Strawberry Fields

Author: Ameeya Hawke
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: S.2, I Only Have Eyes For You. Veers drastically from canon.
Summary: Spike blanks out while searching for the Slayer, and finds himself in a magic-induced liplock. In the heat of confusion, he offers Buffy a truce, and throws a series of events in motion that will change both their lives forever.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em; I'm just playing. Please oh please, do not sue me.

Chapter 22


“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”

It took everything in him not to collapse to his knees. Not to wrap his arms around her middle. Not to turn into some simpering ninny right there at the doorstep of her little friend’s apartment. He’d only just found her again—there was no way he was going to walk away now. Not with the taste of her in his mouth and the warmth of her burning his hands. He knew she was confused, and Christ it wasn’t like he could blame her, but he couldn’t abide the thought of being shut away again. After what they’d been through—after the pain they’d suffered for the want of each other—he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. Not without a hell of a brawl.

He knew Buffy realized the importance of the claim. They were mates. They were linked. His blood belonged to her. Everything he was belonged to her. Everything she was belonged to him. It was the way things were. The way they’d made things together.

He couldn’t walk away now. Not tonight. Not ever.

Every contour of her gorgeous body was wrought with tension. She was prepared to fight. She would not compromise.

“I can’t deal with this tonight,” Buffy whispered, her gaze trained pointedly on a spot on the floor. “Please, Spike.”

She wouldn’t even look at him. Did she fear breaking if she saw the desperation in his eyes? Was she trying to hide from him? Bloody hell, he was so buggering inept at feeling through the claim. All his research had indicated an immediate perception into his girl’s thoughts. Her blood was in him, linked to him, and he was supposed to know how to best care for her—what she felt, what she needed.

Though he hadn’t the foggiest idea how that was supposed to work. The texts he’d studied hadn’t said anything about sharing minds, and for that, he was glad. But he’d thought there would be something. Anything. A smidgeon as to what she felt. The tiniest trickle through their sacred connection allowing him to sense her emotions. Sense her anything.

He honestly didn’t know what he’d expected. And though it would be infinitely easier to know what to do had the window to her mind opened and fed him her every thought in a clear, crisp monologue, figuring her out was a part of the mystery. A part of the fun. And he knew as well as anyone that listening to voices in one’s head would eventually drive one barmy.

Then again, the distance she insisted on placing between them was doing that all on its own.

She was such a bloody enigma.

It was one of the many reasons he loved her.

“It’s too much to take in tonight,” she continued softly. “I can’t…”

He took a mad, desperate step forward, silently imploring her to meet his eyes. “Buffy…you know what…there’s no undoing it. We’re—”

“You can say it as often as you like, I still need time.”

“Forever, pet. You’re mine.”

Her head snapped up at that, her emerald eyes a gorgeous, tumultuous sea of confusion. “I’m not,” she said shortly. “I’m mine, Spike. I belong to me. You might’ve…put the whammy on me, but I’m still mine. I don’t know what you want—”

“Yes, you do,” he growled, seizing her by the chin. “You bloody well do, you—”

“I can’t do this tonight. You can’t just tell me everything’s changed and expect me to take it with a smile and a nod. You can’t—”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, desperation colliding with anger. “Everything changed for me, too, you know. I didn’t fuck you that night with a mind to claim you, you barmy twig. That was a mistake, an’ you can’t expect me to pay for it for the rest of eternity jus’ because you need your bloody space. You begged for it an’ I gave it to you. What more do you want from me?”

The harshness of his words were a slap; when her wounded eyes widened, he honestly didn’t know if it was regret or satisfaction cementing his gut. Perhaps a spiraled mixture of both.

“You’re right,” Buffy said, her voice clipped and, to her credit, fortified. That was his girl through and through. She refused to betray weakness. “I need space.”

“Space isn’t gonna change rot. We need each other.”

Her gaze flashed. “I don’t need—”

“Yeah? An’ what happens when the pain in your gut becomes so bloody terrible—”

Buffy help up a hand, trembling. The small weight of her resting against the doorframe made her seem so far from him. He couldn’t get into the apartment—couldn’t just barge his way inside to claim what was his. No, little Fred hadn’t extended an invite, and based on the way the brunette purposefully strode behind Buffy every few seconds, it was more than clear one wasn’t forthcoming.

“It’s just for tonight,” Buffy said. And then, softer, “Let me have tonight. You’re not going to leave town, are you?”

It’d bloody well serve her right if he did.

“No,” Spike replied, his shoulders rolling back with the weight of a long sigh. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I’m on your leash, aren’t I? Can’t go anywhere without you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And the reasons for not doing this tonight just keep coming.”

“Buffy—”

“You dumped this on me,” she said, her argumentative tone falling flat with defeat. “I know…look, Spike, I know nothing can be done about it. I get that. Contrary to what pretty much all my teachers back in Sunnydale will tell you, I’m a pretty smart cookie. Tell me something once and I get it.”

