You fear the lesson
And fear to walk
And fear to pass on
Your fear to talk
The teacher was feared
Your parents too
Then you became
The fear of you
Fear Look to yourself
Climb over the wall
And see behind
That you're not so small
Then you won't blame fear
When competing's too much
As you fall on your back
As you fail to touch
Fear
And I say to you
When your fear is strong
When you fear your life
Then your fear is wrong
Set free your past
So shredding the skin
Then you won't fear
The fear of sin
Fear
Bauhaus, In Fear Of Fear, 1981
Sunnydale, two years in the past
His low voice rolled through her, countering the shivers of pain and fatigue trembling through her legs. A soothing heartbeat thumped steadily below her ear, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Buffy had never in her life felt safer.
She barely knew him.
Knew only his name. Knew he’d been born just outside of London, and had lived here briefly in his teens.
And knew, beyond any shade of doubt, he would keep her safe.
His touch didn’t make her skin crawl. Make her feel dirty or unclean or . . . She felt safe.
The heavy weight of her cast was supported by his strong thigh, her fingers resting gently over his knee.
Tucked up against the side of a virtual stranger, Buffy was reminded of her mother – and how, once upon a time, she’d been cared for and loved.
“You warm enough?”
He’d felt the tremors coursing through her, the tiny tell-tale shivers indicating all was not well with her.
“I’m fine. Toasty.”
The chuckle did strange things to her insides, turned them all over, fluttering in her belly. “Know you’re lying, pet, can feel you.”
“Ground is cold.”
He’d never just held someone before, for comfort or for any other reason. Whenever he’d let anyone touch him, it had been . . . He’d barely let his mother hug him before she’d died.
And yet here he was. Holding her. Shielding her.
She felt so right tucked up against his side, his arm draped across her thin shoulders, her head resting in the hollow just beneath his neck.
No warnings swam along his nerves, no fear of her inflicting pain, whether through her touch or her words made him wary.
A tightly suppressed tremor traveled the length of her leg and Spike reacted instinctively. “You warm enough?”
More tremors raced across her legs, making the lie all the more obvious. “I’m fine. Toasty.”
“Know you’re lying, pet, can feel you.”
She turned to look at him, indirect light from the street lamps illuminating her eyes, highlighting her delicate, elfin features. Her lower lip wobbled, puffing out away from the top one and he was lost.
Her voice was drowned out by his low growl, the words lost in the night. Spike pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping the duster around them both.
“Better?”
Her head settled against his chest, fingers toying with the edges of soft black leather. A sigh drifted over his hands, the word more feeling than sound. “Much.”
Silence fell, the crickets chirping their own conversations while he listened to the beat of her heart.
“Can we stay like this forever?”
“Would that we could, kitten.”
Silence fell, comforting and soft, filled only by the muffled thump of two hearts beating.
She was quiet for so long, he’d thought she’d fallen asleep, hoped for it almost.
“How come you left?”
What a bloody loaded question that is. . . whyn’t you jus’ ask me why m’eyes are blue, might be an easier one to answer. .. Or even why I bothered comin’ back to this pestilent hole. Spike bit his tongue, forcing his thoughts to a better reply. “Had to. Couldn’t stay here any longer.”
“Did something happen?” Innocently asked, yet her tone implied she had an inkling as to why. Or at least her mind was already supplying a reason.
This time, the silence wasn’t comforting, wasn’t soft. He ached, the ache leaching into his posture, hardening his hold. “Could say that.”
Spike nearly dumped her off his lap, ready to leave her to the darkness, ashamed and afraid to reveal his own horrible secret. Buffy reached up, her small broken fingers tracing tentative lines over his mouth. “It wasn’t your fault.”
How she knew, she couldn’t tell. Couldn’t admit to seeing the same horror in her own eyes sometimes staring back from a mirrored image. The fear etched in her bones. . . in her soul. Fear she felt, hitching her breath and making her shake at night.
