Chapter 9
“Her hair was a mess as if she’d teased it out of the coiffed twist with nervous fingers and her eyes were tired as if she’d lived centuries instead of twenty years. I wanted to beg her to leave him, but didn’t, knowing it would only make her hate me. ‘I can’t. I won’t,’ she’d say, her lips a harsh line.
Why couldn’t she see that he’d never love her the way I could? That he was keeping her trapped in a cage like a wild animal, treating her like a fixture at that too-expensive cold house when she was so much more; a temptress with a heart of a warrior. And I wished I’d have been there instead of him, stealing her heart at sixteen and not keeping it to myself selfishly, but keeping it safe.”
Never the first choice, was he? Didn’t matter what universe, Angelus was always there to take everything away from him as if he deserved it. The only reason he didn’t end up tossing the book out the window was the happy ending he knew his other self had got to have. Spike just wanted to see, needed to know that somewhere out there a version of him had found someone to love him back.
So when he came down and spotted her lounging on the sofa with her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, and Emma dressed in her pajamas, playing by the tree with a gaggle of teddy bears, he felt almost jealous. Not because he wanted this, wanted the Slayer. But he wanted something.
And perhaps it was his frustration, and hers as well, spurred on by the inability to do anything useful, that had them on edge. The moment they started talking about Sunnydale and she mentioned the overgrown corn-fed sod, the reason he’d been put on a leash and unable to defend himself against the likes of Harris, it was as if a fuse had been lit.
When they snuck out to the front porch and closed the door behind them, he wasn’t even sure what they were about to quarrel about in the first place. All he knew was that they were both strung up and he called Captain Cardboard a tosser with a bad haircut and told her he’d rather stake himself than listen to more than five minutes of his boring prattle. Spike also may or may not have mocked Finn by giving a drawn out speech in a horrible American accent about milking cows.
Buffy got all fired up and defensive, eyes burning into his as she sneered and said, “You’re one to talk about relationship choices. At least he’s decent. The only women you can get to date you are either dumb as a rock or clinically insane!”
He forced himself not to react to the jab at Dru, knowing he’d most likely end up with a chip-induced headache. “I never ‘dated’ Harmony, Slayer,” he said, hands flung up to emphasize the point with air-quotation marks. “She had a nice pair of tits and I’m just a man. And she may have been dumb but at least she wasn’t a cold fish like you. You probably wouldn’t know what to do with a real man if they handed you a manual.”
“Well, look who’s being a hypocrite! For being such a cold fish, you sure seemed to enjoy the ‘snog’,” she said, and looked almost as surprised as he felt that she would bring it up at all. He half expected her to take it back and stalk off, but she held her ground, arms crossed over her chest.
“I’ve had better,” he said and knew it was callous, but what did he care? He was hungry and irritated and all the pent up energy inside him demanded a release. So why did he feel regret when the corners of her mouth slumped even more, hurt edging in?
“So have I,” she replied and marched back into the house, leaving him standing there with something that felt a lot like bruised pride.
They spent the next two hours in subdued silence.
*******
Emma was already asleep, and here the two of them were, sitting on the sofa, half-heartedly watching some gore flick on the telly like an old married couple. Ironic, wasn’t it?
They’d both said sorry, but he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The Slayer knew how to hold a grudge and offending her feminine wiles was a deliberate hit at her weak spot.
His stomach growled.
“Hungry?” she said, with a hint of vindictive satisfaction in her voice. He probably deserved that.
“No, I’m just having a conversation with my stomach.” He slouched into the couch even more, closing his eyes as blood spurted out of a supporting character’s neck. “Can we change the channel?”
“No, I’m watching this.”
He knew she wasn’t actually into it because she’d mentioned earlier that she wasn’t a fan of horrors. If this was her way of getting back at him, he reckoned he could have done much worse.
“Fine.” He was bored and couldn’t handle the silence for very long. Sue him. “Wish I could hunt animals at least. Would have been a problem solved.”
“Well, you can’t, so—” And then she was staring at him as if she’d had the revelation of her lifetime. She settled closer to him, invading his personal space, all her attention dead-set on him.
“What?” It was making him squirm. Not that he actually would. He wasn’t William anymore. But it still made him uneasy.
