He woke early in the evening to the sound of running water. It took Spike a moment to identify where it was coming from, but as he came further into consciousness, he realized it was the shower. Or rather the pipe he'd rigged up to serve as a shower. Buffy's side of the bed was empty, and while Spike was hopeful it simply meant she'd decided to get up and shower—which would be a good sign of progress—he couldn't help but worry that the talk with Giles had had the opposite effect that he'd been planning and Buffy was now in the shower maniacally trying to "wash of the guilt" or something equally insane.
After so many years with Drusilla, Spike had come to expect insanity.
He got out of the bed and walked towards the shower, holding his breath as if it made a difference.
He let it out again when he saw her standing under the pipe, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. His cock hardened at the sight of her, his body remembering what it had felt like to take her there, right against the wall, with the water rushing over their bodies. Yet he forced back his desire, not wanting to do anything to upset Buffy again. She'd made no sexual advances towards him since that first, desperate time when her soul had been returned to her, and Spike had resigned himself to let her go at her own pace.
Hopefully, at some point, she'd welcome him back into her arms again.
Buffy finished rinsing her hair and opened her eyes, her gaze fixing on Spike. For a moment, Spike thought he saw her eyes darken with lust, but when she ducked her head and shied away from his stare, her decided he must have been imagining it. He forced himself to look away from her, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself, to listen to something other than the roaring of the demon inside of him, telling him to take what was his.
But if there was one thing that set him apart from others like him, it was that Spike could make the man inside of him stronger than the demon, and this was a time he knew he had to do that.
"I was just coming to make sure you were all right," Spike said, his eyes fixated on the crypt's stone floor.
"I am. I just felt all grimy, what with the whole not bathing for days thing. I'm surprised you could stand to be around me. I was getting a little ripe."
In spite of himself, Spike smiled. "I'd love you even if you smelled like a rubbish bin, pet."
Buffy chuckled, and the sound was almost enough to make Spike's heart thump in his chest. "Gee, you sure know how to sweet talk a girl. Hand me a towel?"
Immediately, Spike moved to fill her request grabbing a towel from the stack and handing it to her as she turned off the water. She took it from him with a soft, "thank you," and he could hear the fabric as it rubbed over her skin. An involuntary shiver ran through his body as he imagined the towel touching her in the ways he wanted to.
He heard her moving then felt her hand against his arm a moment later. Again, he trembled, her touch searing him despite the coolness of her skin.
"I'm sorry," Buffy told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you want…but I…I can't right now."
He took another deep breath, pushing his demon down harder, before he turned and looked at her, removing her hand from his arm and capturing it in his. "It's all right, luv. I can wait until you're ready again."
Buffy bit her lip, her free hand clasping her towel where it wrapped around her body. "What if that's a long time away, Spike?"
He responded with a half smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand. "I'll wait."
Her eyes lowering shyly again, Buffy took her hand away from his. "I'm hungry. Could you warm us up some blood?"
"Of course, lamb," Spike replied without hesitation, grateful to be moving away from wet, towel-wrapped Buffy when he knew he couldn't have her the way he wanted. It was a struggle to take things so slowly, to keep this distance between them, but he knew it was what he had to do to keep from breaking her more.
To keep from losing her forever…
He heard her come up the ladder as he was warming up their blood, and his body grew still for a moment as he heard her switch on the television. He didn't know what to expect now, didn't know what it meant that she was doing something other than spending all her time in the bed. She was still clearly not completely "okay." Her continued reluctance to resume their physical relationship alone made that clear. However, her behavior had definitely changed since her visit with Giles. Was she trying to reconcile herself with what she had become? Or would this attempt she was trying to make fail and send her off the deep end once and for all?
The possibilities had Spike on edge, his nerves frayed. He felt as if any move he made could be the wrong one, could hurt Buffy in some unpredictable way. It was hard for him to remember to proceed with caution all the time, his mind still used to thinking of her as strong, not fragile like she'd become now.
Mugs of blood in each hand, Spike walked over to the couch and handed Buffy hers before he sat down on the other side, careful not to crowd her. He expected her to want the distance, expected her to continue to shy away from his touch.
It shocked him to the core when instead, she closed the gap and slid her body against his, her head resting comfortably against his chest.
For a moment, he didn't move at all. Then, carefully, still afraid she'd bolt, he steadied his mug in one hand as he wrapped his other arm casually around her.
She didn't push him away. If anything, she seemed to be moving closer.
Her eyes never turned to him. She sipped her blood and watched whatever teenybopper drivel it was she'd put on the telly, but Spike's gaze didn't waiver from her. The television was white noise in the background as every shallow, unneeded breath she took echoed in his ears.