Surprise caught him. Her touch. . . No pain, no anger. Just shared sorrow and grief for what was lost and might never be found again. He looked down at her, the sprite in his arms, and he wondered for the first time just what he’d stumbled onto.
Evidence of someone’s fists and anger was writ largely all over her. Deeper scars no doubt hidden even from herself. . And yet strength thrummed through her. Resilience. . . Hope. . Something he’d long ago forgotten.
Hope didn’t exist.
Trust didn’t either.
Yet this battered fairy sprite, nestling in his arms proved otherwise. She hoped and trusted and gifted him with both. Spike stared into her upturned eyes and took the biggest leap of faith in his life.
Words tumbled from his lips, images and emotions he’d buried so deeply flowing from his lips in a torrent. Words he’d agonized over sharing with his therapist, carefully chosen memories he didn’t – couldn’t – ever admit to, and yet. . . And yet.
Every horrible, hurtful memory spewed forth and he braced himself for the rejection, knowing even as a tiny kernel of himself hoped otherwise, she wouldn’t turn away. Wouldn’t reel back in disgust.
Hope.
When he was done and it was all purged, every damning thing – his voice hoarse and broken from the telling, she wrapped him in her arms and held him.
She said only four words to him. Four words that shattered his world, then held it in her hands.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Tears he never shed – and never in front of anyone else – coursed down his cheeks, falling onto her.
Her next words captured his heart, then broke it all over again. “I know it wasn’t you, because he’s the one . . It’s him.”
Some noise croaked from him, some choking sound and this time she was the one clinging to him.
Spike held on, cradling her close while her fingers bruised his skin. Her story slipped from her, muffled against his hard chest. Tears bathed his clothes, soaking them.
Lifting her face up, he stared into her darkened eyes, searching for some truth only he understood. Heavy teardrops clumped her lashes, making them dark and full. “I’m sorry, kitten, so bloody sorry.”
His only answer was the mantra she’d been repeating, the only truth she could cling to. “Not your fault. Not your fault.”
Slightly chilled fingers brushed over his cheeks, wiping away tears he didn’t know he’d shed.
His hand came up to meet hers, cupping her hand over his lips. One by one he kissed them, asking for absolution where none would ever be possible. Despite her claim to the contrary, Spike knew he held blame. Guilt for his own inability to speak, guilt over his crimes . . . crimes he’d unknowingly committed against her.
“Shhhh, kitten.” He didn’t dare whisper what he wanted, promising nothing but false truths. Nothing would be right, not now. . .
Daylight was beginning to break through, shadows lightening from black to grey and her eyes glowed as he stared into them. Silence lengthened, broken only by their whispered exhalations.
His eyes drifted shut, new tears forming when her words floated up to his ears. “You saved me. Thank you, Spike.“
So strong. . . Buffy wasn’t repulsed by his strength or his proximity. Instead of scaring her, his presence eased the terrified, whimpering child within. He knew. . . understood. Had suffered at the same hands she had.
The tight knot burning in her eased, snuffing out in the face of his admission. His words had been laced with more pain, laden with guilt and suffering she could understand. Their shared pain bonded them, bound them as firmly as blood shared.
He believed her pain was his fault.
She couldn’t let him think that.
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t hers.
The fault was . . . In fate.
Blame, however, lay squarely on the shoulders of someone else.
Not for the first time, she wondered if he’d done this before, to others. Others like this man holding her close, too afraid to speak up, to speak out. To end their torment.
Buffy snuggled closer into his hold, her head resting just over his heart. The steady thump called to her. Gave her peace. Comfort.
It had been so long since someone – anyone – held her like this.
“I don’t wanna go home.”
A long sigh rippled from him, dislodging her a little. “Don’t wan’ ta let you go.”
Her eyes found his in the growing light.
Questions were asked and answered, promises made and kept, pain released and hearts pledged in those moments.
Greyish green light bathed them, flaring into golden pink, warming them both.
Buffy closed her eyes, laid her head on his chest and slept.
