III
Morning arrived the minute she set her head against her pillow, which was more than fine with her. While she hadn’t enjoyed much sleep through the night, she was equally eager to reassure her fears that the dawn had not robbed her of the happiness she had, twenty-four hours earlier, not believed could exist.
She found Spike as she had left him. He was in her bed—nude despite her attempts to get him to sleep in the boxers she had uncovered in the back of her closet—and sleeping soundly. Her vampire. The day had arrived, and he was still there. Night had not taken him away.
She had truth, then. She just needed reason.
Spike was back in her life and she had no idea why.
She managed to snatch her robe from her closet and leave the room without awaking him. She went through her normal morning routine; showering, toweling her hair dry, as she had yet to add a blow-dryer to the ever-growing list of essentials on her wish-list. Then she padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, presumably to make the same depressing inventory of her refrigerator’s contents before hurrying off to the nearest fast food place for a ham and egg croissant.
Buffy decided against leaving the apartment. Her mind refused to wander from the strange reality that had taken her world by storm; she resolved to phone Willow in lieu of reaching to Giles. The Watcher had lost her trust the year before when he tried to rob her of her anchor. The one constant in her life as the world around her unwound at the seams. Giles would not care enough to understand, and she wasn’t about to trust him with the rebirth of the man she loved.
Her conversation with Willow was short and to the point. She explained that Spike was back, rolled right over her friend’s ecstatic and befuddled questioning, and wasted no time detailing the fears. Her worries that this time with Spike might be limited, her uneasiness surrounding his return, and finally asking the redhead to look into anything that might ease the apprehension surrounding the happiness she refused to fully grasp.
“And he doesn’t remember anything?” Willow asked.
“It’s Spike,” Buffy replied. “I can’t explain it. He looks at me, and he’s Spike. He knows me without recognizing me. He…it’s him…he just doesn’t know who I am.”
“B-but he—”
“He’s not fangy, Will. Well, he was at first, but then it…something happened, and he snapped out of it. I think he can be himself again if…based on what happened last night.” The Slayer drew in a breath and shook her head. Perhaps it was in her blood. He had tasted her blood the night before, and he had stopped biting her. He had tasted her blood, and he went from a vicious vampire to bashful William. To the warm man she knew and cherished, sans his usual cockiness and wit. Sans his memory. Sans everything that made him complete. Sans everything that highlighted the line between William and Spike.
With as much as she loved him as he was, she loved him wholly as Spike all the more. Demon and man combined. All his wonderful flaws that shaped him into the man that had changed her life. The man that had redefined every measuring tool she had ever used to sum up the value of herself.
“Get back to me when you can,” she said, eyes drifting down the hall. Her houseguest had kicked his legs over the side of her bed, sending a warm flush across her skin. There was something about that man naked that never ceased to turn her on every time he graced her eyes with his body. And she wasn’t typically a fan of the nude male; Spike was simply the embodiment of perfection.
Though that could have been because she loved him. She simply didn’t see how any woman could think otherwise.
Not that other women would ever know what they were missing.
There wasn't much in way of cooking options in her small apartment; the past few months had seen a steady habit of takeout and the occasional turkey sandwich when she had time to pop by the supermarket. Most days, she relied on her employee benefits to keep her stomach full. Her cabinet space was limited as it was, and by the time she arrived home, she was usually in absolutely no mood to cook.
She had a little food—not much. And had she had the foresight, she would’ve bought more the night before when she went to snag Spike some cheap clothes. As it was, she would have to make do with what she had. Later, after they ate and she was sure that Spike wouldn’t attempt to follow her into the sunlight, she would go back out to get groceries and blood.
It occurred to her somewhere that she had to work today. And it struck her as so thoroughly odd; the things some people chose to care about. She knew Cindy wouldn’t miss a day of work unless she was coughing up blood. Somewhere, the status of someone’s greasy burger and fries had become a higher priority to her happiness. It wasn’t a life, it was existence. She would never mistake one for the other again.
Spike was dressed in one of his new pair of jeans when he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. His hair was mussed and his eyes were tired, no clearer than they had been the night before. He stood blankly for a few minutes, watching her as a slow warmth overwhelmed the blue of his gaze.
Buffy smiled and turned around, tightening her robe around her middle. “Good morning,” she said.
He smiled.
“I’m scouring the place for something to eat,” she continued. “I know I have eggs and hopefully something to cook them with. And cheese. Cheesy eggs. Does that sound good?”