Spike feigned casualness as he began to drink the heated pig's blood in his mug, worried that she would get upset if he didn't eat with her, like she had before. He wanted to make it all seem as normal as possible to her, wanted her to feel as if everything was fine.
The thought of having her so close to being back to normal only to watch her slip further away terrified him.
When she finished her own meal, Buffy leaned forward to set it on the floor, then leaned back again, her head tilting to rest against the crook of Spike's neck. He put his own mug down then, moving carefully so as to disturb her as little as possible. Both hands free now, he pulled her closer, held her tighter, one hand moving to tentatively stroke her hair. When she didn't reject that little bit of affection, he moved more surely, his fingers running through the golden strands.
She sighed softly, something almost like contentedness in the sound. Spike closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, savoring the moment that seemed almost unreal after the past few days.
Could it be that simple? Just a little chat with her Watcher, and she was well on the way to being his again?
Spike wasn't going to bet on it. The universe was rarely—if ever—that kind to him. But he wasn't going to pass up this opportunity now, wasn't going to do anything but relish in the feel of her in his arms.
She laughed softly, almost reluctantly, at whatever she was watching, but the tiny sound was enough to give Spike a little more hope. It wasn't one she'd made recently.
Almost under their own accord, his lips moved, pressed gently against her hair. She stiffened, and Spike was afraid he'd pushed it too far, but then she relaxed, accepting his embrace once again.
The desire for him to speak was almost overwhelming. He wanted to profess his love, recite poetry, anything to let her know how deeply he truly cared for her. Yet he had a feeling the quickest way to end this would be with words, so he fought his very nature and remained silent, trying to instead to infuse his touch with his feelings, letting her know what he didn't dare say with a trail of his fingers down her bare arm.
Eventually, she moved, leaning forward, and a fresh wave of panic bubbled inside of him until Spike realized she was simply reaching for the remote control. Buffy flipped through the channels until she found something else to her liking, then dropped the control beside her and moved back into Spike's embrace.
The longer they stayed like that, the more Spike began to question the very normalness of the evening. Buffy was behaving as if they were just another couple opting to spend the night in with the television. Yet he was painfully aware that they were not, and he knew she had to be, too. He wanted to ask her what was really on her mind, if she truly felt as if she could ease back into unlife with him or if this was just an attempt that was destined to fail painfully. Yet he bit back those questions as well, continuing to use all of his willpower to force himself to stay quiet.
He knew his Buffy, knew how easily spooked she could be, and he couldn't risk that, not now. Not when he was getting to hold her like this. Spike knew at any moment she could go back to how she had been, realizing she could never again feel as if all was okay between them.
This could be the last time he ever held her like this, and he wasn't going to ruin it by worrying.
Instead, he calmed down, held her close, and relished the stolen moment.
Even though it had been several hours since she'd turned off the television and they'd come back downstairs, Buffy knew Spike wasn't asleep. He was tense behind her, the arm draped around her waist not relaxed. She didn't think he'd been sleeping much at all recently. Instead, he'd been watching over her.
She turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. Gently, she reached out and touched his cheek, tracing over the sharp planes of his face with her fingers. "It's okay, baby. You can sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."
His only response was a soft, almost desperate whisper of her name, and Buffy felt her heart clinch as she realized something she hadn't before—he was as lost as she was now.
She needed him. She hated the thought of being so dependant on anyone, yet she knew she needed him to get through this existence. But now, seeing him like this, so open and vulnerable to her in the darkness of their crypt, she realized maybe needing him was okay. Because he needed her, too. They needed each other…
Buffy didn't hesitate as she pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. "You need your rest. It'll be all right. You can close your eyes and I won't leave."
She could tell he started to protest, but his body was exhausted, and he gave in, his eyes falling shut. Buffy watched him until she was sure he was asleep, until the tension in his body finally drained. She slid up to lay her lips against his forehead, her eyes closing as she breathed in the comforting, masculine scent of his skin.
Reluctantly, she pulled up, though she continued to hover over him, her fingers brushing over unruly bleached curls. Something strong welled up inside of her, the simple act of watching him sleep suddenly becoming nearly overwhelming. He was beautiful, and so devoted to her it frightened her, made her afraid of accepting what he was offering because she knew how easy it could be to lose it in the end.
Only he wasn't running. He was holding on, as desperate to keep what they had once shared as she was. His devotion to her hadn't wavered, not once since she'd been cursed with the return of her soul. If anything, it was as if it had grown stronger. Every challenge they'd faced over the past few days, he'd faced head on, never turning away from her, never rejecting her because she couldn't be who she'd once been.
It was then Buffy realized he didn't love her for the demon. He loved her.
A tear dropped onto his pale skin, and Buffy wiped at her eyes, realizing she was crying. Her body trembling, she leaned down again, her lips back against his forehead as she whispered.
"I still love you, too."
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