What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined... to strengthen each other... to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
– George Eliot
“S’cuse us, luv.”
I hate the way I tremble at every little thing that reminds me of him. I hate the way I can physically feel the hope build in my chest when I see someone who remotely looks, walks, or, as is the case now, sounds like him. A flash of platinum hair and my heart beats faster. A deep baritone laugh and my legs literally start shaking.
You’d think I’d be over it. It’s been four years. Well, three years if you count the year he spent with Angel. I don’t. Because A) I never actually saw him, and B) I don’t really want to think about it. I don’t want to think about him having a life away from me or, more devastatingly, why he wanted a life away from me. I don’t want to spend every waking moment wondering what possible reason he could’ve had for not telling me he was back. I don’t want to analyze and re-analyze every conversation the two of us had in those last few days in Sunnydale, searching my brain for some kind of sign, a gesture of his hand, a meaningful look, an edge to his voice, any little thing that would have hinted at his desire to leave. So…I don’t think about.
Dawn was the one who dragged me to this club, said it was time for me to get out of the apartment and “have some fun.” “Maybe in London, you’ll actually have a life.” I don’t know what she meant by that. I had a life. I have a life. I have had several lives. I’m 26. Just because I don’t get wasted every night doesn’t mean I don’t have a life. I’m full of life. After all, only a life-full, non-mopey kind of Buffy would buy another round for a group of people she met barely ten minutes ago. See? Totally full of life. Fun-mode me went to go to the bar when…
“S’cuse us, luv.”
I decided I definitely needed to rethink this living in London thing. I’d be imagining his voice everywhere I went! I took a deep breath in an attempt to temper the inevitable hope that began swelling the very moment I heard the timbre of that accent. Every millisecond I spent not looking at the man was another millisecond where I could hope I would find Spike looking down at me. Finally gathering the courage, I looked up at the man mid-apology. “I’m so sor-“
Our eyes locked. Ironically enough, I didn’t suffer from a racing pulse or shaking legs.
When green met blue, the rest of the world seemed to just fade away...
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
– e.e. cummings
I don’t know how I kept from fainting…you know…considering whom it was I was staring at. Here. Spike. Undusty Spike. Did I mention the here part? Because he was definitely that. Here. And there’s me…looking at said Spike who was here. There’s me who was sooo not dreaming and who was (and still is) very much of the sane and conscious, staring at the Spike who was (yes) here.
It was hard to believe I was not imagining things, but the truth was right there before me. My eyes were not lying. Spike (of the undusty and here variety!) was standing in front of me. I could see him. I had heard him. Had I wanted, I could reach out and touch him. Oh, how I wanted to reach out and touch him.
Millions of questions were buzzing through my brain. How? How was he back? How long had he been back? What had happened in Los Angeles? Why had he stayed away the first time? Why had he stayed away again? Hadn’t he wanted to see me? What was he doing in London now?
As I pondered these things, I realized the leg shaking thing was apparently a delayed reaction, because as I looked into his eyes (God knows how long after the moment I first saw him), I felt my knees buckle. His eyes were the same wondrous shade of blue. God. They were stunning…divine…simply beautiful. And they were currently locked on me, boring their way through me the way only his eyes could. It felt familiar, yet at the same time somehow unfamiliar. As I continued to stare into the unfathomable depths of his oh so blue eyes, I was startled to realize I had no idea what he was thinking.
I had gotten used to being able to see his feelings through his eyes, see the play of emotions in their depths. I had grown accustomed to him looking at me with a combination of affection and awe. It pains me to think he probably looked at me like that long before I took the time to notice. I was stunned to find out how much it hurt to see them lacking in his eyes now.
It was uncomfortable, not knowing what he was thinking. I was so used to seeing him wear his heart on his sleeve. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. He looked deep in thought, like he was looking for something, like he was searching my eyes for some kind of answer, like he was looking right through me.
God, why wasn’t he saying anything? I sure as hell know why I wasn’t. I was terrified, terrified of what would happen if I did, terrified of the words that would come out of both of our mouths. Let’s face it. Communication skills in the past, not good. So I stayed in place: afraid to speak, to even look away.
The pull of his eyes was magnetic. So magnetic that I haven’t even had a good look at him. My eyes have been locked on his the entire time. Afraid if I was too greedy, if I dared to look elsewhere, they’d take him away again. There was no way I was going to risk breaking such a magical moment. As his eyes stayed on mine, his mouth shut, I sensed he felt the same way.
A/N: I have no idea where this is going. Or if it’ll even be going. It originally started out as a one-shot drabble with hints of what was to come. (“Excuse us” meant Spike wasn’t alone. The quote at the beginning meant Spike was human.) Now that I’ve expanded it, I’m not sure where I want it to go. I don’t know if I want Spike human. Hmm… decisions, decisions. Anyway… I’d love to hear what you thought of it. Leave a review if you want. It’s my first Spuffy fic, so try and be gentle, yeah?