Written by: Avalon
"If
eyes were made for seeing"
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
It was easier than Buffy had expected to find her way back to the Trial. In the end it had simply been a matter of going to the cemetery (carefully bypassing Spike's crypt), closing her eyes, and trying to retrace her steps. Fortunately it was dark and the streets were mostly deserted, so she didn't look quite as foolish as she expected -- even when she did walk full tilt into a streetlamp.
At least, she hoped she didn't look foolish.
It didn't seem to take as long either. In fact, the journey was a lot shorter than she remembered. Granted, this time she wasn't bleeding, blind, and in agony, but still... Of course, Spike had told her that the Trial tended to move around, so maybe it had relocated itself for her convenience tonight. Buffy had the faint but growing suspicion that she could have walked in any direction, for any length of time, and she would still have ended up precisely where she was -- staring down at an empty pool.
'I trusted him and he made me jump into that?' was the Slayer's first thought.
Her second was: "This had better be worth it."
Then, after one more moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes...and stepped forward, dropping like a rock.
* * *
Buffy landed gracefully, rolling across a stone floor in a torchlit room that felt just the same as the one she had been in before, coming back to her feet in one smooth movement.
"Welcome back, my dear," a familiar voice said.
The Slayer straightened hastily then turned, brushing her hair back with one hand as she peered into the shadows. It was the Valet. He looked just as she remembered him, from the one fleeting glimpse she had had after her vision had been restored -- small, dark hair, and clothes that looked as if they had been stolen from the set of Masterpiece Theatre.
"Welcome," he said again. "We've been expecting you. Although I did think you might show up rather sooner." He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his vest, glanced down at it then shrugged and put it away.
"Still," he continued. "Better late than never. I'm sure you've been quite busy with the...er...slaying of things."
Buffy frowned. "Let's get something straight," she said. "I appreciate what you did for me, but I still think your methods suck. So why don't we skip the polite chitchat and just get on with it?"
The Valet nodded, staring at her appraisingly. "I quite agree. Time is at a premium just now. But then, it always is. So -- you are here because you wish to know what your champion's sacrifice entailed and why he was willing to make it for you. Correct?"
Buffy stared at him in consternation. How did he know that? Then she remembered -- he could read her mind. For a moment hostility flared within her but she forced her body to relax. What did it matter, really? He could read her mind. Well, so what? If that's what it took to get the answers she had come for...then fine.
Oh,
who was she kidding? The thought of anyone sifting through her head, reading
her deepest thoughts, was enough to send her blood pressure soaring. In fact,
it made her want to kill things. Lots of things. Very slowly and painfully.
Buffy focused her mind on the last thought, smiling slightly when the Valet
paled and took a step back.
"Ah...may I remind you that violence is not be allowed on the premises?" he
said, a little nervously.
The Slayer bit back a laugh of disbelief. "Not allowed? So last week was what? All-You-Can-Kill-Tuesday? Two for the price of one?"
"And neither do we appreciate sarcasm. The Trial is...the Trial. And I didn't hear any complaints from you at the time, as it happens."
"Well you would have heard them if you hadn't been so busy gloating and pouring tea all over the place. I told you that..."
He interrupted her. "So are you saying that you wish to return your prize, Miss Summers? Because we can certainly do that. No trouble at all."
That stopped Buffy cold. She stared at him for a long moment then shut her eyes briefly.
"No," she said at last. "I don't." She certainly wasn't willing to give up her eyesight. One week of blindness was one week too many. Her emotions beginning to cool once more, Buffy gave the Valet what she hoped was an apologetic look (difficult, since she wasn't feel in the least repentant) and said more calmly:
"No. I'll keep the...er...prize, and yes, I do want to know about Spike's sacrifice."
The man still looked cross. "Well did it ever occur to you to just ask him?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I did. He wouldn't say."
The Valet sighed. "Then it appears that our efforts on your behalf were unsuccessful. Oh dear. This is quite unusual. I told them dealing with Slayers was notoriously difficult, but they said everything would work out in the end. They never listen to me, you know..."
Buffy frowned. This conversation was becoming increasingly surreal. They? They who? And what was that about Slayers?
"How many Slayers have come here?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
The Valet was still frowning worriedly, his mind clearly on other things. "Oh, not many," he said vaguely. "Most of them don't survive long enough to need our services. In fact, most of them wouldn't appreciate Enlightenment if it was handed to them on a silver platter. Ungrateful lot, on the whole."
"Thanks so much," she said dryly. "Uh...enlightenment?"
His gaze suddenly sharpened, his attention focusing back on her. "My dear Miss Summers -- did you honestly believe that the sole purpose of your trial was just to give you back your eyesight?"
Buffy blinked. "Wasn't it?"
"No, of course not. Really, my dear. Do try to be less obtuse."
Another flicker of anger. "OK," she said sharply. "Why don't you tell me what you're talking about then? And try not to use any big words because I'm just a simple Slayer and might not be able to understand anything with more than one syllable. Or maybe you'd like to draw a picture for me with bright colours and funny animals..."
The Valet pinched his forehead. "Please. Sarcasm."
"Please. Answers!"
"Oh very well. I suppose we are obligated since your trial appears to have been rendered null and void. We do guarantee satisfaction after all -- can't have you sullying our good name."
"Yeah, certainly can't have that."
The Valet glowered at her. "This facility's purpose," he began, his voice as near a growl as she had ever heard it, "is not for details such as saving lives or restoring vision, although those are indeed useful by-products of what we do. No, our purpose is Enlightenment. Understanding. The promotion of self-awareness and perception. The..."
"OK, can we fast forward past the infomercial? Because I get it."
