II
She stopped at a Wal-Mart and bought a few pairs of jeans and some tees. Spike padded after her obediently, flinching under the lights but not willing to let her get more than a few feet away from him at any time. His presence inspired her with hope, and his refusal to let her out of his sight had her insides tingling.
There was no need to try anything on. She knew his size all too well.
“Black, black, and more black?” she asked, smiling gently at him as he followed her through the fourways of clothing. “Maybe a deep blue. That’d really bring out your eyes.”
Spike flashed a bashful smile and glanced down, but said nothing.
“Come on,” she said, turning toward the registers. “People are going to start to think you’re a walking zombie.” She smiled. “No offense, but rags plus pale kinda equals a creature-feature from a Michael Jackson video.”
There was a small grunt in reply.
Buffy was not a fan of the self-checkout system, but she similarly didn’t want to face the inquiring stares of a helpful staffer. After several attempts at scanning her purchases and bickering with the roboted employee, she bagged the clothes and led Spike back into the night.
“I swear, that store is trying to take over the world,” she said, making the familiar turn in the direction of her apartment. “And I’m helping them. Not voluntarily, of course, but when you’re a girl on a budget, there’s only so much you can afford shopping at places without markdowns. Sooner or later, though, those robo-checkout machines will pull a massive Terminator…or at least that’s what they’d do in Sunnydale. This is supposed to be a hellmouth, so I’m thinking it can’t stay all Leave It To Beaver-y for long.”
Spike flashed another glance of pure confusion. She smiled uneasily and threaded her fingers through his. Her rambling had to be hard to follow. In a million years, she never thought she would be the sort of person to bicker about Wal-Mart. It was too normal an occasion for someone who had the power to change the universe.
“You still don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Slayer,” he replied.
“Do you know my name? Do you remember me at all?”
His eyes averted to the pavement in shame. She sighed and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay,” she told him. “We’ll be okay. Even if you never remember me, I won’t leave you alone.”
Especially like this. A souled amnesiac vampire who grew bashful at compliments and overly protective of a woman destined to be his end? There was no way she’d ever let him out of her sight. Absolutely no way.
All the more besides, she loved him too much to do anything else.
They were quiet for the rest of the short walk to her apartment. She led him through a maze of gloomy corridors, made a mental note to call the super yet again and see if he could fix the lights that had gone out on her floor two weeks prior, fought with the lock on her door, then finally led him into her home.
“Like I said,” she said nervously, “not much.” Like a woman bringing a man home after their first date, sorting through the pretenses that masked her truer intentions. “It’s really kinda crappy, but I have everything I need, right? Bathroom with a tub, which is pretty remarkable. A kitchen area, a small den, and a bedroom. Really, this place runs circles around the place I had in LA after…well, the last time I found myself in a strange city, working for a diner.”
A shuddering breath hissed through her lips. “So, here it is. Ummm…I think I’m going to…here.” She tossed the Wal-Mart bags to the nearest sofa and led him to the bathroom. “You did this for me a few times,” she said softly. “After a nasty fight or…okay, so it was just the once and…you know, big Uber Vamp and all. I make absolutely no sense, do I?”
Spike smirked and shook his head, though his eyes were warm with adoration. And it was such a familiar look that her body suddenly ached with longing, and her eyes flooded with tears. She kept expecting to look over her shoulder only to find herself alone. The thought that he was actually with her was still a bit too much to take. Her mind was wracked with questions that she didn’t really need answers to, plans to phone Willow as soon as she was certain leaving him for a few minutes wouldn’t catapult her back into the loneliness she had awoken with that morning.
There were a few things she needed to know. Where he had been, why he didn’t remember her, and if this stint back in reality was permanent, or if the Fates were just offering her the chance she never had to say goodbye.
That thought nearly crippled her. If this was only temporary, it was a cruel play on her emotions. Losing him again would send her spiraling into something beyond apathetic survival. It would leave her in devastation so deep that there would simply be nothing left but the hurt.
And yet, for all the likelihood that the universe was toying with her, she somehow doubted it. Spike didn’t know who he was; didn’t remember her. He knew her solely as the Slayer, and he trusted her out of some distant form of recognition. For whatever that was worth, she found solace in the knowledge that cruel plays of fate would have likely given him back to her as he had been; not wounded by the absence of memory.
