The next day started in chaos. The nurses were scandalised, yes, shocked that the two patients had found a way to subside the rules and sleep in the same bed. Although Buffy was pretty sure she remembered the doorknob being turned and a head peaking in to make a little surprised sound, only to disappear again and tiptop down the hall as to excuse the intrusion. They must’ve been way cute and romantic, and she kinda didn’t mind. She felt a bit light headed. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have to save the world right now. New, that one. No wrinkly old master, no Frankenstein-like monsters, no bitchy Gods with bad home perms. But no family either. No friends. And no sister to yell at, sacrifice your life for…no sister to kiss on the forehead and wish goodnight, to worry about and love and miss…but she did. She missed her semi-spoiled little sister who’d lived through so much and was still considered fragile, who felt alone in a room full of attentive people that loved her and who still sought attention even when she was the centre of her sister’s world. Buffy had sacrificed her life for Dawn, and then her death. And the girl felt unloved.
A sob broke through Buffy’s body and she missed Spike so intensely she had to slowly rock on her bed, pillow closely clutched to her chest while she tried to push back the sadness with a hand over her mouth. She was afraid that maybe if she let go, she’d wail like a big idiot. And then there’d be the heartbreaking comfort from a compassionate doctor she’d met just days ago, a doctor who’d known her for six years. She was afraid that if she stopped crying, if she was comforted, then this was really undeniably real. And there were no friends, no family, no mission. There was only him. Her sobs died out and were replaced by a slight aching feeling in her chest. There was only him, and maybe she didn’t mind. Maybe things were alright. The sobs returned violently and tore at her body again, but now…now she grieved with desperate finality. Because they really were gone. And this really was real. And there was only him. And she didn’t mind.
Spike faced the door shivering, this morning like the one before. Was he supposed to go out for breakfast, or was he…grounded? He gritted his teeth at the stupid thought and took a step towards the door. Buffy’d smiled and brushed her hand over his cheek before she was shooed out by an insistent nurse. He could still feel her touch, ponce that he was. So he slid into the white loose daytime clothes that made him feel like a bloody marshmallow and pushed open the door. The corridor lay empty and white. Maybe he’d missed breakfast.
Spike took a deep breath and started walking down the hall. He managed to turn the right corner and saw the table being emptied of the dishes. A young brunette nurse smiled at him shyly and nodded discreetly against a glass door. He just stared at her, dumbstruck, until her hesitant smile faded. Embarrassed, he shrugged off the stare and flashed her a grateful smile before turning to look in the direction she’d pointed him to. All the noisy feelings that tore in his body calmed as he made out the form of her back through the glass door. Funny how every part of her could amaze him with its beauty. Even her back made him think of poetry and long for his…quill? Oh, bloody hell… Still a poet, as much as he never was.
He walked up to the door, and as he opened it, she turned her head to greet him with her pale glow. She wasn’t pasty, mind you, just the creamy shade of someone who’d spent a long time hiding from the sun. She wore her hair up, just the way he secretly loved it. It exposed her lovely face, showed up those hazel eyes he’d drowned in so many times. But he’d stopped complimenting her before he’d even begun, afraid it’d drive her away. And now…things had changed. Now her hazel pools caught the sun as she saw him, her lips forming a soft smile. He thought he’d die from the joy, because how could this feeling fit in his chest?
“You look like a dream made of silk,” Spike blurted out before the thought reached his brain, and groaned when it did. He didn’t dare look at her, but he couldn’t stand not to. And when he looked at her face, she wasn’t frowning or scowling like he’d feared. She was blushing through a shy smile, eyes shining.
“You mean that?” she asked silently, looking deep into his eyes.
“Yeah, I—uh, I didn’t mean to…I…” Spike panicked, what if she was making fun of him? She couldn’t…they didn’t even know each other. All they knew about each other was on which level of mouth-foaming, bug-shagging craziness they were. Spike studied his shoes with burning intensity.
“You don’t?” Buffy asked, insecurity clinging to her voice they way it had ever since they woke in this world, only now more pronounced.
Spike stared at her. Her expression of hope made his courage grow and his tongue work again. “I…would you mind ‘f I did?”
Her smile returned again. “No” she said happily, “Not one bit”. Her hand reached for his, their fingers entwining and eliciting content twin sighs from the couple. “Spike?”
“Yeah pet?”
“Do you ever…do you miss it? The old world, all the people?” He could see her pain trying to hide in her eyes as she looked down, blinking a few times and looking away from him. He ached for her, for all the suffering she’d been through. He didn’t know how she could be so strong, yet look so frail. Ethereal, soft, and easy to shatter.
“Dunno,” he answered softly, “You?”
“I…yeah. I miss it.” Her gaze stayed absently on the white picket fence that braced the institution from the world. It was a strangely idyllic thing in the home of insane people. Such a contrast. Calm and chaotic…but then again, that seemed to be life now. Boredom or panic, over and over and over…until you were too exhausted to feel a thing. Buffy turned her head and looked into his eyes, serious like he’d never seen her before. Not even in the face of death, she’d looked this…mature. “I miss the meaning, the purpose, the knowing what you’re here for. The mission.” Her lips grew a bitter smile. “Never thought I would, but I do. Sure, it was hard, but at least I knew why.”
She looked away again, exhausted. “Not like I do now,” she said quietly. She turned to him, leaning in and shyly sliding her hands around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. Spike had to stifle the tears that suddenly grew in his throat. It was becoming a habit. But he couldn’t remember Buffy ever being this close to him, without mocking or hating or kissing him. This was different. This was trusting, sincere and insecure—and maybe even affectionate.
