A/N: This story picks
up right after Entropy,
so obviously the Spike/Buffy part of Seeing Red did not take place for
the purposes of this story...but otherwise, just assume that everything
else from the end of Season Six happened just as in canon, with the
exception of Spike going to get his soul...Hopefully I'll fill in some
gaps and feel free to ask about it if something doesn't make
sense...and
if it's not a part of the mystery I'll do my best to *make* it make
sense! J
64. Tentative Advances
When he first laid down his list of rules for
her, Buffy was certain that the "no touching" rule was going to drive
her completely out of her mind before all was said and done. The other
rules were all right -- perfectly fair, she had to admit -- but he had
been back for less than thirty minutes, most of which had been spent in
"serious talk" mode.
And all she could think about was how much she wanted to touch him.
She couldn't believe how badly her body still seemed to yearn for him,
even after so long apart.
*It's not fair,* she thought, unaware of the petulant pout that had
formed on her lips as she gathered bedding and other items to make the
basement more comfortable for Spike.
*Yes it is,* that Joyce-like voice in her head returned firmly. *It is
*completely* fair, so stop acting like a spoiled, selfish brat! He went
months -- *years* -- without getting what he needed and deserved from
you, while you got all the touching you wanted! Now it's his turn to
get what he wants and needs -- and the little nympho-Slayer will just
have to wait her turn until he's ready!*
As it turned out -- she didn't have as long to wait as she had
originally feared.
She and Dawn and Spike fell into a comfortable routine of sorts, as the
days passed into weeks. Willow was still spending much of her time at
the side of her comatose friend in the hospital, while Giles and Anya
began to keep later and later hours at the Magic Box, despite the fact
that the store wasn't any busier than it had ever been.
Eventually, once they realized that everyone already knew what they had
been up to, what they had been trying to hide for the past few weeks,
they made their relationship public -- and were even less accessible to
the others than before, now that they had a legitimate reason to be.
Mostly -- the Summers clan was on their own.
And these days, the Summers clan included Spike.
Gradually, without the complications of their former sexual
relationship, Spike and Buffy began to develop an ease, a certain
comfort with each other, that had never characterized their
interactions before. Dawn's presence actually proved helpful in
speeding the process along, as both adults did their best to get along
well for her sake, and her closeness with each of them automatically
seemed to help to draw them together.
Also, Angel was still serving as a reluctant mediator and relationship
counselor between them. Most days one or the other of them would be on
the phone to L.A., at least briefly -- though it was more often Spike
than Buffy making the call.
At first, Buffy was a little bit jealous -- until she began to notice
that Spike's conversations with Angel seemed to result in much better
communication between the two of them, as Spike gradually began to find
the courage to open up to her again, to talk to her about increasingly
personal matters -- matters she had never had any interest in hearing
about before.
That was when it hit Buffy, with startling, thrilling clarity.
They were becoming friends.
No, Spike had not really opened up to her about his ordeal, the things
he had been through following the shooting; and they had not discussed
much of their own personal issues yet -- but it had only been a few
short weeks, and they were still getting used to each other again.
Buffy knew better than to expect too much too soon. When Spike was
ready to talk to her about those things, she reminded herself, he would.
She nearly cried with relief when she realized the progress they had
already made, the trust that he was gradually placing in her again --
and she resolved again to respect the rules he had put in place, to not
to anything to violate that fragile, cautious trust. She did not push
him to share more with her than he was ready to at the moment.
And she did not break the rules.
Until she had no other choice.
On that particular afternoon, Dawn was off at a "study session" --
translated, "gossip fest" -- at her friend Janice's house; and Buffy
got home from her shift at the Doublemeat around four.
She experienced a momentary sensation of panic, as she walked in the
door and saw Spike sitting on the sofa watching television -- and
realized that they were alone. They had steadily become more and more
comfortable with each other, but had rarely been alone together,
without the comfortable, buffering presence of her little sister.
She almost tried to just slip past him upstairs -- but then he turned
and smiled at her, and his smile was so warm, so open and reassuring,
that all her fears seemed to melt away, and she found herself smiling
back and heading toward the couch to sit down beside him.
*It's just Spike,* she reminded herself firmly. *It's okay to be alone
with him. He's your friend...you can handle this...*
And she was amazed and relieved to find that she could.
A comedy program was just finishing up, and she found herself laughing
at Spike's antics as he dramatically mocked the predictable actions and
lines of the characters, rolling his eyes and making lighthearted
sarcastic remarks that had her forgetting her initial discomfort
completely.
