PAIRING : Buffy/Spike

RATING : NC17

SPOILERS : season 6

SUMMARY : Buffy wonders something.

DISCLAIMER : I do not own these characters.

I should have known. I should have realized that seeing their guilty faces every time I walk into a room would kill me more than seeing their joy.

And it kills me every time I think about how I thanked them for bringing me back because that's what I had to do. I have to be strong. I have to do the right thing. I'm the slayer and that's my duty.

Do the right thing. Go down into a dungeon to stop the Master. Kill your lover. Kill your sister. Bury your mother. Risk your life. Never love. Be hard. Be strong. Be tough. Die. Give your gift.

And I gave. I gave and gave until it killed me twice over. I did my part. I got my reward.

And it was ripped from me. Rather, I was torn from it.

I'm not sure what hurts worse: that I was ripped from Heaven and thrown into a decaying body or that my friends did it.

They think they took me from Heaven. But that's not all. They put me in Hell.

The pain, the light, the sound… everything is too much. Everything hurts. The air I breathe burns me.

But I have to be strong. I have to brave and tough because that's what I do. I'm the big sister. I'm the mom. I'm the slayer. I'm the best friend. I'm Buffy. That's what I have to do.

But not here. Not when I'm here.

When I'm here, I can be whoever I want. I can be strong or weak, it doesn't matter.

When he's buried inside me, I can be whatever I want and he lets me be. If I cry, he licks my tears. If I scream, he screams back. If I punch, he hits me too. Whatever I need, he gives it. Willingly.

And after? When I get up and leave and go back to my Hell, I'm better for it.

The first time, I ran. I told him he was just convenient. I hurt him because he hurt me by caring. They all hurt me by caring. They all hurt because they are glad I'm here and I'm not.

But it was after that, when he found me patrolling one night, that I realized he *wasn't* happy I was here.

I was fighting three huge demons when he came upon the fight. I saw him out of the corner of his eye. I was backed into a corner, about to be gutted, when I saw him. He knew it was me, I know he did. And I saw him hesitate. Just for a second, he hesitated and I saw his face.

That split second changed things. I saw relief in his eyes. Relief that I might go back to where I was safe.

And I was relieved too until I thought of Dawn. I screamed her name and he raced in and saved me.

That night, after Dawnie was sound asleep, after Willow was in bed, I crept out. I went to his crypt and he knew. He'd been expecting me, not so much for the sex that followed, but he had a glass of water in hand and was sitting, watching the door.

I walked in and took the glass. We just sat for a while in silence, me sipping water, him sipping blood. It was so quiet in that crypt, so dark. The air was dirty and didn't burn quite so much. I couldn't smell my house or Dawnie's hairspray. And for the first time since I'd been back, I felt somewhat relaxed. It wasn't happiness. It wasn't peace. But it was something more than I'd had with no expectations, no hopeful, joyful eyes. Just dark, simple silence.

After a while, I moved from the chair I'd been in, to the couch. I sat right next to him and still, he said nothing, did nothing. I put my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to him. For once, I felt something almost as dead as me. And it was nice.

He turned and asked if I wanted more water or something to eat and I kissed him. Not like the kisses we'd shared before, insistent and desperate, but sweet and innocent. He let me keep it how I wanted. That's what he does, he lets it be on my terms.

I kissed him for what seemed like hours before moving to straddle him. I kissed him some more and guided his hands to my breasts, and still, he was motionless, save for what I allowed him to do. He always seems to know what I want.

That night, I let him make slow, passionate love to me. There was no rush. There was no hitting, no hurting, no speaking. There were only moans and whimpers and the sound of our bodies. I don't know why I let him do that, but it felt so nice, unrushed, uncomplicated. And when I came, it was quiet. It didn't explode and hurt me. It was a gentle wave and it actually made me smile.

Afterwards, he said nothing. I think in that split second in the alley with the demons, he realized that he couldn't force himself on me. He couldn't make me come to him. He couldn't make me love him. He couldn't even keep me here. After that second, he's never thrown what happened in that wrecked house in my face. He hasn't even brought it up. What happens now is completely different from that night.

What's happening now is completely different. I'm on top. Sometimes, I like to be on top. Yesterday was a little more insistent, but not tonight. Tonight, I'm taking him slowly, sliding up and down on him leisurely because it *does* feel good. It feels good just to feel.

He's kept his hands down because once he starts touching, once *we* start touching, we're done for and I want this to last. I'm making it a game. He doesn't know it, but I am. I want to see how long we can make love until we *have* to come. He's got remarkable control. I'm still working on it.

"Spike?" I ask and he opens his eyes to look at me.

"What?" He asks, still looking into my eyes. His eyes are so blue.

"If I asked, would you kill me?"

He stops moving automatically and says, "Yes." No hesitation. No thinking. Just a simple, honest answer.

"Why?"

"Because if you ask, I believe that you would have thought it through. I'd believe that you wanted it. And I'd like to do something for you."

I nod. "I'm not. Asking. By the way." Not yet anyway.

He nod and I start to move again. I take his hands and place them on my hips. He takes that as the green light and gets greedy. As we move faster, more insistently, he shifts and I guide his fangs to my breast.

I've changed the game and he responds by giving me what I want. The sharp tips just graze the skin, enough to bleed me a little and he begins to fill me. I scream his name and come along with him as he licks the wound.

I collapse on top of him and he places his hands on my back before asking, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do something for you. Because when I decide it's time, I want to be ready. I want you to have a part of me, in case… in case it's not you."

Tonight, I fall asleep on his chest. Tonight, I don't leave.

It's not perfect, this thing between he and I. It's just little pieces. But they're all I've got. It's all *we've* got.

And for us, it's enough.

~El Fin~