Touching was something he didn’t like. He couldn’t imagine she’d welcome it much either. And yet. . .
And yet, here they were.
She’d curled up in his arms, held him closely. Let him cry out his pain, grief and anger.
And she hadn’t once let go.
Held onto him through the tears, through the anger.
Held on . . . Clung to him.
Welcomed his touch.
Spike watched the sunrise come alive on her features and swore inwardly.
In one night, under the cover of darkness, she’d given him light. Given him hope.
She trusted him.
Knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
She’d had enough trust and hope left in her to give him another chance. To prove to himself that he wasn’t as tainted as he’d believed.
Three years in therapy hadn’t done as much good as twelve hours with her.
Refusing to leave her under the roses, Spike struggled to his feet, his arms closing around her. Gonna keep you safe, kitten, safe as I can until I can figure this all out.
The streets were silent, hardly anyone out and about. Dawn was still a bit off, the sun just breaking over the eastern horizon when he reached his room at the hotel.
She didn’t stir in his arms when he jostled her to open the door. Nor did she move when he eased off her jacket and boots, nor when he laid her down on the bed. He waited, wondering if she would wake when his body finally rested next to hers.
What she did should have surprised him. Somehow that it didn’t, surprised him even more.
Spike placed his head on the pillow, after removing his own boots and shirt, sliding easily under the covers. Buffy snuggled closer, sighing softly in her sleep, her face resting against his bare shoulder.
He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, his instincts warring with the embers of hope she’d managed to stir to life.
In the end, when he slept, it was dreamless.
London, present day
Sleep wouldn’t come.
Couldn’t entice Morpheus to slip into the bed beside him and allow his unsettled soul rest.
Even knowing the source of his disquiet didn’t help.
He knew why he couldn’t sleep.
The child-woman resting peacefully in his embrace had once more shattered his world. Taken it in her hands and remolded it into something completely new, totally unexpected.
Two years, they’d lived hidden away from the world, wary, afraid, hiding from everyone and everything.
Safe.
Protected.
And now, with one sweetly worded sentence, she’d forced them to take steps out into the world.
Once before they’d weathered a storm, a colossal tempest, swirling and raging, bathed in blood and pain.
This wasn’t the same. Wasn’t nearly as pain-wracked.
And yet, it had the capability of rocking the precarious foundations of their world.
Moonlight broke through clouds, illuminating the bed, shining on her countenance. Even in darkness, she called the light to her. Brought it into his world, lighting up the darkest of moments.
She was light.
Spike leaned over her, a calloused finger tracing the contours of her face, brushing gently over closed eyes and snoring nose. A smile crossed his features, tentative, wary.
He didn’t have it in him to fight her.
Tears seeped from his partially closed eyes, dropping silently onto her soft skin. Spike gathered her into his shaking arms, soft promises murmured into her ear. Gonna keep you safe. . . gonna.
All of you. Us. All of us. Me, you . . . and now babies. Connor. . .
“I love you, kitten. For always, for-bloody-ever. God, how I love you.”
Her small hand cupped his cheek, her kiss brushed across his neck.
“Will. . . “
“Right here, baby, ‘m right here.”
“Love you. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
She lifted sleepy eyes, lambent with unshed tears. “Don’t cry, Will. We’re gonna be okay.”
Nuzzling a kiss into her palm, Spike swept her beneath him, his hard length sliding easily within her depths.
“Love you.”
“I know, William. I love you, too. Always.”
Salty sweet tears bathed her face. “We’re safe, Will.”
“Gonna keep you that way.”
“I know.” Buffy pulled his head down, feather soft kisses closing his eyes, her lips soothing away his tears. “Shhhhhh. . . . It’s okay.”
Hope flared in his chest, sparking to life.
We’re gonna be okay.
I'd like to thank each and every one of you that's left a review -- that's still reading and at the same time apologize for the length of time between updates. I'd like to think you'd all wait for a long time, but I know that's not true. But thank you all anyway. I very much appreciate all the reviews and patience.