Chapter 14
Emilio, the gallery owner and Spike’s personal pimp, as he called him, was less than pleased with the cancellation of his show. Spike lied his ass off, saying that he was too distraught about his mother to finish his final two pieces and that he’d been on a five day drinking binge. Even as he told him this, Spike felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t thought of his mother once in the past three days. He’d been so wrapped up in his upcoming show that he hadn’t the time to process his grief. He made a silent plea to his dead mother to forgive him for using her as an excuse but somehow, he knew she’d understand.
They postponed it for two days after the original night they had planned, since his paintings were already at the gallery. Any longer than that and Emilio would have had Spike’s head on a stick. Spike agreed to the date, hoping that by that time Buffy would be well enough.
He couldn’t help thinking that the entire thing was his fault. If he’d called her back, if he’d been able to warn her somehow, maybe none of this would have happened to her. His anger towards Tony hadn’t receded, no matter that he’d rendered the man unconscious. The thought of him touching her, the very idea of it made him angry all over again, with Anthony and with himself. He was also pissed at Oz, because if he’d stuck around for five minutes he might have seen what was really going on. He might have been able to stop it from going further. And if Oz had seen, Spike would have dropped everything and run to her. But he’d spent almost an hour fuming in his loft before he finally pushed Mike out the door. Spike had spent so long blaming everyone, including himself, that he hadn’t realized how long he’d left Buffy alone in his bedroom. But there was no way he could sleep now; no way that he could lie next to her quietly. He was so antsy and pissed off at everyone that he’d only wake her with his anxious fidgeting.
So he cleaned his loft until it sparkled, organized his pantry, took her torn underwear and the garbage and dropped it down the chute in the hallway, picked at old leftovers in his fridge and pulled out a beer. Not two seconds after he’d sat down on the couch with his snacks and booze, the phone rang. Sighing, he got up and retrieved his cordless, sitting back down once he’d pressed the talk button.
“Hello?”
“Spike, hey.”
“Oz,” Spike’s tone was curt and to the point. “Not a good time, mate.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said sadly. “I um…I just wanted to apologize for earlier today.”
Spike blinked and sat forward. “What do you mean you want to apologize? How did you…”
“You haven’t heard?” When Spike hadn’t answered, Oz said, “Tony was arrested today. It’s all over the news.”
“Fuck,” Spike spat, running a hand down his face.
“You should be happy, man. They got him.”
“I’m glad they got him, Oz. I just hope they…did they mention her name?”
“No. They never said her name. They just mentioned that she was a photographer, an assistant.”
He sighed in relief. “Good. Well, if that’s all, I need to get back to Buffy.”
“Yeah, ok. Well, I guess I’ll—”
Spike hung up the phone and tossed it on his coffee table.
~*~*~*~
It was seven in the morning and Spike had barely slept but a couple of hours. He was glad Buffy seemed to be able to sleep through the night, but he kept waking up to see that she was still there. As the sun’s rays blanketed his bedroom with morning light, he was unable to fall asleep again. So he remained content simply looking at her while she slept. He’d been propped up on one elbow, cradling his head with a fist and stroking her hair. He mindlessly did this as his eyes focused on a tiny bruise on her cheek. It was miniscule and slightly brown, but he couldn’t stop staring at it. How did she get that one? And what about the ones on her arms, had he held her down while he…what had the fucker done to her?
Spike gently slid a lock of hair back behind her shoulders and stilled his hand when he uncovered another series of bruises on her neck. He closed his eyes and rolled over on his back, flinging an arm over his eyes. Spike inhaled deeply, slowly, exhaling in a steady stream through his nose. It did nothing to stop his wretched jaw from clenching for the millionth time, making his teeth ache from the pressure, did nothing to stop his heart from palpitating with rage. He lifted his arm slightly and turned his head towards her when he felt her tiny hand rest on his chest.
“Hey,” she said in a sleepy voice and scooted over to snuggle up against him, closing her eyes once her head settled on his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed, kissing her forehead. “Mornin’, luv. How are y-…did you sleep ok?”
She nodded and rubbed his chest. “Hey, why are you still wearing the same clothes from last night?”
Spike just shrugged his shoulders in response. The truth was he’d debated over what to wear to bed. If he slept naked, that might make her uncomfortable. But if he just slept in his jeans, then she’d know he’d done it on purpose and then she might be uncomfortable because she thought he felt weird about it. So, if he just went to bed in what he was wearing, maybe she’d just think he passed out next to her. “I didn’ wake you, did I?”
She smiled shyly and stretched against him. “You’re a noisy person,” she bit her lip and jiggled the series of chains around his neck to stress her point, dropping her head on his chest and looking up at him.
“I’m sorry.”
She furrowed her brow when he turned away from her. “Hey, it’s ok. I was just joking. I mean, you are loud but I kinda like it. Lets me know you’re here.”
He smiled softly at that and stroked her back. “So I was thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’…wanted to run it by you.”
Buffy propped her body up on one elbow and looked down at him, smiling inwardly at how shy he was being. “Ok, I’m all ears.”
He was silent for a moment, fiddling with the edge of the sheets and furrowing his brow. Then he licked his lips and turned his head to face her. “I think you should move in with me.”
She inhaled sharply and sat up, her eyes settling on some nondescript area of the room as she processed what he’d just said. “Um,” she swallowed, “I don’t…”
“Just hear me out for a minute,” he said calmly, taking one of her hands in his. “You’ve said yourself how much you hate your apartment an’ it’s not like I’d make you split the rent with me or anythin’. I’ve been payin’ for it on my own for two years now. I just…I’d feel better knowing where you were.”
