Chapter Five
Things went smoothly over the next couple of weeks. Spike was glad to see that she was just out of practice, and it didn’t take her long to get back into the swing of it. Under his watchful eye, she gained ten pounds. Not enough in his opinion, but enough to fill out the gauntness that had settled on her small frame.
They had slipped into their old banter, but now the barbs were exchanged without heat. When they sparred, it held an edge of excitement that only came when the opponents were well matched. Life started to spark back into her eyes, replacing the haunted look that had shadowed them.
Unfortunately, the dreams still came. More often than not, Spike would be pulled out sleep to the sound of Buffy’s grief filled screams, her body thrashing wildly on the floor. He would gather her trembling body up into his arms and whisper softly to her until she calmed, finally settling into a restful sleep. Then he would lay down next to her, not touching, just near enough to reach out if needed. Usually, when he awoke the next evening, she would be nestled close to him, a contented smile on her face. It was a position he’d dreamed about, but she had never allowed.
He’d briefly considered just laying down next to her when they got ready to sleep, but he figured she wouldn’t go for it. He always got up before she did, and they never talked about it. He assumed she remembered nothing about the way she instinctively drew comfort from his presence while she slept. So, as usual, he just took what he could get.
*What a Ponce I am.* Spike thought to himself, as he looked down at the sleeping Slayer. Kneeling next to her, he put the coffee he was holding down so he could nudge her.
“Pet,” her eyes fluttered open, almost immediately. Smiling at him, Buffy stretched, causing the material of her t-shirt to stretch taut against her breasts. Spike’s mouth went dry at the sight of her erect nipples poking through the cotton. Stifling a groan, he picked up the mug and held it out to her as she pushed herself on her elbow.
“Evenin’,” she mumbled, taking the mug from him and inhaling the rich scent of the coffee.
“Evening, Pet. Hurry up and get it together. This is our last night.” Grimacing. Buffy sipped her coffee before sitting up. Spike stood and went back into the kitchen to get her breakfast.
*Tomorrow,* she thought, sighing. Tomorrow was when they would go to the boat, and hopefully be one step closer to saving Dawn. Buffy hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on her fear for her sister, knowing that she was safe until the moment Buffy didn’t show up for the transport. And since that wasn’t going to happen, there were no worries for the moment. It was AFTER they got on the island, that things would get dicey.
Buffy stood, stretching again, then kicked her sleeping bag towards the wall next to Spike’s. She smiled a little, asking herself who he thought he was fooling. She was well aware of where he slept. For the first time in years, Buffy wasn’t afraid to go to sleep. She knew, that as soon as she closed her eyes, Willow’s accusing face would pop into her head. She would see the shock in the red head’s eyes as Buffy let the killing blow fly. But, she also knew, that when she woke up screaming, Spike would be there to make it fade away. Like he would have been seven years ago if she hadn’t been so stupid.
Sighing heavily, she raised her mug to her lips. It wasn’t that she wanted to forget her friends. Far from it. She just wished she could forgive herself, and be able to remember the happy times, without them being clouded by despair. A small part of her realized that it was irrational for her to take the full blame for everything that had happened. That first year after she had been brought back had been fraught with problems for all of them.
Her friends had brought her back to protect them and the world. She had resented them so much for it. And Spike. All Spike had wanted to do was help her ease her pain. And she had used him. Turned their tenuous friendship into something sick and twisted. All because he wasn’t Angel. Or Riley, even.
The thought of her one and only attempt at a ‘normal’ relationship, caused nausea to roll through her. She’d found out later that Spike was telling the truth. He had been doing a favor for a friend. All to get money so she wouldn’t have to work at the DMP. Buffy should have known that Spike didn’t really know how dangerous those eggs were. His self preservation streak was strong, and he never would have left something so potentially harmful to his own well being in his bedroom, had he known.
And she had let Riley, with is clever words and sincere tone, make her feel even worse than she already did over what was happening with Spike. She’d then gone and broken it off. Making it all about her, and trying to ignore the pain in his eyes that seemed to have a direct connection to her heart. Then she had walked out into the day, thinking that the bright sunshine had never looked so bleak.
