Chapter Eight
There Will Be An Answer
Buffy was coming to understand that there was nothing she hated as richly as silence. For the past thirty minutes, she had been curled on the worn sofa that Spike had set in front of his television set, comforted by the darkness that surrounded her. It was a warm blanket of protection; keeping her from the light of reality. From the world that waited on the other side of the crypt. She was comfortable in the darkness.
The silence, however, was driving her out of her mind.
Spike had still not come upstairs, and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t know where she would even begin to explain her earlier behavior. How she would find it within herself to look at him without wilting in shame.
There was no place to start. She was so thoroughly lost. Days before, she had been the perky, pun-quipping Slayer that struck fear into the nonbeating hearts of Sunnydale’s residential undead. She’d had friends. She’d had a Watcher. She’d had a boyfriend.
That girl had lived a blissful life of ignorance.
That girl didn’t deserve the sanctuary that she needed now. What kind of life had she really been living, if the only person she could go to when she was in such pain was the one that nature had designed as her enemy?
Riley had been here the night before. He had stood outside and argued with Spike about her. She hadn’t listened to the entirety of the conversation, but there were certain things that simply couldn’t be blocked out. Riley had accused him of having an ulterior motive and claimed he wasn’t worthy.
For everything, she felt she could rip her boyfriend to shreds, and that pure rage was just one of many factors that terrified her.
The pain crippling her body was a disease. She couldn’t move without feeling a stab of endless sorrow, every inch of her skin aching with the loss of the one who had given her new life. She couldn’t take it; she couldn’t take her body longing the presence of a sire that the rest of her thoroughly detested. She summoned images of his ghostly touch and shivered for the impact of simple recollection.
She felt like she had been living the past two decades in a dream. That waking as a vampire was her first step into a world not concealed by rose-colored glasses. That every pain she had ever endured was a steady build up for the removal of her safety net. Everything seemed so insignificant now. Death at the hand of the Master. Losing Angel—twice. The confusing year she was still recovering from in which the Big Bad she was so used to fighting had come in the shape of a military branch with a fabricated enemy on which to vent all her frustration.
She didn’t care anymore. Not about the life she had been living. The things that were once important. The false perfection she had been striving for, ignoring the fact that life was never perfect and that a Slayer’s life could never be normal. She’d craved normal for so long.
There were certain things associated with her existence that were so completely flawed without direction for blame. Riley. The man that should never have been her boyfriend. The years spent mourning a vampire that she could barely think about without flinching now. A vampire that was so far placed from the woman she had become. A vampire that had robbed her of her childhood with the guise of being the only man in her life that she could love.
That had always been Angel’s problem. His humanity; his wanting normal for her when she was anything but, and he was hardly in a place to pass judgment. Now he was living the good life in Los Angeles, doing anything but leading a normal existence, or allowing those he worked with to follow his own advice. It seemed she was the only one that was supposed to suffer full of his magnanimous misguidance. What she had done to earn such an honor, she did not know. But the fuzzy lens that had fogged her opinion of Angel for so long was gone now. There was nothing there but the distant pulling of a few fond memories, but even then, the bad far outweighed the good.
It seemed she had aged centuries in just a few days. No longer the mourning sixteen-year old in a nineteen-year old’s body. She was a woman now. A woman who knew life only because she was experiencing death.
And beneath that knowledge was pain. Pain of losing her maker. Pain of having her net taken away. Pain of knowledge itself.
She had taken advantage of Spike downstairs. She wanted to do something to express her gratitude. To explore the wealth of unfamiliar feelings stirring her insides. She had never thought she would awake in the comfort of her enemy’s embrace. She had never thought that he could see anything in her other than a query to be killed. An addition to his impressive roster of dead slayers.
In the midst of everything, he was the only one she could trust, and she had taken advantage of that. What she felt for him was revolutionary; fast and terrifying. And she had leapt into him before thinking, and now was more confused than ever. The wealth of pain soaking her insides was intolerable. She felt split down the middle. Caught in the veil between two worlds. She had the knowledge; she just didn’t know what to do with it. The old set of values she had so long followed were faded and jumbled. Every truth she had believed in had died with her body, and she had only the man downstairs to guide her through the world as it was.
He would not guard her from the truth like everyone else; similarly, he would not leave her to learn it alone. For some reason, she had faith in that.