Spike shrugged. She wondered if he remembered eggs, but thought it would be insensitive to ask. Like talking loudly to a blind woman, as though one defect makes her entire body subject to failure.
“Did you sleep well?”
He paused, then shook his head. No.
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “No? Oh God, I’m sorry. Was it the bed? I mean, totally not the most comfortable bed in the world…I’d think it was the bed. Tonight, we can try something different. Was it something specific? Something you need?”
He nodded then pointed at her. And instantly, she became a puddle of Slayer-goo.
Meltage.
A soft blush tickled her cheeks. “Spike…”
He smiled softly and stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her waist as though they were of the same mold. And every viable protest left her body as she gave into the sensation of being held. It had been so long since she’d been held. Since the last time she found herself in the comforting embrace of anyone she loved.
Xander had hugged her the last time she saw him. Giles, too, in that fatherly-Giles way. There was simply no comparison. She remembered sleeping in Spike’s arms the night before her world had been ripped away. Remembered the strength he gave her in simply being. She recalled the love radiating off of him, wrapping her in a warm blanket of protection.
For as many things as she had done to him—whether intentionally or not—she figured Spike had been overly generous in his issuance of second chances. She had kissed Angel to throw the Powers for a loop, to keep the fates off the theatrics of her inner longing. Ever since the minute the tall, dark, and brooding sulk had entered her life; it had been all about him. All about Angel. Every decision she made, whether conscious or not, was based on what she knew he would want for her. And the year that she had used Spike so maliciously, she knew a part of her self-loathing reflected on how Angel would react if he could see her losing herself over a vampire that lacked the thing that gave humanity definition by his book.
Angel’s tangible presence was the largest factor that kept her from admitting her love for Spike that year. What happened later in her bathroom simply upped the ante in the department of excuses, despite the fact that she recognized now that she had forgiven Spike the minute he left. The minute she saw horror flash across his face. The minute she realized the desperation she had inspired by her cruel mind games, and how deeply their affair had hurt him.
She had always made it about her. So had he. Even when it was killing him more than she wanted to give him credit, she had always made it about her.
It’s killing me. Me, me, me.
Kissing Angel had been a mistake. A big, fat mistake. Her lame attempt to keep the Powers unbalanced. The first vampire she loved had died at her hand, then abandoned her when given his second chance. The last vampire she loved had no reason to stay. Had no debts to repay, least of all to her. And with the loom of the last battle weighing down upon her, she had feared beyond all else the very thing that had happened.
She had lost Spike before she could tell him how much she loved him. How she had loved him for years. How sorry she was for everything that had gone wrong between them. How she forgave him for something that she had pushed him, and beg for his forgiveness in turn. Whatever he gave her, she had earned tenfold. Such was a reality that not many societies recognized. The abuse of men by women simply wasn’t as scandalous as it was the other way around. He was the vampire, but she had been the monster. And she had loved him, then hated him for loving her. For having such an awesome power of exoneration for all the horrible things she did to him.
Spike was with her now. She couldn’t get over that. Couldn’t grasp that for the first time in her life, she had awoken from a nightmare into a dream. His lips were on hers before she could blink. Tasting her delicately, exploring her mouth with sweet kisses that unlocked the door to a thousand more unbidden memories. She felt her resolve crumble. Felt her heart soar at the feel of his arms around her, his body pressed intimately against hers. All thoughts of breakfast were instantly abandoned for the sinful strokes of his mouth.
Spike took what he wanted. He always had. She was foolish to think he would accept her decree of the night before, knowing that she wanted him, simply because she said so.
“We…what are you doing?”
He grunted against her and propped her up on the small kitchen table, his lips breaking from hers to explore the tempting column of her throat. His hands were prying at the belt of her bathrobe, eyes flashing over with need.
“Spike—”
An impatient growl broke her objection. His fingers delicately pried her robe open, his gaze washing over her with veneration as he caught the first glance of her naked body; a sight he had seen so many times under the guise of a new beginning. Buffy was certain he knew that they were not strangers to each other’s bodies. Not with the way he had reacted the night before when she touched him. The way he had wanted to give her back the pleasure she had given him—that was something that was all Spike. Never before had any of her past lovers been as considerate.