He shuffled. It was so much easier remaining angry with her when she was unreasonable. The sudden lack of quarrel in her voice drained him of his need to scream and throttle her. Rather, the hopelessness seeping into her eyes made his heart wither and his arms ache. She belonged against him, folded in his embrace. She belonged with her head resting at his shoulder and her breaths fanning his neck. And if she was going to deny him his right, she needed to be a bitch about it so he wouldn’t feel like a prat for cutting her with words.

“Time’s not gonna do rot,” he said again, his voice smaller. “Won’t change anything.”

Buffy trembled with resolve. “This isn’t about changing anything,” she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But if you want me to get to a place where I understand and…I just can’t have you here. I’m sorry, Spike.” She paused, a harsh, humorless laugh. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’ve been waiting for you to find me for so long and then you did and you slam me with…with this.”

“I found you, though,” Spike replied, a pathetically hopeful smile tickling his lips. “Promised, din’t I?”

“You promised. I didn’t…I believed you’d try, but…I dunno.” Another long sigh rippled down her spine. God, she looked so tired. So incredibly worn out. And he’d done that to her. “I left and I guess I thought you’d eventually think I wasn’t worth it and…I dunno…maybe you’d go find Dru and leave me to it.”

He would have been startled dumb if it weren’t for the hot anger which immediately commanded his veins. “Dru?” he spat, eyes flaring dangerously. “You thought I’d go back…to Dru?”

To her credit, Buffy looked properly discomfited. “Well…I dunno.”

“Not only did the bitch try to kill you, love, but have you forgotten the tiny incident of her sodding nailing me to my bedroom wall?” He slammed an angry fist into the wall before he could help himself. “I told you before…before the fight, before we even left the Hellmouth, that me an’ Dru were through.”

“That was then,” she said softly. “That was…before…”

“Before what?” he growled. “Before I fucked you? Yeah, Slayer, you’re right. It was before then. It was well before I carted your arse out of Sunnyhell an’ before I claimed you. An’ if that din’t bloody well seal it for me, then just being with you sure as hell did. There isn’t anything in this world or any other that could convince me back into her bed. She sodding killed me an’ she tried…an’ I’ve had you.” He sighed and glanced down. “I’ve had you. I’m spoiled for anyone else.”

He felt it the second the air changed. Felt it the second her defenses crashed. The stiffness in her shoulders rolled into a softness only a few ever got to see. The tenderness he’d enjoyed in the few minutes they’d had together which weren’t filled with confusion and arguing and hard fucking. He remembered taking her against the shower wall. Remembered the desperation with which she’d begged him to take her before she’d slipped out of his bed and run away from him.

She’d asked him to love her. She’d asked him, tugging at his fly, her eyes wide, to love her. To take her.

And now she was so far from him. She was so far. Thinking he could go back to Dru—that he could go to anyone. Thinking he could go from her and go anywhere else. Go anywhere but where she was. Be with anyone who wasn’t with her.

He didn’t think he was being particularly secretive in the fact that he loved her. While the words were shy, he’d told her a thousand times with his hands and eyes and lips. He’d kissed her and moved inside her body and, even when they were miles apart, done his best to keep her properly cared for. He hadn’t had much, but he’d given her whatever he could.

Money. Words. A promise.

A promise to find her.

She wasn’t just his mate; she was so much more than that.

She was Buffy, and he loved her.

“I’m sorry I left,” she whispered, startling him out of his reverie. “I should have tried…I dunno. But it felt like I needed…I felt like I needed to leave. I thought you were confusing things for me. I’d just…I’d killed him…he’d come back and I’d killed him and I didn’t know what to feel or how I should…and then there you were, being wonderful and confusing me even more, and I needed to get out.”

There was no way for her to know how her words cracked him, shattering whatever was inside. “I would’ve given you whatever you needed,” Spike told her softly.

“I know. But I needed to leave to…I needed…”

“Buffy—”

“I was sorry after I left. Almost immediately after I left.” A hand rose to her throat, her fingers tenderly massaging the bite mark gracing her skin. “And when I saw you again tonight, it…I was so happy. But Spike, this…this forever thing? I’m…I’m what, exactly? We’re linked by blood and I understand that, but it’s going to take me time to…” She sighed again, shaking. “I’m not the sort of person who can just accept these things. I don’t know what it means…for you or for me. I don’t…I just got out of this thing with Angel. I don’t know if I’m ready for…I don’t think I’m ready. And if you want me to ever be ready, you’re going to need to…I need time. I know I had time, but it’s different now. You changed everything with what you told me. We’re…we’re whatever it is. Claimed.”

A poignant smile twitched Spike’s lips and he inhaled sharply, doing his level best to conceal how his unbeating heart constricted and withered with every word to cross her perfect lips. It was all right. Sure. He understood. It was simple, really. Maybe if Angel hadn’t had that bloody soul of his stuffed up his righteous arse the last second, things would be different. But she’d seen it—she’d seen him, the bloke she loved—and everything had changed then. Well before Spike ushered her to his car. Well before she mauled his lips and took his cock inside her perfect little body. Well before she climbed out of bed and left him for what she thought would be forever. Well before missing him. Well before the claim.

