Part twenty-eight...
After a solid fifteen minute cry, Buffy managed to plug up
the waterworks and think straight. Her throat and her head
were both aching savagely, and she climbed the stairs to head
for the bathroom and her giant economy sized bottle of aspirin.
She shook three of the tablets into the cupped palm of her
hand, rinsed out a plastic cup sitting on the counter, and
swallowed the medication. Then, taking a deep breath, she
looked at herself in the mirror.
It was just as bad as she'd feared. Her eyes were swollen
and shot through with red, and her skin was pasty and sick
looking. Running a sink full of cold water, she washed her face,
then reached for a towel and patted it dry.
She still looked like hell. It wasn't the crying...it was the misery
that went along with it.
Spike was gone. And who knew if he'd EVER come back now?
The fact that he'd been behaving like an ass didn't make his
loss any easier to bear. Buffy didn't care about being right...she cared
about being with him.
And she'd only had a few precious days left. Now, even that
small amount of happiness had been brutally jerked out of her
hands by her own capriciousness.
The whole thing had been so stupidly unnecessary in the
first place. And over Riley, of all people! She liked him well
enough, as a friend, but she wouldn't have cried for him if he
suddenly up and left town. She wouldn't have spent a lick of
time wondering if he was coming back...or when...or what he
was doing while he was gone.
She loved Spike Devlin. She would cry a river on the day he
would be leaving and every day after that, she was sure.
And she would miss him. Painfully. Horribly.
Yet, if she'd been given the choice again, she wouldn't have
done anything different. The heart ache would be worth all the
joy that came before it.
How had something so wonderful gone so terribly wrong?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wandering her house aimlessly again brought her back
downstairs to the living room. She straightened up the mess
they'd left it in last night, replacing the cushions on the sofa
and tossing out the remaining donuts from Krispy Kreme. She
never wanted to see another one of those things again.
The rain was still coming down in sheets, and when she looked
out the side window she cold see small rivers running down the
sides of the street towards the storm drains, filling and clogging them
with dead leaves and other debris.
She cranked up the fireplace to dispel some of the gloomy
chill, then flicked on the stereo.
His voice filled the small room.
"Sunday morning rain is falling
Steal some covers, share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mold that I am in..."
Although she wanted badly to turn it off, she couldn't make
herself hit the button.
He'd surprised her with the CD last night, pulling it out of
his jacket pocket and slipping it into the player behind her
back. It was Blue Eyed Devil's first CD, and only three
or four of the songs on it were well known at this point.
Not including the one she heard now....
"But things just get so crazy, living life is hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road, get up and go
If I knew....that someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you..."
The lyrics were hauntingly perfect for her current situation, and
his voice was entrancing.
The longer she listened, the harder it was getting to swallow
the pain that threatened to strangle her by massing in her
throat.
"That may be all I need
In darkness she is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave..."
Sadly prophetic words. He would be leaving. Regardless of
whether or not he wanted to...he would be leaving.
In four days.
Buffy shut her eyes tightly to stave off another crying
jag. All this weeping wasn't helping matters. But then again,
nothing else was helping, either.
"Fingers trace your every outline
Paint a picture with my hands
Back and forth we sway, like branches in a storm
Change the weather
Still together when it ends..."
But they weren't together. And this was the time above all
others that they SHOULD be. The end was closing in on them
rapidly enough as it was. Now, the process had been cruelly
accelerated.
"But things just get so crazy, living life gets hard to do
Sunday morning rain is falling and I'm calling out to you
Singing someday, it'll bring me back to you
Find a way to bring myself home to you.."
A moment of clarity made itself known to her when she
heard the last few lines of the song he was seemingly singing
to her.
"Of course he'll come back," she said out loud, drying her
newly moistened cheeks on the back of her hand. "He loves
me."
God...how faithless she had been. How completely and
utterly faithless to think for a moment that he would simply
walk away from her forever come Thursday morning.
