[Reviews - 308]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2848 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
It's funny how my muse can disappear for months and then return full force...I really, really loved writing this chapter. Please let me know what you think!
Through the wait in the airport, through the flight, the interminable landing, a litany of pleas and curses repeated in Spike's head. He viciously cursed Angel, Xander, himself. For pushing her away, to this, to running away from him. A tiny part of him even whispered blame onto her slight shoulders. When he looked at it detached, from afar, he could see how it happened. A man could only take so much. And thanks to Xander (even mentally the name tasted sour on his lips, despite the moment they had shared earlier), he was sure Buffy believed she was doing the right thing. She had a tendency toward denial, after all, even a talent for it. Had probably closed her eyes to the pain and plunged in, heedless of the agony he felt when she literally slipped through his fingers. Sure she was doing the best thing for him.

His reaction had been visceral. Wanting to hold onto her, keep her, so much it twisted his heart inside out, and being denied yet again, he had simply shut down. If only he hadn't been drinking, didn't have alcohol flooding his veins, making every reaction sharper, but his mind foggier. If he hadn't been drinking, he might have at least found the presence of mind to consider her safety. Might not have pushed her so hard. Might have kept enough of a fragile hold on her so that when it happened, when her husband's final betrayal sunk in, she still might have come to him.

But he had been, and she hadn't. And now he was here, in the back of a cheap taxi, on the last leg of his trip to find her. He was so afraid. Even though Spike knew on a rational level that she was okay, had even talked with people who had seen her recently, including the cabbie currently in the driver's seat. There were so many things that could have happened to a young woman alone on a cross country trip with no money. He needed to drink her in with his own eyes, feel her soft skin, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers, before the tight steel band around his heart would ease.

Once he arrived in Sunnydale, she hadn't been hard to track down. The bus station was tiny, and pretty girls traveling alone so late at night were always memorable. The ticket attendant, spurred to action by the desperation in Spike's eyes, had helped him track down the cab driver who had picked her up a few blocks away.

"I saw her walking alone down the street," the older man had explained. "And thought maybe she was in trouble. It's not a nice neighborhood, especially after dark. So I stopped and asked. She told me she didn't have money for the fare, but," the man raised kindly eyes up to Spike. "I couldn't just leave her there. I have a granddaughter about that age. So I offered her a ride."

After thanking the powers that be that Buffy had found kindness instead of danger, Spike had immediately demanded to be taken to her destination.

His musings were interrupted as the car pulled to an abrupt halt. The engine idileing, the older man turned to his passenger. "I didn't particularly want to leave her here, either. But she insisted. Said her house was around the corner..." he trailed off uncertainly, and Spike got his first glimpse of the place Buffy had run so far to get to.

A cemetary. They were parked in front of a cemetary. Of course. The name on the gates and the approximate location matched the place he had sent flowers to what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Can you wait?" he asked the cabbie.

"Of course."

Taking out his wallet and throwing some bills at the man, he quickly jumped out of the car and raced down the path, every second counting as he tried to get closer to the woman he loved.

He saw her almost immediately. She was facing away from him, kneeling gracefully on the hard ground, head bowed before the tombstone that towered over her. The moonlight glinted sparks of silver and gold in her hair, and Spike stopped and caught his breath. She was a vision. So lovely he wasn't completely sure she was real after all. Maybe he had only been chasing a dream...

But her shoulders jerked slightly at his gasp, and although she didn't look up or turn around, her head sank a little more, minutely acknowledging his presence, and she was Buffy again. Not a dream or a vision, but the flesh and blood woman he loved more than his own life. The graveyard was utterly still. No birds or animals played here, there was no breeze to ruffle the grass. Just the moonlight casting strange shadows and the silence that hung like a heavy cloak over the surreal tableau. Finally, as he had a million times before, Spike breathed her name, casting it out into the air like a caress.

"Buffy." She didn't move or speak, but just having her in front of him was easing the ache a little. As much as he wanted her close, in his arms, he knew he needed to be cautious. The last thing he wanted was to spook her further, send her running away again. Although this time, he told himself grimly, if he had to he would damn well catch her before she left his sight.

Her unresponsiveness was beginning to bother him, all too remnisicent of the night she had shown up on his doorstep, suffering the aftershocks of what might as well have been rape, but before he could make up his mind to speak, she broke the silence.

"I had to come here." Her voice was heavy and restrained, but at least she was talking to him.

"Why, luv?" he asked carefully, trying to rein in his emotion.

