Chapter Two
The engine’s hum had a hypnotic quality, a centring effect that allowed Buffy to see the night again from that vital step away. Every vile word, every nasty threat, and every vicious punch caused her to flinch, and tears welled in her eyes as she concentrated on staring through the front windscreen of the patrol car. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her, so she sat awkwardly in the front seat, allowing a little part of her that wasn’t yet disgusted with herself to get wound up with irritation. Nobody had recognised her discomfort and asked the cop to change it.
The car rolled to a stop in front of her house and she prepared herself for leaving when Spike spoke quietly from the back seat.
“Not here. Don’t want the Nibblet to see…” And Xander jumped in with his own address, putting them back in motion again.
Buffy cringed and fell deeper into herself.
Dawn.
Dawn loved Spike. No way would she be okay with what Buffy had done to him. And for the fourth time that night, Spike was trying to save her. Emotions contradictory and confusing clashed within her so violently that she actually felt her body cramp in reaction. Her skin was chilled, the freeze broaching more barriers to reach her insides; to swallow her heart.
Risking a peak at her driver, she noticed his covert glances in the rearview mirror and the slight crinkling of his brow in confusion. He wasn’t able to see Spike’s reflection, and though initially she thought to be derogatory in comment about his lack of existence to the real world, something held her back. Something that acknowledged the major hurt she had already inflicted upon him without his deserving it. Something that knew that that little space within her that actually did care for Spike—the space she was loathe admitting to and kept so far in the dark recesses of herself to convince her of its non-existence—would break her if she added even more to his pain.
Disgrace.
She felt it in the cuffs that dug into the skin at her wrists. Finally order was streaking back through her control and she felt the beginnings of shakes. How could she have sex with someone she wanted to beat to a bloody mess? Why did she accept him into her body but not her life? Why couldn’t she admit that he was important, even if only to herself? Important enough to give her just a small amount of herself back? A piece that her friends had stolen from her.
This thing with him was more than a craving; it teetered on the edge of something completely overwhelming.
Vital.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind, couldn’t ignore the ‘specialness’ her time with him usually became. Couldn’t acknowledge that he felt fundamental to her existence. Not without drowning in her fear. And fear was stronger than courage. Fear had great muscley arms braced winningly against courage. And Spike’s continual little pushes against it were useless.
Spike was unable to go up against her great wall-a-rama of hurt and rejection, her expectations of desertion so deeply entrenched that all honest intentions of commitment bounced right back off like a rubbery bouncy ball. But each jab awakened a little patch of her heart—cried at her to let him in just a little, to take a chance on him crashing full-bodied through the wall. But then he would call her nature dark and remind her of all the things she hated, and she would effectively block his efforts once again.
As the wheels rolled rubber over bitumen toward Xander’s apartment block, she had too much time to think, too much time to feel if she actually could, but the complete lack of sensation isolated her fears once again. She was in the cold—frozen against what made her human—her frailty non-existent. Although the inner monologue was speeding down the path of remorse, she had squeezed it silent and closed within her ball of apathy.
She wouldn’t let herself think, couldn’t let herself feel, because if she did then she opened the door to all of the hate and anger and disgust she felt at her friends for ending her bliss, for pulling her kicking and screaming from her heavenly retirement. That Spike and Dawn weren’t in on the act hadn’t quite made it to her list of those to be exempt from her rage, they combined to bind her to this place as willingly as the others. And Spike’s face currently told the story about how happy that made her.
For a moment the ice seemed too hard to sustain—short, sharp glances over her shoulder took in the blackened swellings of Spike’s face and something twisted at her heart. It brought a heat to her skin that was so far from the normal infusion of desire that she stilled in confusion. She hadn’t felt heat at any time other than when Spike undulated above her, stroking the fires within her. When the chords of his cock scraped against her inner channel and set goosebumps fluttering to her skin. The moments were as short-lived as her connection to him. Once away from him, the warmth would dissipate. But now, the result of her loss of control—her mixed feelings of self-punishment—were the raised welts on his face. Buffy felt the ice shifting, chafing against other blocks of ice until the friction caused a little meltage. And for the first time, she really noticed that her heart was still beating.
