Title: Stay
Author: Pagan Pylea Princess
Characters: Spike, Buffy
Summary: This takes place during “Touched.” Just after Spike has given his speech, Buffy’s and then Spike’s POV as Buffy asks him to stay with her.
Disclaimer: Oh, you know the drill – Joss’ not mine!
Feedback: I’d be really grateful!
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Buffy’s POV
“Spike.”
As he turned from the doorway, she watched his cerulean eyes shimmer with affection. They turned on her, and her stomach fluttered. So much pain in those eyes. She used to look into them, and think that someday she would be able to calm all that sadness and rage.
Now they were empty. They no longer burned with the fire that had been consuming him slowly for so long. He was nearing redemption – she could see that. His soul had cooled him, smothered the passionate fires that he had been bearing for so long, as they seared him from within. No, The only fire that burned now, was the one for her. His love was so clear. She could see that in his eyes now. He cherished her with heart and soul, and he cared for her. All that hate had turned into love. Warmth.
Perhaps she had cured him after all.
“Could you…. Stay here?”
It was a hell of a question to put out there. She didn’t even expect a reply. There was nothing she wanted more in this world than to have Spike turn to her with open arms, and tell her that no matter what, he would always stay by her side, make sure she stayed on the right path, guide her through hell and high-water. And that was literal hell.
But she knew better than any one that she didn’t deserve it. Especially not after the way she had treated him. Before he had gotten his soul she had used him and hurt him in doing so. He may have been a soulless blood-sucking fiend, but she could see now, looking back that he had so much more emotion than any other vampire. It was so much easier to hurt his feelings than it had ever been trying to get at Angelus, or Drusilla.
And then when he had returned, soul intact, she hadn’t handled it very well. Sure she had made sure he had a place to stay, out of the crazy basement, but she hadn’t been very grateful for his restoration. After all, he had done it for her.
“To be the kind of man that would nev- to be a kind of man. And she shall look upon him with forgiveness, and everyone will forgive and love.”
At the moment when she’d needed him in peak condition, he had reverted to William, the-soulful-poet-guy, complete with brood-mode. At least, that’s what she’d thought. She had been severely proved wrong though.
And then there was the fact that he had clearly been keeping his distance from her, ever since that night in her bathroom. She knew the guilt must have been tearing him up inside him for months.
But none of that mattered to her now. She needed him.
His eyes glazed a little, she was unsure why, but he answered immediately.
“Sure.”
He entered the room again, turning from her quickly, as Buffy reeled at the suddenness of his reply.
His love for her really was unconditional.
He removed his leather duster and threw it down onto a nearby armchair and sighed, eyeing it over.
“That diabolical old torture device the comfy chair. Do me fine – “
Buffy couldn’t help but smile and blush. She had forgotten that he was so well mannered nowadays. Of course he would assume she meant for him to watch over her. He would think that she wouldn’t want him anywhere near her anymore, unless it was for work-related purposes only.
“No,” she cut off quickly, then scooted over on the bed, “I mean…. Here.”
Gently she patted the space beside her.
Nervously, she waited for him to look at her.
His eyes locked onto hers again. He seemed to be astounded, overwhelmed even, by the suggestion.
She saw absolute affection in his face, practically saw his heart dancing as he calmly stood, eyes locked onto hers, trying to search her, trying to find out if she really meant it, or if she were merely toying with him.
“Would you just… hold me?”
There were practically tears in her eyes, and she cursed herself. She didn’t want to seem helpless or needy, but in truth – she was.
She needed someone, someone who understood her completely, to take her into their arms and hold onto her, like they would never let go.
And hadn’t Spike just proved that? That, like it or not, he knew more about her than she felt even she knew. Vampires seemed to have this eerie intuition into everything she was feeling, and Spike had honed in on it more than anyone.
“I’m not asking you for anything. When I tell you I love you, it’s not because I want you, or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I’ve seen your strength, and your kindness. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You’re the one Buffy.”
Slowly, seemingly unsure whether this was real, he moved toward the bed, sat beside her and then froze. It felt like the first encounter, all over again. Only this time, it was so much more loving, and caring, and warm. Last year had been so violent, so cold, so… casual. But she had never felt about Spike like this before.
Gently, nervously, she leant across. Leaning into his chest, she inhaled that scent she had memorised so well. Leather, tobacco, and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Everyone must have their own defining scent, and she couldn’t understand it, but she knew it. Off by heart. Just like she knew Angel. Or Dawn. Or her mom…
Leaning her head into his shoulder and neck, she felt so… comfortable. At peace.
