A Spuffyverse Rewrite by
Spikeslovebite
“Dimensions will…pour into one another, uh, with no barriers to stop them. Reality as we know it will be destroyed, and… chaos will reign on earth.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes as she stared at her watcher. His avoidance of her eyes brought a sick feeling of despair that twisted at her insides. She was conscious of everyone’s eyes on her, gauging her reaction to the words that spilled from Giles’ lips. Everyone but Spike. His kept his eyes on the table in front of him, the repeated clenching of his jaw the only betrayal of his emotional state.
“So how do we stop it?” she asked. She dragged her attention from the blond vampire back to the twitchy visage of her watcher, an expression of raw hope on her face.
“The portal will only close once the blood is stopped…and the only way for that to happen is, um…” Giles finally looked up at her, eyes hard and mouth a tight, impervious line. “Buffy, the only way is to kill Dawn.”
As much as she had been expecting the words, they still sliced through her like the sharpest of blades. An almost physical pain that nearly broke her. Rather than give her time to digest his revelations, Giles made as if to continue. Buffy stiffened her spine and held up a silencing hand.
“I need some air. I’ll be right back.” With that she left them, making her way out the back door and into the cool darkness of the alley. In spite of her firm resolve not to hide away inside herself once more, she could feel the seductive lure of blissful oblivion clawing at the edges of her mind. Wrapping her arms tightly around her middle in an effort to shield herself from the pain, she fell back against the crumbling brick wall; her small body wracked with sobs as she curled into herself.
Hard hands grabbed her upper arms, fingers digging painfully into soft flesh as she was dragged to her feet and shaken until her head lolled back on her shoulders.
“Oh, no you don’t. No more trips to La-La Land for you. Snap out of it, Slayer, or so help me, I’ll save Glory the trouble and kill you myself!”
Spike’s tone was harsh, but there was an underlying tremor of desperation in his voice that she had never heard from him before. The vice-like grip on her abused arms tightened as he hauled her up until they were nose to nose. He flinched visibly as the chip fired, but his blue eyes blazed into hers, refusing to allow her the release from reality that she craved.
Somehow, she knew that he hadn’t intended to hurt her; that his feelings of helplessness and desperation caused him to be so rough with her that the chip was sizzling inside his head. A ragged sob escaped her as made herself go limp in his grasp, welcoming the strong arms that swept around her and forced her pliant form against his in a crushing hug, his face buried in the fragrant silk of her hair.
“I know you’re tired, luv. And I’d take this burden from you in a heartbeat if I could, but I can’t. I can’t make it all go away. But I can help you if you let me, if you just put a little bit of trust in me.”
His voice, so fraught with emotion that it seemed to clog in his throat, finally broke through her self-imposed numbness and lifted her head from the shelter of his chest.
“How? How can you help? You heard Giles. Dawnie has to die to close the portal.” Her eyes went wild as she fisted her hands in the soft material of his t-shirt. “I can’t do this, Spike! I can’t just sit back and watch my sister die. Giles has to be wrong. There has to be another way,” she cried, fighting to calm the rising agitation in her voice and failing miserably.
Her loss of control earned her another firm shake. “Buffy! Stop with the hysterics and listen t' me, please? Even if it is true that Dawn’s death is the only thing that can close that bloody portal, there are ways around it. If we can get her back before Glory starts the ritual, before the portal is opened…”
“How can we do that? We don’t have a clue where to find her, or even where to look first,” she said miserably.
“I’ll find her, Buffy. I know I can. All I need is for you to trust me.”
Trust him? With a sudden burst of clarity, Buffy realized what he was asking of her. Blood. Her blood was Dawn’s blood. By tasting her, he would be better able to hone in on Dawn, rather than simply relying on his enhanced sense of smell, which after such a lapse of time since Dawn’s capture would be faulty at best.
Spike’s eyes seemed lit from within, the variegated shades of blue almost glowing with zeal as they held hers. His hands shook just the slightest bit as they came up to gently frame her face.
“Dawn is a part of you, and I could find you anywhere in this world with my eyes closed just by followin' the scent of your blood,” he insisted.
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Because I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, that somehow we would be able to keep Glory from findin’ out and gettin’ her mitts on the niblet. ‘Sides, how would I have broached the subject? ‘Oh, by the way, Watcher, I can find the key but I’ll need a taste of the Slayer to do it.’ That’d go over well with that bunch, wouldn’t it?” Her snort of amusement was all the answer he needed. “Right, then. You see my point.”
