Chapter Eighteen

 

Spike sat on the sofa watching an old television set, trying to not turn every five minutes to look at the door.  He knew that Buffy would be by, but the waiting was becoming intolerable. His easy acceptance of her in his life, and his need to see her felt almost too much to bear- especially after what had happened between them the previous night.  He needed someone to relieve him from the Watcher’s endless questioning: how was he feeling? What differences could he identify from his previous lifestyle to now?  What did his soul feel like?  If not for the Watcher, though, he would have uninterrupted Angel time, and that was truly getting on his last nerve.  As it stood, he was getting bloody desperate for Buffy to come barreling to his rescue.

 

“So, Buffy has taken on some of your guilt, then?” Giles queried. 

 

“That’s what it felt like, an’ I don’ feel quite so overwhelmed now. Feel a bit sorry for ‘er, though.”  Spike’s voice was gruff, trying without being too rude to get the Watcher’s questions to cease.

 

“That is just utterly fascinating.”  Giles sucked on the end earpiece of his glasses thoughtfully.  “I wonder if the Powers had this all marked out in the first place.  I don’t believe that you were meant to suffer as you undoubtedly did the first time you received it.”

 

“Doesn’t feel right, though, does it?”  Spike decided to just give in, recognising the perfect opportunity to try and solve some of his own riddles.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Well, few days ago I would ‘ave eaten you, no questions asked.  Shouldn’t I be paying with pain and torment to make sure I’ve learned the bloody lesson and not go after human food now?”

 

Giles sat perplexed.  “I think that this connection you have with Buffy, and even the reward of your soul, seems to have accelerated your progress.  Do you want to eat me now?  Or Buffy?”

 

Spike felt himself turn green, nauseated by the idea.  But then the image of eating Buffy made him harden in his pants and he grinned wickedly at the Watcher.

 

“I m-mean kill.  Not eat, kill.  Yes, that is what I meant.”  Giles cleared his throat and looked around the room on a sudden wave of embarassment.

 

“The thought of killin’ anyone right now, Rupert, makes me feel like stakin’ myself.  But this meld thing, it makes me feel a bit wonky.  I mean, I know who I was before, but now I ‘ave all these images of myself in love with the Slayer…risking my unlife for you lot, time and again. Somewhere in ‘ere I know that with the natural progression of things we would have gotten to this point, but I have these feelings like I ‘ave already experienced that life, and it scares the crap out of me ‘cause some of it was really ‘orrible. For all of us.  I sorta don’ know which Spike I am anymore.  Why couldn’t the Powers have let me know that?”

 

Spike had been sitting still too long and he jumped to his heavy boots and started pacing around the small room.  Angel had remained quiet, casting gloomy looks toward his Childe, angry that Spike seemed to be having it so easy, and getting the girl to boot.  Truthfully, he was silently more steamed that Spike got Buffy.  He didn’t give her up for this.  What could he do, though, if the PTB willed it?  It seemed pretty obvious that Buffy wasn’t meant to be his final reward.

 

“What about Buffy?  It isn’t fair that she has to know about all of your murdering frenzies from over the years.”  Angel sat in the armchair; arms crossed over his chest, and glowered.  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet.

 

“You know Giles, I think the crisis has been averted.  Time for me to head on back to LA.”

 

Giles and Spike looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

 

“Ah Peaches, it’s still a bit sunny out there…” Spike let the suggestion hang in the air, and grinned in amusement when the pin finally dropped and Angel slumped back into his seat. 

 

“I think I might go brew us some tea.”  Giles clambered to his feet and thus made good his inspired escape to the kitchen.

 

Spike narrowed his eyes and turned a hard, bitter look on his Sire.

 

“You just gonna walk out and not even tell ‘er goodbye?” 

 

Angel flinched.

 

“I’m not good with goodbyes,”  was only answer as he looked anywhere in the room but at Spike.

 

They both jumped as the door slammed and Buffy came bouncing through.

 

“Angel, can Spike live at your old apartment near the Bronze?”  Buffy turned a radiant smile to Angel as she took a seat on the sofa beside Spike.