"Slayers!" The Valet sighed again. "All right, Miss Summers. Here is your answer in terms which even you will understand -- I hope. The 'point,' as you would say, is that the Trial provides a means of understanding oneself. Your champion, for example, learned something very important, during the course of his trial. You were supposed to learn from it as well, but it would appear that you did not. I suspect it was your antipathy toward young Spike that contributed to that failure."
Buffy glared at him. "I am not antipathetic. And yes, I do know what the word means."
"Then I can only conclude that it was due to your own natural stubbornness. If you would just..."
"Enough already!" Suddenly the urge to just throw up her hands and turn around and leave was almost too strong to bear. She didn't need this. She didn't need this annoying little man and she certainly didn't need the weirdness that had been besetting her for the past two weeks. 'Why me?' Buffy thought bitterly. Why did things have to get so complicated? All she had wanted was a few answers about what had happened to her, a little insight into a certain bleached blond vampire, maybe. But now it turned out she was supposed to find 'Enlightenment'. Or something.
"So what exactly was I supposed to figure out?" she asked drily. "And what did Spike learn?"
"Two very interesting questions indeed." The Valet straightened his shoulders. "All right, Miss Summers. As I said, we are obligated to finish what we began. But do try to keep your displays of temper to a minimum. I do not wish to have to replace another teapot."
"If you get anywhere near a point..."
"And please remember," the Valet went on determinedly, "that our dealings are concluded after this. You will not be allowed to return here. Because, quite frankly, you give me a headache."
Buffy shot him a look. "Likewise, Jeeves."
The Valet frowned at her then abruptly pivoted on his heel, heading towards a small arched doorway that Buffy would have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. She blinked, trying to see what lay beyond it, but could see nothing but darkness and shadows, swirling like fog.
The Valet paused impatiently on the threshold and glanced back at her.
"Well? Are you coming?"
"What's through there?"
"Knowledge, my dear Slayer. Knowledge."
"My
blindness is my sight"
-- Alice Cary
'Knowledge,' he had said. Buffy didn't want this kind of knowledge. Didn't want to see the things she had seen.
Buffy still wasn't sure whether she had actually gone back in time, or if she was somehow merely seeing the events that had taken place a week ago. Whichever it was, she had somehow found herself back at Spike's trial, watching events unfold but unable to intervene in any way.
Which she would have, if she could.
The first two Trials had been...blatant acts of cruelty. Spike had been forced to take on a bigger, stronger, armed opponent, with only his wits and his speed to rely on. That had been when he had injured his leg. As for the second Trial -- asking a half-naked barefoot vampire to cross a corridor lined with crosses and then have to reach into a container of holy water for the key to open the door...
God. It was sick. A shudder of revulsion went through the Slayer, along with a sense of shame at the part she had played in all this. If she hadn't agreed to come here then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't wish this torture -- there was no other word for it -- on her worst enemy, let alone on...on whatever Spike was now.
He certainly wasn't her enemy anymore, Buffy thought bitterly, as she followed the Valet through yet another doorway. If nothing else, what she had seen here today had proven that. For the vampire to go through so much for her, to endure such pain... No, they weren't enemies any longer.
But, while she might know what he wasn't, she still didn't know what he was. And that, according to the Valet, was what she was here to find out.
Buffy bit her lip, her thoughts still racing, then came to a sudden halt when she she realized that the Valet had stopped moving. She looked up and saw...
Spike. A dozen feet away, half-naked, badly burned, and hanging from two long chains that had him spreadeagled in the centre of the room, his head lolling forward upon his chest.
Buffy froze.
Once again it was all she could do not to act, not to try to change things. But she knew she couldn't. She was as insubstantial as a ghost here. And the helplessness was driving her crazy. To be forced to watch while someone suffered for her...it was horrible. And wrong.
"I've had enough," Buffy said abruptly. "I don't want to see anymore."
The Valet -- the one from her own time -- turned to look at her.
"But there is still the final Trial to go."
"Unlike you, I don't get my jollies watching other people get tortured. I've seen enough."
The Valet smiled coldly. "Actually, to paraphrase one of your Hollywood icons, I believe -- you haven't seen anything yet."
The Slayer closed her eyes. Damn him. And damn her. She should never have come back here. But she had and it was too late now. She had to see this through, no matter how difficult it might be. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and focused on the bound vampire. The burns on his chest and back were clearer now than when she had seen him last week, with only the quarter moon to illuminate his injuries. So many burns. And so much pain. Why?
She must have asked the question out loud, or else the Valet was reading her mind again, because he answered her softly. "It was necessary. Now -- shhh."
Unhappily, the Slayer turned back to Spike, flinching at the sight of the chains biting into his wrists and the blood soaking through the leg of his black jeans, as she steeled herself once more to watch...and do nothing.
* * *
Spike was hanging limply in the chains, barely conscious. The Valet from the past moved close beside him, gazing emotionlessly at the vampire.
"You've done very well to get this far," the small man began calmly, "but you should end this now, while you still can."
Spike raised his head -- Buffy's jaw tightened at the livid cut just under his left eye -- and met his gaze. "Does th' Slayer get her sight back if I do?" His speech was slurred and laden with pain.
A pause. "Well, no. Not unless you pass the third test."
"Then bring it on. Gettin' tired of hangin' around here..."
"As you wish." With that, the Valet stepped aside and raised one hand slightly...and the far wall that had previously been shrouded in darkness began to move forward, just enough to allow the flickering lights to illuminate the hundreds of wooden stakes -- all lined up in rows and pointing at Spike.
The vampire frowned at them blearily, trying to focus. "What am I s'pposed to do now?"
"You're supposed to die."
Spike seemed to gather a little strength at the Valet's words, standing a bit straighter in the chains. "That's the third trial?"
"Yes. A life for a life."
