He saw her; she was broken, shattered into
pieces, held together with duty and obligation but with none of her
fire or spark, none of the life, the spirit which had drawn him to her
like a moth to a flame. She was still there, though, he knew that. Somewhere
under all the pain, behind the emptiness, somewhere his girl was hiding.
Somehow he had to find her.
*****
They’d fought, what was new about that? They'd slashed at each
other with their words, pummelled each other with their fists. Then
there was the sex; that was all it was, as much as he liked to tell
himself otherwise—that they were making love—he knew better.
It was a set pattern of events, they would fight, they would fuck,
they would fight again and then she would leave.
He couldn’t do this any longer; he knew it was killing them
both. It was time to break the pattern.
Moving carefully so as not to startle her, he walked to where she
was dressing hurriedly, and stood in front of her, not too close,
not invading her space, not threatening. Softly, gently he spoke to
her, “'s not how I wanted it to be, love. Not like this. Want
to make it all better for you, if you’ll let me. Buffy,
love, let me help you. Please! Let me take the pain away,” his
loving blue eyes locked on hers and he thought for a second that he
saw something; a brief flicker, a flash of life.
A shudder ran through her body as she tried in vain to hold everything
back. One huge sob shook her tiny frame, and then another. Before
she could stop it; before she could lock it down and seal it up, a
huge wave of anguish and grief came pouring out of her. Strong arms
folded gently around her, soft words of comfort and love floated through
the air as whispers of kisses brushed against her hair. He held her,
rocked her, murmured gentle words into her hair for what seemed, to
her, hours. All he could do was be there for her while she cried out
all the hurt inside—everything she had locked away in the darkest
recesses of her heart, everything that she had refused to feel since
she had been dragged back to this world. Everything that was too hard,
too much to deal with, because she'd been afraid that if she let herself
feel it, let herself go there, then there would be no coming back.
Slowly her sobs lessened as the great ball of grief that had lodged
in her chest progressively shrank, before finally dissipating altogether.
Gradually awareness of her situation stole through the haze of tears
and Buffy realised that her face was buried against Spike’s
chest. She registered the tenderness in his gentle soothing
hands as he stroked her back and hair. Allowed herself to float in
the peaceful warm cadence of his voice as he whispered soft, comforting
words; words that repeated over and over—the words themselves
not as important as the comfort supplied by the rhythm of his rich,
loving voice. The exhausted Slayer drew a deep breath in an attempt
to quiet the raking sobs that still shuddered occasionally through
her. She looked up and was confronted by the raw emotion reflected
clearly and openly on the vampire’s face; love, patience and
devotion shone in the clear blue depths as his eyes held hers momentarily
captive. He softly kissed her forehead and then laid his cheek gently
against her hair.
“Why?” she pleaded, too quietly to be heard, unless the
one doing the hearing was a vampire.
“Why, what, love?” He continued to stroke her back softly
nuzzling gently into her hair; enjoying the tender moment that he
was terrified wouldn't last.
There was silence for a while and then a soft, hesitant, “Why
are you being so kind to me? The way I have treated you...”
another shudder ran through her at the memory of her recent actions.
Her eyes brimmed once more, a single tear breaking free to slowly
track unheeded down her face. “How can you not hate me?”
“Couldn’t hate you, Buffy.” Once again he captured
her eyes with his; they were swollen, red and bruised from so much
crying but to him they had never looked so beautiful. She was there.
He could see his girl, his Buffy, his Slayer, in those eyes. There
was pain there still, he could see that, but the emptiness, the deadness
was gone. “I love you pet. 's all I know how to do,” he
told her with such honesty that her breath caught in her throat and
tears formed afresh.
He can’t, she thought, her mind scrambling to deny what her
heart knew to be true. Giles, the Council, Angel they had all taught
her, told her repeatedly that vampires can’t feel, can’t
love. What they'd taught her was wrong. Or a lie. She knew that now;
his eyes had taught her that lesson and she knew beyond doubt that
they spoke the truth.
“Can I stay Spike?” she asked quietly. “Can you
be with me, just hold me?”
A soft moan escaped him and she felt his breath catch. It's funny
how Spike always seemed to forget that he didn’t need to breathe.
In answer to her softly posed question he picked her up and carrying
her carefully to the bed he lay her down gently. He climbed in next
to her and wrapped his arms around her as she snuggled against him,
barely allowing himself to believe that this was anything more than
a dream.
“Thank you, Spike.”
“What ever for, love?” he marvelled.
“For loving me,” she whispered against his chest before
slipping softly into a peaceful, dreamless sleep for the first time
since she had been dragged back into this world.
the end