“Maybe I know a way to solve it.”
“Go to the butcher’s again?” What was up with her?
“What if they don’t have it though?”
He didn’t much like the idea of that. Starving wasn’t fun, he knew from experience. “Don’t know.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve got plenty of blood then. Right here.” She gathered her hair and let it slip over one shoulder, tilted her head to the side. Fuck. For a moment he’d forgotten that for all her vanilla tastes and straight-laced behaviour, she knew how to play dirty and bend all the rules. “Bet you want it, don’t you?”
“What vamp doesn’t?” he said, not sure what she was trying to prove. What she was playing at. “’S like the Holy Grail for us.”
She rested her palm on his chest, fingers splayed. “You could have it. Take just a little bit. Just until we get the pig’s blood.”
“What?” Had she hit her head when he wasn’t looking? “Buffy, what are yo—”
“My blood. All you’d need is just. A few. Drops.” Reason fled the moment she took his hand and laid it over her throat, the steady ta-dum ta-dum beneath her silky skin beating against his palm, so close. He was so hungry for it, couldn’t help but stroke down the column of her neck, fingertips chasing down the blue vein thrumming beneath. “Imagine, a mouthful just sliding down your throat. Thick and sweet, the best you’ve ever had.”
“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. He could almost taste it, warm and rich on his tongue.
“Too bad. You can’t have it,” she said with a too-wide smile, ducking away from his touch. “Never ever.”
It took a moment for the words to register, to travel through the crimson fog in his brain and when they finally did, she was backing further away, so much like that time at the Bronze. A seductress with his balls in a vice, the memory of her touch a burning echo on his chest.
Bloody bitch with her pretty words. You fall for it every time, Spike.
“Who’s the cold fish now?” And she was back to her childish abrasive self as if she hadn’t just given him a hard-on with only her words and a touch of her palm over his dead heart.
“That was uncalled for.”
“Was it really? Because I think you totally deserved it.”
“Guess we’re even then.”
He adjusted himself when her attention was back on the telly and scowled even though she probably didn’t see him. They may have been even but she’d just started a war he wouldn’t let her win.
*******
“Okay, one of us sleeps on the floor,” she said, heavily insinuating that it would be him.
“Good luck with that,” he said, flopping down on the bed on his back, arms laced behind his head. “Don’t forget to take a pillow.”
“Let me rephrase. You’re sleeping on the floor.” She gripped his ankle and pulled so hard he ended up crashing to the floor and hitting his hip and, “Ow! What was that for!”
“Shh, don’t yell. You’ll wake her up.”
“I’m not sleeping on the bloody floor,” he growled out. The second he stood up, sharp pain raced up his side. Sadistic bitch. At least she had the decency to look contrite. Didn’t mean he forgave her as of yet though.
“Well, I’m not sleeping next to you.”
“Then that’s your problem, not mine.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it over the open drawer of the dresser, wincing at the stretch.
“But Spike—” she said in her whiny voice, pouting.
“No.” He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down.
“Oh God, what are you—”
“Getting ready for bed. What does it look like?” He pulled them down and kicked them off, and all right, maybe he’d done that on purpose just to see if her head would explode. She was turning so red it just might happen.
She spun around fast, but not fast enough to avoid getting an eyeful. He grinned smugly when her toe collided with the nightstand.
“Shit!”
“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Now I’m definitely not sleeping next to you.”
“’S your funeral.” He collapsed on the bed belly-down and wriggled under the duvet, nuzzling his face into a pillow that smelled like apples and cotton candy. Much better than the sofa. “Mmm, comfy.”
He heard her huffing, could practically feel her urge to bang the drawers shut and stomp around. Instead she glared at him in silence for about a minute and when she realised he wasn’t bothered, she yanked a pillow from underneath his arm and took the other duvet.
“You know the bed’s big enough for both of us, right?”
“I’ve been touching you too much for one day, thanks.”
“Who said anything about touching? I’m not that easy, you know. Where’s your finesse, Slayer?”
“Jut shut it and let me get some sleep.” She was tossing and turning as she lay on the floor, probably trying to find a comfortable spot that wasn’t there. As he’d said, it was her funeral.