What had happened downstairs was perhaps the most fiercely passionate encounter of her existence. Why Spike wanted her, she did not know. Only that he provided solace in a world gone mad with reality. He was the reason she was here. The reason she hadn’t faced real death. The reason she wasn’t dust.
The silence was driving her insane.
As if answering a prayer, a loud slam sliced through the cold serenity that surrounded her. She could’ve sworn her heart jumped, but she knew better. And then his scent flooded the air. The warmth he offered without even knowing it. She felt her pain ease simply with his presence, and had to fight the urge to throw herself in his arms all over again. Lose herself in sweet succor before she had her thoughts untangled. Before she had her world sorted.
She felt so lost. She didn’t want to drag Spike into it any more than he was and risk them both for her uncertainty. For the broken pieces she was trying to fit together. The shattered remains of an existence that no longer made sense.
But god, it would be so easy.
Spike didn’t look at her, though she knew he was acutely aware of her presence. She watched him without looking at him. Felt him move around the crypt. He popped a bottle of something and settled next to the refrigerator. And watched her.
The strength he gave her simply by being there was overwhelming. Her aching eyes filled with tears all over again.
The last thing she wanted to do was run from him. Screw the rest.
Buffy expelled a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited for the pain to pass. Then she rose to her feet, wrapping her arms around her middle.
Their eyes met. The torrent of confusion behind his tore her apart.
Then he released a sigh and glanced down. “’F you’re plannin’ on stayin’,” he said, “we should get you some clothes.”
“I…I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”
“What I want…” He met her eyes slowly, an emotion burning there that sent shivers through her body. There was a heavy silence, his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud of possibility. Then he looked away, sighed again, and turned back to the refrigerator. “I don’t have a microwave.”
“What? You want a microwave?”
A humorless chuckle shuddered through his body. “Well, I wouldn’t object,” he said. “No, sweetness, I mean it’s gonna be cold.”
“What’s going to be cold?”
He paused meaningfully. “Buffy, you have to eat.”
The word stilled the air, and she flashed back to the dead man.
“I don’t think—”
“No. You need to eat.” His eyes were stern. “I’m not gonna see you wither away. Not while you’re here, you hear me? You want that sort’ve bollocks, you can go some place else. ‘S what you are now. You need blood to survive.”
Buffy licked her lips. The severity in his tone was defensive, and she deserved it.
“Okay.”
He opened his mouth, presumably to further his argument, then balked in surprise when he realized she had agreed with him. “Oh. Good, then.”
She smiled weakly. “Seems I took away all your fun.”
That earned a grin. “There are worse things.” A heavy pause. “’S gonna be cold.”
“Does that make a big difference?” She glanced down, ashamed of her ignorance. “I remember…last night, I felt I had to drink the…the dead man. I had to drink him before it went cold.”
But she hadn’t. She hadn’t just consumed the blood; she had torn him to bits. She had dug into his stomach and licked up whatever trickled down her hand. She had seen lions show zebras more courtesy than she’d had for the dead man last night.
It wasn’t her hand that had killed him. She wasn’t responsible for that.
She was the one that had destroyed him.
“’S a matter of preference, I s’pose,” Spike retorted with an airy shrug. “Like pizza. As I understand it, some people like it better cold, others warm. Doesn’ rightly matter. It has the same bloody effect.”
“Pun intended?”
He offered a half-hearted smile and crossed the room. “Eat up,” he said, handing her a glass full of blood. “We’ll find out ‘f you like it warm or cold.”
“Don’t you need to eat?”
His eyes met hers tellingly. “I’ll survive.”
Before she could respond, he turned, flicked on the television, and settled on the sofa beside her.
At the other end of the sofa. Intentionally putting that space between them. A matter of inches that somehow composed a couple hollow feet. A matter of inches that seemed like miles.
Something snapped inside her at that, and nothing else mattered.
Spike was her sanctuary. She was confused, she was broken, but he was the only thing keeping her sanity intact. He was the only thing that wasn’t broken. Wasn’t confused. The only thing she was sure of, and that was what made him so dangerous to her. So terrifying.
The only thing in the world that was terrifying in a sense that didn’t scare her witless. That didn’t inspire fear as much as hope.
Hope was oftentimes more terrifying than fear.
Buffy drew in a deep breath and glanced to Spike. His eyes were focused on the screen, though his body was tense and terribly aware of hers.
