered in a few days.
"Don't you wish we could have one of those neat montages like they have on TV and the movies?" Xander asked, scrubbing the floor by the sink.
"Montages?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah, like when someone has a lot of studying or a lot work to do, they play a peppy, zippy song, something like oh let's say, 'Safety Dance'.” Buffy and Willow giggled. “The people are shown at different stages of progress, until they’re all done!”
“You're nutty, Xander,” Willow said with a smile. "I don't get you."
"Nobody gets me, baby. I'm like the wind," Xander said, doing an old-Elvis type kung fu move.
They giggled and continued to clean.
“Buff, when are the electricians coming?” Willow asked.
“A team of them are coming soon in a few days, a week tops. They’re going to be checking all the wiring and putting in a new fuse box... Which reminds me, we’re going to have to go downstairs to make sure the electricians have a clear path to the fuse box,” Buffy said.
“Downstairs? As in the basement?” Xander gulped and said in a Shaggy from 'Scooby Doo'-like voice.
“Yep.”
Xander shuddered. The basement was where the monsters lurked in all those movies. He really regretted watching so many creature features growing up right now.
“So, uh, who’s going to be the lucky one that goes down...there?” Xander asked.
“Well, you, obviously,” Buffy said scrubbing the floor.
“Me!” Xander squeaked. “Why is it obviously me?”
“Cause you’re a guy. Fuse boxes and stuff like that are your territory,” Willow explained.
“I know nothing about that stuff! Why do I have to do it?”
“Xander, relax,” Buffy said. “You don’t have to do it right now or anything, just within the next couple days.”
“Oh, that makes me feel SO much better...” Xander mumbled miserably.
Something horrible was creeping around down there, be it ghosts or rats or maybe even ghosts of rats, he was sure of it.
A few days passed.
The plumbers had come out and inspected some of the pipes. Unsurprisingly, they needed to replace the sinks, bathtubs, showerheads and much of the piping. The plumbers were waiting for the electricity to be turned on before going into basement so they could see what they were doing down there.
Willow had been especially giddy when they were cleaning the ballroom. Yes, they actually had a ballroom. They didn’t know what they’d possibly use it for, but they had one.
Xander worked outside a lot with the landscapers. They cleared out sections of overgrown foliage and grass and cut down a few trees. The lawns were looking more clean and less crowded everyday. The large pond was being un-mucked and restored too. Willow and Xander had both expressed their approval of stocking it with their own ducks and frogs.
In the evening, the friends went into town for some supplies and to take turns using the shower at a cheap motel. It would be absolute heaven when they got to use their own showers and tubs (not to mention the toilets!) at the house.
At 11 o’clock, they said their goodnights and went to their rooms. They were all exhausted from the last few days of work.
Buffy knew that she’d have a hard time falling asleep, despite how tired she was... She'd hold her usual vigil waiting for Spike to come.
Buffy laid on her new mattress, tossing and turning. It had been two hours since she’d given up on him coming. It was useless, she couldn’t sleep.
With a sigh, she turned on the lantern next to her bed. The electricity was supposed to be turned on next week, but until then they still had to make do with lanterns and candles.
Spike hadn’t come for three days. Why? Didn’t he like her anymore? Was something preventing him from visiting her? Did something happen to him? She was worried.
Buffy groaned, picked up her crossword puzzle from on top of her nightstand and tried to take her mind off of him.
A short time later, Spike entered the bedroom.
He smiled when he saw her. It seemed like an eternity since he’d last seen her. He approached the bed.
Buffy froze when she felt the tingles and draftiness that went along with Spike’s presence. She sat up and looked around.
“Spike? Is that you?” Buffy asked eagerly.
Spike materialized by the foot of the bed. He smirked, looking more opaque than he did last time. The details of his face and body were plainly visible although she could still see through him.
“Spike, I-I thought you weren’t coming back...” Buffy stared at him.
He was gorgeous: sculpted cheekbones, pouty lips, blue eyes the color of the sky, a scar cut through his left eyebrow. Buffy felt the strange urge to lick the eyebrow scar, as it was quite lickable-looking. He was wearing a long leather coat over his other clothes this time. The same coat that she’d found hanging in the closet.
Now that his facial features were fully formed, it hit Buffy like a ton of bricks. Spike didn‘t just resemble him, he was the man she’d seen in her dreams. The man that she’d silently longed for all these years.
“Why did you stay away so long?” Buffy asked dazedly.
Spike lips moved as he spoke to her. She could almost hear him.
“Can...you talk louder?” she asked.
He took a breath and concentrated on projecting his voice.
“I’ll try,” she heard him say in a low, soft voice.
“I heard you!” Buffy bounced on the bed. “I heard you that time!”