Spike shook his head, as if trying to clear his pain-fogged thoughts. "But it's not a life for a bloody life, is it? 'Cause I'm not alive...and we're only talking about her eyes anyway. Not her sodding life."
The Valet smiled slightly. "Semantics. We both know that it is indeed Miss Summer's life under discussion here. You yourself came to the same conclusion earlier tonight --if your Slayer does not regain her sight she will die. So the choice is up to you. Her life or yours. But you only have to say the word and I will release you right now. You may leave us in peace."
Spike swallowed painfully. "What about her?"
"She will die of course." The Valet leaned a little closer. "But really -- why should that matter to you? You are a vampire and she is the Slayer. She cares nothing for you. One day she will most certainly kill you. It's what she does, what she is. Wouldn't you rather just end all this and walk away, free and clear?"
The man paused, then went on. "In fact -- because you have completed the first two challenges, I can even offer you what you most desire...if you stop this final Trial now."
Spike merely stared wearily at him, saying nothing.
"The implant." The Valet's voice lowered persuasively. "We can remove it for you. Here and now. It will be quite painless and I assure you there will be no lasting effects. You will be exactly as you were before your capture. Come now -- is that not worth the life of one Slayer?"
The vampire froze, staring at the Valet in disbelief. Buffy could see various emotions warring on Spike's face - disbelief, hope, need...and something else altogether, something she was afraid to put a name to. And she found herself holding her breath, her fingernails digging deeply into her palms, even though some part of her was aware that all this had taken place days ago.
And that's when it hit. Realization. This was what she had come here for, this was the answer she had been seeking. But a tremor went through her. Did she really want to know? If she did, everything could change. She wouldn't be able to ignore the truth any longer, wouldn't be able to lie to herself...
Lie to herself. Was what she had been doing? Was it possibly she had known the truth all along but was simply too afraid to accept it? Beside her the Valet -- her Valet -- shifted, making a tiny self-satisfied sound. Buffy glanced at him, frowning at the pleased smile on his face...
And then her attention was drawn back to the vampire in chains before her who had still not moved or spoken. Hesitantly, Buffy took another step forward, raising a hand as if to touch him, then let her arm fall limply to her side. 'Spike,' she thought despairingly.
The other Valet was still waiting. A long moment passed then at last the vampire shook his head.
"No," he said simply.
"You do understand the offer, don't you? The implant..."
"I understand your flaming offer, but the answer's still no. And just get a bloody move on, will you?" Spike's voice was shaking now, from both pain and anger.
The Valet did not stir. "You are refusing our offer, then, to remove your implant and release you from this final challenge? And you freely offer your life in return for Miss Summer's vision. Is that correct?"
Another long moment passed. Spike did not move, did not even blink, his eyes unfocused and distant. Finally though, something flashed across his face and then was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. And he nodded once, slowly.
"Yeah," he said wearily. "That's right."
* * *
Buffy froze. She didn't -- couldn't -- believe it. Spike would never give up his life, a chance at freedom, for her. And yet he had. And...somehow she wasn't surprised. Not really, not deep down. Because somehow, she had known all along.
The book had been right. This was all about making the ultimate sacrifice. And Spike had just done that.
But why? For him to do that, to even consider it, that meant that...
Buffy shivered, her mind skittering fearfully away from the thought. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.
Except it was. It had to be.
Spike loved her. Enough to die for her.
Buffy could feel the blood draining away from her face, shock and disbelief pouring through her --
-- and the Valet leaned closer, whispering in her ear. "So now your eyes are truly opened. Your Trial is now complete."
And with that, everything vanished. The Slayer blinked... and found herself back in the first room, the torches still casting shadows on the wall, the Valet standing beside her.
Buffy did not look at him, did not even move. She was too busy trying to deal with the sudden maelstrom of emotions swirling chaotically inside her. Too much. Too much information. She didn't want to deal with this right now. Didn't want to have to face the truth. Because if she did, if she admitted to herself that it was true...then her whole world would change. If Spike, a soulless vampire, was capable of so much love, of so much self-sacrifice, then...then she had been wrong. Wrong about him. And about so much else.
"Ahem." It was the Valet. The Slayer turned to him, her mind spinning.
He gave her faintly sympathetic look. "Enlightenment is never easy, is it?"
No. No, it damned well wasn't. But -- it was better than ignorance.
Wasn't it?
"I need to go now," Buffy said numbly, not looking at him.
"Yes. Well...I wish you luck. And I do hope things work out. Goodbye, Miss Summers. And remember -- your dealings with us are now finished."
And with that, the world changed...
...and she was outside once more, standing in the cool night air beneath the stars, staring down at the empty swimming pool. Everything was exactly as it had been when she has first arrived...
...but nothing was the same anymore.
Nothing would ever be the same.
"I
see thee better in the dark"
-- Emily Dickinson
Buffy found herself walking back to the cemetery, her mind whirling. She had tried not to think as she had left the Trial, and she had tried not thinking as she made her way back through the dark streets, but it hadn't worked. Thoughts kept popping stubbornly to the surface of her mind, flashes of memory going through her while she walked.
The first time she had met Spike, in that dark alley so long ago... Her mom hitting him over the head with an axe... Spike, stopping his minions from wreaking havoc when she had threatened to kill Drusilla... Her uneasy alliance with the vampire and the bizarre image of him sitting at her kitchen table drinking hot chocolate... The vampire chained up in Giles' bathtub...almost destroying her relationship with her friends...and saving her life. The moment when he had sat down beside her on the back porch with kind words -- and a shotgun. The kiss -- kisses. The memory of his weight on top of hers, his fangs locked in her throat...and most of all, the image of his burned and scarred body hanging from chains while he calmly gave up everything that mattered most to him. For her. All for her.
He loved her.