She glanced to the glass in her hand, braced herself, and downed its entirety in one long drink. Its taste wasn’t as rich as the night before, and did little more than flare her hunger for something more.
But it was blood. It was what she needed.
Spike still hadn’t looked at her, though the corners of his mouth were tugging in an almost reluctant grin.
Buffy heaved another sigh, winced, and set the empty glass on the floor behind the sofa. Then she glanced back to the man at her left and edged down the cushion until she was under his arm. Until her head was against his shoulder, and her body curled into his.
Spike shuddered and closed his arm around her, something heavy rolling through his system. And just like that, the tension was gone. His eyes closed in relief and he dropped a heartfelt kiss across her brow. “There now,” he murmured, snuggling her into him. “Isn’t this better?”
“Oh yes.”
He smiled. “Did the cold cup strike your fancy?”
“No.”
“I much don’ care for it either. We’ll have to get a microwave, eh?” His eyes traveled back to the television, though he was no longer watching it, if he ever had been. “I’ve been tryin’ to think of a way to lift Rupert’s from his flat for bloody ages. Old sod never uses it.”
Buffy laughed shortly. “We can get some money from my room,” she said. “I’m not…I don’t have an invitation, but you could get in there…get some stuff for me.” She paused. “Tell my…my mother…”
Spike was quiet for a minute. “What do you want me to tell her?”
“She must be so worried.”
“Yeh. I’d imagine.” He turned to look at her, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “Your mum’s gonna love you no matter what. Mums are like that. Won’ bloody matter to her ‘f you’ve been turned or…or what happens. If you wanna go home—”
“I don’t.”
He smiled slightly, but shook his head. “You can’t really wanna stay here, luv,” he said. “You don’—”
“I want to stay here, Spike. I can’t be around people.”
A brief silence. The television blared loudly in the absence of his voice.
“’S that the only reason you wanna stay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling. “Because you can’t be around people?”
Buffy glanced up. The uncertainty in his tone tore her down all over again.
“No, Spike,” she replied. “It’s not the only reason. It’s not even…I came to you because I…I needed someone who…I just needed someone who would…”
He looked at her and smiled. “’S fine, baby,” he told her, kissing her forehead again. “You don’ have to say anythin’.”
“I feel like I should. I’m so sorry for what happened downstairs. I—”
He winced at that, and she felt false heat rise to her cheeks. “No, not that,” she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was…I…”
There was a beat, and he was smiling again. “Yeh,” he murmured. “It really was.”
“I’m just…I’m so confused.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to—”
Spike squeezed her tighter. “I know, sweetheart. It was…you’re glorious.”
She ducked her head in embarrassment.
“But I jus’…I don’ expect anythin’ from you, Slayer. You should know that. This mornin’ was wonderful, but ‘f…I don’ want you to do that for me because you feel you have to, right?”
“I wouldn’t. It wasn’t. I wanted…” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Something has changed with me. More than the vampire thing. More than…I’m not the girl I was. I’ve changed. I’m lost, and I’m terrified, and I hurt…I’m broken, but you’ve kept me from shattering.”
He released a deep breath. “I don’ know how.”
“I don’t, either. Except that you’ve…you haven’t treated me like I’m broken. You’ve treated me like Buffy, only with this thing. This slightly undead thing.”
“You don’ know that the Scoobies wouldn’t.”
She gave him a look.
“Okay, so you do. An’ Soldier Boy—”
“Riley would kill me.”
Something dark stormed his eyes, and his arms tightened around her. “I won’t let him touch you,” he growled. “Don’ care how bloody much it’d hurt. He won’t come near you.”
“Spike—”
“’m serious.”
“I know you are. I just don’t know why. I have no idea why you’ve…why you’re doing this at all. Why you let me into your home and…you’ve been so…since last night, you’ve—”
“Mhmm.” He caressed her temple gently, fingers woven through her hair. “I know.”
Buffy licked her lips. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Told you enough last night. You wouldn’t like me anymore ‘f you knew the full of it.”
Another sigh trembled through her body. That wasn’t all he had said. He had held her close and whispered that she already knew why. She shivered and slid further down his body until her head was resting against his stomach, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“This feels nice,” she said, nuzzling his belly.
“Yeh,” he agreed breathlessly.
Her hand brushed against his crotch and he drew in a sharp breath. Buffy bit her lip and pulled away as though burnt.
“Sorry.”