Her body was burning. In a matter of lost seconds, Spike had managed to pry her legs apart, the hard bulge of his denim-clad erection thrusting against her pussy. It appeared he had engaged in an all-out campaign to drive her wild with lust, and it was working. For the first time in months, she felt herself teeter on the borderline between reason and chaos, and she no longer feared the plunge.
“Slayer,” he snarled into her throat, blunt teeth skimming the healing bite mark. His hands slid up her sides to cup the weight of her breasts, his thumbs tugging at her nipples as his hips thrust rhythmically against her. “Mate.”
“Oh God.”
He abruptly released one of her breasts to the cool torment of his mouth, his fingers dancing down her abdomen until he was cupping her pussy reverently, teasing her folds with subtle touches that only he could give her. Spike knew exactly how to manipulate her body, a talent evidently not even amnesia could eradicate. He suckled at her nipples sweetly, cooing his pleasure into her skin as two fingers slid inside her.
Buffy’s eyes fell shut, a desperate whimper rumbling through her throat. Her nails dug into his forearms. A familiar burn scorched her insides and tears stung her eyes. Spike released her breast with a wet plop and pressed a series of burning kisses up her throat until his lips were over hers once more, his brow pressed intimately against hers. His fingers were thrusting into her pussy steadily, his thumb settling over her clit.
“Spike!”
“Mate,” he growled in response, sweeping her mouth into an ardent kiss.
“Oh…”
He kissed her again then pulled back just slightly, his eyes shining. There was such a reflection of adoration in his gaze. A look she knew well. A look that had haunted her in the months they’d been apart. There had never been anyone in her life that cared for her the way Spike did. Never been anyone who could break her heart with a simple glance. And despite all else—the name he didn’t know her by, the past he didn’t remember, and everything that the night had given her—he was looking at her now as though she was his everything. As though the memories weren’t needed to know what they had once had. As though every ebb and flow in his body pulled him to her, and he knew he was hers without having to be told. Without having to do anything but wake up in the face of a new day.
The notion shook her with another incursion of tears.
I’ve been such a fool.
Such a fool. It took her three years and losing him to realize what she’d needed all along.
The thrusts of his fingers intensified, his thumb stroking her to oblivion. His lips swept hers once more, then he buried his face in her throat, murmuring sweetly against her skin as the burn overwhelmed her. It was an explosion of sensations when she came. A shrill gasp scratched at her throat and the tears she had tried futilely to hide spilled down her cheeks. It was the sweetest completion she had never known. Not marred with the uncertainty of her past or clouded with pain and self-loathing. Rather, her body engulfed with love and hope; she had never touched such sweet bliss.
Buffy collapsed against him as his arm came around her, his other hand easing out of her pussy gently. She felt his lips against her forehead, the steadiness of his harsh breaths as he murmured soft nothings into her hair.
“Mate,” he whispered again.
“Spike…” And she couldn’t help it; she burst into tears, the full weight of the past twelve hours finally crashing over her. Her arms surrounded him, her head collapsing against his chest as she sobbed the full of her remorse into his welcoming skin. Everything she had never said, everything she had ever felt but never admitted, everything she had lost the last year in the disguise of bittersweet gain. Standing at the edge of a hole that had once been her home, her hand burning from where she had all but sacrificed herself right alongside the man she loved. Standing in a cavern as the Hellmouth barreled into devastation and realizing all too late that the infinite amount of time she had always suspected she would have with him had been cut short. The after she had promised him before leaving in search of the axe that had ultimately led to their salvation was gone; their salvation itself in the shape of the man holding her now. The man she had lost to a world that had already robbed her of everything.
She sobbed for him. She sobbed for herself. She sobbed for the second chance she had never truly believed in, and begged whatever deity that enjoyed mucking with her life to not take this final peace from her.
Spike purred tenderly against her as she let it out. As her cries subsided, her eyes running dry of tears. He didn’t say anything. God, what she wouldn’t give to hear him whisper her name. To hear him tell her everything was all right, that he was with her now. That the time for tears, misery, and penance was over. That he loved her still, as much as he ever had, and would never stop. That he forgave her of all the bad and couldn’t wait to start living together in the life she had never let them have.
“I love you, Spike,” she told him through her tears, clutching him tighter. “I love you so much. And I’m so, so sorry. For everything. I…I knew it too late. God help me, I knew it too late. But I love you. If…when you remember, I just want you to know that.” Her eyes hazed once more with fresh tears.
He murmured lovingly into her hair, running his hands down her back.