“How long have I been away?” Spike asked, excited to actually be talking to her.
“Three days.” Buffy pouted. “I-I thought that something happened to you...”
“Forgive me, luv. Time doesn’t have much meaning...for me.”
“You have an English accent? You’re from England?”
“Yes. I moved to the States a few years before...before I died.” He moved and sat on the end of the bed.
Buffy scooted closer to him; her eyes never stopped roaming over his face and body. She wanted to absorb everything about him, just in case he disappeared again.
“When did you... Did it happen?”
Spike thought for a moment. “July 5th, 1978. That was the date.”
“1978? You’ve been here all that time? Alone for 25 years?”
“25 years...” Spike looked off into the distance. “Is that how long it’s been? It seems a lot longer than that...but then again, it doesn’t seem possible...like it only happened yesterday. Does that make any sense?”
Buffy nodded, then said, “I’m sorry, Spike...it must be terrible. I wish I could make things better for you.”
He turned back to her and smiled. “You have, Buffy. I can’t tell you how lonely I was before you arrived. Seeing you, touching you...it’s more than I could have hoped for. You were the one that I was waiting for.”
“Waiting for?”
“Every time I felt complete despair, like I’d go mad with the loneliness and isolation, there was this feeling I had. Someone or something would come along to change my dreary existence. It was important that I hold onto my sanity until it came. But I had to wait for it. For you.”
“I...dreamed about you...” Buffy said, looking into his sparkling eyes.
Spike smirked. “Did you, now?” He assumed she meant last night.
“Yes. Before I came here. Since I was a kid, I’ve had these dreams on and off...I’d see your face."
Buffy didn't want to mention how sexual the dreams became when she matured. It was still a little embarrassing to admit to anyone, even him, in spite of what he had done to her on her sleeping bag.
"You’d smile and laugh... I remember how your eyes would crinkle up when you laughed, I loved that. I drew you over and over again, until my mom wigged out and demanded to know who this older man was that I was obsessed with." They chuckled. "If you want...I can show you some of the sketches... And when I was driving by this house, I had to stop. I’d seen it in my dreams too. Just the outside, though.”
“Hmmm. How odd,” Spike said, considering what she’d said.
Buffy giggled.
Spike looked back at her and smirked. He loved the tinkling sound of her laughter. “What is it, luv?”
“It’s just funny. A ghost saying something is odd. I mean, Hello?”
They chuckled again.
“You know what’s even odder?” Spike asked.
Buffy shook her head.
“I...dreamed about you, too. For a long time. You looked like you do now, you never aged even as I got older...”
“You--You did?” Buffy was stunned.
Spike grinned. “Yes, I never knew your name, but you would smile at me and hold my hand... The dreams were always pleasant. You’ve been special to me for so many years and I’ve only just met you...”
“We dreamed about each other...” Buffy said slowly. “What does it mean? Were we...meant...to meet? Like...fate?”
“I like to think so.” Spike smiled. “It’s a bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Buffy nodded. Her mind was awhirl. This was all just too bizarre! Spike had dreamt of her, too?! If they were meant to be together...why did he have to be dead? God must have a really sick sense of humor.
“I see you’ve been cleaning,” Spike said, changing the subject. He indicated the trunk and guitar case that Buffy had removed from the closet.
“Umm...yeah... I hope you’re not mad.”
“No. Not mad. Far from it. You can do whatever you like with all of it...it’s not like I’m ever going to use it again,” Spike said with a sad smile. "It's your home now."
“I found a book marked ‘Journal’ in the drawer over there.” Buffy pointed to the nightstand. “I didn’t read it, though. I didn’t want to invade your privacy like that.”
Spike smiled. “It’s okay, pet. It would be nice for someone to know who I was. I didn’t have time to make any kind of mark on the world while I was alive. You can read it. I have to warn you though, most of it will put you to sleep. Better than warm milk.”
Spike knew she’d read about her dream-self in the Journal. He’d been very detailed in his descriptions of his dreams, most especially his sexual dreams. He wondered what she’d think about it.
Buffy giggled and breathed a sigh of relief. She really wanted to read his journal and get a better sense of him.
“Spike, who was that woman? The one that came into the dining room the other night?” Buffy asked.
He looked down, sorrow and pain written on his face. “She was my cousin. Darla. This was her house.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, wishing she could put her arms around him.
“She’d want you to take good care of it for her. She loved it...” Spike trailed off.
“I-I will,” Buffy promised. "I want to make it beautiful again."
She wanted to ask him more about Darla and the circumstances of their deaths, but he was so sad already that she didn’t want to make it worse. Her heart ached for him.
Spike met her eyes again. “Have you seen others like me here? Besides Darla.”