As she contemplated this new form of living—or was it waking?—she encountered another dirty, disgusted look from the police officer who had the key for the cuffs holding her to the mortal world of justice. That a human could see her with such abhorrence—one of the race that she had been chosen to protect disliked what she was—and she finally realised that just because she felt lost and alone, despite her many dalliances with Spike, she was failing all that she stood for.
The car pulled to a stop outside the apartment block and the passengers alighted. Buffy remained stuck behind a closed door, waiting to be let out, her hands restrained. The officer didn’t take off the cuffs as he almost pushed her along the path to Xander’s door, the sky beginning to lighten. Now that she was once again in a position to see faces without straining her neck, she felt the ice chipping away again, disturbed at the silence that being ignored entailed. She knew that they were about to wake Anya, and that some explanations were about to become very ‘on the table’, and for the first time since she encountered Spike tonight, she felt some hope. Xander might be acting all buddy-buddy with Spike right now, but it was probably all about to come out about Spike and Buffy. And instead of the usual cold fear that accompanied that thought, she was overwhelmed with relief.
Even with his face turned away, she could see the hunched form of her lover, the bruising down his cheek and a little blood by his ear and the shaking began to invade her body again. That little piece hidden within her, the one that allowed her freedom to care for Spike, felt nauseous, sickened by what she had done to the man she spent hours touching and stroking.
It was almost like she had never seen this night before, her numb humanity standing on the outer edge of the events of the night, and so hadn’t grasped the magnitude of it. A human, no less a police officer, had seen her beat a man, and not just a man, but her secret boyfriend. The word sent sudden tingles over her skin and fired up her blood, and she teared at the inappropriate reaction of her body.
This officer no doubt thought her an abuser, suspected her of domestic violence. God, if her mother had seen her now. But she wouldn’t, because she was gone too, just like all those who supposedly cared about her. It was just a matter of time before the others left, including Spike. No matter what he professed, she didn’t believe he would stay forever. She would end up alone; no one could bear to stay around her.
Her father, Angel, Riley, her mother and even Giles. There was just something about her that sent them all packing, choice had everything to do with it and they all chose to leave. She may as well fight against the lies. Spike might say he loved her, but so had they all and none of them loved her enough to stay. She couldn’t help it if the frustration of hearing the continual lies made her want to beat them out of him, send him on his way. Before.
Before.
And tears again tumbled headlong down the smooth plains of her cheeks. Even in her head did she whisper. Before he chose to leave her. Before she fully gave him her heart. But as something cracked within her she fell to her knees on the paving and sobbed, knowing it was too late and she really couldn’t bear it if he left her too.
“Spike?”
Her voice was broken, little girlish and repentant.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” She shook violently against the arms that encircled her and she struggled against the cuffs that prevented her from returning the embrace. She kissed his jaw, her face slippery with grief and teetering floodgates of emotion. “I’m sorry I hurt you, all the time, don’t want to anymore, please hold me…” And her lips caressed his neck in goaded misery, so afraid he would push her away, throw her away even now that she was showing him her insides. Her babbling increased, tears gushing torrents against his neck.
“Take these bloody cuffs off, now!”
Over her head he pleaded with Xander to talk to the cop, to release her, and as shocked as the boy was, he recognised the weakness in Buffy for what it was…a letting go of grief so huge that she needed to cling. And even if it was Spike she fell for on the pavement outside his apartment, the night was so crazy that it was looking like a really good idea. Whatever his Buffster needed to be whole again.
Some quiet discussion, and the click of metal as it gave way was the announcement that she was free. Her arms flew to Spike’s neck, clinging for all she was worth, afraid to let him go in case he decided this was the moment he couldn’t take anymore. She renewed her pleas, begging him to stay, not leave her, she’d be better, he could do anything he wanted to her, anything, just please stay…
And though her face was a mess when he forced her back from his chest, forced her to look into his eyes, forced her to see the truth, he offered her his swollen fleshy lips in promise. Mindful of the pain she had already caused him, she didn’t suck his lips into her mouth, nibble and bite like she normally would do. This time she let herself rest against him; lip against lip in a beautiful caress of mutual love, even if one was hidden.
