1. Do You...?
The soft clink of the small metal object
swinging slowly from Spike's long, graceful fingers was the only sound
in the shocked silence that followed his provocative question. Buffy's
eyes widened as she stared at the pair of handcuffs for a long moment,
before meeting his eyes again, aghast at the question and its
implications – at least outwardly.
Spike did not appear the least bit embarrassed or phased by the turn
the conversation had taken – he shouldn't, she supposed, considering
that he was the one who had steered it that way – but just watched her
intently, calmly, silently waiting for her response.
She debated over what to say, staring again at the handcuffs in his
hand, and trying to ignore the increase in her arousal caused by
imagining all the deliciously dirty things she and Spike could do with
them. She glanced furtively at Spike again, hoping the heavy lingering
scent of their recent antics would mask her reaction to his suggestion.
If it failed to – Spike did not show it. He just kept waiting patiently
for her reaction.
For a moment, she allowed herself to actually consider the question.
Did she trust Spike? The answer that rose in her mind automatically was
"depends", though she did not speak it aloud. She *did* trust him, she
admitted to herself silently – with some things.
With being her backup in a life or death battle situation?
Yes.
With protecting her little sister's life, keeping Dawn safe when she
herself could not be there to do it?
Absolutely.
Even with her own emotional vulnerability, her confusion following her
resurrection, she had trusted Spike enough to open up to him, to begin
to allow him to be her friend – for a short time. Until "this" had
started.
She had no name for it, as she had informed him just moments before. It
was simply "this". But even in "this", she had to admit that she knew
deep down, if she were to surrender to what he was suggesting, he would
never use it as an opportunity to hurt her.
Unless she wanted him to.
Still, somehow, she could not bring herself to submit to such a thing.
It was the one thing she had left that she could not let him or anyone
else have – control. She had relinquished her control, given in to her
feelings, once before.
And it had ended in heartache and hell.
So – could she trust him with the last thing she had to hold onto, now
that everything she held precious had been stripped from her? Could she
find the courage to surrender control to Spike – or anyone else – ever
again?
"Never," she softly spoke the answer to his question – and then quickly
looked down again, wanting to avoid the look of clear pain that
instantly appeared in his eyes at her response.
The brief flash of hurt was all he allowed himself to reveal, for the
moment, rising abruptly to his feet, tossing the handcuffs carelessly
to the floor with a loud, abrasive clatter as he grabbed his jeans and
began putting them on with much greater force than was necessary.
Hurt had been quickly disguised with fury.
"Bloody typical," he snarled in a low voice, his back turned to her –
but in the stillness that had settled over the room, she could clearly
hear his words, and the pain he was trying so hard – but failing – to
hide.
"What?" she demanded defensively, glaring up at him with defiance in
her eyes. She knew very well what had him so upset, but was not ready
to admit fault just yet. "What's typical?"
"You!" he snapped, whirling around on her as he struggled to button his
jeans, his hands trembling and uncoordinated with sheer rage that he
was allowing to build, to help to defend his already wounded emotions.
"This is just typical of *you*, Slayer! Doesn't matter how hard I
bloody try – how many times I help save you and your soddin' Scoobies
or look out for the Bit or do whatever I bloody well can to prove it to
you – you still think I'm just waiting to get this bleedin' doohickey
out of my head so I can turn around and drain the lot of you dry!"
The resentment, the wounded sound in his voice made her feel guilty for
what she had said – and guilt was just one more burden that she did not
need at the moment. She couldn't seem to feel anything else lately –
why should she have to feel guilty? She could feel her own anger rising
up within her, a defensive reaction to being called on her mistakes,
and she recklessly decided to just let it go – it wasn't as if she
could make the situation much worse.
"Oh, please, Spike! You're a *vampire*, I'm the Slayer. What do you
expect?" she sneered, her tone derisive. "It's kind of the natural
order of things, isn't it? I'd be *crazy* to trust you!"
Okay – so she *could* make it worse. A *lot* worse.
She almost flinched herself when Spike drew back sharply, his eyes
wide, his lips parted in stunned reaction to her words. He looked
almost as if she had slapped him in the face – and that was a look she
should recognize, as many times as she had seen it.
*I'm sorry,* came to her mind – but she choked it back, refusing to
allow the words to pass her lips as she looked away again.
For once, the blonde vampire seemed struck speechless – and that was
just another clue as to just how upset he was, as he turned his back to
her and reached for his rumpled black t-shirt.
"Oh come on," Buffy muttered defensively, still trying to find a way to
justify her thoughtless words. "Like *you* trust *me*!" she pointed out
sarcastically.
The vampire froze for a moment before turning to face her, an indignant
look on his face. "I do!" he declared, his voice just a hint defensive.
"Yeah," Buffy scoffed with a harsh little laugh. "Right."
She swallowed back a sudden unexpected lump of emotion that rose in her
throat, rising suddenly and turning her back to him. Suddenly, she was
the one who did not want her emotions to be all-too-visible on her
face. The thought that he might actually trust her – after the way she
had been using him, the times she had hurt him – made her feel beyond
guilty.
And *that* made her angry.
"I do!" Spike insisted, eyes wide with surprise that she did not
believe him, crossing the room in an instant and coming up behind her
as she pulled her own jeans on, her back still pointedly turned to him
as she reached for her blouse. "I *do* trust you, love!"
Buffy could hear it in his voice. *God, he means it!* she thought,
feeling a funny little ache building in her chest at the thought. This
vampire, her mortal enemy, whom she had hurt and mistreated for the
past couple of months – said that he *trusted* her? How could he trust
her, after everything that had happened?
The answer was simple – he didn't.
Her back still turned to him, Buffy spoke softly, her hands sliding
into her pockets and her shoulders slumping slightly, her head bowed.