When the show ended, the promo for the next program showed an ad for a
made-for-TV mystery thriller movie, and they decided it might be
interesting to watch. When Buffy got up to go into the kitchen and pop
some popcorn, Spike followed her, casually chatting with her as she
waited for the popping sounds from the microwave to slow down, and then
placing a mug of blood into the microwave as she took the popcorn out.
Without really being able to put her finger on just exactly why, Buffy
began to feel a warm, comfortable sensation of contentment beginning in
the pit of her stomach, spreading throughout her entire body.
It was all just so casual and ordinary and *normal*.
*Spike's my friend...he trusts me...he's my friend...* echoed through her
mind in quiet exultation.
And for the moment -- his friendship was enough for her.
The movie was no better than the comedy had been, and they soon found
themselves laughing together again, this time at the cheesy
supposed-to-be-scary music, the predictable plot twists, and the
over-acting of the endangered female lead.
They weren't listening very closely, having much more fun making each
other laugh at their witty comments and such, but the story seemed to
be about a woman who married a man who turned out to be a serial
killer. Of course, the ignorant woman had not figured it out yet in the
movie, though her young teenage son had.
"Oh, yeah," Buffy snarked, rolling her eyes as she threw another
handful of popcorn into her mouth and griped around it, "because women
are so clueless when it comes to anything important. It's not like
she'd *notice* the fact that there's freakin' *bloodstains* in his..."
Her words suddenly broke off as she noticed Spike jump slightly beside
her, and realized that he had not heard a word she was saying. All at
once, his attention seemed riveted on the television screen, and he was
not even aware that she had stopped mid-sentence.
Knowing that it could not possibly be the sub-par story that had so
gripped his attention, Buffy turned to frown at the screen in confusion.
The killer had somehow found out that the boy knew his dark secret, and
had managed to corner the teenager alone in the house when the
clueless, hopelessly stupid heroine was out doing some kind of inane
"detective" work. Now, the dark, frightening villain had the boy up
against a wall, menacing him with a gun in his face, snarling at him
about what he would do to him if he didn't keep his mouth shut.
With exaggerated, poorly acted terror, the young actor on the screen
flinched.
Much more convincingly and poignantly -- so did Spike.
Buffy's heart lurched within her, and she felt tears spring to her
eyes, as she thought of what horrific memories must be running through
the vampire's mind in that moment -- images called to remembrance by
those he was viewing on the television screen, images of times when he
had been terrorized in just such a way -- by one of her best friends.
Spike's body was very still, rigid, and his eyes were wide and focused
fully on the scene playing out on the television, yet at the same time
distant, focused somewhere else entirely -- somewhere that Buffy
herself could not see.
Her hand was gently, firmly, clasping his, before she realized that she
had moved -- and she winced slightly as she realized that she had
broken one of Spike's rules. In a momentary seizing of panic, she
nearly pulled her hand back, would have in fact -- if Spike's hand had
not suddenly turned in hers, gratefully clasping it in a tight,
trembling grip.
Reassured by his reaction, Buffy went with her instincts, shifting in
closer to the vampire and wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.
The hand attached to that arm held the remote control, and she changed
the channel, remarking casually, "Okay. I don't think I can take the
stupidity anymore. Let's find something a little more intelligent --
you know, like, Teletubbies or something."
He didn't look at her, his expression still somber and taut with his
painful memories -- but Spike did laugh, a bit shakily, at her comment,
as he tried to put the traumatic thoughts out of his head for the
moment. But Buffy noticed, though she wasn't even sure whether or not
he was aware he was doing it, that Spike had shifted closer into the
casual embrace of her arm around him, subconsciously seeking the
comfort she had instinctively offered him.
Buffy found a light-hearted, but slightly less inane, sitcom on the
television, and before long they had both relaxed somewhat again, the
painful past a vague, uncomfortable presence in the back of their
minds, but no longer at the forefront for the moment.
At least, Buffy *thought* it wasn't -- until the telephone rang, and
Spike nearly jumped out of his skin, muttering an English curse word in
a startled tone.
It was Dawn on the phone, calling to ask if it was all right for her to
spend the night at Janice's house.
"We still have *sooo* much studying to do," she insisted earnestly -- a
little *too* earnestly.
"Yeah, I wonder why," Buffy dryly remarked, rolling her eyes. But she
sighed and relented, "I guess that's fine. Just try to actually study a
*little* bit -- okay?"