The darkness was lifting while they kneeled on the cement, neither caring nor knowing what happened around them as they held each other tight, as they gazed into each others eyes filled with forgiveness and hope. They were oblivious to everything but the moment, but Xander remained alert, watching the lightening and the revelation of colour around them with rising concern.
“Come on, guys…enough of the Spuffy lovin’. Time to get fangless inside before you’re holding an armful of ash, Buffster.”
The officer startled uncomfortably, before hardening his lip and waited beside the collapsed couple, planning on following them into the apartment block. Determination tapped his foot on the cement as he countered his patience.
With sudden dread, Buffy lifted her eyes to the sky and sucked in a lungful of air. Grasping Spike’s hand she put his arm over one shoulder and waited for Xander to support Spike’s other side. Together they headed for Xander’s apartment, the Sunnydale law following doggedly and confused in their wake.
Anya was awake and pacing when they made a quiet entry. Her eyes soaked up the vision of the group, and despite the tender emotions of those embroiled within it, only the officer was surprised by what came out of her mouth.
“Xander? It’s a little late for group sex. And although I know I’ve mentioned the possibility of Spike to you before, it would be much better for orgasm potential if he wasn’t so beaten. Many points for the police costume, though.” She eyed him approvingly, her eyes resting on the gun in his holster, confusion arching her brow. “I don’t know you, do I?” she asked, eyeing the officer with an animal intensity he found more amusing than alarming.
“I’m the real police, ma’am. Officer Jones.” He stepped forward and offered his hand for shaking, smiling at the first real effort of friendly interaction of his night.
It wasn’t until his name and title had finally been offered that Xander wondered at their lack. The lawman had become a part of one of the most personal and bitter experiences of the three now huddled inside the door, and yet just now were they learning his name.
Xander felt exhausted, rushed beyond knowing in his revelations of the night. The latest had his head spinning, and he quietly stepped back so as to easily watch a still crying Buffy with her face buried in the throat of the vampire Xander had spent so much of the past few years loving to hate.
The room had remained remarkably quiet, everyone watching the completely miserable pair trying to connect, trying to forge new ties amongst the multiplying streaks of light filtering through the window. With an unaccustomed bout of concern, Xander dived for the curtains to pull them closed, not wanting Spike’s body to go up in a blaze of fire when he’d only just stopped him being beaten to a pulp. No, the ending for Spike could come upon them another day.
The vamp had noticed the sacrifice and offered the second smile of gratitude that Xander had ever seen from him. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of it, then indicated with a sweeping hand the empty sofa.
With crippling effort, Spike directed the clinging and weeping Buffy to join him on the relative comfort of the seating and he wrapped her up in his arms. His heart was still unbeating on the path outside, still caught up in the fact that he held the girl he loved in his arms. In front of people. Real people. Not demon people she had every intention of dispatching before they could spread a rumour.
Anything emotional with Buffy and he was helpless to repress his own teary reactions, and with clogging emotion clinging to his voice, he attempted to calm and reverse the angry effects of the night.
“Buffy, love?” And the most important fact to them both. “I love you. I’m not going to leave you. I’ll only go when you stake me.”
His attempt to amuse her fell flat as she looked at him in horror.
“No,” she gasped, very real pain seizing and clutching her heart in her chest. The image of his death struck her hard and a severe growling assaulted her ears. All she heard was the thundering rush as she cried out and almost collapsed to the floor, her hands clutching at her head as she desperately tried to stave off the coming of Hell.
The walls were gone, frozen solid now molten puddles of flooding water, and she was balanced on the edge of raw. It hurt. Everything caused a pain so deep and at the top of the pile was a Spike turning to dust, her own stake still clutched in her hand.
“No,” she cried ever louder. “No, no, no, No, NO…” on an ever rising hysteria that encased her in a heated cavern belonging to something other than God. This was not what she remembered at death. No, this was opposite, this was her life without the one man who brought emotion to her core.
There it was. She was useless without Spike. She couldn’t find herself anywhere but in his arms, and as she writhed on the ground, kicking and screaming for him to come back to her the only thing to stop her was his heavy body as he gingerly lowered himself on top of her. His familiarity immediately halted her struggle, though she continued to cry, great sobs of agony blanching her skin.