Spike loved her.
Somehow Buffy couldn't quite make that sink in. She knew it was true, knew that what her instincts had been telling her all along was correct, but still...she couldn't make herself believe it.
Why? How? Why would he possibly...? No. Buffy shook her head unhappily...then went back to the not-thinking.
It even worked for a while -- right up until the moment she found herself outside Spike's door.
* * *
Slayer.
Spike twisted around in his chair, a warning tremor going through him. She was here. Just outside the crypt. He could smell her.
Bugger.
He didn't need this right now. One look and she'd probably guess everything. His feelings were probably written all over his face. Wearing his bloody heart on his bloody sleeve, he was. Sodding wonderful. Just what he needed.
But then again -- this was better than the alternative, right? Hiding out in his crypt, diving around corners whenever he saw her. No. Let her come. He wasn't William the Bloody Wanker, for god's sake. He was Spike. And it was high time he started acting like it...
The door swung open behind him but the vampire carefully did not move, his gaze remaining on the TV in front of him. All his other senses, however, locked on the Slayer the moment she entered, tracking her as she stepped into the crypt, coming to a hesitant stop a few paces back.
"Summers," Spike said casually, not looking behind him. "Still alive then?"
Buffy didn't answer him. Instead she moved forward, crossing in front of him, then reached down and turned off the television.
"Hey! I was watching that!"
"Newsflash, Spike. The ship sinks. Jack drowns."
"And thank you very bloody much." He glowered at her. "So what do you want now? More help saving the world? Battling the bad guys? A few more lessons on Slayer slaying?" He paused, a grin appearing on his face. "Or would it be Slayer saving this time?"
She shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable.
"I need to talk to you."
"Well, since you just ruined the movie and the only other thing on right now is 'Jerry Springer', which I'd rather be buried six feet under again than have to watch, I'd say you've got my undivided attention. So what's the topic of conversation gonna be this time?"
Buffy hesitated, then said flatly: "I went back to the Trial."
Spike froze, staring up at her in disbelief. "You what?"
"I went back."
"Well...why?"
She swallowed. "I...I had to know what you did. What your...sacrifice was."
Ice began to form in the pit of Spike's stomach and his mind started spinning in circles. Big, violent, nerve-wrenching circles. She knew? Bloody hell. What was he supposed to say now? How could he explain?
He gave it a good try though.
"Well, don't flatter yourself, Slayer. It was...I was... just wanted to make sure I'd be the one what finally kills you. Didn't want some demon to get all the fun..."
Bollocks. That was terrible. He could do better than that, right? He thought for a moment. No. No he couldn't.
"Spike..."
And then he was on his feet, trying to put some much needed distance between them while he attempted to figure out what to do, how to handle this.
"It's not all about you, you know," he said belligerently. "I mean, it may have looked like I was doing it for you, but really, I was just..."
"Spike!" Buffy spoke more forcefully this time, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
The vampire swallowed then turned and looked at her with just a hint of trepidation on his face.
"What?"
The Slayer took a step toward him, her eyes boring into his. And she said, very slowly:
"Do you love me?"
* * *
Buffy stared unblinkingly at Spike, waiting. She knew the answer already -- really she did -- but there was still that one small uncertainty in the back of her mind. And she had to know. Somewhere along the way she had decided, even if only on a subconscious level, that she had to know the truth, no matter how difficult it might be. She had to hear him say it. Only then would she be able to decide what to do. Only then could she face her own feelings.
The vampire swallowed again, an expression of sheer panic flashing across his face, tension written in every line of his body.
"Slayer, I..."
She shook her head. "No. Just one word, Spike. Yes or no. Do you love me?"
Another endless pause. Buffy noticed distantly that her nails were once more digging into her hands and she forced herself to relax. Finally though, Spike's shoulders straightened, his chin came up...and he met her eyes unwaveringly.
"Yes."
* * *
Time seemed to crash to a halt. Finally the silence became too much for Spike to bear.
"I know you don't feel that way about me..." he began hesitantly.
Buffy shook her head. "No. I don't."
It shouldn't hurt this much. Really it shouldn't. He had known all along that she didn't love him, probably never would... But to actually hear her say it, to shred all his hopes -- and his heart -- like this...
Anguish tore through Spike, ripping through every aspect of his being. So this was what being staked through the heart felt like, he realized distantly. He had suffered his fair share of pain in his time, a hell of a lot of it in just the past week, but this...this was beyond words. Nothing had ever hurt quite this much. Nothing. It felt as though small pieces of himself were crumbling away, breaking off into some void that threatened to consume him.
And suddenly the need to hurt her back was too much to bear. His fists clenching, Spike took a step forward and said viciously:
"You really are a piece of work. A right little bitch. This is all some game to you, isn't it? Make Spike admit he's gone all soft then spit in his face. So what's next? You go back to your little fanclub and you all have a good laugh together? Laugh at the vampire that's got the hots for the Slayer..."
"No, I..."
He ignored her, his voice trampling over hers. "You don't care, do you? Just 'cause you've been hurt in the past, you think that gives you the right to do anything you want, hurt whoever you like..."
Buffy took an angry step forward. "Will you let me finish?"
"Why? So you can twist the knife a bit more? No thanks. I can see why Angel left you. Self-bloody-preservation..."
* * *
That did it. Without warning Buffy's fist slammed into Spike and he crashed to the floor, laying still for a moment, slightly stunned. Then she stepped forward and stood over him, speaking coldly.
"I'm going to ignore that last comment. And you're going to shut the hell up so I can finish."
Spike raised one hand to his jaw, glaring up at her with something very close to hatred in his eyes. But he remained silent.