 

“Ah, yeah.  Sure.  I guess so.”  Angel stumbled, not really wanting Spike to have his place but not being able to think up a reasonable excuse to refuse off the top of his head.

 

“Oi, what’s wrong with the crypt?”  Spike didn’t really want to live in Angel’s old place, either.

 

“No way, no crypt.  If you don’t stay at Angel’s, then my mother wants you to stay at our house.”

 

“An’ what’s wrong with that?  I like your mum.” 

 

Buffy turned to him, determination stiffening every limb of her body.

 

“There is no way you will be staying alone in a house with my mom.”

 

“Right then.” Spike got to his feet, his eyes revealing his hurt belief that she didn’t trust him.  “Angel’s it is.”  And with that he headed to the study and his makeshift bed.

 

Buffy looked at Angel apologetically, shrugged her shoulders, and grinned.

 

“Hey,” she said as she suddenly thought of something.  “Aren’t you usually asleep now?  It isn’t even lunch time.”

 

“Spike wanted to watch television.  Who could sleep through that?” He offered a conciliatory smile, glad that Spike hadn’t told her that he was about to leave again without saying goodbye.

 

“Shouldn’t he be sleeping, too?” 

 

Angel raised an eyebrow and offered her his own little smirk. “You don’t know Spike too well yet, do you?”

 

“No.  Not yet.”  She gave an excited little giggle and headed after Spike.

 

She found him sitting in the middle of the pull out bed, eyes trained on the bare wall like he was studying the Mona Lisa.  She crawled along the bed and kneeled beside his legs.

 

“You took it the wrong way, you know.”  She reached over to take his hand and let out a breath of relief that he didn't pull away.  He didn’t turn to look at her, but his thumb began to stroke the skin over her knuckles and a flame of pure heat shot through her.

 

“An’ what way did you mean?”

 

“She was interested in seeing what was underneath the leather,” Buffy told him, amusement making it difficult for her to not laugh.  She squealed as he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her into his lap, his eyes single-mindedly focused on her lips.

 

“Is that right?”

 

Buffy was having her own trouble looking anywhere but at his full lips, licking her own in anticipation, suddenly knowing that she had never wanted anyone’s kiss quite as much as she did his.  Never craved contact with anyone else’s mouth quite like this.  Her heart was pounding as she felt herself drawn to him, magnetically attracted to his lips, no negative charge in sight.

 

“Yup,” she answered, and she was lost as her lips collided with his, her palms resting flat on his chest.  With a subtle shift closer she opened her mouth and invited him to explore her heat further.  His tongue stroked her bottom lip, causing shivers to erupt from every skin cell, and then dived into her mouth.  Their tongues didn’t fight, knowing that this was a slow and steady kind of race, but her hands slid up to and around his neck in a similar motion as her tongue sought to entwine with his.  She curled her fingers in his hair, mystified at its softness, and moaned loudly into his mouth at feeling the barest brush of fingertips stroke the skin under the hem of her top.  She was undone, but glad that he took it slow, knowing she would go further if enticed, but not entirely sure if she was ready.  After the Parker debacle, she felt a need to take things slowly.

 

Somewhere in the background they could hear the telephone ring, but it wasn’t until an embarrassed cough at the door had them pulling reluctantly apart.  Giles stood in the doorway, frantically polishing his glass lenses, as he looked at the floor.  And just like that, she was torn away form bliss again.

 

“What’s the what, Giles?”  She turned to him, slowly extricating herself from Spike’s arms, and sat on the edge of the bed.

 

“Er, that was Willow.  It would seem that she has had an unpleasant confrontation with Oz and the girl from that band, Veronica was it?”

 

“Veruca,” Buffy supplied, her heart sinking in sudden apprehension. 

 

“Yes, quite.  She asked you to go and meet her, Buffy.  She sounded quite upset.”

 

Buffy gave a longing look to Spike, before leaning over to kiss him softly.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispered against his lips. And then she was gone, Spike looking wistfully after her.