His expression sobered and one hand left her face to smooth a wayward strand of her hair back into place. “I wouldn’t suggest it if there were any other way. I know that havin’ any part of me, let alone m’ fangs, anywhere near you is the last thing you want.”
The wistful sadness of that last sentence he uttered cut her to the quick. With a blinding flash of insight, and no small amount of shame, Buffy realized just how naïve and gullible she was.
He really did love her.
Spike had always dared to be different, even before his tenure as Sunnydale’s Favorite Science Experiment in Behavior Modification. A brash and swaggering square peg that refused to fit into the neat round holes that were allotted to his species by the Great and Powerful Oz that was the Council of Watchers.
How could she have been so stupid as to blithely swallow the sanctimonious drivel that had been force-fed to her by a bunch of tweedy hypocrites that never left the smug, safe haven of their offices?
Her treatment of him over the past weeks since his heartfelt confession tore at her conscience and brought a heated flush of embarrassment to her cheeks. The vitriol that had spewed from her lips, the physical abuse he had endured both at her hand and on her behalf. How could she justify the harsh cruelty of her actions? What grand gesture would absolve her of her guilt? Didn’t she know better than anyone that love made you sometimes do incredibly stupid things? What made HER so much better than HIM?
Lifting her hand, she rested it lightly on top of his where it still curved to
mold her face.
"I trust you, Spike," she proclaimed.
The elation in those sky-blue orbs was a glorious sight to see, as was the smile that bloomed following her words. Almost giddy with relief, he gave her a great, smacking kiss right on her surprised mouth.
"You won't regret this, luv. I swear it."
Buffy watched with dazed eyes as he paced back and forth in front of her with frenetic energy, hands gesturing wildly as he prattled on about something or other that was meaningless to her at that particular moment.
Spike had kissed her.
Well, sort of. That jarring clash of lips could most definitely be classified as a kiss. So yes, he HAD kissed her.
And look, Ma! No spells!
She reached out as he swept past her and snagged the sleeve of his coat. Giving it a hefty yank, she whirled the hyped-up vamp around to face her.
"Did you just...kiss me?" she asked succinctly, green eyes narrowing to predatory slits.
Spike had the grace to look properly abashed at his impulsive actions. Might have known that little slip of his lips wouldn't get past her. Oh well, what were a few moments of pain when compared to the warm, swirly feeling that still lingered in his gut?
"Er--yeah. Yeah, I did. Right. Sorry about that, Slayer. Goin' with the moment and all that. Give us a quick jab and we'll get on with the rest of it."
At that, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, preparing himself for a sound thump in the nose. She always went for the nose. He considered himself quite obliging by giving her a clear shot for her reprimand of his transgression.
He waited, but when no abuse in the form of dainty Slayer knuckles tapping him in the nose commenced, he shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
"Might want to put a rush on this, pet. Got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time," he encouraged, eyes still obediently closed.
Buffy flinched at his blithe assumption that he should be punished for daring to breach her carefully erected walls to steal a kiss. It said a lot about her treatment of him in the past, and what it said wasn't complimentary to her by any stretch of the imagination. She felt a sudden, uncontrollable urge to make it up to him in some small way.
Throwing caution to the winds, she filled both hands full of black leather and pulled him down, covering those cool, succulent lips with her own.
Spike's eyes flew open wide is stunned surprise the instant he felt the warmth of her lips against his. He was utterly stupefied by her actions, but that didn't deter him from opening his mouth accommodatingly when her tongue brushed impatiently at the seam of his lips.
No further urging was needed. Snatching all control of the situation from her, Spike bent her back over his arm, months of denial and repression behind the fierce desperation of that kiss.
Plowing her fingers through his hair, she held him tightly and reciprocated with everything inside her as she memorized the unique flavor and feel of his lips and tongue meshing with hers.
Spike broke the kiss abruptly, resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment in an attempt to regain control. When he lifted his head, he was suddenly all business.
She watched, bemused by his quick turn-around as he dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans for his knife. His movements tightened the tough denim fabric even further and Buffy’s eyes widened as she was confronted with blatant evidence of his desire for her.
“Where do you want it?”
“Huh?” she squeaked. His clipped, no-nonsense tone snapped her out of her dazed interest in his ‘package’ and she tore her gaze away, a guilty flush staining her cheeks pink as she forced herself to meet his knowing smirk.
Resisting the urge to smack that look off his face, Buffy snatched the small penknife from his hand.
“Needs to be somewhere out of sight,” he said. “Don’t fancy dodgin’ any stake-wielding Watchers.”
Casting a quick glance around them to make sure no one was observing them; she dragged him behind a convenient tower of cardboard boxes. Once hidden from prying eyes, she wasted no time in shrugging out of her jacket and lifting the hem of her shirt to expose her bra.