This wasn't going the way Buffy had planned. Actually, she hadn't planned it at all -- hence the problem. But she couldn't change things now. All she could do was move on. And to do that, she had to be completely honest with him. And herself. No more holding back. It wouldn't be easy and it was probably going to hurt like hell...but it had to be done.
After all, she had no choice.
"What did you expect me to say, Spike?" Buffy's voice was calmer now, only a faint tremor in her body betraying the myriad emotions running through her. "Did you really think I would declare my undying love for you just because you saved my life? Well, I'm sorry, but that sort of thing only happens in bad romance novels. One good deed isn't enough to make up for 120 years of carnage. I can't just forget what you are, what you've done."
He snarled up at her, pain etched on his face. "That's rich, coming from you. You were all over Angel from the minute you met him, weren't you? Never asked what kind of a monster he was. If you'd seen some of the things he did, you'd..."
"Shut up," Buffy snapped. "When I said I didn't love you, that was the truth. But...it wasn't the whole truth. And...and you deserve to know everything."
She took a deep steadying breath, then continued.
"Part of me hates you, for what you've done to me and my friends, for what you did in the past. I've read the Watcher's journals, Spike. I know how dangerous you were. Still are. Part of me is afraid of you, of what you might do if you ever get that chip out of your head. And an even bigger part says you're not trustworthy and never will be."
He climbed to his feet slowly, glowering at her. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Not really," she said flatly. "And I'm not done yet. You see, the part you don't know is that it...it's not just hate and fear between us anymore, Spike. Something's changed. I'm not sure when it happened. Maybe when you saved my life last week. Maybe earlier. I don't know. What I do know is that you've always understood me better than anyone else. More than my family, more than Giles even. Definitely more than Riley ever did. You...you can see right through me, see through all the lies I tell myself and no one else has ever been able to do that. And while most of the time I hate that...sometimes I find it comforting too. How strange is that?"
She smiled painfully, crookedly, then went on, not waiting for an answer.
"A lot of the time I think you're bad for me. But sometimes I think you're the only one I can ever be with, should ever be with. When I'm with you Spike -- I can be myself. I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. I can just let go. No one else has ever done that for me. Not even Angel."
"So I guess it doesn't matter if part of me still thinks you're a killer, if I don't know if I can trust you, or even if you're bad for me. Because there's a much bigger part of me saying...saying..."
Her voice trailed off. She couldn't go on, couldn't get the words out. Her throat was tightening, fear clenching in her stomach. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the courage.
"Saying what?" The anger was almost gone from Spike's voice now, only a faint residue of hurt still remaining. But there was something else in his eyes...something that gave Buffy the nerve to take that final step. The step that would change everything between them.
It came out as a whisper, so faint that only a vampire could have heard it.
"I want you," she said.
"I want you."
Spike froze. "You what?"
Buffy licked her lips, having to force the words out through the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her. She hadn't thought it would be this difficult.
"I...I..." It wasn't working. She couldn't seem to make herself say it. Not again.
Spike eyed her for a long moment, then slowly began to move forward, the pain on his face beginning to dissolve. And something else was taking up residence there. Disbelief. Shock. And then anticipation. And hunger. A predatory gleam appeared in his eyes and Buffy instinctively took a step back, swallowing hard. He was stalking her, she realized, like some big cat. She moved away again, her heart-rate increasing. This was a mistake. She should never have come here. She should just go and...
...and then he was on her, moving as fast as she had ever seen him. One hand twisted roughly in her hair, pulling her head back and baring her throat to him while the other wrapped tightly around her right wrist, holding away the stake that had suddenly materialized in her hand.
Buffy could have fought him, could have pulled free...but something inside wouldn't let her. For a long moment she stared at him, frozen, her heart racing -- then Spike gave the weapon a slow, sideways glance, a wolfish grin appearing on his face.
"You gonna use that?"
Was she? No. Probably not. Maybe.
She didn't answer him. "Let me go," Buffy said instead, as forcefully as she could.
He lowered his voice. "That really what you want?"
A long pause. A really long pause. Entire civilizations rose and fell while Buffy stood there, her chest heaving. And finally, staring into the vampire's eyes, the Slayer loosened her grip, allowing the weapon to fall to the ground beside her.
"No."
And, as quickly as that, Spike had seized her and swung her around, slamming her up against the crypt wall. Buffy gasped at the impact...then froze as he traced one fingertip along the side of her jaw and down her throat, dipping even lower until it was just inside her shirt. She shivered but still made no effort to move.
"Tell me what you want," the vampire whispered, his voice hot and seductive, his mouth close to her ear.
The Slayer licked her lips nervously, watching as he moved back enough to look into her eyes... And in that moment she reached a decision.
"I want you," Buffy said at last. "Hard. Now. Inside me."
And, as if that was what he had been waiting for, Spike abruptly reached for her shirt, yanking it over her head in one quick movement and tossing it onto the ground. Cool air met Buffy's suddenly exposed flesh and she shivered... the shiver becoming a deep shudder as Spike tore away her lacy bra.
"You want hard," he said, his voice rough. "I'll give you hard."
And then he bent his head to her breast, his mouth closing around it, sucking and pulling, his teeth almost, but not quite, breaking the skin. Buffy gasped, one hand going to the back of his neck, holding him against her while his left hand plunged inside her leather pants, delving deeply.
Automatically, the Slayer spread her legs, just a little, giving him better access. She was panting in earnest now, her heart pounding as her body tried to keep up with this sudden assault on her senses. The fingers of her left hand curled tightly in Spike's hair while her other arm went across his back, running across his corded muscles. Then, with no warning at all, he plunged two fingers inside her, as far as they would go. Buffy stiffened and inhaled sharply, her head arching back even further.
"Oh god."
"That's not gonna save you now."
