Chapter Seven
As they walked into town the following day, Buffy watched him. She wasn’t used to seeing him in the daylight, and observing the sun glint off his bright hair, or the way it cast shadows across the harsh planes of his face, was strange.
He knew she was watching him. She could tell by the small quirk of his lips, the tiny sidelong glances he sent her. Hit with a sudden giddiness over the fact that he was there with her, she twirled around and spun into his arms. She kissed him lightly and then whirled away, giggling.
Spike stared after her with an amused look on his face. “What was that for?”
“Just because.” She shrugged before running ahead, laughing. “Last one to the end of the path is a rotten vampire!”
***
The sounds of the regatta could be heard long before they reached the central part of the town. Cries of laughter, muffled microphone commentary and the zany, electrical noises of fairground rides all carried themselves on the wind across the bay.
Despite her reassurances to the contrary the night before, Buffy couldn't help but be slightly apprehensive about what the townsfolk would think to her apparently talking to thin air. People could be nosy, and she imagined she would get several queries about her state of mind over the afternoon.
As if reading her mind, Spike suddenly spoke. “Everything okay?”
She nodded and smiled, knowing that revealing her thoughts would only make Spike want to return to the flat. She wanted to spend the day with him, like a normal couple, despite the fact they were anything but.
The beach and esplanade were full of people, the sea awash with colourful flags flying on all manner of sailing boats. Little stalls had been set up along the length of the Cobb, and there was so much going on that Buffy didn't know where to start. She turned to ask Spike, but stopped when she saw the speculative look on his face.
“Spike?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head. “Yeah... it's just—got the strange sense I've been here before. Can't think, though...” he frowned, eyes scanning the crowds on the beach, the boats in the bay, and the road leading up to the town centre. He looked up past the esplanade and across the grassy slope that led to the botanical gardens. Something—a shadow—passed across his face and then his features lit up with a grin. He grabbed Buffy's hand and set off, pulling her along behind him. “Come on!”
“Where are we going?” Buffy asked, laughing, as they ran up the hillside path.
“I remembered!” He shouted. “Know why I recognise the place.”
Buffy didn't reply, too busy trying not to bump into people to say anything and knowing that Spike would explain when they stopped. They weaved in and out of the crowds on the paths until he pulled her through a gap in the hedge and around a corner. The sounds of the beach immediately dulled. There was no path here, just a worn track in the grass, and Spike paused for a moment, looking both ways before deciding to turn right.
There were fewer people up there. A group of teenage girls were sitting in a circle, magazines spread out across their knees and music-players plugged into their ears. They sent her mocking looks as she ran past, before turning back to each other to giggle and gossip. Buffy rolled her eyes despite knowing that she’d have done the same thing at their age.
Spike finally came to a stop at the end of the grassy pathway, where it met the alleyway that led back to the town centre. From where they were, Buffy could still see the sea if she stood on tip-toes and peered over the hedge, and the gaggle of girls with their music-players were but a speck in the distance.
“Why did you bring me here?” Buffy asked, turning to look at Spike, who still had a wide grin on his face. She was glad that the melancholy of the night before had left him. He nodded towards the tree that shaded them, a tall, rotund evergreen that stretched high into the sky.
“For that,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come on, we’re not quite there yet.”
He took her around towards the back of the tree, swiping aside some of the springier lower branches. Ducking down, he disappeared through the leaves, pulling her with him. It was the most peculiar tree Buffy had ever seen: the trunk rose straight and tall from the ground, wide, solid branches snaking out from the centre. There were no leaves on the inner branches, only the outer, creating a shield from the outside world.
“How did you know this was here?” Buffy asked, as she took in her surroundings. It was cool inside the tree, away from the midday sun. She moved towards the trunk, running her hand along the lowest of the branches. The bark was smooth under her skin, perhaps worn down by persons past.
“Suddenly recognised the place,” Spike replied as he sat down on the branch, one leg on either side. “I’ve been here before, when I was a kid.”
“You have?” Buffy raised an eyebrow, lifting her leg up and over the branch so she sat opposite him.
“Yeah. Maybe it’s why I subconsciously brought you here? Someplace familiar.” He shrugged. “It was a popular place to holiday for the Victorian toffs. Mother would bring me to visit her aunt—bloody old witch she was. Aunt Tilda, I mean. Not mum.” His eyes went slightly unfocussed as he lost himself in memory. “We’d come by train and stay for two weeks in the summer. Used to go off by myself so as I didn’t have to be oohed and ahhed over by all of Aunt Tilda’s callers.”
Buffy listened, fascinated and somewhat amused by the glimpse into William’s childhood. Spike’s childhood. She had always thought that the vampire was separated from the man, the person who had owned the body the demon took over. And perhaps that was true for the soulless creatures she’d fought night after night in Sunnydale. But not for Spike.