“There was this one time last year. Not that you remember or anything, but you…it was toward the end, when we were together all the time. The Potentials were out on some mission with Giles and Faith and I wanted you to…it was a healing thing. Not just for me.” Her eyes glossed over. “Anyway, come on. We’re gonna pitch those rags, then I’m going to give you a bath.”
Spike coughed in surprise.
“What? You think I’m going to let you out of my sight? You’ve got another thing coming, Mister.” She flushed. “Unless you, you know, want me to.”
He shook his head in an ardent no. He looked so hopeful it inspired another round of tears, this time matched by laughter.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she told him.
The eager melted into longing then, his eyes distant and full of sorrow, searching for a memory of her that was either clouded by disorder or wiped away entirely.
“It’s okay,” she told him, turning away a beat to start running the bath. “We’ll deal, yeah?”
She hoped she could be as brave as she sounded. The words were impressive, but the face she put on for him was far from the one she wore inside. The one that reflected her fears and her hesitance to believe in hope. Hope had never done anything for her. Not a single thing. And even with the love of her life suddenly with the undead, standing in her bathroom and looking terribly uncomfortable as she moved back toward him, she was too jaded to place too much stock into anything.
With whatever happened, come what may, she wouldn't leave him alone. And he needed to know that.
“I know what I said,” she murmured, glancing bashfully to the ground. “But if you want me to go…in the other room while you, you know, bathe…I'll totally understand. I mean, it's not like I haven't seen you naked a bajillion times, but you don't remember all that, and it might be kinda awkward for a stranger to, you know…be here.”
A small grin played across Spike's face, and he shook his head again. No. He wanted her with him. The notion warmed her head to toe and she flashed him a smile.
“We'll be throwing these away,” she said, raising her hands to the fabric of his ratty shirt. “And after you're…we'll get you some more stuff after a while. For now, though, the jeans and tees are gonna have to do it. Oh, I have some boxers around here, too. Not that you, you know, wear boxers, but I didn't get you anything to sleep in. And yeah, you usually sleep naked, but again with the stranger/house thing.”
His smile softened even further, and he leaned forward to brush a kiss across her forehead. As he had done a thousand times, a moment so inherently familiar that she felt her eyes well with tears all over again. The things that were instinctive to him were coming through as each second ticked by, and somehow, they all related to her. Things that were not hampered by the loss of recognition. Things that his body knew, things his subconscious wanted him to remember. And it all led back to her.
That knowledge struck a chord deep within her, and she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. While she had learned to accept Spike's love, and had even begun to understand the depth of his loyalty and affection, she had never imagined his ties to her ran that deep.
Once she had him back, she would never again take that for granted. She would spend the rest of her life making up for all the bad.
Her hands slid up his chest, drawing his shirt over his head. God, she knew his body so well. Knew every contour of him. Knew all the aged scars, had memorized the patterns of the wounds she had given him over the years. She remembered one night, long ago, that she had spent a good hour tracing each little imperfection in his skin. He had remained so still throughout her exploration that she figured he was lost in sleep. It wasn't until she realized the pillow he rested against was wet with the moisture of his tears that she knew he was awake, and fully aware of what she was doing.
She similarly recalled being horrified with herself then, but masking her shame with contempt. It was the first realization of how terrible she was to him, if he wept at the feel of her memorizing his body.
It wasn't until the year before that she had rectified that. And by the time she knew how desperately she loved him, and always had, it was too late.
Now, standing in her bathroom, her fingers were making the familiar journey across his skin. His body had always struck her as utterly perfect, even with the blemishes that only a hundred and fifty years of living could imprint forever. She had compared him to Greek statues a thousand times in her mind, even though the simile had long lost its power for its redundancy. And even so, Greek statues had their imperfections, and Spike was right there with them.
“Slayer,” Spike growled lightly, his eyes fogged over with passion, sparks of remembrance flying behind his gaze.
“Yes.” She pressed a kiss to his chest, then lowered herself to her knees to work on his sweats.
“Slayer.”
She tugged the pants down his legs, pried the sneakers he had purloined off his feet, and tossed them toward the trash. “Those look like they're a little small, anyway,” she said as he stepped out of his clothing. “I've got you all taken care of.”
