Recapitulation
When he woke up in a hospital in Los Angeles to find himself alive and still. . . well, still human but still strong, he recognized that something didn’t feel right. He dismissed the emotion, shoved it aside, but it kept reasserting itself.
He wasn’t sure when he realized that he continued to feel that way.
Maybe it was when his brain came online again after the heavy sleep of further healing, and he saw a concerned and tired-looking Angel lounging in a chair in the corner of the cramped, white hospital room.
Or it could have been around the time that Fred, Wesley, and Gunn came to see him in the hospital, making awkward small talk and bearing a slightly wilted bouquet of flowers to brighten up his room.
Maybe it was when, after a morning of staring at the ceiling and counting tiles waiting on test results, he decided to pull all the damned tubing and wires off his body and took a short-lived, inadvisable trip down the hallway.
Perhaps it was when Willow popped around to talk and let him know that the reason Buffy wasn’t at his side right at that moment was because she and Dawn forced the exhausted Slayer to go to her hotel room to eat something and get some rest after several days of constant vigil.
After the cab dropped him off at his apartment and he’d entered his living room, he took in the scope of his small space and recognized that something still didn’t feel right. When the icy cold air from the refrigerator hit his face as he bent to retrieve a bottle of beer, he knew that sod it all, he couldn’t stay there another moment waiting, because he had waited far too long for his life to start, for his heart to be okay again. He shoved aside his stubbornness and reminded himself that she had been there and that she had said she loved him and that surely it wasn’t just because they were facing imminent death yet again.
The refrigerator swung closed with a soft clank as he strode into the living room, grabbed his car keys off the end table, and slammed the door on his way out. He mused that even now, he remained the same fool for love he always told other people they were. Deciding that he didn’t really care, he left everything behind and joined the night.
* * *
Fingering open the slip of paper he’d retrieved from his pocket, he read Dawn’s loopy handwriting to remind himself of the room number.
Delving down the darkened hallway, he mused that everyone in the hotel was asleep, and the mischievous little boy in him was tempted to knock on all the doors on the way to hers. Then, he decided that she wouldn’t like that very much and that he was a grown up now. . . as grown up as he’d ever be. So, he focused on finding her.
Glancing up every now and again to check room numbers, he wove his way through the tangled maze of hallways in search of the right door.
When he found it, he hesitated, the feeling that he couldn’t quite label rising again in his chest. In trying to analyze it, the emotion slipped away like sand through his fingers.
Weary of thinking, he raised a certain hand and gave a gentle but firm knock.
No sound of movement came. . . no lamp light shown through the cracks, and his heart ached more than he wanted it to.
And then, without fanfare, the door swung up, granting him entrance into her world.
In the dim hallway, she hovered in the doorway and blinked up at him with sleepy, dark-circled eyes, and before he could speak, she flung her thin arms around his neck, holding him so tightly that he thought his heart would burst in his chest. . . killed by passion and not by a pointy bit of wood.
Dropping back on her heels but not releasing him completely, she blinked, tears forming in her eyes. “You’re here.” She reached up to stroke the concave of his cheek as liquid splashed over her cheeks. “You’re alive. I was so worr – afraid that I lost you.” The word “again” hung between them.
He cupped her chin and gently pressed his lips to hers, allowing himself to linger only for a moment lest he get lost and forget his plan.
Her eyes were closed when he broke away, but she opened them at the loss of touch, and he said, “Do you trust me?” The query was one that was multi-layered like the scales of an onion, but he couldn’t find words to convey what they were.
Reading all the layers in his eyes, she nodded.
With her assent, he found her hand and guided her into the hallway. “Come on.”
Glancing down at her cotton nightgown and slipper-covered feet, she wavered but then, seeing something she couldn’t quite label in his expression, she followed.
Not wanting anyone to disrupt them or ask questions, he led her down the stairs and out the side door where he’d parked the DeSoto.
She stopped short at the sight of the raven-colored vehicle. “You got your old car back.” She noticed the windows free of opaque spray paint. “And it’s clean.”
He chuckled and opened the heavy door for her. “It’s not the same one. Got a new one. . . well a refurbished one anyway. What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”
Smiling, she didn’t balk at his chivalry when he opened the car door. She slid onto the front seat, the smooth black leather cool under her thighs and palms. When he joined her and put the car in gear, she sleepily asked, “Where are we going?”