“No...but I’ve heard some stuff, I assumed it was you. Xander heard some things too. How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know...more than a few. Some of them aren’t very nice or pleasant looking.”
“You mean...they’re all gross and bloody?” Buffy shuddered, she couldn‘t stand the sight of blood.
“Yeah, some of them are. I’ll try to keep them from bothering you and your friends,” Spike said comfortingly. “This house has been around since the early 1900s, it’s collected its fair share of spirits in that time...like fireflies in a bottle. But I’ll do my best to look after you.”
“Thanks,” Buffy said, feeling warmer and wetter the longer he looked at her.
“Can I...touch you?” Spike asked timidly.
Buffy had many more questions about his life and death to ask, but she wanted him too much right now. The days that she hadn’t seen him or felt his ghostly hands on her body were torturous.
Buffy nodded and then pulled off her nightgown.
“Can...I see you too?” Buffy asked, breathing hard and lying down on her back.
Spike stood up and smirked. “I think so.”
He concentrated for a moment. His clothes dissolved from his body, leaving him standing there naked.
“That’s a time saver...” Buffy gawked.
Spike chuckled.
Buffy’s eyes looked him over from head to toe. He was a work of art, and she knew from art. She knew what her next sculpture would be. His body could have been chiseled from marble. It was muscular and defined, everything perfectly proportioned. She gulped when she looked at his semi-erect cock. It was beautiful too -- so big and thick. Her fingers twitched to take him in her hand and stroke him to full hardness.
Spike crawled up the bed towards her. Buffy was struck dumb by the sheer eroticism of his look and movements. He moved so fluidly and gracefully. He hovered above her, his eyes burning with lust.
“Can you...kiss me?” she asked breathlessly.
Without a word, he lowered his head and pressed his lips lightly on hers. They felt jolts of electricity when their lips touched. It was a sensation neither of them had ever felt before. They moaned and melted into the embrace. Spike wanted to deepen it even more, but he could tell that he was at his limits already. If he tried to become more solid, he might fade away from the strain. He noticed that he was getting stronger and becoming more solid every time he was with her. He also was becoming more cognizant, remembering his life and death with clarity. Maybe soon they could do even more than this together...
Spike moved his lips down her throat, kissing the side of her neck before moving onto her breasts.
Buffy wanted to hold him but her hands kept passing through his shoulders so she clutched at the sheets instead.
"I wish I could touch you too..." Buffy whispered. "I want to make you happy."
“You do, Buffy. God...you've made me so happy..." Spike sighed as he lightly suckled and fondled her tits.
"Ahhh -- I meant I want to put my mouth -- Uhhh -- on you! I want to run my tongue all over your body!" Buffy breathed.
"This is what we have...just enjoy this. Don't think about anything else. Don't want for more. Let's not be greedy."
"Ohhh--Yes-- Ohhh!" Buffy watched him as he sucked and licked her hot skin.
"Mmmm, you taste so good, pet,” Spike moaned, licking down her stomach to her pussy.
“Ohhh--Spike!” Buffy said with a melty sigh.
Unable to sleep, Willow had snuck back down to do a little more work on the kitchen. After she was too tired to do anymore, she made her way back up to her room with her lantern.
As she was passing Buffy’s room, she stopped. There were strange sounds coming from inside. It sounded like Buffy was talking to someone and...moaning.
Willow put her ear to the door and listened.
“Mmmm--Ohhh! How do you do that? Ahhh!” Buffy exclaimed.
Willow furrowed her brows. It sounded like someone was in there with Buffy. Was it Xander? Willow knocked lightly on the door. The sounds stopped.
“Buffy? Everything okay?” Willow asked.
“Don’t come in! I’m f-fine!” Buffy stuttered.
“You sure?”
“Yes! Yeah, fine! Go back to bed, Willow.”
Willow shrugged and went to her bedroom.
“I’m fading, sorry, luv,” Spike apologized. “Wish I could stay longer.”
Buffy was panting from the glorious orgasm he’d just given her.
“Don’t...stay away so long...okay? I...missed you.”
Spike smiled. “I’ll try.”
He reached out and touched her face lightly then disappeared.
Buffy felt so sad when he left her. Why couldn’t he stay with her?
She wanted to find out more about him. When she had the time, she wanted to go into town and do some research on him and the house. That weasel real estate agent Warren hadn’t told them that anyone had been murdered here. Buffy would have wanted the house regardless, but Willow and Xander might have minded.
Buffy sighed in post-orgasmic bliss and slid under the sheet.
Buffy drifted off to sleep thinking of Spike. A vivid dream played out in her head:
June 2, 1978
Buffy found herself in the foyer of the mansion.