Spike withdrew his fingers part way, then plunged them into her again...and tremors began to go through the Slayer, her legs starting to shake uncontrollably.
"Spike..." It came out as a moan.
He withdrew his hand, his fingers wet, and Buffy whimpered. Then, not pausing, he undid her pants and yanked them, along with her underwear, partway down her thighs.
She was almost completely naked, Buffy realized dimly, while he was still fully clothed. Weakly she reached for his t-shirt -- but he batted her hands away, his mouth descending ruthlessly on hers while his hand went to the zipper of his own jeans.
It was a complete invasion. Spike's tongue was thrusting forward, past her lips while his free hand returned to her breast, tightening around it, almost to the point of pain, his thumb running over her nipple. And then his jeans were undone, pushed down just enough to free his erection, its hardness pressing insistently against her.
She wasn't going to be able to stop this, Buffy recognized distantly. She was at a complete disadvantage, pressed against the wall like this, her leather pants effectively binding her legs while Spike's weight held the rest of her prisoner. She might be able to stop him, if she really tried...if she really wanted to. He might even stop if she asked him...but she didn't know for certain. And the not knowing, the realization that she wasn't the one in control anymore, that he could do what he liked...
Oh god. It was a turn on. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Angel had been a tender lover. Riley had been kind and loving but had lacked her strength and stamina. Parker was just a mistake. But this -- this was pure force and aggression, primal in its intensity. Dangerous.
Exciting.
Moving even more swiftly now, Spike seized both her wrists, pinning them against the wall beside her head...and then, with one savage move, he drove himself completely inside her. The Slayer convulsed almost instantly, calling out his name. Supernovae seemed to be exploding behind her eyes while great tremors racked her body. And through it all, the vampire held himself back -- filling her, stretching her as she had never been stretched before...but hardly moving.
An eternity or two passed while Buffy was rocked with pleasure. Finally though, the shocks began to subside, just a little, and she managed to open her eyes, trying to focus. Her head was resting on Spike's shoulder, she realized, her hands still pinned behind her...and he was moving again now, withdrawing almost completely. Then he slammed back into her so that her body rocked back with the force of it, her back hitting the wall with each thrust. And Buffy moaned, unable to do much for the moment except hold on.
* * *
Her heat was incredible. Spike felt as though he was standing in an inferno, its intensity almost overwhelming. The flames were threatening to consume him. But there were worse ways to die, he thought raggedly as he continued his relentless barrage on her body. To have this happen, to actually be the one...to be inside the Slayer, to feel her disintegrate around him, his name on her lips...it was heaven. Or as close as a vampire like him could ever get. 'Please,' he thought incoherently, 'if this is a dream, don't let me wake up.'
After some time, Spike changed the rhythm, his thrusts becoming slower but harder, burying himself as deeply as he possibly could with each stroke. And slowly but surely, he could sense the pressure beginning to build within her again. Well, good. He was going to make her forget the poof, forget G.I. Joe, forget every man who had ever been between her legs. Or in her heart. She might not love him -- but she sure as hell wasn't going to be able to ignore him.
"Look at me," he growled at her.
Blinking a little, she did.
"Say my name."
"Spi-ike." It came out on a gasp, as he drove himself mercilessly into her. And he even managed a triumphant grin, through the sensations that were sweeping through him.
"This hard enough for you, Slayer?"
* * *
He was grinning. Smug bastard. Buffy could think now, just a little, although her mind kept threatening to fly apart at any moment. Conceited, self-satisfied vampire. Just because he had forced her body's complete surrender, had made her experience the most blindingly powerful climax of her life...didn't mean he got to stay in control. Surrender might be exciting for a while...but it only went so far. And it wasn't who she was. Buffy glared at him, saying through clenched teeth even as she tried to fight off the waves of pleasure cascading over her:
"No. It's not."
Surprise flitted briefly across his face...even more so when she wrenched her wrists out of his grip and tugged his t-shirt up. Then she dipped her mouth to the vampire's chest, running her tongue across his skin while she clamped down on him with her inner muscles.
Hard.
Spike tensed, a startled look in his eyes. And Buffy began to rock forward, her hips meeting his, every muscle working...and it was his turn to groan.
"Slayer..."
"That the best you can do, Spike?" she whispered mockingly.
Their eyes met, challenge going from one to the other, and then Spike's grin widened. "Not bloody likely."
With that, he bent slightly, pushing her pants down to her ankles, then plunged brutally back into her again without missing a beat. Buffy arched her back, trying to draw oxygen into her starving lungs, even as she stepped awkwardly out of the leather and kick off her shoes. And then both of her legs were up and around Spike's hips, her arms tightening around his shoulders.
Oh god. If it had been good before, it was shattering now. Buffy could feel herself hovering on the edge of another climax, shocks going through her. Spike moaned, his body beginning to quake alongside hers. And for just a moment, a sense of just how surreal all this was struck her. This was Spike, for god's sake. She had Spike inside her -- deep inside her, his body cool against her warmth and his hands -- and everything else -- on her. And, for just a moment, she wondered if she wasn't making a mistake...but it was too late now. A lifetime too late. She had made her decision and she was just going to have to live with it.
Long moments passed, while he continued to pound into her, his eyes never leaving hers, the Slayer's gasps sounding loud in the silence of the crypt. And then, just when Buffy thought she could bear the pressure no longer, something went through the vampire's eyes...and he buried his face in her neck.
Buffy tensed, expecting to feel his fangs rip through her skin at any second...but instead his arms tightened around her with the strength of desperation and he whispered her name against her skin.
"Buffy."
Her eyes widened in surprise...and then he was spilling himself into her, his body shuddering helplessly while he clung to her. And Buffy found herself going over the brink with him, falling into some dark chasm, only his arms around her still anchoring her to this reality. And finally, slowly, silence descended upon the crypt.