“On a bit of a drive.”
She saw the gentle determination in the set of his jaw and leaned toward him over the center armrest, closing her eyes, dreams tugging at the corner of her mind. “Okay.”
The tires crunched over the gravel of the hotel parking lot as he pulled onto the highway, and as the vehicle built speed, the gentle thrum of the engine and smooth glide of the wheels over concrete rocked Buffy to sleep. He marveled at her trust in him as he drove through the night, one hand on the wheel and the other threaded through her long blonde hair.
Once they were well out of the bright lights of the city, the stars slowly peeked out of hiding, and the moon cast a soft luminescence over the desert sands so that they seemed to glow with an inner light. As the road narrowed to two lanes, no cars came toward them or pushed up behind them.
He felt like perhaps they were the only souls left in the wide, vast world.
He mused that she was his whole world. . . had been since well before he knew she’d moved into his heart and remained so even after years apart. He couldn’t imagine even now how that had happened, but he knew in his blood that it was true and always would be no matter where he went after his permanent death.
Time passed more quickly than he realized on their journey, and they reached their destination as the blackness of the sky began to lighten, marking the arrival of a fresh day. He couldn’t remember the last time he appreciated that inevitability. Probably the last time he was here.
The tires resumed their noisy discussion as he pulled off the pavement to his best guess of where they had been before. Slipping the car into park, he reluctantly removed his hand from her warmth and turned off the engine. She sighed and shifted a little, still lost to her dreams. He took a deep breath or two and studied the peace on her face, her worry lines smoothed out and lips slightly parted.
Then, he reached into the back seat, dragging forth a thick blanket, the kind he kept in his car even though he no longer had to be fearful of the sun’s rays pouring onto his skin. He rounded the car and opened her door, rousing her only a little as he pulled her into his arms. She didn’t make a sound but tucked her head against his chest.
The drum of his heartbeat roused her further into consciousness, and keeping her eyes shut, she asked, “Where are we?”
He kept walking, following a nature made path to his destination. . . to the edge of everything. “You’ll see, love.”
She opened her eyes, wanting to see, and all she could make out were the silhouettes of desert vegetation poking up like dark sign posts against waves of sand. Her mind started to put the pieces together as he set her on her feet next to what registered in her mind as the brink of a cliff. She shivered a little in the desert air and goosebumps swelled over her arms and legs as he momentarily stepped away to fan out the blanket on the ground.
His mission complete, he sank to the ground and pulled her into his lap, borrowing her radiance as she borrowed his.
“What is this? Some sort of spiritual journey into the desert? ‘Cause I’m not really dressed for the part.” Her tone wasn’t caustic. . . was more amused than anything.
His voice deep and low, he said, “Well, it is a journey of sorts; we’re not going anywhere other than here. You’ll see. And I wanted to watch a sunrise with you. . . to be in the moment between light and dark with you again.”
At his words, the sky seemed to perceptively lighten, and Buffy’s eyes widened as her mind took in the wide yawning pit before them. “Ohhhh.”
He used her awe to continue, his breath over her ear in a distant echo of the past. “It’s where it all began for me, pet. Meeting you, finding a reason to change my life, figuring out what it means to put others before myself. . . falling in love.”
“Coming back to life,” she breathed, finding his hand and pushing the back of hers against his palm.
His fingers slid between hers. “In more ways than one.”
She rounded to face him so he could view the truth of her words behind the sheen of tears in her gaze, “You did that for me, too, you know.”
“Did I?” He thought back to all the times he hurt her.
“Maybe not at first. Maybe because I didn’t let you. I had so many naïve notions of what good and bad were. But you. . . you started me on that path. You changed me. . . my view of what love is – of what’s real.” His bloody face in his crypt after being tortured by the hell goddess remained vivid and raw.
“How so?” He wanted to hear her say the words, to understand that he impacted her, too.
She didn’t know where to start with helping him understand. . . truly understand how he turned her world upside down. How he made her see the shades of grey but also found a way to allow herself to be human. How his compassion for her even as a soulless demon let her find compassion for herself, for the people in her life, and eventually for him. “I-I’m so sorry.” Hot tears spilled over her cheeks and down her neck.
“For what, love?”