“I don’t, you know.” He regretted it the instant her head left its position on his shoulder and her suddenly dark eyes stared into his. “I don’t miss it.” A light frown marred her pretty face at his words, and he cursed himself for placing it there. “They all…nobody…I couldn’t be loved.” he said, eyes burning with unshed tears at the look of pity on her face. He tried to look away, but her eyes wouldn’t let him.
“That’s not true” Buffy said, wearing a small smile in the corners of her mouth, warming his entire body.
But suddenly a world of doubt came crashing down on him. He looked down. “Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured. He looked up when she didn’t answer, only to see tears forming in her downcast eyes. “Doesn’t matter though, does it?” he said. “None ‘f it’s true anyway. None of it happened. And you and I…we don’t really know each other, only met a couple of days ago.”
The tears seemed to walk back into her eyes, building a shimmer that made them look almost feverish. “Yes, we do.” She said with soft clear certainty. “We belong together…William. No matter where we are, in our own world of heroism and punishment, or…here. We belong with each other.”
Spike drew a sharp breath, trying hard not to cry. “You sure?” he whispered, so awed it hurt.
Her soft lips met his in a shower of tears, and he knew. This was right. This was real. It was the way it was supposed to be. And she knew it too.
Screw the rules. They were rebels. Snuggly-wuggly rebels, surrounded by pink rose petals in their soft bed. Or maybe not rose petals, but whatever. He was warm and soft and wearing a smile that made her heart ache. His eyes amazed her. The way they spoke his feelings so loudly she got dizzy, they way they saw through her, melted her. She’d used to think they were always blue, but she’d been so naive. In the frail evening light that poured through Venetian blinds, his eyes were grey. And she felt she could look into them forever, drown in them…I’m drowning in you, Summers.
Buffy saw the questions in his eyes, and felt them probe in her own. She wasn’t used to this. She’d never allowed him tenderness before. Used to look at him with disgust, or maybe fear. She’d used to challenge and push him. Never care for, never comfort him. But now…now she just needed him to be happy. Needed him to look at her without pain or longing or even…resignation. She’d seen that. She knew she’d hurt him more times than she wanted to think about, more than she could take. But then again, was that really her, or just his imagination? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. He needed her to heal, and she needed him too. So she asked him to stay, and they curled up around each other. He fell asleep in her arms. They were rebels, sleeping like children.
Spike was propped up on his elbow, studying her closely. She smiled at him and said a sleepy “G’mornin’,” with a touch of yawn. His smile grew so intensely loving she lost her breath. His hair was messy in the sweetest way, and she reached out to make it messier.
“Marry me.”
His blue eyes locked on hers, painfully sincere and so vulnerable her heart ached. She let out either a sob or a giggle, maybe both.
Buffy hid her face in his shoulder, and when his silky warm lips started tracing patterns on her neck she wet him with soft tears once again. He couldn’t be serious, but she knew he was. She could feel him tremble, and looking up, she drowned in his eyes again. Before she knew it, her lips were brushing gently against his while she whispered her yes.
Was she insane? Well duh, that’s why he proposed to her in a hospital bed. Her heart tingled hysterically, and joy bubbled in her throat. She needed no romantic dinner or bubbly champagne to marry her insane ex-vampire, so she flung her arms around him and tickled the soft white shirt from his chest. She wondered absent-mindedly how he’d gotten all those yummy muscles when being locked in a mental institution for six years.
And then his hands slid around her waist, making her whimper at the swooping feeling in her tummy. It was everything she remembered, but with a newfound insecurity and a love that still scared her shitless. Smiling, she lowered her head until her mouth was in level with his crotch. Smile growing mischievous, Buffy gripped the lining of his pants with her teeth, pulled away and let the pants snap back. Spike let out a mix of a hiss and a snort at the giggling form at his feet. She was adorable like this, carefree and at the same time awed, not to mention sexy. He tilted his head and smiled at her. Those muscles around his mouth were beginning to get overused. He was happy, he realized. And they were gonna make some more happy. Right. Now.
Spike shifted on the bed, putting a fist on each side of her and crawling up her body until his tongue was on her pounding jugular. A light bite elicited a giggle, that soon turned into moans as he kissed his way down her throat. He tugged lightly at the hem of her shirt, asking for permission, she realized. Buffy sat up and practically tore the shirt off her torso, flinging the shirt far away, and her arms around his shoulders. Desperate to feel his skin against hers. Their lips met for a kiss full of mutual need, and the love none of them had yet spoken in words.
The red-haired woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes, revealing a sticky red fluid on her eyelids. A faint yellow light swirled up from the red color, forming a circle and chasing its own tail three times before fading down into the woman’s eyes again. The skin on the eyelids drew away slowly, revealing two wide hazel eyes. The woman gasped, looking up in a foreign white ceiling, before her head convulsed three times and her eyelids turned back to pale skin.
A man rushed forward, yelling her name and softly caressing her cheek. “Willow! Are you alright?” A hint of desperation invaded his voice. The woman looked up on him with teary eyes, her own again. “It’s no use Xander, I—I’m sorry!” She gasped, breaths heavy. “Oh God, Buffy…”
“Willow!”
Buffy awoke by her own agonized cry, soaked in cold sweat, shivering. Her heart beat so quickly, she felt like her body vibrated in the same pace. Hard sobs broke through her body and tore in her throat, until warm arms snaked around her, and soft lips murmured soothing words in her ear. She clung to him, sobbing. He rocked them gently until her cries died down and turned to drained sleep. He lay down, trying to warm her. Their sheets were wet from sweat and tears, chilled by the pale night air.