Finally, she had stopped searching for that inner calm. She had been running for so long, like a locomotive with its breaks cut, about to come off the rails. Ever since she had returned from a heavenly dimension, it was like everything she had touched fell apart. She’d been racing through, destroying everything in her path. Dawn, Willow, Spike…
And now she’d stopped.
Now she was calm.
Carefully, Spike rested his chin against the top of her head, embracing her lovingly with his arms, holding onto her like he would never let go, gently stroking the hair at the side of her face.
So peaceful.
Perhaps this was where she belonged.
Finally she felt at rest.
“Can we rest now Buffy…”
There were no more words.
She smiled.
Slowly, she shut her tired eyes, and fell softly into gentle slumber.
“Can we rest?”
~
Spike’s POV
“Spike”
He froze.
Turning slowly, he looked upon her.
God, she’s so beautiful.
He thought. She sat, delicately on the bed like a china doll. He wished, prayed so hard, that he might be able to hold her again. Just… hold her.
Of course, he could never really be with her again. Ever. After what he had done, he didn’t deserve to. He should have stayed away for good. He should have done the right thing and stayed out of her life, despite whether he’d gotten a soul or not.
But he had been so desperate to show he that he could change – that he had changed.
And now, here he was. Looking down into her emerald eyes, and wishing he could stare into them for hours on end. Until the sunlight burned him to dust, for taking such a liberty.
He regarded her with open affection. That was all he could do.
“Could you…. Stay here?”
He stared blankly for several moments, frozen to the spot, then shook himself out of it.
She doesn’t mean with her, pillock. He chided himself. He wanted to force himself to tear his eyes from the Slayer. He feared that if he looked at her any longer, he might break her, or damage her in some way. He didn’t want to hurt her anymore.
And maybe, if he kept on looking, he might just die from the agony of knowing he would never be able to touch her again, never kiss her soft lips, or feel the brush of her hair on his cheek. His eyes glazed a little, and he fought back the tears, that would surely run if he stayed any longer.
He nodded. “Sure.”
She seemed surprised by his eagerness to do so, hell, even he wasn’t sure why he had done it.
“Why does a man do what he mustn’t? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man that would nev- to be a kind of man. And she shall look upon him with forgiveness, and everyone will forgive and love. So everything’s ok right? Can we rest now, Buffy?”
Entering the room, he looked down at the armchair, strewn with items of clothing, and removed his duster.
“That diabolical old torture device, the comfy chair. Do me fine-“ He muttered sarcastically.
He didn’t want to look to her again until she had settled down, and shut her eyes. He didn’t want her to see the pain in his eyes. He thought that by now she might have learned how to peer into them and see all the way through to his scarred soul. Or the heart that she left her mark on. That all the women in his life had.
“No.”
She had intercepted him so quickly, that he had looked up, without realising that as he did so, he might not escape her gaze again.
Coyly, she looked up at him and then scooted over on the bed. “I mean… here.”
Surprised he simply stared at her. Could she really be saying what he thought she was? She wanted him to stay with her. To hold her, to be beside her. To touch her skin, to feel the warmth of her body against his, to let him breathe in that hair as it touched his cheek?
“Would you just… hold me?”
His heart rose into his mouth. He tried to move, and found his feet frozen solid to the floor.
Now what did he do?
He was torn between the pain of ripping himself from her, and the delight of being able to embrace her, and shower her with his affection. He wanted more than anything to make her feel loved, and to make her better.
But he knew that if he sat beside her now and cradled her against his chest, he would never be able to let go. Because he knew it would be the last time.
Now though, her eyes were firmly glued to his. How could he walk away?
He could hear her soul crying out for love, for warmth. He was the last person she had. Everyone else had turned on her – Giles, Dawn, Willow, Xander…
She needed him.
“I’m not asking you for anything. When I tell you I love you, it’s not because I want you, or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I’ve seen your strength, and your kindness. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman. You’re the one Buffy.”
Could he really do this?
Guess there was no time to think about it.
Slowly, he made his way toward the bed, every step weighted, as though he strode through tar.
Carefully, he lowered himself onto the mattress, felt her eyes burning into him as he did so.
After a heart-stopping moment (though obviously not his heart) she gently rested her head against his chest. At that moment, he wished that it was warm, wished their was a heartbeat within it, wished that there was a steady rise and fall as he breathed, so that she would be soothed, and calm.
No matter how hard he prayed, there wasn’t.
But that didn’t seem to matter to her.
He rested his chin upon her head, and tenderly ran his fingers along her soft, blonde hair.
Strawberries, peach, vanilla, roses.
All the scents that seemed to define her filled his senses and, for once, he did breathe, deeply and contently.
And then it was quiet.
Peaceful.
There were no more words.
And as he felt her fall gently into sleep, he knew that now, he was complete.
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