“I love you.”
He nodded and drew back, kissing her lips softly. He was touched and frustrated at the same time, as though he needed to say the words as desperately as she needed to hear them.
Which was impossible. Spike didn’t know her to love her. His memory of her barely went back half a day. And yet, here he was. Standing against her, his erection nudging her wet pussy intimately as he held her in a way a man held the woman who was most important to him. As though he had no doubt of it, even without reasoning. As though he knew it just as he knew he was a vampire and needed blood to survive.
“Mine.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “What?”
He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Mine.”
Slayer. Mate. Mine.
“Yours,” she agreed breathlessly. “I’ve been yours for a long, long time, Spike.”
He nodded and kissed her again, smiling softly. “Mine,” he said again. “My Slayer.”
“I am.”
His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed against her. The air hung with words he tangibly wanted to say but couldn’t. Words that still, despite all else, refused to come.
Buffy smiled slightly and slowly slid her robe back on her shoulders, blushing at the mewl of complaint that touched the air when her body was once more concealed from his hungry eyes. “I guess I should go get some food,” she said. “And…you, know, blood.”
His eyes fogged with lust at the word, drifting to rest on her throat. “Mate,” he murmured softly. “Mine.”
He wanted to claim her.
Oh God.
“Yes,” Buffy whispered. “If…Spike, if you…when you remember me, and you still want this…yes. Yes, I want…yes.”
Spike shook his head and stepped forward again, eyes never leaving her neck. “Mate,” he said.
“Not now.” A steady breath rumbled through her lips. “I…you have no idea how much I want this. How much I want to…” She broke off and shook her head. “These past few months, I’ve been half a person. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for life to happen again. Waiting for everything to start for me again. Waiting for the pain to go away so I could feel again. But that’s not the way it works…I have to make it happen. And you…seeing you last night…it’s started. I want to be your mate; I don’t ever want to be in the place that you brought me out of just by being here…ever again. But if you wake up tomorrow and remember me, remember everything I’ve done to you, remember…and want to leave, I don’t want to do anything that could cause you additional hurt.”
He sighed heavily, opened his mouth, then grew agitated with himself for the lack of words that rose to his tongue.
“Just trust me. And if you…if you never remember…”
A pained look flashed across his eyes at that, and she shared his grief.
“I won’t leave you, Spike,” she said. “Not unless you ask it of me.”
He shook his head as if to cement his denial that such would ever occur. Their relationship had not ended on a note to alleviate any of her fears, but for everything, she could not gamble on what she hoped his feelings were, or presume to make any decisions on his behalf.
“I’m going to go get food.” She licked her lips. “You’re…if you want…” She exhaled again. “If you want…instead of pig’s blood, you can…but you can’t claim me. Not yet. I don’t want you to ever regret that.”
Spike’s eyes softened and took another step forward until he was in her arms once more. He made no move to undo her robe again, though she felt the strong evidence of his desire pressed seductively against her. The look in his eyes read a desperate need to speak his feelings. To reassure her doubts and swear the depth of his affection.
Instead he murmured something in soft agreement, then the bones in his face shifted, and his fangs descended for her throat.
His hands were massaging her back as his incisors sliced into her flesh, soothing what little pain spread through her body with pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt. He suckled at her sweetly, delicately, humming his delight into her skin.
It didn’t last long, and she barely heard herself as a needy whimper of protest spilled through her lips when he released her, lapping sweetly at the wound he had reopened. “Mmmm…”
“Spike…” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. If she kept going on like this, she wouldn’t leave his side. There were things she needed to do today. Things she needed to get so she wouldn’t have to leave again. “I need to go.”
A look of concern overwhelmed him, and he ran his finger down the side of her throat.
“No, I’m okay. I just…if I don’t go now, I won’t. And there’s stuff we need.”
Spike nodded and stepped aside reluctantly, and she brushed past him before her will crumbled altogether.
He would be there when she returned. The day had already had the opportunity to steal him away, and he was still with her.
He would be back when she returned. He would be.
Day had never betrayed her. Not like the deception of night.
He would be there.