“For causing you so much pain. . . for hurting your heart so much. That’s one of the things that I had to face about myself.” She again pressed a palm over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart pounding like a bird beating its wings beneath her fingertips, feeling grateful that he was still alive and here with her. “I wish I could take it back. . . I wish I had stayed with you after you came back and been there for you. . .”
He ran a thumb over her chin and cheeks to wipe away her tears, and he gave her compassion once again, “I forgive you, pet. Forgave you a long time ago. . . the same way you forgave me.” As he said the words aloud, he realized how true they were because even though she’d left him, he understood. They had needed the time apart. Him to figure out who he was apart from her and her to do the same.
She kissed him then, not with gentleness but with urgency, infusing her affection with longing. When he returned the passion, his warm lips gliding back and forth over hers, her body was awash with fire and heat like the flame that had engulfed their hands as the world came down around them. She inhaled his familiar scent and arched her neck as his lips found their way downward toward her chest, his curls tickling her and making her shiver.
A moan escaped her, and then, she knew that she wanted his body next to hers, his skin on her skin.
Tackling him back against the plush blanket, she ignored his small grunt of surprise and purposefully slowed things down, her heart hammering. He needed tending to first; she owed him that and so much more.
Straddling his hips with her thighs, she sat back a little, head bent, long hair surrounding her face in thick locks, as she fumbled for the hem of his well-worn t-shirt. Her fingers found their target and nudged the fabric up so that her fingers found and raked over the sculpted canvas of his abdomen. As her lips trailed languidly up his stomach, he inhaled with sharpness, feeling his need for her press against the flimsy cover of her opening. He allowed her to lift the shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside, forgotten, as he bucked his hips against hers. She rode his movement and swept her nightgown over her head, letting it flutter atop his errant shirt.
She found the sweet spot along his collarbone and nuzzled him before continuing toward the hollow of his neck where she pushed her nose before licking the space with her tongue. He couldn’t wait for her any longer and pulled her head up, kissing her lips once again and enjoying the feeling of his tongue over hers and the weight of her slight body against his torso. She thrust her tongue into his warm mouth, marveling at how different he felt. . . and yet the same.
She wanted him so much.
Her other hand dipped to the swelling in his jeans, teasing him a bit before hunting for his zipper. Not taking his lips off hers, his hand covered hers and guided her movement as she freed him from constraint.
She pushed back then and watched his face as she stroked the length of him. He met her eyes for several seconds, a mix of hunger and unabashed happiness in his gaze, until her fingers found his tip, and then, he closed his lids, lost in the sensation of her touching him for the first time since. . .
With a growl, his hands landed on her hips, and he flipped her onto her back so that she laughed with joy at tables turned.
Slipping his jeans off, he ran warm fingers up her calf, pausing only to tickle her in the soft spot behind her knee that always turned her on. He was pleased to discover that hadn’t changed and still set her squirming. He smirked at her in that way of his that drove her wild even when she didn’t want to admit it, and then, he used the lightest of touches to run up her inner thigh to the top of the only piece of clothing she still wore. She trembled as the tips of his fingers eased below the elastic band to find her swollen clit and dip inside her while he teased her hard nipples with his mouth until they were warm and round again. He couldn’t wait and brought his body to hers, and she relished his weight on top of her. As she kissed his neck and grasped his earlobe between her front teeth, he pressed himself against the soft, wet cotton of her panties.
Her voice came out in the softest of whispers as she closed and then re-opened her eyes against the brightening sky. “I love you, William. Please.”
The simple words were genuine and kind and full of so much meaning. . . the tone such a sharp contrast to her manner of the past.
He followed her permission by pulling away the final barrier and plunging deep inside of her. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him further in. He began to move – with deliberate slowness at first, relishing the slow friction until they were both burning with need and craving. Breathing hard, she bucked up against him, holding onto him as they increased their speed and rhythm, the energy building until neither of them was aware of anything around them except for one another and the sensation of being connected. . . of being one. He couldn’t hold back from the threshold anymore, and when she came calling his name, he climaxed hard inside of her.
He rolled to the side with her still in his arms, throbbing inside of her, and they stayed that way, joined in the aftermath of their coupling. She kissed his chest and held him close, her green eyes latched onto his blue ones to remind him that yes, she was here with him now in this step forward, in her admission of love for him.