*******
She couldn’t sleep. The floor was hard and dug into her ribs, all her joints were aching and there was a naked Spike a few feet away with his arm dangling off the bed. Why had she pulled the short end of the stick in this scenario? Never mind. It was as if her whole life was just one short stick at a time.
It wasn’t fair, she thought, giving the bed a longing glance. It looked soft and inviting, giving her a smile and beckoning her with come on Buffy you know you want to snuggle in. Oh no, the delirium was starting to kick in.
How dare he be asleep! With his stupid slack mouth and too long eyelashes and a curl that fell onto his forehead. Not to mention nakedness. Nakedness she’d got to see in all its pale-skinned, lanky-muscled glory. She was scarred for life. She’d never again be able to see him without getting flashes of his thing swinging in the breeze. Well, not swinging per se. More like hanging. She was baffled that he’d managed to pack it away in those tight jeans.
And now I’m officially a pervert. Could she blame it on the late night delirium?
She buried her face in the pillow to muffle her groan. Stop thinking about his penis, she told herself repeatedly, which of course had the opposite effect.
She sat up, rubbing her back, tired, cold and miserable, glaring at his sleeping face because her suffering was entirely his fault. And it was unfair that he was one of those people who didn’t look all that gross when asleep. Or dead. Wasn’t he supposed to look dead? Angel kind of had. But not Spike. Spike’s nose twitched every now and then, eyelids flickering as he probably dreamt of all the gay old times he’d had with the crazy nutjob, all cuddled up into his pillow.
“I hate you.”
He did offer for you to sleep on the bed. Of course you had to be all prideful. Now look where it got you.
Maybe she could sneak in beside him then wake up early and sneak back onto the floor. Willow had called her a bed-hog once, but surely her Slayer side would subconsciously keep as far away from him as possible, right? Right. He wouldn’t even have to know. She was exhausted enough to think it sounded like a foolproof plan.
*******
It was still dark outside when she woke up plastered against Spike’s side. She’d have almost preferred it the other way around so she could call him a handsy pig and kick him in the shins. Only it was her. She was the handsy pig. The bed-hog in action, with her face an inch away from his, arm draped over his bare back and leg hooked over his duvet-covered butt and thighs.
Ugh, he smells good.
Kind of like rain soaked earth after a storm and something fresh and citrus-y. As she untangled herself and felt herself being dragged back under the wave of drowsiness, she wished he smelled more like a corpse. Gotta get back on the floor, she thought right before she fell asleep again.
*******
It was hazy and stretched out like an old rubber band and Buffy knew she was dreaming. She found herself a helpless spectator standing at the edge of the cemetery. She blinked, waiting for the world around her to stop spinning and come into focus.
It was her. Them. Standing there a few feet away and looking right through her as if she didn’t exist. She tried to call out but made no sound, watching as a demon rushed them, hissing garbled words that definitely weren’t English.
Her legs pumped, not caring that she was only wearing the oversized T-shirt and panties she’d gone to sleep in, and launched herself right at the demon… only to fly straight through him.
She got the wind knocked out of her, but could still hear her dream twin scream and catch Spike’s urgent, Buffy, run!
And they did, but the demon was faster and managed to swipe at Spike’s shoulder with clawed fingers. The other Buffy heard his cry and spun around, face ashen but determined as she kicked out. It wasn’t nearly as strong as Buffy was used to, didn’t send the demon flying, but it was enough to knock him down, gain them an advantage. Spike kicked the demon in the face, hard, while the other Buffy snatched a small statue of Jesus off the nearest grave and started to whack the demon over its head until its limbs finally stopped twitching.
“Nobody messes with my husband,” she said and threw the statue down as Spike pulled her into a messy kiss. She knew then, felt all the pieces click into place as they started to run again, the image pulsing in blood red in time with the pain shooting through her midsection as if she’d been the one on the receiving end of other Buffy’s kicks.
She clutched at her belly, knowing it had been real. It was the other them. And they were in Sunnydale.
She woke up with cold sweat running down her spine, her body aching.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Previously: Buffy insisted on getting the make-up off Spike's face because he obviously couldn't do it himself, and a missing toe made them kiss. They most certainly did not like it. Nope.
All4Spike beta'd, because she's awesome.
All4Spike beta'd, because she's awesome.