She sat back on her legs, her eyes kept to the ground, trying futilely to ignore that she was at eye-level with his erection. Trying to ignore the warmth that overwhelmed her with the knowledge that, even like this, she could still have such an affect on him.
Of course, she was also a woman on her knees in front of him. Truth be told, he was simply being male. And yet, nothing had ever been as simple as black and white with Spike. She refused to believe that he would be as satisfied had any woman shown him kindness tonight. Not for the way he kept looking at her. The way he seemed so desperate to remember what he knew was there. The past they had, stormy as it was. The love that had kept them together longer than she had even realized.
After a few awkward moments of silence, Buffy raised her eyes bashfully to his, brushed a tender kiss against the head of his cock, then climbed to her feet as his needy moan touched the air.
“Bath time,” she whispered.
Spike whimpered and nodded. His eyes were fueled with lust, but he made no move to initiate any further contact. In easy seconds, he settled into the water she had drawn for him, and reclined with ease.
“Feel good?”
He nodded.
Buffy licked her lips and reached over him, grabbing the bar of soap from its resting place and rolling her sleeves up her arms. “Do you…do you think you could talk? You seem to understand me pretty well.”
He frowned. Perhaps that was one of the things that was steadily coming back to him, like his memory. He knew how to work words, just as he knew her, but the mechanics that tied knowledge with execution were still in the process of resurfacing. He looked so ashamed, though, at his inability that she felt wretched for even bringing it up. Buffy flashed an apologetic smile and leaned forward, kissing his forehead. “Sorry,” she murmured. “You know, you don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just know you're usually very verbal. It's just…weird…having you here and all silent.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“No, don't. It's me, Spike. My thing. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. We'll work up to it…just like everything else.”
An uncertain smile flashed across his face at that, then his eyes rolled shut as her hands found his skin and began lathering him up with soap. She took careful time, mapping his arms, chest, asking him softly to lean forward so she could reach his back. Then her hand dipped under the water and ran soothing lengths up and down his legs. She covered every part of him except the raging predicament that seemed eager for her attention. The very tip of his erection peaked above the surface of the water and was the focus of both their attention. For every effort she made to ignore him, her eyes seemed that more determined to study him hungrily.
He moaned in protest when she placed the bar of soap back on its shelf. “Slayer.”
“Spike—”
He wrapped his hand around her wrist and guided her to his cock. “Slayer,” he whimpered again, closing her fingers around his length and thrusting upward into her touch.
“I shouldn't—”
There was nothing at that but a desperate gasp, her hand already defying her conviction. She squeezed him lovingly, then began to stroke. The feel of him was so familiar. The small whimpers that touched the air laced with need that she knew so well. Her fingers massaged him tenderly, watching his face as she gave him pleasure. Watching the blue in his eyes deepen, his gaze fixed on her, alternating between her face and her strokes of his cock. Her thumb flickered over his belled head with every lap.
She shifted ever-so often to squeeze his sac before turning her attention to his length. Up and down, again and again. She caressed his head, earning jerks and moans and whimpers and long mewls, the bath water splashing over the edge of the tub as he drove into her touch. In steady minutes, her speed gained momentum. She tightened her hand around him, not too much, but enough to help him seek fruition. The air was heavy with a blatant disregard for reservation.
“I love you, Spike,” she told him, her eyes shining when his gaze went wide. “I do. I told you once and you didn't believe me. Please believe me, now. I love you. I love you so much. I've missed…I've been hollow for so many months. Tonight…you're back, and I can't help but feel like I'm the one who's no longer dead.” She smiled and squeezed him tenderly. “I love you.”
A gasp clawed at his throat and he arched back, coming hard into her hand. It was quick and messy, and easily the most erotic thing she had ever seen. The look of completion that flashed across his face gave her warmth that she had long ago dismissed as something she could never touch. He was panting, flustered, and more than a little embarrassed. And yet, she had never seen him look more beautiful than he did at that moment. Her Spike. Her William. He was with her. Somewhere buried within that body, she knew her Spike was waiting. And if it took more conversations like these, more moments of stolen intimacy, more of everything she owed him to bring him out, then that was what she would do.
He whimpered when she released him. “Mate,” he said.
She stopped. “What?”
“Mate.”
His eyes bore into hers, and what he said without words easily surpassed everything he could attempt to put into any language. Mate.
“Me?”
He nodded. “Mate.”