Spike nearly swallowed his tongue as she prodded the soft flesh above the edging of black lace before slicing a neat, inch long incision into her golden skin. Her muttered “as good a place as any, don’t you think?” drifted through the lustful fog of his brain as he watched the ruby nectar spill forth.
One silky eyebrow arched in his direction as she took note of his slackened jaw. “Performance anxiety, Spike?” she quipped. “I know it’s been a while, but it’s not like you have to bite. All you have to do is…lick.”
If she was expecting him to simply slurp it up and be done with it, she was in for a big shock. The odds of this opportunity ever presenting itself again were astronomical, so he fully intended on enjoying every succulent drop. His eyes flickered from blue to topaz as he bent over her slight form, hands resting lightly on her waist as he tugged her closer.
The instant that the potent fragrance of her blood hit his nose, he vamped.
Buffy didn’t even flinch. The soft, commanding growl he emitted when his tongue reached out to taste her touched something primal within, causing her to arch her breast to meet his descending mouth as he latched on to the cut and began to suckle.
She whimpered under the onslaught of incredible sensation that the touch of his mouth evoked. Winding her arms around his head, she curled her upper body around him, trying to press herself tighter against him.
Both yearned to give in to the swirling desire that lingered at the edges of their consciousness, but her reason for allowing this was ever present in their minds. Showing a restraint that was practically unheard of for him, Spike regretfully shook off his demon. With one final, leisurely lick to seal the wound closed, he pulled away from her.
Buffy felt decidedly weak in the knees and smiled gratefully up at him as he reached out a hand to steady her. He wordlessly helped her set her clothes to rights and shrug back into her jacket. Once everything was as it should be, Spike took a step back and extended one hand towards her.
A huge sigh of relief and another of those meltingly sweet smiles were her reward as she placed her much smaller hand in his. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he finally looked away, lifting his nose to catch the faint breeze that wafted through the dank alley.
He closed his eyes, a frown of concentration marring the smoothness of his forehead as he breathed deeply of the night air. Suddenly his nostrils flared and his entire body went taut. A shudder swept through him and his fingers tightened around hers to the point of pain.
“Got her,” he hissed jubilantly. “Let’s go.”
~@~@~@~@~
Buffy sat quietly beside Dawn’s bed, careful not to disturb her from her much needed rest but unable to stop running her hand over her silky brown hair. The need to reassure herself of her sister’s continued existence was overwhelming, so she indulged herself in these few quiet moments before facing the gathering that awaited her downstairs.
It was almost laughable. Certainly anticlimactic; the ease at which Dawn had been recovered once Spike had picked up her scent. They had arrived in time to witness the truly freaky confrontation between Glory and her human host, Ben.
Glory’s minions had attempted to defend their incapacitated mistress, but Buffy and Spike had made short work of the deformed little puss bags. When Glurk, the last of the trolls, ran screaming at Spike’s back with an axe held victoriously aloft, Buffy had flung herself at them with desperate intensity. Her only thought was to protect Spike. Leaping gracefully through the air, she slammed into him, following him down as the stunned minion flew past them towards the still-morphing figure of Glory/Ben.
With one fatal swipe of the axe, it was over. Carried along by the impetus of his swing, Glurk’s weapon had caught his most supreme Glorificus at her most vulnerable— while she was trapped in the shell of her human host.
Ben’s head decapitated neatly from his body and fell with a sickening thud to the pavement. The Hellgod was no more.
Details after that had become something of a blur. There had been a hysterical Dawn to soothe in addition to the timely arrival of the indignant scoobies- led by a grim-lipped Watcher- to deal with. In the midst of all the confusion, she had been forced away from the silent, black-clad form of her champion. By the time she had shaken off the unwanted clinginess of their attentions and sought him out, he had slipped away into the shadows of the night.
With one last lingering caress of her slumbering sister’s hair, Buffy got to her feet and left the room. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen where her friends were waiting for her.
They were on her before she even cleared the doorway. Hurtful accusations were flung at her from all directions, from those that she considered to be her nearest and dearest. Their lack of common courtesy and understanding brought a swift sting of tears to her eyes, but she tamped them down viciously. Time enough for that later.
Crossing her arms in front of her and holding her head high, she rode out the wave of their verbal abuse without comment, merely staring them down with green eyes that were completely without expression. When their harsh voices eventually dwindled off, Buffy turned to Giles.