Spike watched her form the door of the small kitchen. She was deep in thought, not noticing his presence right away. He was still amazed by the level of trust that she had for him now that was chipless again, than before, when he wasn’t. Her general manner towards him ad changed. Gone were the scathing remarks about his undead status. She hadn’t called him disgusting or evil once. And if he had to lay his hands on her, she turned towards his touch instead of away from it. Spike fought himself, daily, to keep from pulling her into his arms and showing her how much he still loved her.
“Pet?” he called, breaking into her revelry.
“Yeah?”
“Breakfast.” Buffy started towards him, her dark hair swinging behind her. She’d left it down after her shower the night before, instead of twisting it into te braid that she usually wore. Spike liked it this way better, tousled waves framing her face like she had just spent a night filled with pleasure.
She smiled shyly at him, pausing in front of him. He looked down at her, his blue eyes questioning. Raising up on her toes, Buffy brushed a kiss across his mouth, then she walked to the table and sat down. Spike pressed his lips together, his eyes drifting closed.
*Bugger,* he thought, as he felt his body respond to the lingering tingle her warm lips had caused. Running a shaky hand through his unbound, platinum hair, Spike turned and went to sit with her.
“Spike?”
“Yeah, luv.” Spike leaned back in the chair and pulled out a cigarette.
“What have you been doing? You know, since you left Sunnydale?” Buffy asked quietly, pushing her food around on her plate.
“Eat, Buffy,” he ordered. As he contemplated his answer. Tell her the truth, she probably wouldn’t believe him. Lie, she’d see right through him. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for it. Buffy ate obediently, waiting for his answer. She got nervous the longer he hesitated.
“If you don’t want to tell me. I’ll understand,” she shoved a fork full of food into her mouth, to cover the strangled sound of her voice.
“No, it’s not that. It’s kind of incredible, really.” He looked at her face, her eyes interested. “First couple a years I just kinda drifted around. Took a bouncing job here and there to keep me in beers and smokes. And blood.” Her eye widened, but she didn’t interrupt. She’d been sure that he would resume hunting once the chip was removed. She’d come to terms with it years ago, knowing that if he had ever returned to her, she would welcome him back. “Then, I showed up at Angel’s for a bit. And I do mean ‘bit’. Ponce has gotten even more broody over the years. Wasn’t there much more than a week.” He blew out smoke, scowling at the end of his cigarette.
“Did you see Cordelia?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
“Don’t recall her being there. Why?” Buffy just shook her head.
“Angel didn’t try to stake you?” A slow smile spread a cross his face.
“Nah. He was actually kinda glad to see me. Seems the wanker needed to work off some sexual tension.” He didn’t tell her the rest, didn’t want to see the disbelief that her precious Angel could something so vile to him.
“Eeww.” Buffy exclaimed, the fork stilled in the air as she stared at him.
“What?” he chuckled at her expression. For a Slayer, she certainly was naive to vampire mating habits. Then he turned serious. “Don’t think yours was the first heart he broke.” He said bitterly, dragging on his cigarette.
“Is that why you were so angry when you saw him in Sunnydale, that first time?” He nodded once, not really sure why he was admitting this to her, when he hadn’t really admitted it to himself.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Angel seems to be an expert at leaving.” Spike looked surprised at her quiet comment. “So. What about after that?”
“Oh. Well, one night, I’m sittin’ in this bar, gettin’ right pissed, and I meet this fella. Rather unassuming type. Tall, dark hair, kinda slight build. Studious lookin’ with these wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose.” Spike paused to crush out his cigarette. “Don’t really know why, but we got to talkin’ about this and that. Nothin’ serious, considering the state of my inebriation. Then, out of nowhere, this bloke turns all serious like and asks if I’m a vampire. Well, I wound up spitting my drink out all over the bartender, which you can guess got that wanker right ticked.” He flashed her a smile when she chuckled. “So’s he tells me to sod off. I oblige, not really wantin’ to talk the other guy anymore. But the tosser’s right behind me. Well, I vamped out and jacked him against the wall, askin’ him if he was going to die happy now that he’d had his question answered.” He glanced at her then, to gage her reaction. He saw curiosity and even amusement. He wondered again about the changes in her.