"It
is not love but lack of love which is blind"
-- Glenway Westcott
They slid to the floor together, Spike still inside her, both of them shaking from the combined power of their respective climaxes. The Slayer ended up on top, her forehead resting against the vampire's chest while she struggled to draw air back into her oxygen-deprived lungs, waiting for the trembling to subside.
It did, finally. And awareness began to flow once more through Buffy. She had just had sex with Spike. Wild, passionate, violent sex. Angry sex.
Really, really great sex.
But that's all it was. And she was so never going to do it again. Hastily the Slayer pulled away, fiercely ignoring the part of her that regretted the loss as she withdrew from him. Then she reached for her pants laying nearby and pulled them on, not even bothering with underwear...and not looking at the vampire beside her.
He was watching her though. She could feel his eyes on her as she got to her feet, feel his gaze burning as she picked up her shirt. Turning her back, Buffy pulled it on quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice just how much her hands were shaking.
"So that's it then?" Spike said flatly, at last. "Got it all out of your system, did you?"
Buffy froze. "Is that what you think I was doing?" she asked, her voice taut with tension.
He climbed to his feet, the sound of his zipper going up shockingly loud in the silence of the crypt.
"Wasn't it?" the vampire asked bitterly. "You had an itch and you got it scratched. Now you can scarper back home and convince yourself it was all just hormones. Or misplaced gratitude. Temporary bloody insanity, maybe."
At that, Buffy did turn, chewing on her bottom lip as she gazed at him.
"Well, wasn't it?"
"You tell me."
No. She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to get into a war of words with him. Not now. Not ever again, if she could help it. Shivering slightly, Buffy bent, picked up her shoes, then finally straightened...and looked him in the eye.
"You're right, Spike," she said at last. "It wasn't just hormones. Or gratitude -- although I can't vouch for the sanity part of the equation. And yes, it...it was great sex. But that's all it was. And I...I just need to go now, get away from..."
You. She didn't have to say the word. It hung there, unspoken, hovering between the two of them. The Slayer flinched inwardly. She hadn't meant that to come out the way it had. She really didn't want to hurt him. But neither could she deal with what had just happened, what she had done. What she was.
"You're such a hypocrite, Summers."
Buffy blinked, starting slightly. "I'm a what?"
"You heard." Spike moved closer, crowding her. "You say one thing but it's not what you really mean. So how 'bout I tell you what's going on in your head and save you the bother?"
"How about you don't?"
He ignored her, forging onward as if she had not spoken. "It's already driving you off your trolley," he said matter of factly, "how you gave yourself to me and how much you wanted it. No hesitation, no holding back. You asked me to take you and I did. And you loved it. But now you're scared that maybe you loved it too much. That maybe once isn't gonna be enough."
Buffy frowned. "Conceited much."
"Facts are facts, love. Speaking of...how 'bout the fact that you just got all up close and personal with the enemy? The Slayer having sex with a vampire, and him with no soul to justify it? Can't tell me that one's not bothering you. What would your bleeding Watcher say? Or the Slayerettes? The human boyfriend thing didn't work out and now you're scared to death you're always gonna need the monsters. Which makes you what? One of us."
Buffy stirred sharply, but he kept going, still not giving her a chance to respond.
"But you know what your biggest fear is, the one that's got you shaken down to the bloody core? It's not that I love you -- so bloody what, right Slayer? No, it's that maybe, just maybe, you love me back, no matter how hard you try to fight it. And that scares you more than anything. More than all the creatures in the night trying to kill you. More than being blind. More than dying, even."
A pang went through Buffy but she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "You're wrong."
"Am I?" he asked, edging closer, his voice softer now. "I know you, Slayer. Said so yourself. And I know you would never have done what we just did if you didn't have feelings for me in there somewhere. Maybe not a lot yet, and probably buried pretty deep. But they're there. And you know it."
She shook her head vehemently. "No."
Another step closer. "So if I do this then..." He leaned over and kissed her lightly then moved slowly downward, his mouth tracing light patterns against the underside of her jaw, just barely grazing the skin.
"...So if I do this, it means nothing to you?"
Spike's lips found the puncture marks on her neck and traced them slowly with his tongue. Buffy whimpered.
"No," she said breathlessly, a moment later, her hands curling into fists with the effort it was taking to not reach for him. "I can't do this, Spike. Not again."
Spike pulled back slightly and ran one hand across her shoulder, evoking a shiver.
"No. 'Cause that would make it real, wouldn't it? Once --well, you can write that off as a mistake. One-time deal. But twice...you do this twice with me and it becomes real. No going back then."
Buffy shuddered. He was right. And she didn't want this to be real, didn't want to feel this pull toward a vampire. Toward this vampire. Once, and she could still pretend, could go back to telling herself lies. But twice...
Something of what she must have been thinking must have shown on her face, because Spike took a step backward, his hand falling away from her shoulder.
"I want you to stay," he said simply. "But it's up to you. You leave and I'm not going to try to stop you, not gonna let you convince yourself later on that I seduced you into it. You stay...it's 'cause you want to. Your choice, pet. Tell me what you want."
A sense of tired anger went through Buffy. Why couldn't he be wrong? Just once? Was that too much to ask? Obviously yes, because every word he had spoken was true. Which left her where? As one of the monsters, like he had said. Incapable of ever having a normal life, of loving someone normal, someone human. Of being human. Self-pity hovered for an instant, but she banished it quickly. So what if she couldn't have a normal life? She wasn't normal. And she wasn't human, at least not in the regular sense of the word. She was the Slayer.
So maybe it was time she started reaching out for whatever happiness she could find, in whatever time she might have. Even if she did keep finding it in the strangest of places...