“You knew. The whole time Dawn was gone, you knew there was a chance. That if Spike took a little of my blood that he would be able to search her out so that we could make an attempt to get her back before the ritual even started. You knew, but you had the gall to insist that the only way to keep the world from going to hell was for me to kill my sister.”
The silence was deafening and each one of them stared at her in stunned surprise. Never before had she taken such a tone with Giles, usually deferring to him in all things and accepting his word as gospel. Even after the birthday debacle, the Cruciamentum, she had remained steadfast in her belief that he truly had only her best interests at heart. Now she was fighting the urge to punch him right in his deceitful mouth.
She took a threatening step closer and was selfishly gratified when he took an answering step back from the look of utter contempt on her face.
“You would have allowed the death of an innocent child rather than accept help from the creature you loathe. All because you couldn’t stand to be proven wrong. By a vampire.” she spat.
Giles began to sputter indignantly and Xander stepped forward to lay a hand on her arm. Buffy practically snarled at him as she jerked away from his touch. “And you! Do you have the faintest clue how sick I am of your incessant interference in my personal life? You ridicule me for associating with Spike, but it’s perfectly peachy-keen for you to date a vengeance demon.”
Anya started to qualify her status as a former demon but the quelling glance the Slayer shot in her direction stilled her tactless tongue.
“I can’t stand to look at either of you right now,” Buffy continued, her voice choked with emotion.
She turned to face Willow. “I need to go out. Will you be here for Dawnie?”
“O-of course, Buffy,” the red-headed witch stammered, obviously relieved that she hadn’t been included in Buffy’s diatribe.
Without another word to any of them, Buffy slammed out the back door. Those she left behind looked at each other with shell-shocked expressions.
~@~@~@~@~
Spike slumped bonelessly in the tattered armchair taking idle sips from a nearly depleted bottle of bourbon as he contemplated the tendrils of smoke that drifted around his head from the ever-present fag that smoldered between his fingers.
The telly was on but held no interest for him this night. His thoughts were on his Slayer. He could only imagine the recriminations the others had dreamed up to heap on her head this time. God knows they excelled at it.
It had crossed his mind to tag along back to her house, to offer whatever support she would accept, but the Whelp put paid to that with a few snide comments about Spike’s obvious ulterior motives behind helping the Slayer.
They sickened him, hypocrites that they were. There wasn’t a one of them that truly cared about her well-being. That didn’t have their own hidden agenda when it came to being Buffy’s friend. Especially the Watcher. Without Buffy, he was nothing.
A bloke picked up on a lot while hanging back in the shadows. It had been obvious to him for a long time that Giles resented Buffy on many levels; her new-found independence, her determination to protect her sister at all costs, even her continued refusal to cast the neutered vampire from their midst. More and more of late, Spike had been a silent witness to the quicksilver flashes of rage that sparked in the old git’s eyes whenever she happened to assert herself.
Oh well. Wasn’t much he could do about any of it. All he could do was lurk in the shadows and be there for her in whatever capacity she might need. Love’s Bitch ‘til dusted.
Spike sighed heavily and lit up another fag, idly swirling the remaining liquor around the bottom of the bottle before tilting it to his lips and swallowing it down. He tossed it aside and was toying with the idea of getting up to find another when he felt her presence nearby.
He resisted the urge to jump up and start clearing the place up. Wouldn’t do to have her bust in and catch him hoovering like a complete ponce. He did make the concession of kicking the empties under the chair. He wasn’t a total slob.
By the time she reached his crypt, he was slouched back with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair, feigning interest in some random program on the History Channel.
She didn’t burst in with her usual dainty Slayer kick, but instead slipped like a wraith through the opening and shut it quietly behind her. He glanced up as she approached, the cheery greeting he had intended dying on his lips as he took in her tear-filled eyes and quavering chin.
Wordlessly, he reached for her, certain that his shriveled heart would swell and explode when she came to him without hesitation. Muted sobs jerked in her chest as she settled down on his lap and buried her wet face in his chest.
He let her cry, his hands sifting through the vibrant strands of her hair as he murmured senseless bits of comfort. When her own hands sought out one of his he gave it willingly, touched beyond measure when she clutched it to her ribs and curled herself around it as though it were a lifeline.
After a while, he gently nudged her chin and encouraged her to look up at him. Using the hem of his shirt, he carefully mopped her face dry.
“I draw the line at blowin’ of runny noses, pet. ‘ve had more’n my fair share of Slayer snot on m’ shirt today,” he teased hoping for even a ghost of a smile from her.
She didn’t disappoint him. The barest curve of her lips was followed by a softly voiced, “gross, Spike.”