"You really do, Spike?"
"I do," he repeated in a soft but emphatic voice as he came around in
front of her, needing to see her face, to know what she was thinking.
"I trust you, Buffy. With my life."
A small secretive smile began to form on her lips, but tinged with
bitterness as she thought to herself that he could not have chosen any
better words for the point she was about to make.
As his soft, strong hand reached to gently take her arm, the Slayer
moved very quickly, spinning them around and pushing him so that his
back hit the wall several feet away from her. She stared at him
intently for a moment as she strode purposefully toward him, reaching
into her back pocket as she did and taking out a stake.
His eyes widened as he tried to process what she was doing, and why. It
just didn't make sense – he hadn't done anything. But as she reached
him, instinct took over, and his hand shot up to catch her wrist,
freezing the deadly weapon less than an inch from his chest.
He realized the instant that he touched her that he was not really
holding her back; her hand had already stopped before he caught her
wrist. His eyes widened as he took in the strangely sad look of
satisfaction in her empty, achingly sorrowful eyes – and he realized
the little test she had been putting him too – too late.
He had already failed it.
"See?" she said softly, a note of regret to her voice as she pocketed
the stake again and turned away to button up her shirt. "You don't
trust me." She was silent for a moment, as she gathered up the last of
her belongings and headed toward the door. She paused, looking back at
him for a moment to add quietly, "And you shouldn't."
He finally managed to recover from his shock of the situation enough to
follow after her, voicing his objections. "Now, wait just a bloody
minute, Slayer, that's not fair! What kind of a test is that? That was
a bloody reflex, pet! You can't base anything off a reflex!"
She knew in her heart that he was right. The test had not really been
fair. But it had served to dramatically illustrate her point and get
her out of the situation, and she really didn't feel like discussing it
any further at the moment.
"Spike – just go home," she said in a tired voice, as she made her way
quickly toward her own house, with an incensed vampire determined to
change her mind, close behind her and trying to keep up. "If you
thought I was gonna stake you, then that proves you don't trust me. So
I don't trust you, you don't trust me – we're even. Just – let it go."
"No!" he snapped, grabbing her arm and spinning her around again to
face him. "You haven't proved anything here, love! I *do* trust you!
But that doesn't mean I haven't learned anything in a hundred and
twenty years. And lesson number one is, 'You see a pointed piece of
wood heading straight toward your heart at ninety miles an hour – you
better bloody well stop it or get out of the way!"
She stopped, glaring pointedly down at his hand on her arm until he
finally relented enough to let her go. "Touch me again," she said in a
low, calm but dangerous voice, "and I *will* stake you, Spike."
He had heard it a million times before; that threat was nowhere near as
hurtful as the words she spoke next, with a cold smile.
"Still trust me now?"
He stood there, stunned, as she turned and walked away from him toward
her house, taking the opportunity to get away and get home.
Finally he found his voice, calling after her emphatically, "*Yes*! I
bloody well do trust you, Buffy! And if you think you've got something
to prove, you're gonna have to come up with a better test than that to
prove it!"
She ignored him, disappearing around the corner – and out of his life
again, until the next time she decided that she wanted him in hers
again.
By the next night, Spike still had not worked off the anger of his
disastrous encounter with the Slayer the night before. He was busy
pouring a bit of the excess energy into one of the two things he knew
he could still do better than most – fighting demons.
The other – well – he was pretty sure he wasn't going to get the chance
to practice tonight. Not if Buffy was still determined to act like a
raging bloody bitch.
He was currently taking on a small gang of fledgling vamps, about six
or seven of them – hardly even a challenge, but something to do. He
dispatched most of them quickly, and then took his time with the last
one, who seemed to fancy himself the leader of the pathetic pack.
As the dust of the final vampire settled around him, he pocketed his
stake, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at the victory that was
still somehow – well – unsatisfying.
*Just face it, mate...* he chided himself glumly as he turned back
toward
his crypt. *You'd rather be doing...*
His thoughts were cut off as he was suddenly knocked off his feet from
behind, thinking as he went down that he had thought he had killed them
all already. He quickly rolled over onto his back to face his unknown
assailant, one fist ready to strike out and take the unfortunate
fledgling down – because certainly only a foolish fledge would dare to
attack a master vampire such as him in such a way.
A foolish fledge – or a Slayer.
His eyes widened as he realized who it was that had literally swept him
off his feet.
"Buffy," he whispered, preparing to say more, to ask her what he'd
done, what was going on.
But whatever he was going to say was silenced by an intense, forceful
kiss, as the Slayer plunged forward, plundering his mouth with her
tongue and teeth, leaving him more breathless than she was, though he
didn't even need to breathe.
"Buffy," he gasped, trying again, searching her eyes through the haze
of lust that had descended over him at the taste of her warm, sweet
mouth, and the feel of her soft, strong body on his. "What..."
"Shhh," she murmured, a wicked gleam in her sparkling green eyes, a
playful smirk on her face. "I think I came up with a better test," was
all the cryptic explanation she offered, before glancing down leadingly
to her hand, held up for his inspection.
He frowned, a bit confused, when he noticed the soft, long silk scarf
she held in her hand – one he had seen her wear on occasion. It took
him a moment to understand what exactly she intended – but when he did
his eyes widened with surprise.
Before he could say anything, she leaned in close, gently draping the
soft fabric over his eyes, holding it closed behind his head with one
hand as she kissed him again, more slowly and deliberately, her free
hand sliding slowly down his body to caress low on his stomach,
torturously near to the part of his anatomy that was by now begging for
her attention.
The lack of sight only added to the sensation of her warm breath on his
neck, her soft hand on his body, and her lush, sensuous voice next to
his ear as she whispered temptingly,
"Do you trust me?"