Spike would come back to her...or at least he would have
if she had not started that stupid 'thing' that she had started.
So what if he was jealous and possessive. Was SHE any
less so? Didn't the thought of him with another woman
bother her?
Although she was not the worldliest woman in town by any
means, she was perfectly aware of the sorts of things that
happened when popular bands went on tour...the drunken
and reckless behavior...the parties that lasted until sun
up....the girls that followed them from town to town, wait-
ing for a chance to get into bed with a rock star.
Andy had made the comment about the girls in the audience
throwing their underpants onto the stage. Spike had instantly
denied it, but Buffy suspected it wasn't an altogether unknown
phenomena.
Spike would be out in the world, experiencing all the
temptations his music and male beauty would throw into
his path, while she would remain behind. How he would react
was....
"Oh, god..."
Laying one hand across her mouth, Buffy sank down on the
sofa.
Was THAT the devil that had prodded her into starting their
altercation? Had she been subconsciously testing him?
Maybe. But for what purpose? What in the world had she
hoped to accomplish with such a thing? Trying to find out
if he loved her as much as he claimed...or trying to gather
ammunition to protect her heart and salve her pride by
saying "I knew I could never really trust him" when it all
blew up in her face?
"And you may not know
That may be all I need
In darkness, she is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave..."
She had to fix this! Before it snowballed into something
neither of them could control.
First, she would need to find him.
No...first she would have to make herself look a little
less like warmed over death. Then...she would go looking
for him and bring him back.
She didn't care anymore about who had done right and
who had done wrong. Pride meant less than nothing when
your heart was so totally on the line.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy showered and applied a little make up in record
time. She pulled on a heavy sweater and a pair of faded
jeans, then zipped her feet up into her boots.
Barely pausing to skim a brush through her hair, she
grabbed a jacket and ran downstairs. After a frantic five
minute delay to search for her car keys, she located them
and shoved them into her jacket pocket.
She flung open the front door, then stopped dead in her
tracks when she saw who was standing on the bottom step
of the porch.
"Spike...!!?"
"I'm sorry."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Never had Buffy seen anyone so thoroughly drenched. He
seemed to be bleeding water from every pore on his body. How
had he gotten so wet walking from his car to the front porch?
"How long...how long have you been standing out here in
the rain?"
"Well, actually...I never left," he admitted. "I got as far as
my car and then...Buffy, I'm sorry." He looked at her with his
heart in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Her heart thudded against her ribs as she reached out one
hand and took his, pulling him out of the downpour.
Unable to articulate any response to his apology, she became
practical instead. "Take these wet things off," she ordered him,
yanking at his jacket, "before you get sick and can't sing a note."
"Buffy...please..."
She dropped the jacket on the entry way floor, then began
tugging on his t-shirt. "I can put all this stuff in the dryer. Except
for the jacket, I mean." The t-shirt joined the jacket on the
floor, and she moved to unbuckle his belt. "I can get you some
towels...or...or maybe you should go and take a hot shower. I
could make you some...."
"Buffy!" He caught her trembling hands and held them in his
grasp. "Please...look at me, baby."
She bit her lower lip and slowly allowed her eyes to travel
upwards from their fixed position in the middle of his chest.
"Please...tell me that you still love me," he begged. "Tell
me I haven't fucked everything up beyond hope."
She shook her head, "Spike..."
"I'll do anything," he inserted quickly, obviously fearing that
she was about to shut him down for good. "Anything."
Looking up at him, she could only think of one thing that
she wanted.
"Kiss me," she whispered. "That's all you need to do right
now."
The worry began to fade from his expressive eyes as a
slow smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Once again,
the world...their world...enveloped them in warmth and love,
all it's sharp edges softened.
Even the rain began to fall more gently when they came
together.
TBC.....
(Oh, I just couldn't keep them apart. Mr.
Devlin has some making up to do, doesn't
he? And thanks for your feedback. I find
it very encouraging)
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