"Okay! Thanks! You're awesome!" Dawn exulted, and Buffy could almost
hear her little sister bouncing excitedly as she hung up the phone.
"I'm a bad parental figure," the Slayer sighed as she returned to the
couch and sat down beside Spike.
"No, you're not," he insisted with a reassuring smile, though his eyes
still seemed distant, as if his mind was not quite on the conversation
at hand. "You're a questionable excuse for a partying college-age girl
-- but you're not a bad mum-type to the Bit."
Buffy laughed quietly, letting out another sigh, as she leaned back
against the couch again -- and realized that she was now faced with a
dilemma. She had reached out to Spike, completely on instinct, in an
effort to comfort him -- but now that she had gotten up, relinquishing
that contact by necessity...she missed it already.
And now, she had no excuse to reach out to him again, no legitimate
reason to break the rules he had put in place.
So *he* broke them.
Buffy was startled when Spike's hand slid around hers again, gently
caressing his thumb over the back of it as he turned sideways on the
couch to face her fully. His deep, piercing blue eyes searched hers,
apprehensive, and yet so painfully vulnerable, as he studied her gaze
for a long moment before bringing himself to speak.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice and expression very serious.
"Thank you so much, love. You -- you didn't have to...I mean -- I'm such
a bloody ponce sometimes, but you..." His voice trailed off, and he shook
his head slightly, a self-deprecating smile on his lips as he whispered
again, "Thank you."
Buffy felt her throat close up with a powerful mixture of emotions --
sorrow and regret at the suffering that Spike was still enduring in his
heart and mind, though he rarely spoke of it; gratitude that he was
finally allowing her to extend the comfort to him that she had wanted
to ever since before he had come back to her; and relief, such a
powerful sense of relief, that he was finally allowing her to touch
him, even in such a small way.
Her fingertips gently caressed his hand, as she replied sincerely,
"Spike -- you don't have to thank me. It's not like I could do anything
else. You -- you deserve nothing less from me..."
Spike swallowed hard, obviously wrestling with his own emotions, not
looking at her, but squeezing her hand slightly tighter as he whispered
in a hushed, haunted tone, "You'd think -- you'd think it'd be bloody
well over by now, wouldn't you? Think I wouldn't -- still think about
it so much..."
Buffy felt fresh tears well in her eyes, tears of compassion and sorrow
at what he was going through, as she moved in close to him again,
putting her arm around him. "Spike -- you may always think about it,"
she reminded him gently. "I mean -- at least a little."
Spike nodded grimly. "I'm beginning to think that might be true."
Buffy was quiet for a moment before she asked him softly, "Spike -- how
are you doing...*really*? I mean -- if you don't want to talk about it
that's okay, but -- but you *can* talk about it, you know?"
Spike nodded again. "I know," he replied. "I just -- I'm not sure if I
-- if I'm ready for that yet, love..."
"It might help..."
Abruptly, Spike pulled his hand back, his jaw working with emotion
before he turned away from her, and she could no longer see it.
"I'm sorry," she immediately spoke up, alarmed at his reaction.
*You've blown it already,* she chided herself. *Stupid, pushy Slayer...*
"No, you've nothing to be sorry for," Spike reassured her, his voice
low and husky with tears, as he rose to his feet -- but he still would
not face her. "It's not your fault. I just -- I'm just not ready yet,
Buffy. But -- but thank you..."
He stood there for a moment awkwardly, his back to her, before trying
for casual again, turning back toward her, smiling under tear-filled
eyes, as he said calmly, "I-I'm bloody exhausted, love, I think I'll
turn in early, yeah?"
"Spike..."
"Buffy," he cut her off gently, finally meeting her eyes fully, with a
depth of emotion that nearly took her breath, "love, really. It's all
right. You've not upset me, it's just -- I just -- I'm tired, all
right?"
Buffy knew it was a lie -- knew that he would go down to the basement
and lose himself in his pain, if she let him.
She also knew that she had to let him.
"All right," she said softly to his retreating back, as he headed
toward the kitchen, and the basement beyond. "Let me know if you need
me...I...I love you..."
The words had spilled out before she could make any logical decision as
to whether or not it was wise to say them -- and Spike froze in the
doorway, only a small part of his face visible to her, as his back was
mostly to her. Still, she could see him swallow hard, his eyes shut
momentarily, as he tried to hold his emotions together.
Finally, all he could manage was a slight nod, as he disappeared
through the kitchen doorway.