As she calmed he began to lift off her, but the minute absence of his weight started her off again and she couldn’t face it, couldn’t be without him, and couldn’t let him leave her, too. She screamed her need, begged and pleaded until she was hoarse, grabbed painfully at his body until, with a roar mindless of his audience, his face changed and he sank his fangs deeply into her throat.
Immediately she calmed, and though he felt the panicked response behind him, smelt the fear and the indignation, he supped from her blood, taking her into him with a finality that caused his body to shiver. He took slow gulps, his lips holding her against him with amazing suction.
Her lips fell open, her fingers tangled hard in his hair and she whispered words of welcome and acceptance. Her legs hugged his pelvis to hers, rocking against his in their comfort, wanting but waking to the knowledge that this place wasn’t the right one.
Her eyes regained focus and the Slayer became aware of the teeth marking her again, making her a chew toy for another vampire. But the overwhelming surge of heat from deep in her belly convinced her to relax her objections, to wait and see where this ride would end. She had the utmost confidence that despite his talk of darkness, Spike wouldn’t let her reach for it.
And she was right. As her haze began to descend, the lightness freeing her inhibitions, he pulled from her throat and pressed apologetic kisses to her slackened lips. A small jewel-like tear squeezed from beneath his closed lids and she tearfully swept it away with her finger, letting it rest on her tongue when his eyes had opened enough to observe her tenderness.
They smiled and were lost in the tangle of greens and blues that indicated a merging deeply of spirit.
Until a cough broke their concentration and they remembered the others around them.
Spike fell to her side, already feeling the healing effects of her blood, and pulled them both up to their feet. Buffy, marginally weakened, rested her head lovingly against his shoulder and focused on his hand, the skin cracked and bloodied. With a gentle hand she lifted it to her lips and kissed the wound, then carefully threaded her fingers through his to publicly declare them through the intimate handclasp.
She encountered Xander’s gaze first, and prepared herself to see ugly condemnation. She could already feel her body shrinking with regret, when she recognised his look of love; confused love without doubt, but he wasn’t judging her like usual.
“Oh.” She sighed out of intense relief and flung herself into his warm, surrogate big-brother hug and allowed herself the comfort of his understanding.
Through the deep chasm of pain that had been inflicted tonight, something mysterious had cracked open and allowed truth to escape. It followed with a smothering of something soft and loving, something forgiving that allowed Buffy to see with a clarity that had been missing since her crawl from the grave.
It allowed Buffy to love, to feel love, to believe and be empowered by love.
So, when her eyes fell again on Officer Jones, she felt a little stronger in the face of his dislike and suspicion.
But she had felt the change, felt the removal of something ugly from within herself and felt giddy with the recognition that the purging was only successful with the acceptance of Spike’s love. With the unashamed wanting and needing of him. HIM. Spike.
Her lips curved in the first genuinely happy smile since she had come back from Heaven and she turned it upon Spike. Before her eyes his bruises and cuts were fading, and with another giddy grin her fingers ghosted over the marks he had left at her throat.
“Thank you.” Her words were imbued with the heaviness of grief shirked, yet coloured with an overpowering wealth of hope. Dreams. With Spike in her arms she could dream again.
The human had forced her back to humanity in a way that fantastic sex had not been able to. With Spike she could fight against emotion, appeal against her deepening feelings. She could deny him and all he did for her. But when forced to face her behaviour by one she was meant to be a star for, it was the final straw. It was the challenge she needed to own her attitude and see how broken she could make Spike.
She was finding she didn’t like to abuse her power.
And with that, a massive burden lifted from her shoulders and she hung against the body of the man she wanted in her life, wanted to be a part of her. And who now, was.
It was the first time she had felt thankful for his demon. Wild and creative sex had just been another reason to hate, to condemn and turn away. She spurred on her enemy to take her in ways and lift her to heights she could blame away on depravity. That she instigated the most of it was her blind spot.
But by forcing his teeth into her, gaining her calm and showing her the ultimate sacrifice in love—his bared back to Xander—she had no more resistance to the strength of his feelings.
So, turning to him with an unaccustomed light in her eyes, she couldn’t help but release her secret.
She smiled warmly with understanding.
“I know who we are now, Spike. I love you.”
The End
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