It had been easier for her when the boogeyman wasn’t someone she loved. She’d left her mum’s house after a rather nasty fight, prepared and bloody well content to be at Spike’s side. She’d verbally snapped at Angelus in ways no girl ever had, and it was Angelus she’d been prepared to fight in that last battle. To have her own defenses ripped away when the face she hated suddenly dissolved into the face she loved again had thrown her for a loop the likes of which no one else had suffered.

Buffy’s reality had crushed her fantasy. He knew it; he’d seen it happen. He’d watched as she stood torn between worlds—between the kisses she and Spike had shared, the flirtation, the intrigue, the way he’d promised to know her body…and Angel. The sodding white knight. Spike knew she’d killed Angel; he also knew she hadn’t said goodbye. No, she’d carried him with her all the bloody way out of Sunnyhell. She’d tried to fuck him out of her system by fucking Spike instead, but it had only confused her young idealistic mind to the point where she’d taken off. She’d left him because he wasn’t the answer to her broken heart. No matter that she was the answer to his.

And perhaps she was sorry she’d gone now. Perhaps she truly had missed Spike. Perhaps she didn’t know he loved her, or couldn’t believe he loved her. Perhaps she’d arrived in Los Angeles and craved him because he replaced sorrow with pleasure. He could drive her body to heights she’d never before explored, and it was buggering hard to remember how miserable she was with his tongue lapping at her pussy. The harder he made her come, the longer she remained with him. She hadn’t left him until he slept.

The unforgiving truth was Buffy wasn’t prepared to be his. She didn’t want it. She might want him, sure, but she didn’t want his to be the face with which she awoke for the rest of forever. She didn’t want to reach over and touch him. She didn’t want to smile against his morning kiss. She didn’t want moments of tenderness and intimacy—she wanted solace.

He’d given her solace…just not the sort that lasted.

It all came down to one central recognition: Buffy didn’t love him.

Buffy didn’t love him. She was his, but she didn’t love him. The face of his salvation didn’t love him. Spike had trekked through shadows only to find himself engulfed in further darkness. He could reach for the light if he chose, but it would not reach back. The light was so far from him.

And thanks to his fangs, he had infinite time at her side. An eternity knowing Buffy could never love him back. He was locked inside forever with the woman he cherished, but he would never know the warmth of her heart. Even when they again took pleasure in each other’s bodies, she would remain out of arm’s reach.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Spike whispered softly, wincing inwardly. The words were so desperately pathetic. He’d be content just to sleep on the floor beside her if it meant being close.

“Believe me,” she said, her tone caught somewhere between compassion and irony, a small, sympathetic grin stretching her lips. “I’m really getting that.”

“The pain—”

“We already…you’re not going far. And I said it’s just for tonight.” She pressed her brow against the door frame. “It’s just for tonight. If you come in here, I’m just going to want you to fix everything and I can’t let that happen.” A pause. “Plus this is Fred’s place and she said no more houseguests.”

“I could fix things,” he offered weakly.

She shrugged and continued, talking now to herself. “Could also be because she knows you’re a vamp now and has no reason at all to trust you.”

“I like fixing things.”

“No reason to trust except for my word, but my word got her kidnapped by wannabes and stored away in some warehouse while you and I traded smoochies.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad to let me fix things.”

Buffy leveled him with a glance. “Yes, it would. I can’t keep asking favors from people.”

“Suddenly takin’ care of you’s a bloody favor, is it?”

“Spike, please. If you care about me, you’ll just trust what I need right now is for you to go away.” She sighed. “Please don’t go far, but…I need to think. I need to think and I can’t with you here.”

He knew he was pathetic. He also knew he was an instant away from begging.

But no good would come from it. Buffy was resolved, and she had been since they’d left the alley.

And it was, as she kept insisting, just one night.

God, there was no way she knew how long a night away from her lasted. He’d suffered through so many since she left, and the thought of turning away from her now was enough to wish him into dust.

But he wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t. She had everything else from him as it was; she wasn’t about to get his pride.

Well, what was left of it, anyway.

“Right,” Spike said, drawing in a deep breath and throwing his shoulders back. “Space, then. An’ time.”

“You can come back tomorrow,” Buffy retorted quickly. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.” A nod. “Right.”

Spike turned and began down the hallway before he said sod-all to pride. One more night, she said. Just one more night. She needed time to think, and it was only a night.

To her, perhaps.

But he knew her. Spike knew her and he knew her well. And nothing in Buffy’s gorgeously thick skull could ever be settled easily when she was so conflicted.

This was the first night of their new separation. The first of many more they would spend apart. The distance between them was too vast to conquer in a matter of hours.

She’d know this in the morning. When she awoke and realized that sleep had done bugger all to fix her problems. To heal her heart. To guide her decisions.

Buffy needed time and time was what she had.

He just hoped she figured out what she wanted before the next apocalypse swallowed the world.


TBC
 
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