When at last they parted, she turned her eyes to view the streaks of yellow pink light that were marching across the sky.
“Look,” she said, her voice hushed as she propped up on her elbows.
He emulated her movement but then had to sit up all the way, his arms wrapping around his bent knees. He felt nothing but awe at nature’s beautiful display of light and color over the vast crater that was Sunnydale, its pathways crumbled and wiped away by the wind and erosion. He couldn’t believe how different it appeared even after only three years. He also hadn’t realized how close they were to the edge.
Viewing his expression as she followed him upward, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the moment that he discovered that he was more than undead, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
“It’s so empty,” he observed. In the brilliant light of day, coming here didn’t seem as romantic as he’d pictured it in his mind . . . as it had seemed in the dark of night. He shivered, their mingled sweat evaporating in the breeze.
“No,” she said, leaning forward, hope for them and hope for their future flowing in her heart. “No. It’s not.”
Her hand touched a thick green vine growing over the threshold of the crater and joining them on the blanket. His fingers found and caressed the tiniest of blossoms.
They smiled at one another.
“I had a feeling,” he said.
“I know.”
They’d finally found the way home. . . a home that they were both ready to embrace at long last.
Coda
Two Years Later
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath as he hovered behind a tree in the cemetery.
She constantly drove him crazy with her said obstinacy, although if he slowed down enough to push past his aggravation and admit it to himself, her willfulness was something that fueled his passion and gave him the energy to act. And live.
She would kill him for this particular action though because he had promised her a night to herself. . . her first night alone in many days – days she’d been up all night, not sleeping. Working valiantly to hide her exhaustion, she had batted her wide emerald eyes at him and promised him that he’d be roundly rewarded for his permission. Not that she ever needed permission. Still, he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
What else was new?
As soon as she strapped on her boots, pulled on an old pair of stretched out jeans that she was amazed still fit, and headed out the door with a stake, he’d taken one look at Dawn, ignoring her verbal and visual warnings of possible regrets, and followed his heart into the night.
The love of his life strolled beneath the oaks, stepping lightly around tombstones, twirling her stake around her fingers, and humming to herself. She sounded as carefree as if she were basking in the sun on the beach somewhere or dancing in a night club with her friends.
One nice thing about being human was that she couldn’t sense him until he got really close or if he made a noise, and he was using this little fact to his full advantage.
Finding the new grave she was aiming for, she glanced down at the mound of dirt, a smile on her face. “What’s this?” Bending sideways in front of the marble, she checked the date on the tombstone. “Just in time, too.”
She plopped to the ground, crossing her legs underneath her on the cool grass. “Happiness is a just-right fresh grave in a place full of undead types.”
He almost chuckled to himself; it was like she was commenting on the freshness of eggs or avocados.
His amusement turned to annoyance though when she set aside her stake, pulled out her cell phone and started surfing the net – no doubt shopping for new jeans – and then, he was annoyed with himself for sounding like Rupert in his head.
As time went on, he found himself sitting down with her, back against the trunk of the tree. He watched her with affection at first. Oblivious to him, she laid on her stomach, being mindful of her lower abdomen, and propped her head in her palm as she stared at the tiny screen, periodically glancing at the unmoving mound of dirt.
She sighed.
This vamp was taking forever to rise.
He had half a mind to go home, grab a shovel, and start digging the fledgling out himself to speed up the process. There were other ready graves in this cemetery, and waiting for numero uno to show his fangs could lead to. . . well, to more than one vampire at a time, and he didn’t know that she was ready for that.
In response to his prediction, growls of varied pitch and tone echoed in a strident chorus from all around them.
Hands scraping over tree bark, he scrambled to his feet in an instant as she jumped to hers.
He hung back for a moment, keeping his promise for as long as he could. He was, after all, someone who kept his promises. Plus, he never tired of studying her from afar; only now, he was less interested in ending her life than prolonging it.
Her long ponytail bouncing with her movements, she grinned at her foes. “Wasn’t expecting a party on my first night out! You must have missed me.”
The first vampire lunged, dirt still clinging to his hair. He was obviously ripe for the picking, and his Slayer easily dispatched him without a fuss, dust flying in the air around her.
