Chapter Six
The short walk back to the apartment was filled with quick kisses and longer touches. Buffy didn't mind the sand Spike left on her skin anymore, too preoccupied with how he was making her feel.
The little lane leading up to the flat was dark, no sounds other than the wind rustling the leaves on the bushes. Buffy fumbled in her pocket for the key, so intent on the task that she didn't immediately see the dark shape on the doorstep. The sharp jerk of Spike's head and the stiffening of his body clued her in, and she looked up to see someone sitting on the stone steps leading up to the door.
The figure stood, and moved closer. Squinting, she could make out that it was a man, and her heart began to pound with the possibilities. Giles? Xander? Angel?
But, no. The shape was too tall to be Giles or Xander, too slender to be Angel. She really hoped that it wasn’t a demon. Pulling her cellphone from her pocket, she flipped it open, the backlight illuminating the front path.
She let out a sigh of relief when she saw who it was, all thoughts of interfering friends and nefarious demons gone from her mind. The stiffness in Spike's body remained, however.
“Jack,” she exclaimed, wondering what the record-shop owner could possibly want and how he knew where to find her. “What are you doing here?”
“Er, yes. Sorry to disturb you. I was worried, you see.” He moved a little closer, wringing his hands nervously.
“Worried?” Buffy asked, folding her arms over her chest when she noticed Jack's gaze drift to the sandy handprints on her boobs.
“Yes. I was at the pub and everyone was talking about the strange blonde girl on the beach this afternoon. Said she'd been talking to herself and acting most peculiarly. Once I realised it was you, I knew I had to come and see if you were all right.”
At this, Spike finally spoke. “She was talking to me, not herself. Pillock.”
“Yeah.” Buffy nodded. “Spike’s right. I was talking to him. Spike, this is Jack. Jack, Spike.”
“I'm sorry,” Jack said, “but there’s no one else here. Who is Spike? Buffy, are you sure you're okay?”
A sickening feeling filled her stomach when she realised that Jack couldn’t see Spike. Another reminder that, though he was here for the moment, Spike wasn’t real and wouldn’t be staying. She felt him tense behind her, perhaps in readiness to run, and she reached her hand backwards, resting it comfortingly on his arm.
Jack was still peering at her curiously, the expression on his face concerned. Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to say, having just introduced him to—from Jack’s perspective—thin air.
“Buffy?”
“I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I was joking. Pretending to talk to someone? Haha, you know, making with the funny.”
“Right,” Jack said, and Buffy could see that she didn’t have him convinced. “Well… that was really all I came by for. So if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be off. Oh—I did want to tell you about the regatta in town tomorrow.”
Buffy nodded, her patience wearing a little thin. She had turned to look at Spike and the expression on his face was closed; he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Regatta?”
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Lots going on, competitions, games, a carnival. It’s fun. You should come and join in.”
“Oh.” She felt Spike’s hand tighten on hers and saw him narrow his eyes.
“Will I see you there?”
“Maybe.” Her response was noncommittal.
Perhaps sensing that was all he would get out of her, Jack nodded and started to walk down the path. “All right, I’ll keep an eye out. Um, have a good evening.” If he’d had a hat to tip at her, Buffy thought he would have done just that.
As soon as he was safely out of earshot, she turned back to Spike, relieved. “That was uncomfortable,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t reply, not even when she brushed a loose curl of hair back from his forehead. “Spike?”
“Let’s get in.” He took the keys from her and moved to open the door. “Bloody wanker’s ruined our evening.”
She followed him in, shedding her sandy shoes at the doormat and wanting nothing more than to rewind an hour, back to when they’d been having fun on the beach. In the living room, she found Spike sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupping his chin.
He stood, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, when she entered the room. “I don’t like that prat.”
“What?” Whatever Buffy had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. “Jack? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s a bleeding idiot, is what’s wrong.” Spike snorted. “He had his smarmy eyes all over you, an’ he as good as asked you out on a date when I was standing right there!”