She was two seconds away from shooting him down until he’d interrupted her. His intentions were clearly surrounding what had happened the day before and she was touched that he was so worried about her. But she wasn’t completely broken and she could take care of herself. If they were going to live together, which…hey, huge? Then she wanted it to be because it was the next logical step of their relationship, not because he wanted to keep tabs on her. However, his downcast eyes and the nervous twitching in the corner of his mouth as he chewed on the inside of his cheek made her rethink her initial resistance. He already knew what she was thinking, he expected her rejection and she couldn’t hold back the urge to collapse onto him and kiss him. He responded tentatively at first, and he looked at her with a shocked expression when she pulled away.
“Do I have to decide right now?”
He reached up with both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “No, I guess you don’ have to decide right now. But you are stayin’ here for the next few days.”
She smiled sweetly and kissed him again. “I have no problems with that.” Buffy lay back down beside him, sighing contentedly when he wrapped her in his arms. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why do all of your shirts have holes in them?” She tucked a hand beneath the t-shirt she was wearing and stuck a finger through a large hole in the stomach and wiggled her finger at him.
He smiled at her. “Makes me look edgy.”
She giggled and the sound warmed his heart, responding to it involuntarily by gathering her in his arms and kissing her shoulder. “Buffy, why don’ you make a list of things you need from your flat an’ I’ll run and pick them up for you.”
She nodded against him. “’Kay. Just give me two seconds,” she squeezed his torso with her arms, “two more seconds,” she did it again. “Ok, I’m done.”
He chuckled softly as he pulled away, stroking her cheek tenderly before he pressed his lips against hers, wanting to tell her how much she meant to him, how grateful he was that she’d become a part of his life, how much he admired her strength, how he’d never let her go. But instead he kissed her, lingering for a while, savoring the feel of her lips against his. “I’ll go get you something to write on, pet.”
She smiled and sat up as he walked out of the room, tucking the sheets around her and looking at his bare walls. Her eyes shot open and she called out to him. “Spike! Your show is tonight, I completely forgot!”
He entered the bedroom with a pad and a pen and tossed them on the bed. “Nope. Monday.”
“But I thought—”
“Postponed.”
“Spike, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know I didn’t,” he smiled as he picked out some clothes to wear for the day. “An’ that’s all the conversation we’re having about it. Now write. I’m takin’ a shower.”
Once he’d closed the door to the bathroom, Buffy wiped away the tears that had formed under her eyes.
~*~*~*~
“I’m alone in Spike’s loft,” Buffy said to herself as she walked out of his bedroom once he’d left to fetch her things. Her need to find something to keep distracted was sated with her need to snoop. It was harmless snooping, just taking long pauses in certain areas of the flat when something was interesting. She couldn’t help but notice with an arrogant smile, however, that the Nancy torso was gone and in its place was the cast he’d made of her. She tugged on the hem of his t-shirt as she walked around the room and ventured back to the bedroom in search of a pair of shorts.
But curiosity got the better of her when she spotted the large canvas that he always had covered up and leaning against the wall. She wondered why that one in particular was so private, or if he’d just covered it to protect the paint from the sun since it was most bright in that part of the loft. She picked up a dirty paintbrush and flicked the bristles with her fingers as she stared at the linen barrier. Sighing, she placed the brush back down in its rightful place, deciding that she wouldn’t invade his privacy. However, when she did this, she saw a bunched up ball of fabric next to a bottle of Gesso. She delicately picked it up and smiled brightly when she realized it was a pair of her underwear, a pair of underwear he’d used to paint with. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Buffy carefully removed the linen cloth and gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as she studied the painting before her. It was done in a different style than his other paintings, but still had that edge to it that was so very Spike. If she didn’t know what he’d used as a foundation for his painting, she might have thought nothing of it. But she knew Spike well enough, knew his style, knew what he was trying to say. He’d painted, in great detail, almost out of a medical book, one giant, life-like heart, complete with veins and ventricles…with her underwear. And it was beautiful. The heart itself was bigger than she was and it was so abrasive and bright that you couldn’t help but look. You couldn’t help but stare in awe, and yet feel honored to see something so vulnerably displayed. She sank down on the bed behind her and stared at it, flooded with an emotion she’d never experienced before. The feeling was so overwhelmingly beautiful that she started sniveling and bawling with a smile on her face.
And this is how Spike found her when he came back to his loft. He’d heard her crying when he walked in and dropped the bags he was carrying on the floor and ran to the bedroom, stopping abruptly when he saw what she was looking at. She hadn’t even noticed him there and his eyes were wide with panic, afraid of what exactly he was seeing, afraid that she’d seen his meaning and was afraid, sad somehow that she didn’t want to know. He stood frozen a few feet away and swallowed slowly when she turned to face him. Buffy’s face was red and wet with tears, her hair a tangled mess, sitting on the edge of his bed in his ratty old t-shirt and she smiled at him so serenely that his breath caught in his throat. She slowly got off the bed, never looking away, never losing that beautiful smile and walked towards him. He blinked rapidly and felt his heart beating, unsure of her intentions. But then she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “It’s ok if you want to say it.”
Spike wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, but as he looked at her, looked into the open, vulnerable expression in her eyes, he knew instantly what she’d said and what she wanted him to admit. He exhaled and slid his arms around her waist. “Buffy…I am completely and helplessly in love with you.”
She choked back a sob and smiled, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “I love you, too. I’m…I’m so in love with you.”
He closed his eyes and embraced her, feeling the weight he’d been carrying for so many years slowly evaporate, feeling his heart in a very real, very profound way, feeling the skin of her neck beneath his lips as he exhaled a quiet cry against it. He felt her, felt Buffy…just as she was, with all her baggage and her sweet smiles and her glorious lavender scented hair and as she kissed his chest, he forgot for one single moment about everything else but her.