Spike glanced down at her heatedly. “Never be sorry for that,” he berated, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to guide her touch back to the bulge that seemed a persistent condition when he was around her. “Never.”
Buffy considered him, studying her own hand for a minute before she shifted with intention, and cupped his erection fully. He bit out a small moan and his arm came around her.
“Christ,” he gasped, arching into her touch. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
“Not really, no.”
He glanced down at her skeptically.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this from you,” she murmured. “I’ve treated you like…well…”
“A vampire?” he suggested. “You’re the Slayer. That’s how you treat vamps when you’re the Slayer.”
“I’m not the Slayer anymore.”
Spike smiled wanly. “Baby, he can’t take that away from you.”
Buffy stiffened against him but didn’t pull away. “When…will the hurt go away?” she asked a few minutes later. “You make it better, but it’s always there. I feel him still. The place where he should be, and it hurts so much. It won’t…I feel so…”
A sigh tumbled through his lips. “Sweetheart…it doesn’ go away.”
“What?”
“Not entirely. You get used to it, I s’pose. Peaches did, after he offed Darla. He mourned, but he din’t make a big show of it till he went soulless. Then, when he wasn’ shaggin’ Dru or plottin’ world domination, it was all he could bloody talk about.” He made a small sound of discontent. “Maybe you should’ve gone to him after all. You two have that much in common, plus the whole—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I didn’t want Angel. I don’t.”
There was a small beat. “You don’t. But you came here.” He paused again, moaning when she removed her hand from its intimate position over his cock, but he couldn’t blame her for her discomfort. “Buffy…I…you can’t tell me that an’ expect me to not…do you…” His hands halted their soothing caresses across her body as she stiffened, and they shared an uncomfortable moment.
“I don’t know anything right now,” Buffy said a minute later. “But this feels right.”
“What feels right?”
She tightened her arms around his middle. “This. And that’s all I understand right now. Everything else is so…messed up.”
Spike smiled. “That’s somethin’, then.” He broke off again. “There’s one thing that’s stronger than a sire’s hold on childer.”
“What?”
He hesitated a beat. “A claim.”
“A what?”
“Vampires…when they…they claim each other. Best way to describe it is a marriage or what all. A blood trade, an’ it’s forever. It forms a bloody unbreakable bond.” He exhaled deeply. “Mated vampires are rare today.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s…it’s forever. Once a claim is complete, it’s forever. An’ it’s as powerful as anythin’ else.”
“Stronger than a sire bond?”
“Oh yeah. Childer can’t choose their sires, luv, but every vamp can choose their mate. Mates are designed to feel each other. Once you’re claimed…once you’ve accepted the claim an’ claimed back, there is nothin’ stronger than that.”
“Are…did you claim Dru?”
He was quiet a minute. “I tried once.”
“Tried?”
“She didn’t accept me.” Spike drew her hair away from her face. “Bloody blessing in disguise, really.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Well, I won’t lie; it wasn’ any fun at the time.”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anymore on the matter. Either because he wasn’t ready to speak the words, or she wasn’t ready to hear them.
She just didn’t know anymore.
“I’m glad,” she said a minute later. “I know it’s…but I’m glad. I’m so glad you’re here, Spike.”
“Me, too.”
They said nothing more on sires or claims. Rather, simply sat there in the non-threatening silence of his crypt, curled in each other’s arms, pretending to watch the television. In the silence that he had made safe again. The blessing of quiet that he had given back to her, simply with his understanding.
Despite everything, despite the chaos of her existence, she had never known simple harmony like this. Bliss that came in such a small touch. Something given to her for nothing at all.
Her body was warring with change and fighting off pain, but her mind was calm.
There was simply nothing like this.
Nothing like feeling loved.
And she did. Simply lying in his arms, she felt loved. More so than she had in her entire existence. Coiled in his sanctuary. In this haven he had given her.
She felt loved.
Death had given her what she could never reach in life, even if the words were only imagined. If the feeling was there out of wishful thinking and nothing else. He had given it to her.
Spike didn’t say a word when he felt her tears leak through the cotton of his shirt. He simply tugged her closer, whispered something into her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
He did not try to stop her tears, or tell her there was no need. They were both too smart for that.
Instead, he held her in his arms, and let her have her cry.
Let her mourn what had passed and fear what the future held.
He held her as she wept, and she knew no greater peace.
To be continued in Chapter Nine: The Wild And Windy Night…
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