It was beautiful and fixed up just the way she envisioned it looking in its heyday, and how she wanted it to look when she was done with it. There were hand-painted murals on the cream-colored walls; the draperies were lace, velvet and silk; bas-relief moldings decorated the ceiling. It was breathtaking.
She was admiring the way the hardwood floors practically glowed when there was a knock on the front door.
Buffy was wondering if she should answer it when a blonde woman hurried past her and opened it. The woman was the living version of the one that came into the dining room that first night Willow and Xander were here. Spike’s cousin, Darla.
“William!” the blonde woman exclaimed when she opened the door.
“Hey, Darla. How’s tricks?” Spike said with a smirk.
He looked just as Buffy had seen him last, except with clothes on: ripped jeans, t-shirt with safety pins stuck randomly through it, heavy black combat boots.
Darla threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. It had been a year since she’d seen her baby cousin, who also happened to be her favorite relative. They were 12 years apart in age, but they always had a special bond.
“It’s good to see you. I’m so glad you decided to come out and stay with me.”
Spike picked up a few of his suitcases and entered the foyer. He whistled in appreciation.
“This is quite a place you have here, cousin. I can’t believe I’m going to be living in a posh place like this.”
“Well, get used to the good life, William.” Darla smiled.
“Spike. I like to be called Spike now.”
“Hmm, yes, I keep forgetting that. Uncle Rupert must be having fits.” Darla chuckled.
Some members of Darla’s staff went outside and began moving Spike’s big black trunk, guitar case and other bags into the house.
“Spike?” Buffy said. “Can either of you hear me?”
They ignored her. Buffy tried touching Spike's arm, but her hand passed through like water. She pulled her hand back. It was as if she were the ghost this time.
It was disorienting. Buffy was getting impressions from them, their emotions and thoughts. She wasn't getting everything -- just pieces here and there.
“Yeah, dad wasn’t crazy about the name thing or my appearance. Especially my appearance.” Spike laughed.
“When did these changes happen?” Darla asked. “I saw you last year at Christmas and you still had your glasses, tweed suit and curly brown hair.” She tousled his now spiky blond hair playfully. “I think you look great, by the way. Very dangerous and sexy. The girls must eat you up with a spoon.”
“Hey, watch the hair.” Spike smirked and ran a hand through his blond locks. “I decided on a change shortly after Christmas. And the girls pay me my fair share of attention now that I don‘t look like a total wanker. William is dead, viva la Spike!”
“I happen to love William. He better still be in there somewhere, you rogue.” Darla poked him in the stomach.
“Yeah, that git’s still in here. Don’t you worry. Can‘t get rid of ‘im.”
Darla was the only person who Spike really felt comfortable with. She never judged him or put pressure on him to be better or different than he was -- she accepted him. When he was little, Darla looked after him a lot; putting band-aids on scraped knees, reading to him, etc. And she had taken him to his first concert in 1972. They saw Led Zeppelin in L.A. while he was there on a visit and it was the highlight of his young life. Darla would always have a special place in his heart, for those reasons and many more.
“Come on, let’s get you settled into your bedroom.” Darla took his hand and led him to the staircase.
Buffy followed behind them. The cousins had very warm feelings for each other. They obviously had a close relationship. Nothing icky, just a strong familial love and bond.
“This is really weird... Why am I dreaming this? Did this really happen or is my mind making up the details?” Buffy wondered aloud.
Spike and Darla entered the bedroom.
“Wow, Dar!” Spike said. “This is bloody brilliant!”
Buffy stood in the doorway watching them with a smile.
Darla laughed as Spike ran around the room, checking everything out. Spike jumped on the bed and bounced up and down on his knees like a kid.
“Don’t break the bed, Will -- I mean, Spike.”
“This is really all mine? I can put up my own posters and stuff? You don't mind?”
“Yep, it's all yours,” Darla said. “Just don’t break all the furniture, Mr. Punk Rocker.”
“For you, I’ll give the breaking of the furniture a pass.” Spike bowed in deference.
They chuckled.
“Listen, I have to talk to the kitchen staff, so I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your room. You can take a nap or go exploring if you’d like. If you need something, you can ask Ethan, he's the head of the staff.” Darla turned to walk out.
“Darla?” Spike said.
“Hmmm?” She turned back to him.
“Thanks for having me. I’m really going to enjoy livin’ here. I have a good feeling about it.” Spike smiled.
“Me too. We‘re going to have a lot of fun.” Darla grinned.
Buffy woke up the next morning a bit disoriented. The dream had seemed so real. The colors were so vivid, the smells were so strong, the sounds were so crisp...
Why did she dream it? Why was she seeing it? Did Spike somehow send it to her? Or was the house itself doing this to her? She’d have to ask Spike the next time she saw him, which would be that night, she hoped.
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