“And this tree?” Buffy prompted, when he fell silent.
“I found it by accident,” he replied. “Was running away from the neighbour’s dog and suddenly found myself in here. I thought I’d stepped into another world. I’d come in here and pretend I was a heroic prince and this was my castle.” He snorted. “I was a pitiful wanker as a kid, you know. Makin’ up all sorts of stories and epic poems about fighting monsters and kissing beautiful princesses.”
“All children do that,” Buffy said. “I used to pretend to slay dragons with a sword made from coat hangers.” She paused, considering. “Guess my make-believe kinda came true, huh?”
He chuckled and looked at her fondly. “Yeah, it did.”
“Yours, too.” Buffy bit her lip and leaned a little closer. “You closed the Hellmouth. I’d say that was pretty heroic.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “William’d be right proud of me, sure.”
“Hey,” Buffy said. “He would. You are a hero, Spike. You saved the world.”
“Nah, you lot did the saving; I just did the clean-up.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
“I don’t think we’d have gotten out of there if it wasn’t for what you did,” Buffy replied.
“What I did? I didn’t do a bleedin’ thing!” Spike opened his eyes and glared at her. “Wore that stupid amulet and just stood there.”
“You did more than that,” she said. “You knew it was killing you and you stayed, to make sure that we all got away safely.” She reached across and put her hand on his knee. “That was heroic.”
“Didn’t stick though, did it? Death. How heroic can it have been when I dragged myself out a few days later?”
“You’re being stupid,” Buffy said. “I’m the Slayer, I’m always right.”
“Oh you are, are you?”
“Yes.” She raised her head, nose in the air. “What I say goes. And I say you were a hero, so there. William’s make-believe came true.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. “And look, you get to kiss the beautiful princess, too.” She pressed her lips to his once more and felt his mouth curl into a smile at her words. “Now, tell me more about little William. I bet you were a cutie.”
“Was not cute.” Spike grumbled.
“You so were, weren’t you? All big blue eyes and blonde hair. Am I right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Always are, aren’t you?”
Buffy grinned.
***
They spent the afternoon talking and sharing kisses. Buffy found that with Spike seated with his back to the trunk, she could comfortably sit between his legs and lean against his chest. There was something magical about the tree, she decided. Spike had said that, as a child, he’d found it like stepping into another world, and she agreed.
It was quiet and still. None of the sounds from the regatta and the busy beach reached them there, and it was cool underneath the canopy of leaves. Spike told her more about his time in Dorset as a child and life in general growing up in the Victorian era, and she in turn described her childhood vacations to Disneyland.
She started to say that perhaps one day they would have to visit the theme park together, but remembered just in time that he likely wouldn’t be around for much longer and stopped herself. No point in upsetting them both. She was finding it harder and harder not to go against his wishes and call her friends to see if they could help him stay.
Neither of them wore a watch and Buffy had left her cellphone back at the apartment, so it was only when the temperature suddenly dropped that they realised it had got late. Spike had slid down a little so that he was almost lying across the wide branch, and Buffy lay tucked into his chest. “Mmm, I don’t wanna move,” she said, breathing in the clean scent of his shirt and abstractly wondering why a ghost would smell of fresh laundry.
“Me either, love, but you’re getting goose-pimply.” He ran a hand over her arm and she shivered. “Besides, this tree doesn’t make the most comfortable of beds.”
Buffy sat up and stretched her arms above her head, wincing in satisfaction when her joints popped. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and jumped down, off the branch. She turned to Spike and cupped his face in her hands. “Thank you for today.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me here. For letting me in… For talking to me. For trusting me enough to tell me about your past. Just—thank you.”
Spike opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and bit his lip. In the end, he simply nodded. “You’re welcome.”
A whistle and a loud bang interrupted anything more they had to say and they both hurried outside to see the sky explode in a maelstrom of colour. “Oh,” Buffy breathed. “Fireworks.”
Several more rockets launched from a floating platform out in the bay, sending bright sparks up into the atmosphere. Slipping her arm around Spike’s waist, Buffy leaned her head on his shoulder and together they watched the sky burn.
-TBC-
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for your comments to the last chapter. I'm sorry I haven't replied yet, I'll try to get to that soon. I also need to learn to write faster as I haven't yet finished chapter eight. I hope to get it done in the next couple of days but I can't guarantee I'll be able to post on Thursday. One thing to note about this chapter: I've been a little loose with the details. Lyme Regis does have a regatta, but it's in August, not May when this fic is set. I've never actually attended a regatta at Lyme Regis, so some of the events in this chapter are just built on my experiences with other English seaside carnivals. They're all pretty similar, so I don't think there's anything too out of place. ;) Thanks again to Sotia for beta-reading and as always, I've added bits and pieces to it since then, so any mistakes will be mine. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought in a review. Your comments always mean a lot. :)