*~*~*
She arrived back at the apartment after forty-five minutes of errand-running. Spike helped her find room in her vacant cabinets for the multitude of groceries she had purchased; things she had never heard of, things she knew in retrospect that she would never need. Buffy had ploughed through the aisles at Wal-Mart like a woman possessed, grabbing everything she saw that her mind could produce a possible when-to-use scenario for in about twenty minutes. She had similarly stocked up on clothing, toiletries, video tapes, and everything anyone could want in lieu of a nuclear holocaust. It was strange; she had never been the mom. Never been one to cook food for herself or her sister. If she wasn’t ordering pizza, she was making turkey sandwiches. She had no idea how to rationalize her budget, especially when she was working on little more than minimum wage with the empty promise of customer tips to cover the shady areas of her occupation.
She had also made a trip to the butcher and bought as much blood as possible, maxing out her charge card. She told herself she’d chop it up when she got home, but similarly acknowledged that she couldn’t chance it. Emergencies happened, and she never wanted to be unprepared.
The day went by slowly, strains of unspoken tension wrought between them. They watched an old movie on her thirteen-inch screen television/VCR combo, seated awkwardly at opposite ends of the sofa. Not looking at each other. Not touching. Not doing anything that would lead down a path of no return.
She was so grateful as her body wore down in preparation for the night’s rest. Sleep provided an assuredly dreamless cocoon that would keep her fears silent until morning.
That was unless morning turned into her greatest fear.
Around ten o’clock, the phone rang. It was Willow.
Willow with news much sooner than the Slayer could have hoped.
“I called Angel the minute I got off the phone with you,” she said. “Because, if memory serves, the amulet that Spike wore to close the Hellmouth came from him.”
“It did. He said he didn’t know what it was, only that it was supposed to be worn by a Champion.”
“Yeah. The Champion, though, was supposed to be Angel.” Willow paused. “He didn’t want to tell me where he got it at first, so I cracked open the books to see if I could find…well, anything. Then Angel called back.”
Buffy bit her lip and tossed a precarious glance in Spike’s direction. If his vampiric hearing had detected the use of his grandsire’s name, he did not display any signs of recognition.
“I guess he decided that I would eventually figure it out. Anyway, he spent the day researching it, too, only he did so from behind the desk of Wolfram and Hart.” Willow paused and released a sigh of disgust. “Apparently, when he came to Sunnydale, he had just struck a deal with the Biggest of all Bads, which included becoming CEO of their Los Angeles branch. Then he was given the thing and sent off to the Hellmouth. The medallion he gave you, though, was specifically designed for his use. It was supposed to suck in his soul…so that he’d return to LA all fangy and evil and ready for the task of, well, supreme evilness. All he’s been able to get out of the Senior Partners is that since the amulet was specifically designed for Angel, the plan totally misfired misfire. Spike went all kablooey and after a while, the failed curse pulled a massive u-turn and popped him back into the world. And based on what Angel told me, Spike was deposited according to the greatest ties of his soul, which would be you.” There was a beat. “Buffy, Angel was corruptible. Wolfram and Hart had already found that out when he went all big and bad and did the mating dance with Darla. Point is, he wasn’t as valuable an asset to them as Angel as he would’ve been as Angelus. They saw what Angelus was capable of. Taking down a massive Beast that had the power of blocking out the sun? Ending what Wolfram and Hart define as world peace…which really, sounded anything but peaceful to me. Angel was corruptible, yes, but they wanted Angelus. The power sans the struggle to get him to be all advocatey of bloodbaths and apocalypses.”
Another long, silent pause. “The point is…Angel found out where Spike has been for the past ten months.”
Buffy’s body ached. Her heart had broken all over again, and tears had already begun the familiar trek down her cheeks. “Where?”
“In some alternate hell dimension, being tortured by the Senior Partners. Trying to corrupt his soul like they’d managed to corrupt Angel. Trying and failing. I don’t…we have no idea how much time passed for him. But if he doesn’t remember you, it’s because…” Willow stopped again as her friend choked a sob into the phone. “Buffy, when Angel came back from hell, he was mean and nasty and tried to kill you. Spike…”
“He hasn’t,” she cried. “When he realized…when he knew it was me, he…he knows me but he doesn’t. Oh God, Will…”
“Angel was corruptible,” the redhead said again. “That’s why. Spike wasn’t. Not against you…not with a soul, not without one. Wolfram and Hart had no use for him, so they put him back. His soul automatically led him to you.”
Buffy glanced up again. Spike was studying her, his gaze veiled with concern.
“Thank you, Will,” she whispered. “I gotta go.”
“Has he remembered anything yet?”