“Spike…” Once more, warmth spread through her entire body. Oh yes, she was definitely his. Slayer, lover, mate, and all of the above. No matter what it meant. Eternity was worth it if she could be with him. If she could have a place at his side, exploring the lifetime they should have had a thousand times over for a thousand years.
Buffy helped him out of the tub and snatched a towel off the nearest hangbar, running it over his body and ringing dry what little of his hair had gotten wet. The minute she cast it aside, his arms were around her, burying his face into the crook of her throat. Her legs buckled when she felt his tongue dancing over the small mark he had branded in her skin, his hands dancing over her body.
She tensed just slightly when he cupped the apex of her thighs, stroking her tenderly through the material separating them.
“Spike—”
“Mate.”
“Ohhh…”
He nipped at her throat again, fingers wheedling with the clasp of her trousers.
Her body rejoiced even as her heart ached. She had missed his touch even more than she thought, and while the prospect of separating herself from him was the last thing she wanted, it seemed wrong to make love with him like this. With the memory of her shrouded in ambiguity; when she was gambling on odds that might no longer sway in her favor. As much as the notion hurt, she had to accept a past full of wrongs. And despite however much she loved him now, Spike would be completely in the right to reject her after everything she had put him through. Right now, he wasn't in the best state to decide what it was he wanted. He wanted her as his mate; she wanted that, too, but she didn't trust that the conviction would hold steadfast after the Fates returned his past to him.
“Spike…” She grasped his wrist and reluctantly drew him away from her. “We can't.”
His eyes glowered defiantly. “Mate.”
“Yes, I am. If in name only, I'll be your mate. But you don't remember me yet. And I…I don't want to do this while you might decide that you don't want me after you remember everything.”
He gave her a look that was achingly familiar. That patented 'you're completely daft' look. A look that was thoroughly Spike.
“I just…I don't want to chance it.”
There was a beat, and then he smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then against her lips. And the tenderness he whispered into her skin initiated a swell of emotion that nearly broke her. Like tasting food after starving for a thousand generations, quenching thirst after years of being parched. It flooded her completely, touched every nerve in her body, and she couldn’t take it.
“I…” She stumbled away, wiping at her eyes. “I’m going to…go get you something to sleep in. Turn down my bed and…get the couch set up.” She paused. “You can have the bed tonight.”
A frown marred his face.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea…to sleep…not tonight.” A nervous smile fluttered across her lips. “Too tempting. And I…what I said, I can’t do it. Not like this. I want to…god, I want you so much.”
He ducked his head bashfully at that.
“But I’m not going to use you. I stopped doing that two years ago, and I’m not about to do it again. You don’t remember me. You don’t remember that you loved me once…I can’t use…whatever it is that you’re feeling to bring myself satisfaction.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Well, not just me.” She shook her head. “I love you too much to lose you when you…remember me for being selfish now.”
Spike brushed another kiss across her forehead. She missed the sound of his voice, but the whispers of his affection against her body filled the void with something she loved almost as much.
“I’m going to go get the bed ready for you. Blankets and stuff over the windows…you know…vamp-proof it to the max.”
The frown returned at that and he shook his head.
“No, you’re taking it,” she argued. “Really, you’re getting the crappy end of the deal. My sofa? I’m willing to put money down that it’s the comfiest sofa in the tri-state area.”
He arched a brow.
“Well, okay. Like I can afford a Lay-Z-Boy. Still.” She held up a hand. “No arguing. My house, my rules, and I say that you have to sleep in the bed.”
Spike rolled his eyes but made no move to further his objection. Instead, he stepped aside and allowed her to pass. She felt his eyes on her as she moved away. Felt every nerve in her body scream in protest at the thought of being apart from him so soon. Barely any time had passed since she encountered him in the cemetery; she was still dubious that fate would simply hand over the one she loved without a reason. Without putting up a fight.
Questions like that could wait, though. Wait until tomorrow. Wait until light shone through the broken shades of her apartment, and the new day gave her the assurance of truth. Gave her the conviction she needed to grasp that Spike was with her. That Spike was really with her, and she wasn’t dreaming.
The air around her was real. Her vision wasn’t foggy, and her mind was clear.
It had to be real.
She wouldn’t trust anything, though. Not now. Not until sunlight poured through her windows and lies of the night were robbed of places to hide.
TBC
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