Buffy bit her lip and approached him cautiously; taking him by the hand and leading him back over to the couch, unsure of how she was supposed to react. On the one hand, she wanted to laugh at what he’d said; he knew that Jack hadn’t been able to see him. On the other, she wanted to cry, hating the reminder of Spike’s ghostliness.
She couldn't help herself, however, and a small giggle escaped despite her efforts to keep it in.
Spike glared at her. “Think it's funny, do you, Slayer?”
“Sorry,” she said. “But—are you jealous? And did you see his face when I introduced you? Musta thought I was crazy.”
“Not jealous,” Spike grumbled, then smiled himself, the slayer’s laughter infectious. “And you are crazy.” His next words were spoken fondly; there was no malice in them. “Daft bint.”
“Yep, that's me. Crazy old Buffy. Give me a couple of cats and I'll be good to go. Seriously, though, are you okay?”
He sobered. “Yeah. Was just a shock to realise that you’re the only one who can see me. Spent the whole afternoon feeling like I was normal, and then—” He snorted. “Who am I kidding?” Spike shook his head and laughed, wryly. “Go off, have fun with Jack. It’s what you deserve, isn’t it? Normal boy.”
“Don't start with the self-sacrificing crap,” Buffy warned. “Normal’s not for me, okay?”
“But, love…” His words were plaintive and Buffy couldn't figure him out. One moment he was telling her how much he wanted to be with her, so much so that he’d pulled himself out of the grey for her, the next—he wanted her to return to normality. She could only think that he knew his time was short and he wanted to spare her the pain. Well, too late. It’d hurt either way, when he left.
“I'd rather spend whatever time you've got left with you than a thousand lifetimes with anyone else. You know that.”
“But I can feel it, Buffy. A tug, inside me. Here.” He clutched at his chest. “Only been here with you for a day and it already wants me back.”
“What does?” she asked, heart in her throat.
“Whatever was stopping me from being not-dead before I came here.” He stood up and moved towards the window, staring out at the darkness. “That void... The nothingness. The grey.”
Buffy shivered, not sure if the drop in temperature was her imagination or reality.
“Something’s pulling me back. I can resist it for now, I think. S'long as you stay with me. Like my anchor, see? Not gonna let the tide take me yet.” His voice was cracking, his gaze unfocussed as he stared out of the window.
Not much scared her, but this did. She was reminded of the Spike she had known immediately post-soul, when he had turned up in Sunnydale with an added dose of crazy. She approached him carefully and grasped him on the shoulder. He jumped, and turned to her with wide eyes.
“What... what happened?”
“You went somewhere,” Buffy replied, cautiously. “But it's ok. You're back now.”
He shook himself, before stepping into the circle of her arms. “I don't know how long I can hold on.” His words were whispered, pained in the quiet of the room.
Buffy lay her head on his shoulder and tried to relax in his embrace. “You said it yourself: try to forget, put it out of your mind. Hey, we could go to this carnival tomorrow, sounds like fun.” She tried hard to sound cheerful, despite the worry gnawing on her insides.
Spike frowned. “I dunno, pet. I'm still gonna seem invisible to everyone else. You'll look like an idiot talking to yourself all day.”
“I don't care. They can think I'm insane old Bertha in the attic for all I care. Just as long as I’m with you.”
He kissed her tenderly, telling her without words what he thought of her reply. “Thank you.”
She kissed him once more, taking him by the hand and pulling him away from the window. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the sandy-imprint Spike had left on the white of the sofa, as they walked past. “If they charge me for soiling the furniture, you are so paying.”
“I’m a ghost, love,” Spike replied, quirking his eyebrow. “Not so much with the disposable cash.”
“Whatever.” Buffy smiled and tugged him towards the bathroom. “Now, how about that shower?”
-TBC-
[Reviews - 81]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2008 times
- Text Size +
Banner by pamsblau
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you again to everyone who's reading and reviewing this fic. Your comments mean a lot! Good news is that I did write chapter seven and I've done half of chapter eight, so I'll be able to stick to the posting schedule. Thank you again to Sotia for beta-reading for me! I did mess a little with this chapter since it was betaed, so any mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought in a review.