"I had to talk to her. Try to explain, to figure it out." There were so many voices, emotions, in Buffy's head that she couldn't find the words she needed. All throughout her crazy flight down here, to the town she grew up in, she had one goal in mind. She needed her mother. And this was all she had left of her, this cold stone in the middle of a sea of cold stones. But it was what she had, and so she had come here, not even thinking past the moment when she could sit on the ground and place her cheek against the coldness that was all she had, maybe all she had in the whole world now that everything had fallen so completely apart. But it wasn't enough. The chill from the ground and the granite had settled into her heart and she knew it wasn't enough to fix anything.

"Buffy?" Her name sounded again through the darkness, carried on the breath of a man she thought lost to her, who had come looking for her even though she had turned him away again and again, for reasons even she couldn't make sense of anymore. And Buffy broke. Broke completely, sinking to the ground in anguish, forehead and nose sinking into the grass because she couldn't see, couldn't breath anymore. Choked sobs tore from her throat and she could taste dirt in her mouth, gritty and metallic.

But suddenly Spike was there, lifting her up, clearing away the dirt with a gentle hand and with her face buried in his chest instead of the ground, even though she was still crying, she found that maybe she could breath after all. He gathered her into his arms, holding her on his lap, his own nose buried in her hair, tears leaking out of his own tightly shut eyes. God, she was so cold. Shivers wracked her body as her sobs continued, crying out every moment of pain and hurt she had endured. Feeling helpless under the onslaught of such blinding emotion, he could only pull her closer, taking his own comfort at finally feeling her body safely wrapped in his arms, murmuring small endearments, whispering his love quietly in her ear.

They sat there on the ground, in front of Joyce Summers' grave, wrapped closely together for what seemed like an eternity. Gradually, Buffy's sobs became small cries, which died off into whimpers that eventually stopped all together. Even after she was quiet, Spike still held her close, rocking her gently, unwilling to let go now that he finally had her in his arms, soft skin right under his fingertips. If he let go, she might disappear again...

"Are you really here?" she asked him quietly, voice wobbly and unsure.

"I'm here, luv," he reassured her. "Where else would I be?"

She shrugged slightly and pressed together as closely as they were, he felt the movement rather than saw it. "God, anywhere else," she said bitterly. "Why did you come after me?"

He pressed his head even closer to her, whispering in her ear, his breath a gentle breeze on her cheek. "I will always come for you. Whenever you need me. I love you, Buffy."

"I'm so sorry, Spike," she began brokenly.

"Don't." His whisper was fierce. "It doesn't matter right now. The only thing that matters is that I found you- and you're safe." He took in a great gasping breath, relief finally hitting him like a wave. "Sweetheart, I was so worried about you. No one knew where you were. I thought something had happened to you, that you were hurt..." He held her tighter, fingers dancing on her skin to reassure himself that she really was here with him, really was okay.

"I'm fine," she breathed gently, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"And if you had been, if anything had happened to you," he continued roughly. "I never would have forgiven myself."

"Spike, I - " she raised her eyes to his, and broke off as the depth of emotion swirling in his blue eyes washed over her. One moment...another, and then he was holding her hard and his lips were on hers and now she really was drowning. Tongues met and clashed as he demanded reassurance with his mouth and his roaming hands. The cold was forgotten and now Buffy was blazing as he clutched at her, fingers wandering her body without restraint.

She moaned softly as one of his hands journeyed down to her center, where all the heat was now collecting. And Spike was suddenly overcome with the need to imprint himself on her, right now, to make her fall apart under his hands. She tasted so sweet, so much like what he remembered from that one glorious night, and he wanted, needed, more. He shook with emotion as his hand found it's way under her skirt to brush against her clit. Fuck, she was wet. Buffy was mewling now, twisting against him, trying to get impossibly close, completely gone in a haze of need as he expertly scissored his fingers inside her. In a matter of moments she was coming hard on his hand, gasping loudly, her pink lips forming a perfect 'o' of pleasure.

When her tremors stopped, and she was once more resting against him, trying to catch her breath, he removed his hand and gently smoothed down her skirt. That shouldn't have happened. It was too much too fast. And in a graveyard, for god's sake.

"Buffy, luv," he began, voice shaky. But she stopped him with a gentle look. Her turn to soothe him now.

"Shh," she said simply. "It's all right. Better than all right," she tried for a smile and a teasing tone but couldn't quite look him in the eye, and the graceful sweep of her eyelashes against her pale cheek nearly did him in all over again.

"God, I love you, sweetheart." His heartfelt admission helped her over the fleeting chagrin, and now she did meet his eyes.

"I love you, too."

He rested his forehead against hers for another moment before swinging her into his arms, not willing to relinquish the feel of her skin against his for a single second. "C'mon, luv. Let's go home."





You must login (register) to review.