He tilted his head back against the chair, studying her from beneath lowered lashes. Something in his expression, something both tender and fierce, captured her breath in her throat and sent a quiver of awareness through her vitals.
Unable to resist the lure in those slumberous eyes, she leaned into him and pressed her lips to the vulnerable curve of his. No parted lips or prodding tongue, just a sweet, tender pressure that lingered long after she pulled away.
“This some kind of reward for helping you out?” His voice held the faintest trace of bitterness. The memory of the kiss of thanks she had bestowed on him under the guise of the ‘Bot still haunted him.
With effortless grace, she lifted herself and swung her leg over him, straddling his lap and sliding down to rest snugly against him. It took everything she had not to laugh at his stunned reaction to her boldness. Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she dipped her head until she found the strong lines of his throat. Breathing deep of his scent, she indulged herself in exploring her new playground.
Buffy felt his convulsive swallow under her roving lips and smiled against his skin. “Poor Spike, did I break you?” she asked innocently, pressing another light kiss to his lips as she switched sides.
“Not yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time before you do.”
Spike was torn. Confusion warred with a healthy dose of pure lust. His hands gripped her waist, unsure if he wanted to drag her closer or push her away. The nip of her blood he’d taken earlier was still singing through him, a potent reminder that the first option of hauling her against him was far more likely than the second choice.
“Slayer,” he rasped. “Not that this isn’t somethin’ ‘ve fantasized about a time or two, but what exactly is happening here?”
The uncertainty in his voice made her pull back, her expression just the tiniest bit apprehensive as she returned his forthright gaze. How could she begin to explain her not-so-sudden change of heart where he was concerned? That she had slowly come to realize just how important he presence in her life was?
In spite of her callous and sometimes cruel treatment of him in the past, Spike had proven himself far more loyal and trustworthy than those she had spent the greater part of her life believing in.
His unswerving devotion to Dawn and his love for her was completely genuine. It confused her. It frightened her. But she was beyond weary of hiding all that she felt for him in return. He had more than earned the right to be by her side, to be accepted as an integral part of her life.
It was past time for her to stop living her life to please a few people who obviously cared only for their own personal agendas than they did for her emotional well being. It was all about sorting out issues and knocking down walls. She had conformed her life to the dictates of others for far too long.
Now, all she had to do was convince him of her sincerity.
“I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Dawn since my mom died. You’ve been wonderful and I’ve been too much of a petty bitch to admit it. But that isn’t what this is about.” She took a deep, cleansing breath and released it. “This isn’t a gesture of thanks; this is me letting you know that you were right.”
“About?” The suspense made him want to shake the words from her.
“You were right when you said that there is something between us. No, it’s not pretty, but it is very real. I don’t care if they like it or not, you’re in my life and I’m tired of shutting you out. I’m tired of fighting it.”
There was no hiding the elation her words wrought within him, but if he had learned nothing else from his experiences with her, he had learned caution.
“So, this is my ‘crumb’?” he asked.
Buffy lifted a hand and ran it over his face to frame his jaw. A winsome smile curved her lips.
“No, Spike. This is the whole ‘cookie’. In fact, you might say it’s the entire cookie jar.”
A smile like none she had ever seen on his face before bloomed. Immense relief shone from his eyes as he slipped his hands over her back to draw her close.
“Well, now. ‘ve always been partial to a nice, warm, vanilla cookie, luv.” He nuzzled his face into her fragrant neck.
Buffy squirmed, giggling softly as she ran her hands caressingly up his chest. “Vanilla? You don’t want chocolate chip or macadamia nut; something more exotic than boring old vanilla?”
“Vanilla is highly underrated. I could spend all day eating vanilla, pet. Who needs all those other flavors when the original is the best?” he asked as he found the hyper-sensitive spot behind her ear, his tongue coming out to tickle and taste her soft skin.
She purred her appreciation and threaded her fingers through the soft hairs at his nape, tugging gently until he raised his head. “Are we done talking cookies? Because I really want you to kiss me.”
All traces of amusement left his face, replaced by an expression of such love and adoration that it took her breath away. No one had ever looked at her with such pure and unguarded emotion and it brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
It suddenly seemed incredibly selfish of her not to give voice to the depth of her feelings for him. Not to give him the ease of knowing that his love was returned. She waited until their lips were a mere breath apart before she spoke.
“I love you, Spike.”
A soft, broken sound escaped him as her lips painted each word across his. Their lips brushed lightly, tongues reaching and twining with incredible delicacy. The passion was there, but for now the simmering embers were banked in favor of soft touches and broken whispers of reassurance.
For now, it was enough.
THE END (for now)
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