“No. But he…he looks at me, and he knows, you know? He just knows.” Buffy released another shuddering breath. “I gotta go. I need…”
“I know. Go.”
The words had not fully escaped her friend’s mouth before the Slayer hung up, her eyes rising to the vampire standing across from her. He had moved forward after sensing her upset, and the look in his eyes nearly brought her to her knees.
“Oh Spike.”
She was in his arms the next minute, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her in silence as she cried, murmuring gently into her hair and whispering kisses across her face, holding her against him as all else collapsed in the limelight of truth.
“I love you so much,” she gasped. “You died…you went through…and you didn’t even…oh God, Spike.”
He was trembling as though he knew what she was talking about, but he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Slayer…”
“I don’t. You went—”
Spike pulled back and ravished her mouth with his, drawing her into a series of needy, desperate kisses. He tasted of tears and cigarettes. Blood and liquor. As though not even days had gone by since the last time he poured himself a drink in her kitchen on Revello Drive. As though he had been with her since the end of the beginning. As though he had never left her side. He shared her grief. Shared her sorrow. He cried for her even if he didn’t understand. He was kissing her now because she needed him. She needed him, and she had never needed anything before.
“Slayer…”
Buffy collapsed against his chest once more, shaking in quiet sobs.
“Stay.”
She froze. “What?”
“Stay. With me.” He looked pained as the words left his throat, but he smiled through the ache. “Please, Buffy.”
Oh God.
“Spike…you…” He shook his head. No, he didn’t remember. He was simply gaining back the words his stint in hell had stolen from him. Her body exploded with euphoria, inspiring more tears to her eyes. Happy tears, now. Tears of hope rather than sorrow. “Oh…”
“Stay. Tonight.”
“With you?”
He nodded. “Please.”
She nearly crumbled with respite. “Oh yes.”
A beautiful smile graced his face, and he brushed his lips over hers again.
She abandoned all else and followed him as he led her down the hall to her bedroom. Stood before him, trembling, as he slowly slid her clothes off her body. Her t-shirt first, followed by her bra. Then he was on his knees before her, tonguing her nipples lovingly as his nimble fingers opened and tugged her jeans down her legs.
“Spike…”
His head dipped below her navel, lips wrapping around her clit.
“Oh God.”
“Buffy.”
“Spike—”
“My Slayer.” He licked a long lap up her slit before his tongue delved into her pussy. “My mate.”
“Ohhh…”
“My Buffy.”
He was on his feet again the next minute, seizing her lips as his fingers plunged inside her body. Buffy’s head flew back, his mouth immediately taking chart down her throat.
Her climax hit her too soon. Her body was too much in need of his, her love for him blossoming her nerve-endings to the point of hypersensitivity. She cried against him as her body came down, tiny pinpricks of searing heat spreading across her skin. Spike’s hands were worshipping her body, his cock nudging against her needily, his mouth whispering wordless sonnets into her flesh. He held her as she came down, holding her sweetly. Saying all too much without speaking a word.
Time and space had no boundaries. The next thing she knew, she was under the covers in her dinky bed, Spike tugging her into his arms. His fingers were sketching artless patterns down her arms and across her back, his chest rumbling sensual purrs against her body. His skin was bare against hers. She was curled in his embrace as a lover, and for the first time in nearly a year, her better angels were quieting her inner demons, and she found peace.
“What about you?” she asked, inching a hand between them, circling around his cock.
Spike’s hand grabbed hers and tugged her touch upward, pressing a kiss against the pulse at her inner wrist. “Sleep,” he replied softly.
“I don’t want this to be all—”
He shook his head. “Sleep, sweetheart. What you need.” There was another pause as he searched for words. “We…tomorrow…forever.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the first day of their forever.
“I love you.” She swept a kiss against his chest. “I love you, Spike. I’m going to say it until you’re sick of hearing it. I’m going to say it every day. Every hour. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for everything.”
“Shhh…”
“Spike—”
“Tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep now.”
Her eyes fell closed as though on command, her body exhausted from the emotional turmoil she had put herself through today. Exhausted from her revelations, exhausted from everything. But at the end of the day, she had him with her. She had him with her, and she would never again let him go. She would never again be so foolish.
That was her promise to herself.
And it was the last thing that crossed her mind as she drifted off into oblivion. Spike cradling her against the storm. He had survived hell only to rescue her from her own.
The nightmare was over. He was with her now. Spike was with her.
And she slept.
TBC
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