And he did love her. If there had been any doubt left in Buffy's mind, it had vanished the moment when the vampire's arms had tightened around her, whispering her name and holding her as if she was the only thing that mattered in his world.
Spike loved her. And...and she had feelings for him too. They were too new and too deeply buried to bear much in the way of scrutiny, but they were definitely there. So why not? Why not do what she wanted for once? Be Buffy and not the Slayer. Just for a while. What could it hurt?
Ignoring the part of her that instantly began screaming a long list of all the ways it could hurt, Buffy took a step forward and reached one hand out, holding it flat against the centre of Spike's chest, noting once again the lack of a heartbeat and feeling the cool, hard planes of his body through the thin material of his t-shirt. And she decided.
"I want to dance," Buffy said slowly, looking up to meet Spike's eyes.
And then she said nothing else, for a very, very long time.
* * *
It was slower than before. Gentler. As if Spike was trying to prove that not everything he did had to end in violence. Eventually they wound up on the chair, the Slayer on top this time...and then on the tomb. And after that...
At
some point Buffy lost track of things. All she knew was that, for the first
time in a very long while, she felt...calm. At peace -- when her body wasn't
convulsing furiously around his, that was. But even then -- she no longer had
to pretend to be something she was not, didn't have to hold back or hide what
she was. She could just be.
She had forgotten what that felt like.
* * *
Spike closed his eyes. He was -- well, the only word that came to mind was content. Yeah, that was it. Perfectly content. They had finally come to rest at last in the chair, the Slayer on his lap, his lone blanket covering both of their naked bodies. Buffy's head was resting on his shoulder, her hands resting on top of his arms which were wrapped loosely around her waist.
"Sun's coming up," she said tiredly.
He opened his eyes. She was right. He could sense the nearness of the dawn, feel the shadows outside beginning to recede. In his arms, the Slayer stirred slightly.
"I should go," she said, a trace of reluctance in her voice.
"S'pose so." Spike turned to look at her, taking in the rumpled hair and thoroughly satiated look on her face -- and a wave of pure self-satisfaction went through him. He had done this. Him. Grinning slightly, he ran one finger down her throat, towards the top of her breasts. And, despite everything they had already done...and the number of times they had done it...he could sense desire rising again within her. It wasn't the only thing that was rising.
Smiling
slightly, Buffy leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue going forward to tangle
with his, then she shifted so that she was straddling him, parts of her body
coming into interesting contact with parts of his.
"Of course," she said provocatively, "I could be persuaded to stay a while longer..."
As it turned out, she really didn't need much persuading at all.
* * *
It was considerably after dawn that Buffy finally managed to pull on her clothes again, wincing as certain parts of her body complained with every movement. As workouts went, tonight's -- activities -- certainly ranked up there with going one on one with a demon. Which, when she considered it, was exactly what she had been doing.
She cast Spike a quick look. He was standing by the tomb, watching her, fully dressed. And several conflicting emotions went through her. Lust and desire were foremost, despite the fact that even her vaunted Slayer stamina wouldn't be able to cope with much more tonight. A faint shiver of fear, which somehow made the desire taste even sharper. And...uncertainty. That tiny flicker of doubt deep inside her that refused to go away completely, that kept her wondering if she was making a mistake; the doubt that said she should stop this now, while she still could...
Or could she? Did she even want to? No. It was too late, had probably been too late from the instant when she had first stepped, blind and frightened, into the cemetery, to feel Spike's arms slide around her... Looking back, her body's reaction at the time made sense now. As did everything that had happened since.
It had not been one, but an entire series of decisions she had come to, Buffy realized. When she had let Spike bully her into telling her what she had been planning, had confessed her suicidal intentions to him. When she had gone with him to the Trial, tacitly agreeing to place her fate in his hands. The moment when she had realized that she couldn't let him die for her and had offered him her neck to avert it. And when she had seen him sacrifice his chance to have the implant removed, in order to save her. And all the moments since. Every action, every conclusion, they had all been leading her here, to this point in time.
But...while she might have to live with those decisions, it didn't necessarily mean she was comfortable with them...or with where they were leading her. Looking back though, she couldn't think of a single thing she would do differently, a single moment she would change. But still...this was no small thing she was doing. And not without its risk. Because nothing had changed, really. He was still a vampire, still dangerous.
And he loved her.
And what was life without risk, anyway?
Buffy pulled on her shoe with one hand then straightened and headed for the door. Spike didn't move, merely continued to watch her through hooded eyes. Once there, though, she paused, turning slightly to look back at him over her shoulder.
"Don't worry," he said before she could speak. "I'm not gonna tell anyone I spent all night banging the Slayer. Still got my reputation to maintain, after all."
"Love the pillow talk, Spike," Buffy said drily. "You're such a romantic. But that's not what I was going to say."
"Yeah, well, I got it where it counts. And don't think I'm going to change for you either," he added warningly. "I'm not gonna become the Slayer's tame lap dog just because we got horizontal...and vertical. Because we both know you don't want that. Face it, love --you like the danger. It excites you."
The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Has anyone ever told you how arrogant you are?"
He grinned. "Let me think. Oh yeah -- you." With that, he moved forward quickly, caught her around the back of her neck with one hand and kissed her, hard and fast, his body pressing hers against the door, while her hands moved up his chest. Then he abruptly released her and stepped away.
"And that's what you love about me, blondie."
Buffy tried in vain to hide her smile. "Still don't love you, Spike."
The grin widened. "You will." A pause, followed by: "So what were you going to say then?"
She shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you now. Be seeing you, Spike." And with that, she opened the door and went out into the sunlight, closing it gently behind her.
Spike stared after her for a long moment then smiled and fished in his pocket for a cigarette.
"Count on it."