“Anyway, I was sure he would pass out from fright, but he didn’t. Oh yeah, he was tremblin’, but he keeps looking me in the eye and says he has a proposition for me. I admit it, I was curious. So I drop him back to his feet, but I stay vamped, just to keep him nervous. He says he’s a writer, yada, yada, and he wants to interview me. Well, right off I think this chaps’ been readin’ too many Anne Rice books. So’s I tell him he’s no Christian Slater, and I’m no Brad Pitt, and I start to walk away. But he just keeps talkin’. Says he wants to take my stories and turn them into fiction. Wants to be the next Stephen King, or some such nonsense.”
“You’re kidding?” Buffy had finished her meal, and had gotten her and Spike more coffee.
“Nope. So, I figure ‘Why the hell not?’ I kinda liked the idea of my unlife goin’ down in writing.”
“It is in the Watcher’s journals.” She reminded him. Spike scowled at that.
“But those are just cold facts. No emotion behind them. I was just another vampire to them. Still am, I guess. Although, that one chit wrote her thesis on me.” Spike smiled at the memory. Buffy just rolled her eyes. “Dawn had told me once, after I scared her right proper with one of my stories, I should write them down and make a fortune. And here was my opportunity to do just that. I don’t have the patience to do it myself. And this guy seemed alright. So, I agreed. Had contracts drawn up and everything. I have fake papers.” he said to her unasked question of how they could be legal when he didn’t actually exist. “So, his face goes on the book jacket, and he gets stuck goin’ on the book tours. And I get a nice, fat royalty check deposited into an offshore account,” he finished with a smile.
“What’s his name?’
“Well, the name on the books is a combination of mine and his. William Stacey.” Buffy’s eyes bugged comically. Dawn had all of his books, and had been trying to get her to read one for years. But Buffy had always said she’d lived it all, why should she read about it.
“Oh, wow. That is incredible.” Then, a thought struck her. “Dawn knew, didn’t she?” her voice was slightly hurt.
Spike looked at her, then away, before nodding.
“You’ve contacted her,” it was a statement, accusatory.
“No. She contacted me, through the publisher. All I did was sign a book for her. But she kept sendin’ me letters.” Buffy didn’t know what to think. She’d thought Dawn told her everything. And she had been writing to Spike. Knew how to contact him, and didn’t say a thing. If they didn’t die during the tournament, Buffy was going to kill Dawn herself.
“What did she say?” Buffy asked, staring down at the table.
“Mostly about school. Whoever she was dating,” he lit another cigarette. “She’d tell me a little about you.”
“Like what?”
“Just that you’d gotten out of fast food hell and were training to be a paralegal. And she might have mentioned that you don’t date,” he mumbled. *Of course she would*, Buffy thought. *She was trying to get you to come back!* Men could be so thick. Alive or undead, not much changed in that area.
“Did you? Date, that is?” Buffy didn’t know why she’d asked. She’d known the answer before the words had left her mouth. Of course he had. Spike wouldn’t stay alone for long.
“Some,” he admitted reluctantly, his mind drifting momentarily to Vanessa.
“Anyone special?” *That’s it Buffy, torture yourself REAL good. As if seeing him with Anya in their own version of Sex, Lies and Videotape hadn’t been bad enough.
“No,” was all he said, raising the cigarette to his lips. Relief flooded through her at his simple answer. *Pathetic, much?* she asked herself.
“So. Why don’t you date?”
“Buffy and love aren’t mixy.” They always leave, she added silently. And the only one she hadn’t blamed had been the blonde vampire sitting in front of her. His fathomless blue eyes met her hazel ones, and they stared at each other for a long heated moment. Spike looked away first, running a hand through his hair, then offered her a tight smile.
“Well, Pet. I think we’ve had enough of total share mode. Why don’t we get to work?”
“Yeah.” Buffy gathered up her dishes and put them in the sink, then went to go change her clothes.
Spike stood, sighing as he watched her retreating back. If he kept this up, he’d take the ‘Ultimate Brooder’ award away from Peaches in no time.
*What a Nancy boy you’ve become, Spikey,* he scoffed at himself. He was just supposed to be helping her get Dawn back. Not losing himself in her again.
Turning on his heel, Spike went to go take out his frustration on the punching bag.