Two more flew at her then, grunting, groaning and not speaking, which she, of course, had to comment on. “Quiet bunch, huh? Not much for small talk? This party’s gonna get really boring really fast.”
She ducked one foe’s punch and kicked back at the second one, so that he staggered and growled. She spun to stake him while he was fumbling and then flipped her bit of wood to her other hand and launched her arm back to stake the second one.
She crossed her slender arms and stared at the vampires hanging back. “Seriously? Is that all you got?”
Seven or eight more materialized, and as they attacked, she stumbled a bit as one landed a punch to her stomach. When she cried out at the brilliant sharpness of the pain, he couldn’t hold back any longer. It reminded him too much of how she got wounded in the now distant past, and he could care less if she was brassed off at his presence.
He flew into the fray, jerking back the offending vampire and planting wood in his chest. Dust swirled around him. “Hello, love.”
The anger in her eyes was a bright beacon that was a sight to behold, and he felt like laughing with joy at her spirit. He liked his woman with a lot of spunk, and she gave him a show, spinning and kicking and punching and slaying. He danced with her, matching her move for move until all the vampires were gone, and they stood panting and sweating in the middle, her glaring at him and him grinning at her.
“You! You were supposed to let me go out on my own! I just needed a moment alone! Couldn’t you give me that?” She crossed her arms and jutted her chin up at him.
Now he was irritated. She almost got bloody hurt! “Not with you in the state you’re in!”
She rolled her eyes. “I am a Slayer. Giving birth and healing from said birth are much quicker for me. Slayer healing powers, remember?”
“But you didn’t have a typical birth!” She was petite, the baby had been a lot for her small frame, and he’d never seen so much blood come out of anyone. . . at least not someone he loved. She’d ended up with an emergency C-section and in the ICU despite her Slayer healing powers. He’d never been so terrified in his life.
This gave her pause because she caught the fear and hurt like an open wound in his eyes. She’d gotten better at truly seeing that in him, and it always made her stop. It wasn’t that she didn’t see it before, but she had never stopped to acknowledge it. Stroking the warm concave of his cheek, she pulled his forehead to hers, her voice gentle with a kindness he still sometimes couldn’t believe. “I know, but really, I’m okay. The vamp didn’t really hurt me; scar and insides are all healed. He just caught me off guard, and sometimes I get a twinge.”
He kissed her then, bringing his lips to hers with renewed hunger. She met him more than halfway, twining her fingers in his curls. They moved back against the headstone, and she perched there as the heat between them grew, and she felt like she might burst into flames.
Just then, a cold hand pushed its way out of the loose earth at their feet. The fingers latched onto Buffy’s ankle, and the vampire began to pull his way up. Not letting this cause a hitch in their passion, she leaned to the side, grabbed the nuisance by the collar of his burial suit, and held him in place as her partner silently staked him.
Reluctantly, she shifted back from his touch. “We should go home.”
“Ah, love, we were just getting started.” He wasn’t sure if he was referring to the fighting or potential shagging or both.
She moved past him but turned, walking backward a few steps, and gave him a come-hither look. “We can continue this. . . after we relieve Aunt Dawnie.”
“Right. She’s got a test coming that I’m supposed to help her with. History.”
“That’s the one.”
She swung around again as he grabbed her hand, and they headed toward home and their family.
She yawned, a marker of just how tired she was. “And you take the night shift with the little guy?”
He couldn’t believe he was a father, and he was enjoying every moment of their happy accident. “Of course.” He wanted her to get some rest.
As they ambled through the rusty cemetery gate, she added, “And can we work on this moment alone thing? ‘Cause I really need one, as much I love our baby.” She squeezed his hand, happy to share something so precious with him.
He lifted an eyebrow at her.
“One night a week by myself. A night where only one rising is predicted,” she bargained. “No apocalypses. . . yet.”
“How about one night a week, and I come with you, or you take one of the little girls. And no cell phones on patrol.” There were two or three other Slayers in the city where they’d settled, where Dawn was attending college. “And you can start by showering alone.”
“Fine. It’s better than you skulking in the shadows being watchdog.” She pouted then. “And I don’t want to shower alone.”
He smirked. “Beggars choosers, pet.”
“Ugh. Fine. Mr. Overprotective.”
He kissed the back of her hand. “Love me anyway?”She hugged his arm. “Always.”